The Cat Who Sniffed Glue (4 page)

Fran sat down next to Qwilleran and said, "Qwill, you're going to be the hit of the show when you roar 'Bully!' and 'Charge!' with your thundering voice. But I'd like to see a burst of energy when you gallop upstairs with an imaginary sword. Remember, you think you're Teddy Roosevelt charging up San Juan Hill."
"You don't know what you're asking, Fran. I'm laid-back by choice and by temperament, and getting more so every year."
"Make an adjustment," she said with the sweet smile she always employed to get what she wanted. "You'll be able to practice with the bugle tomorrow night if Harley remembers to bring it."
Qwilleran said, "The Fitch twins are the ones who'll steal the show - Harley in his Boris Karloff makeup, and David playing that slimy doctor like a perfect creep."
"They're two talented boys," Fran said, "and such good sports. They're really wasted on banking." She glanced at her watch, yet seemed in no hurry to leave.
"I'm glad you gave Eddington a part to play, even though he's terrified."
"He'll be perfect for old Mr. Gibbs, won't he? But I hope he learns to project. He speaks in a whisper."
"No one ever shouts in a bookstore, and that's where he's spent his whole life."
"Anyway, here's what I wanted to discuss, Qwill. We want to do Bell. Book and Candle for our summer show, and we'll need a cat to play Pyewacket. Do you think..."
"No, I don't think Koko would care for the role. He's extremely independent. He doesn't take direction. And he prefers his own script."
"Maybe we should announce a public audition and invite people to bring their cats."
"You'd have a riot!" Qwilleran said. "You'd have three hundred cat lovers with three hundred cats, all wailing and spitting and fighting and climbing up the curtain. And the humans would be even worse - pushy, indignant, belligerent. A company tried it Down Below, and they had to call the police."
"But it would generate publicity. When the newspaper starts publishing, we'll get all kinds of coverage. They've promised to review our productions."
"They're dreaming! Who'll qualify as a drama critic in Moose County?"
"You," she said with her sweet smile.
Qwilleran huffed into his moustache. "How can I sit in the fifth row, center, taking notes at the same time I'm onstage blowing the bugle and charging up San Juan Hill?"
"You'll figure it out." She could be infuriatingly illogical one minute and a frighteningly straight thinker the next. "Will the theater be ready on schedule?"
"They've promised, but anything can happen in the building trades: electricians are electrocuted; plumbers drown; painters inhale toxic fumes; carpenters bleed to death."
"What would you think of an original revue for the grand opening, instead of a Broadway play?"
"What kind of material?"
"Humorous skits... witty parodies... a chorus line... comic acts. Harley and David have a funny twin act that they do. Susan danced in college; she can do choreography."
"Do you have a theme in mind?"
"It should be a spoof of contemporary life, don't you think.? I mean-politics, television, fashion, pop music, the IRS - anything. Preferably tied in with Moose County."
"And who would write these humorous skits and witty parodies?" he demanded.
"You!" There was that tantalizing smile again.
Qwilleran growled a protest. "That would take a lot of time and thought, and you know I'm writing a novel, Fran."
She looked at her watch. "Well, think about it. Now I've got to go home. I'm expecting a long-distance call from Mother. She's visiting my aunt Down Below. Thanks for your input, Qwill. See your tomorrow night at seven sharp."
Qwilleran walked home slowly, enjoying the soft breezes of a spring evening. On Monday nights the downtown area was always deserted, and an eerie silence fell upon Main Street. His footsteps echoed in the canyon created by the stone buildings.
The idea of an original revue began to appeal to him. He had written student shows in college. It might be fun to write parodies of well-known songs, one for each town in Moose County. The early settlers had given them outlandish names: Sawdust City, Chipmunk, Squunk Corners, Middle Hummock, West Middle Hummock, Wildcat, Smith's Folly, Mooseville, even a village named Brrr. (It was the coldest spot in the county.)
The parodies would be easy, he thought. He tried a few opening lines, and his rich baritone reverberated in the stone canyon:
"Everything's out of date in Sawdust
City... "
"Way down upon the Ittibittiwassee
....
"Mid-dle Hum-mock, here I come!..."
"April in Chipmunk; ragweed in blossom... "
"When it's Big Mosquito time in
Mooseville..."
"I'm just wild about Wildcat..."
