Gone, Kitty, Gone Page 4

  Harry, about five-eight and slim, had dressed for the occasion in chinos, polished loafers, and a gray sport coat. At least his polo shirt, almost the same butter yellow as his thinning hair, livened up his naturally pale coloring. He handed his car keys to the valet and escorted Mom and me inside. I tried to remember the last time I’d gone to a restaurant with valet parking. Probably at a family wedding, and that would have been many years ago. I knew Harry had met with clients at the Bradburne in the past, and he acted totally at home in this upscale, businesslike environment.

  Mom also had no problem blending in. As a paralegal with a Morristown law firm, she normally dressed in the kind of tailored pants, ladylike jacket, and sensible heels she wore today. That kind of wardrobe helped her get taken seriously on the job; because she was petite and colored any gray that might show up in her wavy auburn hair, she looked very young for her age. My work clothes, on the other hand, ran to jeans, sweats, and amusing T-shirts. I’d done some searching through my closet before coming up with slim ankle pants and a loose, flowered, peasanty top just dressy enough for the occasion.

  We passed through a vaulted lobby, which displayed a poster for the upcoming cat expo, and made a left down a short corridor to the restaurant, The Grove. It took its name, Harry informed us, from Grove Street, a short road that had been demolished and absorbed into the hotel’s footprint.

  He gave his name to the hostess, a tall, cool blonde about my age, and noted that we had a reservation. She acknowledged this and handed three menus to a waiter, who led us to a table at the center of the room. While we followed him, Mom whispered to me, “Oh, this is lovely. You wouldn’t have any idea you were even near the highway, would you?”

  I agreed. The restaurant created a garden ambience with its light walls, whitewashed furniture, and sage-green table linens. Natural wood planters overflowing with real ferns lined the walls, and at the center of each table, a small vase held a graceful stem of chartreuse orchids.

  My mother made a decent salary at McCabe, Preston, and Rueda, but she still watched her expenses closely. Harry might turn her head if he kept treating her to these tastes of the good life. Of course, her firm had served him well during his recent divorce. Supposedly, his ex-wife, Loretta, had wanted far more than her fair share of their worldly goods for “irreconcilable differences.” She’d only backed down when MP&R had informed her lawyer that Harry had proof Loretta had been running around. So he hadn’t suffered too much financially. He also appeared to get a fair number of architectural commissions, so maybe he was really good at his job.

  The lunch buffet left little to be desired, no matter what your taste. The cold food station featured garden greens, an array of cheeses, chopped-up vegetables, and dressings, to let guests build their own salads. Another table offered warm cheese tortellini, deli meats, and various types of seafood. In yet another spot, a young woman in a crisp, white apron concocted smoothies to order. And at the omelet station, a uniformed older man prepared eggy masterpieces with a choice of fillings.

  I took a plate and wandered from one display to the next, too dazzled at first to make any decisions. Finally I settled on equal portions of salad, tortellini, and shrimp with hot sauce. Mom played it a bit safer with some greens, a mushroom omelet, and roasted potatoes, while Harry walked on the wild side with grilled vegetables and crab salad.

  Once we were seated with our meals, I got the conversational ball rolling on a topic I figured would be of mutual interest to me and Harry. I asked him how he’d come to adopt Looli—Egyptian for pearl—the white Sphynx cat he intended to enter in the expo show. This turned out to be a smart move on my part, because apparently he could talk on this topic for hours.

  “I’d seen another Sphynx at a friend’s house,” he said, “and was intrigued right away. Don’t know why—maybe because it looked like a little space alien! Or maybe because my friend pointed out that every cat, without its fur, would more or less look like a Sphynx.”

  Mom gave a little surprised laugh. “That’s probably true, isn’t it?”

  “And even though its appearance was so strange,” he went on, “it was a very friendly, playful cat. So I just got it into my head that I’d like to have one.” Harry’s enthusiasm dipped at an unpleasant memory. “Of course, Loretta thought it was a ridiculous idea. She wasn’t into pets, generally, and said she wouldn’t want such an ugly creature in the house. I argued that it was half my house—and a large one—so I could keep the cat in my office and a few other rooms downstairs. Loretta wouldn’t even have to see it if she didn’t want to.”

