The Cat's Meow

His eyes met hers after a few moments. "Cat got your tongue, Cat?"


She peered down at her drink and hoped that the darkness hid her blush. So, he had remembered her name. "I was wondering what you'd sing next," she lied.

"Ah. Well, nothing. I'm not singing again tonight. Saturdays and Sundays will be my nights, moving forward, so you'll just have to wait until then."

"I usually only come here on Fridays," she said.

He finished his drink and signaled for another. "It seems we'll be doomed to miss each other, then."


She took a deep breath. "I heard you're from Chicago."

"You heard correctly." He looked around the bar. 


"Why move to New York?"

He slid a glance in her direction. "A new opportunity."


"I've never been to Chicago. I've always wanted to visit."


Henry's expression became amused, but she noticed he still didn't truly smile. "Is this really what you want to talk about?"


"What do you mean?"

"I've never entertained such a long-winded proposition before."

Catherine's heart stuttered. "I don't—I'm not... This isn't a proposition."

He lifted his eyebrows. "Oh? So you like to make small talk with singers about their hometowns, then? Do you do it often? What if they come from someplace in Idaho? Do you tell them you wish you could visit there, too?"


Lord. Maybe Franny was right when she called her lonely. Maybe her mother was right when she said she should be married to Edward and tucked away in a townhouse somewhere. She suddenly felt incredibly ridiculous. She had absolutely nothing in common with Henry, and as such, they had nothing to discuss. Still, she wanted to maintain a little of her dignity.


"I didn't realize it was so dull."


"Very dull," he said immediately, his intense eyes bouncing around the bar again. It was almost as if he were waiting for something.

"Well, pardon me. It's a hard job entertaining the entertainment."

He looked back at her. "It is, indeed."


"Probably a job for someone far nobler than I am."


He smiled then, but Catherine could tell it wasn't genuine, not that she'd seen a real smile from him. "You're right. Excuse me."

He walked away and approached an exquisitely dressed woman that Catherine realized must have been watching them. He stood close to her, and it was obvious they knew each other intimately. Catherine cursed herself as being all kinds of foolish and took the drinks back to her table.

Franny was already on the man's lap, but she paused in nuzzling into his jaw to send Catherine a questioning glance. "You're back?"


"I always intended on coming back," Catherine said, ignoring the reckless beating of her heart.


"Oh, no," Franny groaned. "He was a disappointment?"

"Who was?" the man asked. The women ignored him.


Catherine took a deep breath and let it out before answering. "I wanted to come back to the table, that's all."

Thankfully, Franny didn't press. The rest of the night passed by without incident, and Catherine fought every impulse to glance over at Henry. She lost her battle shortly after when she noticed him leave, the woman closely following him out.


*****


The following week, Catherine found herself sitting next to Edward and across from Richard and Franny at one of the most exclusive restaurants in Manhattan. It was time, Franny had said, for her to make another public appearance with her husband, but she hadn't wanted to go alone. She left out that she had invited Edward to come along as well. Catherine wondered why she was surprised.

Richard kept murmuring things in Franny's ear; she would blush and bite down on her lower lip, then whisper something back. Catherine never truly understood how their marriage worked, but she remembered Franny saying that making love with her husband was pleasurable, if not always desired, like a doctor's visit or a trip to the mechanic—something occasionally necessary and for their own good. The thought of it depressed Catherine a little, but it seemed to benefit them just fine.


"Your mother invited me over for Christmas," Edward said eventually.


"She said she might." Catherine sipped from her wine glass. Her eyes lifted and met Edward's. He was as impassive as ever, but there was a sharpness in his eyes that wasn't typically present. "Will you be joining us?"

"Yes." He waited for a reaction. When he didn't get one, he continued. "That is, if it's all right with you. My parents will be in Italy."


"Of course."


He shifted in his seat, looking almost uncomfortable. "I realize that you... I have been interested in you for nearly two years now." His eyes ran over her face, cataloguing her features as if he were ascribing monetary value to them. She hated when he did that.

She toyed with her fork and tried to calm her nerves. He didn't ordinarily say much in her presence, but now and then he would offer a speech with his intentions. She wasn't sure she could bear one now. "Edward."

"I know you have your... anxieties. That's normal." She opened her mouth to respond, but Edward touched her hand to stop her. "I just want you to think about it."

"I have been thinking about it."


The hand on hers tensed. "I mean really think about it, not think about it theoretically like one might think what life would be like if the sun suddenly dropped from the sky."

A smile flashed across Catherine's face. "Are you making a joke? I think that might be the first time you ever made a joke."

"I'm not joking," Edward said. "I want to settle down. With you. Soon. What can I do to make that happen? Money, I have plenty of. Patience, you've always had from me. I'm not great with words, but I can try. Same with affection. The only thing I don't have a lot of is time because I've given it to you already. I don't have much more left."

