The Cat's Meow

Well, hello there. Thank you blackrandl1958 for organizing the event and D for the feedback. Hope you enjoy.

Catherine sat in the bath and watched as the last of the bubbles flattened in the lukewarm water. She lost track of how long she had been in there, but no one had come for her yet. Judging from the darkening of light filtering through the bathroom window, it wouldn't be long until someone knocked on the door.

She urged herself to get up but she couldn't find the energy. She couldn't summon the energy to do much lately. It was happening again, one of her "fits" or "tantrums", as Mother liked to say, as if Catherine were an impossible child fretting because she had been denied ice cream. No one understood her dark moods, not even her dearest friend, Franny. When Catherine found herself being taken over by one, she found it best to retreat into her bedroom until it passed or until she was forced back out into society.

Mother, especially, couldn't understand the all-encompassing sadness that gripped and suffocated Catherine until she felt less than human, until she felt like a broken shell that could any moment turn into dust. Their world was filled with money and parties and glamor, and the years after the war—or "that rather grim affair," as Catherine's father called it, as if it were a toothache—had been kind to her family. They had always been wealthy and influential, but they found themselves to be even more so as New York in general seemed to swell with fortune and excess.

There was also the matter of Edward, a serious man of twenty-five who had recently become convinced that Catherine should be his wife. He should be enough, her mother said, to haul her back from her manufactured despair. Mother was beyond taken with him, and frequently invited him over for torturous dinners in which he said perhaps five words and stared at Catherine with something like distaste. If she didn't receive awkward love letters from him weekly, she would be convinced he loathed her. He had black curly hair that he sometimes forgot to smooth down, and brutally black eyes that constantly assessed his surroundings. Catherine couldn't imagine ever being happy with him, but happiness didn't seem to be something guaranteed to anyone.


The only thing that sometimes helped was writing, but she couldn't think of anything worthy to say. She had spent hours scratching needy and hopeless words on paper, dreaming they would be the key to making her feel like part of everything again—part of the pulsing, breathing, hoping city in which she lived. She had yet to dream up something that could do such a neat trick.


The door to the bathroom pushed open and Franny rushed into the room, a garment bag grasped in one dainty hand. Her face, beautiful but overdone with makeup, was scrunched with annoyance. She wore an ivory dress that barely hit her knees, and her flame-colored hair had been styled in careful waves that elegantly framed her face. Pearls she'd borrowed from Catherine and had never returned swayed from her neck. She looked every bit like the heartbreaker she was, and Catherine thought, not for the first time, how much she wished she could emulate her style.


"I just had the honor of running into your mother. I thought she was out of town this week."

Catherine shifted in the cool water and rested against the back of the tub. "Next week."


Franny scowled. "I made plans for us tonight."

"We can still keep them. My father has been drinking all day; he won't make it to dinner."


"And your mother?"


"Mother and I got into an argument before. I am sure she'll be relieved that I'm out." Catherine glanced at the garment bag. "What do you have there?"

Franny's expression transformed from put-upon to thrilled. Her red lips stretched into one of her breathtaking grins as she unzipped the bag. "Only the most fabulous dress in New York!" A silky pale green dress with delicate beading emerged from the bag. Catherine could tell that the neckline was even lower than Franny's. "Bee's knees, no?"


"Very pretty."

"It's for you," Franny said. "It doesn't fit me right. Richard said I could give it to you."


Richard was Franny's husband. He was friends with Edward and almost as severe, but Catherine had spied him smile a few times at the prettier servants. He was exactly the type of husband Franny wanted; he turned his head as easily as she did, and their arrangement served them well.

Catherine smiled, knowing that Franny was likely lying and had intentionally purchased the dress for her. "Thank you. Could you hand me that towel?"

They chatted about gossip while Catherine readied herself. Franny typically knew the extra good news because of her status as a married woman, and she enjoyed shocking Catherine with the stories she collected. She enjoyed shocking Catherine, in general. 


"And Dorothy's husband walked in on them?" Catherine asked after one particularly torrid story. She slipped on the dress and looked for heels to match.