  “And she was okay with that?” I saw a glint in my mother’s eye, since she knew Harry and Loretta eventually had parted ways in a very nasty divorce. In fact, their breakup had been handled by Mom’s firm.

  “She was, at first. So I found a breeder in New York State and went there planning to pick out a kitten. The owner asked me a lot of questions, including whether I was interested in breeding cats myself, but I assured him I just wanted a pet. When I told him a little about our lifestyle, and that I’d never owned a cat before, he suggested getting one that was a bit past the kitten stage.”

  “Sounds like a very responsible guy,” I said.

  “I think he was. Anyway, he showed me Looli, who was about two at the time. He explained that although she had top bloodlines and was old enough to be bred, they’d had to spay her for a medical reason. He let me hold her, and she instantly climbed up on my shoulder like a monkey and purred in my ear. I just fell in love.”

  Even though it involved a cat, this was a romantic side of Harry I hadn’t seen before. “Looli does have a great disposition.”

  “Even I’m not afraid of her,” said Mom. “And Cassie can tell you what a coward I usually am where cats are concerned.”

  “So I brought Looli home,” Harry continued, “but for Loretta, it was hate at first sight. She kept calling her names like Goblin and Mutant, and even when Looli would rub against her leg, Loretta would shudder. Frankly, I think that was the beginning of the end for our marriage. We already had other problems, but the fact that she couldn’t tolerate even that sweet little creature was the last straw for me.”

  “On the other hand, Harry, it’s probably a good thing she didn’t like the cat,” Mom pointed out. “Looli is about the only thing she didn’t try to take away from you in the divorce!”

  “Too true. It’s only thanks to your firm that I held on to as much as I did. I still pay her alimony, but . . .” He shrugged as if it was worth the price to be rid of Loretta.

  I decided to steer the conversation back in a less litigious direction. “So I guess you’ll be entering Looli in the purebred altered classes at the expo?”

  Harry nodded. “As you know, she did very well at several regional shows over the past couple of years. I’m not so intense about campaigning her for a championship anymore—not going to make either of us travel those long distances. But I can hardly pass up a show that’s practically in my own backyard.”

  It was my mother, amazingly enough, who encouraged this train of conversation by asking him what was involved in showing a cat. I also was curious, because even though I had customers who occasionally entered their cats in shows, and I’d dropped in to spectate at a few, I didn’t really understand how the judging worked. Harry regaled us for the next twenty minutes or so with the standard show rules and categories, how to register with the sponsoring organizations, studying up on what traits judges will be looking for in your breed or category, et cetera. If he had begun this as a hobby while he was still married, he seemed to have thrown himself even more deeply into it after his divorce.

  While we wound up our meal with coffee, I tried to draw my mother out a bit on the subject of her book club, an interest she’d recently taken up again. She admitted, with blushes, that the latest novel they’d opted to read was a popular erotic romance of dubious literary value. “Not my choice, but I was outvoted.”

  Harry smiled thinly. “Yes . . .
I don’t usually read fiction anyway, but I’ve heard that one is pure trash.”

  “I guess at least it will make for a lively discussion,” said my mother, with a shake of her head, “but give me a good Louise Penny or John Grisham mystery anytime.”

  I laughed. “Right with you there, Mom!”

  Harry grabbed the check and treated us, waving away her mild protest. We left the restaurant and strolled back through the atrium, past four sets of double doors marked as ballrooms A, B, C, and D. He explained that this was where the cat show would be held, with “benching” for all the competitors’ cages and five or six judging rings. Judging for a few different categories would take place simultaneously, Harry said. “In a big show like this, if your cat does well, you can end up competing several times over the weekend until they choose a Best in Show. This is going to be a three-day show, which is unusual. Most of them run only Saturday and Sunday, but this one kicks off Friday afternoon.”

  Mom got a wary look in her eye. “Not sure how long I’m going to last, though, being in a space this big with all of those cats running around!”