All too soon he reached the Park Circle. Here Main Street divided and circled a small park, on the perimeter of which were two churches, the courthouse, the public library, and the future theater. There was a nightlight in the construction shed, but the long driveway to the carriage house was in darkness. The moon had ducked behind a cloud, and he had forgotten to turn on the exterior lights at the comers of the carriage house.
He unlocked the door leading to the upstairs apartment and reached inside to flick the wall switch. The light fixture did not respond; neither did the light at the top of the stairs. A power outage, he supposed. The local joke was that Pickax blacked out if the weatherman even predicted a thunder storm. He started to mount the stairs in the dark. Brodie was right; they were steep, and the treads were narrow. They seemed narrower and steeper in total darkness. Slowly and carefully he went up, gripping the handrail.
Halfway to the top Qwilleran stopped. There was a strong odor in the stairwell - almost like coffee - or something burning. Electrical wires? He had a fear of fire when the cats were home alone.
At that moment he heard a sound he could not identify. He listened hard. The cats were locked in their apartment at the far end of the building, and it was not an animal sound; it was a scraping, like metal on wood. He remembered the wrought-iron coat of arms leaning against the wall in the upper hallway. If it came crashing down the stairs, it would send him flying to the bottom of the flight. He flattened himself against the wall and slid upward, one cautious step at a time.
In the upper hall he paused and listened. He felt a presence. There was no sound, but someone was there - breathing. The living-room door was open, and he was sure he had closed it before leaving. The total darkness indicated that the blinds were closed, and he was sure he had left them open. Now he was positive he could hear breathing, and he saw two red eyes glowing in the blacked-out room.
Stealthily he groped for the light switch inside the door, hoping it was operative. His hand touched something hairy.
From his throat came a horrendous roar-like a trapped lion, a wounded elephant, and a sick camel. It was a curse he had learned in North Africa.
Instantly there was light, and a chorus of tremulous voices managed a weak "Happy birthday!"
There were two dozen persons in the room, looking either shaken or sheepish or guilty.
"Dammit, you knuckleheads!" Qwilleran bellowed. "You could give a guy a heart attack!... What's this?"
Towering above him was a black bear with glass eyes and gaping jaws, rearing on hind legs, one paw over the light switch.
The two glowing spots of red were lights on a small machine. It stood on the travertine card table, plugged in and bubbling.
"I'm sorry," said Francesca. "It was my idea. We used the key you gave me."
Harley Fitch said, "My clone gets credit for the dramatic staging."
"My clone unscrewed the lightbulbs," said his brother, David, the one with a moustache. "He stood on my shoulders and ruined my golf swing permanently."
Qwilleran confronted Francesca."So that's why you kept me overtime. I wondered why you looked at your watch every five minutes."
Larry Lanspeak said, "We needed a half hour to get set up. We had to park our cars out of sight and hike over here and wrestle the bear up those damn stairs and then hide Wally's van."
Wally Toddwhistle, a young taxidermist, said, "I happened to have the bear in my van. I'm delivering it to a customer."
"How did you guys know it's my birthday?" Fran said, "Dad ran a check on your driver's registration."
"And what's that thing?" He pointed to the machine with the two red lights.
"That's a gift from all of us," said David's wife. "A protest against the lethal coffee you serve. You set it for the number of cups you want and the strength you prefer. A timer turns it on."
Then someone produced paper plates and cups, and someone else unveiled a sheet cake decorated with a bugle and the theater's traditional wish: "Break a leg, darling!"
As QwiIleran began to simmer down, the cast and crew of Arsenic and Old Lace relaxed. They were all there: Carol Lanspeak and Susan Exbridge, who were playing the wacky old sisters; Larry Lanspeak, a versatile character actor; Harley and David Fitch, who liked to do drunks, weirdos, and monsters; David's clever wife, Jill, who designed sets and costumes; Wally Toddwhistle, a genius at building sets out of orange crates, baling wire, and glue; Derek Cuttlebrink, who was attempting his first role; Eddington Smith, painfully ill at ease; and other members of the troupe whom Qwilleran knew only slightly. They were all talking at once:
Susan: "Darling, your entrance in the second act was marvelous!"
Fran: "An integrated actor thinks with his whole body, Derek."
Carol: "How's your wife, Harley?"
Harley: "Okay, but kind of grouchy. The doctor told her to quit smoking till after the baby comes."
Wally: "What's that big round iron thing in the hallway?"
QwiIleran: "It came from a castle in Scotland. Part of a gate, I think."
Larry: "At every performance she went up, and I had to ad-lib the whole scene. I could have killed her!"