"Threatened to kill them both!" Franny shrugged. "She's just a quiff, anyway. A boring one, at that. This is the most interesting thing that ever happened to her."

"So she's running off to Paris with her man?"

"No. Her husband is moving out to California with her. Thinks that'll make her a good girl."


Catherine grinned and shook her head. "Dorothy was never a good girl."

"She used to go with Edward." Franny watched for Catherine's reaction and rolled her eyes when Catherine remained calm. "I don't know why you're so cool about Edward. If he had even sniffed in my direction back in the day, I would have snatched him up and made him mine."


"He's so... stiff."

Franny raised her eyebrows. "Are you speaking from experience?"


"Behave," Catherine laughed.


"He's swell, Catherine. All the girls think so. And you don't have to like your husband, didn't anyone ever tell you that? As a matter of fact, most women don't."

"You like Richard."


Franny twisted her lips. "Only when he buys me things."

Catherine laughed and grabbed her purse. They walked downstairs, their heels clicking on the stairs. Catherine's mother appeared and frowned. Her eyes, a darker green than Catherine's own, scanned Catherine's dress and the frown deepened.

"Are you eating with Frances tonight?"


Catherine adjusted the clip in her hair and fought back a snarky response. "Yes, Mother. I won't be back until late."

Mother nodded. "Very well. Stay out of trouble, girls."


Franny smiled sweetly, aware of Mother's dislike of her. "We always do."


*****

Cheerful jazz greeted them when they pushed open the doors to their favorite secret little place. People packed together in happy little circles, clutching their forbidden liquor. Although it was only eight, it was clear that the majority of them had been there for hours already. The wood floor underneath their floors was slightly sticky from the overflowing drinks, and the air smelled like a strangely alluring combination of booze, perfume and sweat. The lights were so dim that one could hardly make out the features of a person just a few feet away, but the stage was bright and sharp around the musicians and the dancers moving dangerously close to the edge.


"Billy should have a table for us," Franny shouted in Catherine's ear.


The women moved through the crowd and found their friend sitting lazily in the corner. A small purple lamp sat in the middle of the table, illuminating his face. Billy was the best looking man Catherine had ever seen, with dark wavy hair and gray eyes that seemed to sizzle when they met your own. They had experimented with kissing when they had been younger. If Billy's tastes didn't lie elsewhere, he would have been an excellent match for Catherine. As it was, he wanted to remain unattached to pursue his illicit attractions and she respected that.


"You two look swell," he said, a grin brightening his features. "Catherine, are those... is that your bosom?"

He smirked when she stopped and blushed, though it was too dark to make out the red on her cheeks. He knew the effect of his words, just as he knew the effect of his looks.

Franny dropped into a chair across from him. "Men can thank me for that tonight."

"So charming," Catherine murmured, uselessly pulling her dress up. The same amount of cleavage remained on display.

Billy's careless eyes assessed her in the scant light. "You do look good, Kitty Cat. Eddie would be all over you like you were catnip."

"She's the cat's meow," Franny laughed. "Meow, Cat." She beckoned a waiter over with a hand and asked for a bottle of champagne. When he went off to get it for them, she hunched over the table as if she were telling a secret. "I told Cat it was time to give poor Edward a break."


Billy pulled out a few cigarettes and handed them to the women before lighting his own. "Does seem like a good idea."

"If we could only talk about something interesting for a change," Catherine said.

Her friends shared a smirk and blew out smoke.

Then a slower song began to play, one that Catherine recognized and loved. The notes were haunting and arresting. She froze in her seat, her eyes darting toward the stage.

A rather tall young man stood beneath one single halo of light. He had dirty blonde hair and eyes of an indeterminate color. She couldn't completely make out his expression from where she sat, but Catherine felt certain he had a sad smile on his face. The rest of the sounds from the bar faded as if everything had been paused, just for this.

He opened his mouth and the sweetest voice filled the room. Everyone else was silent. Catherine startled when she heard her favorite song, the one she wished she had written. 