  I laughed. “Don’t worry, they won’t be running around. They’ll mostly be in cages. It’s fun, really, to walk around and look at them all. The cages need to have curtains to keep the cats calm, and beds or shelves they can lie on, so the owners decorate them in all kinds of different motifs. The Bengals and Ocicats usually have drapery with leopard spots, the Persians tend to get very froufrou, princessy cages, and a black Bombay might get kind of a punk or gothic theme.”

  Harry chuckled. “Some people do go a little crazy dressing up their cages. I have to admit, when I first started with Looli, I went all out, too, and had a professional dress her cage. So it has gray satin drapery with a kind of Egyptian trim, and a little chaise for her to lie on—y’know, like Cleopatra.”

  There was a time when my mother probably would have found this idea laughable. But now she sounded sincere when she told Harry, “I can’t wait to see it!”

  Maybe because of my psychology background, I suspected that Harry was projecting some frustrated instincts onto his cat. Mom had told me that he and his ex-wife, Loretta, had no children together. She had one son from a previous marriage, and initially the teenager had gotten along well enough with Harry, but after the divorce he’d naturally sided with his mother. Was Looli the child Harry had never been able to take to baseball practice or dance recitals, to show off and spoil? Being hairless, the Sphynx even required a sort of doll-like wardrobe.

  Of course, many cats basked in extravagantly decorated cages when they went to shows, and I imagined that silver satin would show off the white Sphynx beautifully. At the same time, I began to understand why Harry’s ex-wife might have grown a bit impatient with his hobby. I doubted that Loretta had such a lavish, satin-draped boudoir!

  Lastly, we followed a glass-enclosed walkway from the hotel to the new convention center. Harry apparently had followed the news of its construction closely, because he was able to explain how the vast structure was organized to accommodate large crowds, for maximum efficiency and security. This, I knew, was where most of the vendors would set up displays and experts would give live demonstrations.

  Above the indoor entrance to the convention center hung a horizontal banner that proclaimed, WELCOME NORTH JERSEY CAT EXPO, APRIL 13-15, with a blown-up portrait of a lovely Siamese. Below it, a couple of workers in jeans and gray Bradburne Hotel polo shirts were adding a strip that announced, SPECIAL GUEST STARS, JAKI NATAL AND GORDIE! Clearly, the young celebrity had left the marketing team in suspense about her appearance until the last minute.

  Other folks in similar clothing hustled about, adjusting smaller posters and directional signs and shifting furniture. The clang of an occasional tool and the shout of one worker to another echoed through the vaulted space. The structure muted sounds from the nearby highway, though. The air smelled fresh, clean, and just a little cool, probably thanks to some state-of-the-art filtration system.

  We strolled a little way down the commercial concourse, where a real estate convention appeared to be wrapping up. I asked Harry, “Just how big is this whole place, do you know?”

  “The hotel plus the convention center? I think about a hundred fifty-thousand square feet. They haven’t even finished it all yet. I understand there’s a whole catering kitchen somewhere that won’t be completed until the fall. I guess the idea is to take some strain off the hotel facilities.”

  We passed another closed set of double doors, identified by a permanent sign as a theater. Harry cracked the doors open and we stuck our heads inside to admire the vast space, which had tiered seats and a sizable stage at the front.

  “This,” he explained, “will be for really important guest speakers that are expected to draw a large crowd.”

  Or someone like Jaki Natal, I thought.

  When I wondered aloud where I’d be parking my van, Harry cocked his head toward the deep, street-facing windows. “There’s supposed to be some kind of pedestrian mall on the side street. Maybe they’ll put you there.”

  “Sounds better than the parking lot, anyway,” Mom said. “Where do you think that would be, from here?”

  “I don’t know. Wish I had a map!” Harry frowned. “Damned place is so big, I’m not even sure which way we’re facing now.”

  Near the entrance to the main concourse, a young guy in jeans and a dark windbreaker emerged through a door marked STAIRS. He paused there to make some notation on an iPad that he carried.

  “Ask him,” I suggested.

  Harry approached the curly-haired, bespectacled younger man. “Excuse me—would you know if Perry Newton is here today?”