David: "I grew a moustache to play the villain in The Drunkard because I'm allergic to spirit gum, and then I decided to keep it. Jill likes it."
Derek: "Where are the cats?"
Qwilleran: "In their apartment, watching the tube. Shall I let them out?"
Koko and Yum Yum made their entrance walking shoulder to shoulder like a team of horses. In the doorway they stopped abruptly, their ears, whiskers, noses, and blue eyes sensing the situation: noisy strangers, eating and dropping crumbs. In the next instant they sensed the black bear looming above them. Yum Yum bushed her tail, humped her back, sleeked her ears and whiskers, slanted her eyes, and made a wicked display of fangs. Koko crept cautiously toward the beast with his belly dragging the floor until convinced that it was harmless. Then he bravely sniffed its hind legs and rose up to paw the stiff-haired pelt. Next he turned his attention to the taxidermist, who was nervously guarding his handiwork. Koko subjected Wally Toddwhistle to a thorough inspection with his wet nose.
"He knows you work with animals," Qwilleran explained, by way of excusing Koko's impolite nuzzling.
Wally was flattered, however. "If a cat likes you," he said earnestly, "it means you have a princely character. That's what my mother always says."
Harley Fitch raised his right hand in affirmation. "If Wally's mother says so, it's gospel truth, believe me!"
"Amen," said David.
"Who's buying the bear?" Qwilleran asked the young taxidermist.
"Gary Pratt - for his bar at the Hotel Booze. I have to deliver it tonight when I leave here. Do you know Gary? My mother says he looks more like a bear than the bear does."
"Hear! Hear!" said Harley. Next, Koko discovered that some of the noisy strangers were sitting on the floor, which was his domain by divine right. He stalked them and scolded, "Nyik nyik nyik!"
Meanwhile, Yum Yum had calmed down and was checking out sandals, western boots, and double-tied running shoes, none of which interested her. Then she discovered Eddington Smith's laced oxfords. The bookseller stood shyly apart from the others, and Qwilleran went over to speak to him.
Eddington said, "I've found some Shakespeare comedies for you. An old lady in Squunk Comers had them in her attic. They're in good condition." He spoke softly, smiled blandly.
"I didn't know... the Bard had a following... in Squunk Comers," Qwilleran said absently as he kept an eye on the cats. Yum Yum was gleefully untying the man's shoelaces. Koko was exploring his socks and trouser legs with intent nose, forward whiskers, and a wild gleam in his eye.
"People up here," Eddington explained, "used to collect rare books, fine bindings, and first editions. Rich people, I mean. It was the thing to do."
"When the newspaper start5 publishing they ought to send a reporter to your shop to get an interview."
"I don't think I'd be very good for an interview," said the bookseller. "I bought an ad, though - just a quarter page. I never advertised before, but a nice young lady came in and told me I should." Guiltily he added," 'advertising is... a campaign of subversion against intellectual honesty and moral integrity.' Somebody said that. I think it was Toynbee."
"Your character won't be compromised by a quarter page," Qwilleran assured him.
At that moment Harley Fitch walked up with the cake tray, and Koko transferred his attention to the bank vice president, rubbing his ankles, nipping his jeans, and purring hoarsely.
"Have some cake, Edd," said Harley in his heartiest voice, as if the bookseller were deaf.
"I've had two pieces already. 'Reason should direct and appetite obey.' "
"Who said that, Edd?"
"Cicero."
"Cicero would want you to have another piece of cake. How often do you go to a birthday party?"
Wistfully Eddington said, "I've never been to a birthday party before."
"Not even your own?"
The little man shook his head and smiled his bland all-purpose smile.
"Okay! For your birthday we'll have a party on the stage of the new theater, with a ten-foot sheet cake. You can blowout the candles before an audience of three hundred."
Pleasure fought with disbelief in the bookseller's gray face.
"We'll have it proclaimed Eddington Smith Day in Pickax."
David, hearing the commotion, joined the act. "We'll have a parade with floats and the high-school band, and fireworks in the evening."
Jill Fitch drew Qwilleran aside. "Aren't they crazy?" she said. "But they'll do it! They'll have the parade, the fireworks, and a proclamation from the mayor - or even the governor. That's the way they are." She lowered her voice. "Want to come to a surprise housewarming for Harley and Belle on Saturday night? They've moved into the old Fitch mansion, you know. Bring your own bottle."
"How about a gift?"