And now the purple dusk of twilight time

Steals across the meadows of my heart

High up in the sky the little stars climb

Always reminding me that we're apart


You wander down the lane and far away

Leaving me a song that will not die

Love is now the stardust of yesterday

The music of the years gone by

Sometimes I wonder why I spend

The lonely night dreaming of a song

The melody haunts my reverie

And I am once again with you

When our love was new

And each kiss an inspiration

But that was long ago

Now my consolation

Is in the stardust of a song

Beside a garden wall

When stars are bright

You are in my arms

The nightingale tells his fairy tale

A paradise where roses bloom

Though I dream in vain

In my heart it will remain

My stardust melody

The memory of love's refrain

Applause erupted as soon as the last note played. The singer jumped off the stage and headed for the bar, stopping every now and then to receive praise. He had an air of indifference about him, even as he thanked everyone profusely for their compliments. Catherine had a strange desire to follow him.

A little while later, it was her turn to go to the bar. She noticed he was still standing there in a group of admirers. "I'll get us more drinks."

She ordered another bottle of champagne and casually leaned against the bar to wait. He stood in a crowd of people holding a large glass of amber liquor. His expression was curiously blank, which struck Catherine as odd, especially after such a performance. She tried to listen to snippets of his conversation, but a boisterous song began to play and the crowd grew rowdy. Finally, he broke from the others to order another glass.

She moved to his elbow and said, "'Stardust' is one of my favorite songs. Thank you for singing it."

He looked over his shoulder at her. His eyes were hazel, she realized, and not particularly friendly. "Is that so."


The bartender handed her a new bottle of champagne. "You sang it beautifully."

His drink arrived. He took hold of it gently, but he didn't take a sip. He leaned with his back against the bar and regarded Catherine with a look that might have earned him a slap if she didn't notice the lack of heat in his eyes. If anything, he looked bored. She decided not to take it to heart. "Every time I sing that song, a girl like you comes up to me to tell me how much she enjoyed it. How boring."

Catherine smiled and shrugged a shoulder. "Then maybe you should sing another song."

"Everyone wants to hear 'Stardust'." He downed his drink and dropped the glass down onto the bar with a thud. "What else would I sing? Any other favorites?"


"I'm sure you could think of something." Catherine tilted her head. "I've never seen you here before."

"I'll be here more often," he said. "I'm due to sing again in a few more minutes, actually. Any requests?"


"Ask one of the other girls you complained about."


His mouth considered a smile. "What's your name?"

"Catherine."


"Are you a Cathy?"


"I'm a Cat, sometimes."


He played with his empty glass and his expression turned thoughtful. "Cat? Hmm. That gives me an idea, actually."


"Well, I'm glad I wasn't so boring, then." Catherine grabbed the bottle of champagne and ignored his narrowed eyes. "Good luck."

She rushed back to the table without looking back, no matter how desperately she wished to see if his eyes followed. Franny watched her take a seat with wide eyes.


"Were you... flirting?"

"No. I just told him that I thought he did a good job."


Billy lit another cigarette and shook his head. "That man is no good."

"How do you know?" Catherine asked, keeping her eyes on the bubbles of champagne.


"Heard about him from the others. Left a girl brokenhearted back in Chicago, they say."

Franny stole his cigarette. "Knocked up?"

"I'm not sure about that," Billy said carefully. His eyes swung back to Catherine. "I just wouldn't be getting any romantic ideas."


"I never have romantic ideas," Catherine replied in a distracted tone. She watched as the man climbed the stage again. "What's his name?"


Billy sighed. "Henry."

Henry leaned over the band and said something, then approached the microphone with a grin. "This is dedicated to Catherine. I hope you enjoy it."

The music started playing "Daddy Wouldn't Buy Me a Bow Wow" and Catherine found herself giggling for the first time in ages.


And when Henry sang, Daddy wouldn't buy me a bow wow! Bow wow! I've got a little cat, and I'm very fond of that," Catherine was sure he was looking straight at her.

*****


Franny brought her over a dress the color of wine the next week. She didn't comment on Catherine's sudden eagerness to get to the joint, nor did she relentlessly warn her against charming singers, as Billy had tried to do after Henry's last song the week before. She did, however, watch Catherine with a somber steadiness that made her look much older than she was.


"Stop looking at me like that," Catherine eventually said, wrapping her hair into a twist.