  The stranger looked a bit startled by the question, as if he’d been working out some problem in his head and we’d broken his concentration. “Who? Oh, that promoter guy? Yeah, I think I did see him. Out there.” He pointed to his left.

  Harry thanked him, and we made the turn. Outside, I spotted Perry and, I suspected, also the answer to my question. The sliding glass doors opened onto a wide plaza; a curb cut at one spot suggested you might be able to drive a food truck—or a cat-grooming van—right up onto the pavers. It even featured an overhang that would keep me, and any audience I might attract, dry on a rainy day.

  Perry stood beneath the overhang, speaking rapidly into his cell phone. His voice sounded far tenser than when he’d first smooth-talked me into participating in the expo. “We’ll need security in the hallway outside the Presidential Suite.... Yeah, ’round the clock, starting when she arrives. The garage should be well covered, too—we’ve asked for extra cops all weekend. The other hot spots will be Conference Room D, where she does her interview on Friday, and the theater in the convention center for the concert Saturday night.” He paused to listen, then barked a response. “Sure, she’s got her own bodyguards, but this is a special situation. Listen, she’s doing this as a favor for us, for free. So don’t gimme grief, okay? Just get it all done. And any hitches, call me right away!”

  Perry disconnected the call with such a deep frown that I hesitated to approach him. When he glanced up and spotted me, though, his anger evaporated and the polished charm returned. “Cassie, great to see you again. Scoping the place out?”

  “Thought it might be a good idea.” I introduced Mom and Harry and explained about Looli taking part in the upcoming cat show. “I guess the pressure’s ramped up now that Jaki’s definitely coming.”

  “Oh, sure, sure,” Perry said. “But at least sales of tickets and of vendor spaces have ramped up, too. I’m delighted to say, we should make quite a bit of money for the animal charities that are taking part.”

  I imagined they would. As a volunteer, I hadn’t checked the prices for commercial vendor spaces, but it cost ten dollars just to come to the cat show as a spectator and thirty-five to enter a cat. Admission to the expo on the concourse ran another twenty. The Friday afternoon interview with Jaki that Perry had just mentioned cost fifty dollars
a ticket, and her Saturday evening mini concert was three hundred a head. Seating was limited, of course, for the last two events.

  “I was just wondering what time I should come tomorrow,” I told him, “and where I should set up.”

  Perry looked aghast. “Nobody got in touch with you about that? I’m sorry. I’d suggest you get here pretty early, maybe eight-thirty, because the other vendors will be loading in and it will probably be a zoo. At least you can bypass the garage, though, because you’ll be right here on the plaza.” He spread his arms to indicate the same space I’d pictured. “Should be a prime, high-traffic area. Just stay to one side of the entrance so you don’t block the doors. We’ll have some signage out here for you, too.” He swung toward Harry. “Cassie said you’re showing a cat. Do you have a room? We set aside a block just for the cat owners, but I’m afraid they’re probably all filled by now.”

  “Thanks, but I don’t need one.” Harry smiled. “I live close enough to drive back and forth.”

  “I’ll bet the tickets to Jaki’s interview on Friday are sold out, too,” I said, hoping I might be wrong.

  Perry hesitated, then dropped his voice to a whisper. “They are, but between you and me, if you want to sneak in the door and stand along the back, I’ll see to it that nobody stops you. Have your volunteer ID?” When I shook my head, he beckoned to an assistant, who fetched a file case the size of a large shoe box. Perry searched through the M’s and pulled out a tag on a lanyard. My name and the name of my business appeared on the lower half, with the word VOLUNTEER printed across the top in dark blue.

  Mom beamed as if it were a prize I’d won. “That certainly looks official.”

  “Got one for my assistant, too?” I asked Perry. “Becky Newmeyer?”

  He found a second tag among the N’s and handed that to me, also. Some of the tension crept back into his tone as he added, “We’re trying to keep everything running as smoothly as possible, making sure everyone’s accounted for and has proper ID. Jaki’s taking a leap of faith for us, stepping a bit out of her comfort zone. My reputation’s on the line, and so is the reputation of the Bradburne.”