Franny tensed. "Like what?"


"Like I am on my deathbed." She smoothed down the dress and admired the way her gold hair contrasted with its dark color. "It ages you, by the way."

"I'm ageless, dear." Franny snuck a peek of herself in the mirror. "Besides, I'm not your mother. I have no wisdom to bestow upon you."

Catherine's eyebrows rose. "You think my mother has any wisdom?"

"She married a rich man," Franny said seriously. She picked at a thread on her dress, this week an eggplant color that didn't suit her as well as the paler ones she normally wore. "She lives in one of the grandest apartments in Manhattan. She gets her meat from the best butcher in town. She bakes her own bread. She detests me. Yes, I think she's very wise."


"I think she's very silly." Catherine turned to Franny and shook her head. "She only sees the world in absolutes."

"Black and white, you mean? Well, I might agree with her. If I had any sense."

"You have plenty of sense. Please don't talk about yourself that way." She picked up her coat and shrugged it on.

Franny studied her for a moment and then let the matter drop. "Billy might not join us tonight."


"What else could he possibly be doing?"


A grin crept across Fanny's face. "He might be doing someone, rather than something."


"How crass," Catherine said, but she laughed afterward. "Does he have somebody special? I always hope he does."


"He's going out to Long Island. Some mysterious man is hosting grand parties and Billy wants in on the fun. He said we could tag along but I'd rather not leave the city." Franny tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and grew serious. "I worry about him, you know."

"I always worry about Billy, much to his displeasure," Catherine said.

Franny bumped her shoulder against Catherine's, and then the two headed out into the winter night.

Snow had recently fallen, but it had been driven over a million times, causing the edges of white sidewalks to become flattened and dirty. The crowd bustled by at their usual pace, even if one or two people occasionally slipped on a wayward piece of ice. The weather could never get the city down; people continued in their rush to get nowhere at all.

They arrived a little past nine. Franny decided she wanted something other than champagne, so the women ordered vodka drinks that had them buzzing much faster than usual. They sat at their usual table in the corner, making conversation with their neighbors. One man in particular, a sturdy man of around thirty-five with black hair and a mustache, took interest in Franny and joined their table. The two quickly got on, and Catherine figured she would be making her own way back home that night.


Then Henry came out, dressed the same as last time. He made a few pleasant comments to the crowd, although Catherine couldn't help but notice the hint of sarcasm in his tone, and then sang a couple of pleasant songs. He eventually sang "Stardust" again before taking a break. 


"You going to meet him at the bar again?" Franny asked, taking a break from her intense conversation with her new man.


Catherine glanced down at their empty glasses and shrugged. "Might as well get us more drinks."

He was ordering a drink when she approached, but he turned when she moved beside him. "'Stardust' girl!"

"Is that my nickname now? I thought you had girls coming up to you on the regular to tell you how much they loved that song."

He sipped his drink before answering, never taking his eyes off of her. "True, but you'll always be 'Stardust' girl to me."

"I'm honored."

He leaned closer. "You should be."

"Are you one of those men who call women nicknames so you never have to remember their real names?"

He laughed and it was a beautiful thing. She wished he would smile more; he was severe in a different way from the way Edward was severe. He pulled a cigarette out and lit it. He seemed to contemplate it for a moment before speaking. "Perhaps. I move around a lot. I'm not good with names."

"I know your name." 


He exhaled a cloud of smoke and his lips twisted into a smile. "Everyone knows my name."

There was a silence that wasn't exactly comfortable, at least on Catherine's part. She longed for something else to say, something that might make him laugh again, but she was conscious of the fact that they might not find the same topics interesting. He appeared to be the type who was perpetually bored, and she could just imagine his reaction if she started chattering about the latest societal gossip. Then she thought about why she even wanted to talk to the strange man in the first place. The best answer she could come up with was that he was an interesting distraction, a fanciful idea that shook her from the overwhelming apathy that sometimes ruled her days.


She watched him silently, trying to figure him out. He tapped a beat on the bar with long slender fingers. He looked artificially calm to her; she could see the tense lines of his shoulders, the way his body was poised to move quickly and without warning if need be.