A great weight pressed on her chest. She knew she was being unfair to him, but she had told him multiple times she wasn't sure she would ever want to marry him. He chose to hang around, and perhaps unfairly, she thought he always would. If she didn't accept his offer, what others would she receive? She wasn't hideous, but she wasn't beautiful. She wasn't impossible to deal with, but she wasn't easy, either. She was moody, fickle and judgmental, and she knew how to hurt another person almost as well as she could hurt herself. Edward knew all of this and somehow still wanted to give her the comfort and protection of his name. She was being a fool for giving him a hard time about it.


"I know," Catherine whispered. "I just need a little bit more time."

Edward sighed and looked away. "You have it."


The four eventually finished and walked back into the winter night. Franny huddled close to Richard, drunk and unusually chipper to be by his side. Edward reverted back to his quiet self, not saying much but keeping a guiding hand on her back. The two couples parted ways and Edward accompanied Catherine home. Snow lazily drifted from the sky and Catherine thought she had never been so lonely before.


Edward walked her up the stoop but called her name softly before she could push open the door. She turned and waited for him to speak, shivering from the cold and something else, something blacker and colder than any December night. Flakes landed and then melted on his face while he found the words he wanted to say.


Then he stepped closer and Catherine realized he wasn't looking for words at all. It wasn't the first time they kissed, but it had been a long time. There was no spark, just the push and pull of wet tongue and pliant lips. Catherine couldn't feel her body anymore. He backed away after a few long moments and slowly opened his eyes.

"We'll be together one day," he vowed.

To Catherine, it sounded like a curse.


*****

Franny rang the next day to tell her she had a dreadful headache and didn't think she would be by for their usual Friday night fun.

Catherine wrapped a finger around the phone's cord. "It'll be good for me to rest, too."


"You'll miss your lover."


"He wouldn't be there, anyway. I told you that he performs on Saturdays and Sundays."


"Well, that's perfect. We'll go out dancing tomorrow night." Franny let out a faint laugh. "I'm determined for you to have a winter affair."

"I don't believe I'm his type."


"Just you wait. I have a blue dress that'll look marvelous on you. You'll be his type."


Catherine hung up and drifted through the house, listless and aching for something she couldn't put a name to. Edward's kiss hadn't been earth-shattering, but it had overturned a stone inside of her that she thought she had hidden. Now it felt like armies of nasty insects were swarming and buzzing and bursting from the exposed space and she didn't know how to contain them.

She found her father in the study, a glass of whiskey poured in front of him. He glanced up when he heard her steps and his lips twitched in what could possibly be pleasure or annoyance. It all depended on how many glasses of whiskey had been poured already.


"Little lamb," he said, and she instantly relaxed. She hadn't even realized how tensed she'd become. She had learned many years before when and how to approach her father. "Come here."

She obeyed and came next to him, peering down at the endless papers on his desk. He plucked one from the edge and handed it to her.


It was written in Edward's hand, and the letter was requesting Father's permission to marry her. While he had made his courtship of Catherine known, Edward had never officially done this. He hadn't ever outright asked her to marry him, either.

Her father took the letter from her and carefully placed it back down on the desk. "It wouldn't be a bad arrangement."


Catherine met his eyes. "It might be for me."

"You can't keep him dangling forever," he said, echoing her thoughts from the night before. "He wants to please you, you know. That's more than what most can hope for."


"I know."

"He doesn't mind your moods, your abrasiveness, your capriciousness."

"I know."

"You need to grow up and accept that you're an adult. We don't always get what we want, but we always get what we choose. Do you understand that, Catherine? In many ways, that's better."

She swallowed. "Yes."

He nodded and rested a finger on his glass. "Good. Shut the door on your way out."

*****

Catherine sat in the bath and waited until every bubble flattened, until her skin was wrinkled and pruny, until she could stop crying, until she could feel the breath fill her lungs and her heart beat wretchedly again.

*****

The bar was more crowded than usual once Catherine, Franny and Billy arrived. Their usual table was taken, so they picked a table close to the stage. 


"We'll be close to your lover," Franny said.


Billy grimaced. "Don't tell me...."

"She's kidding, Billy," Catherine sighed. "And I really wish you'd stop calling him my lover."


"Good. I told you he's trouble."

"Yes, but you never told us how," Franny pointed out. "Then you ran off to Long Island and deserted us."

He ignored her mention of the mysterious party and turned his attention on Catherine. "I heard he was mixed with the mafia in Chicago. They own his career."

Franny snorted and looked around the bar. "What career?"

"Then he left his wife behind, completely destitute."

"Wife?" Franny shook her head. "You're embellishing. You said 'girl' last time."


Billy flicked ash off the end of his cigarette and waved his hand through the air. "Same thing."

"Can we talk of anything else? Please?" Catherine asked. She thought of her last meeting with the enigmatic singer and ignored the unpleasantness burning in her chest. She hoped he wouldn't think they were sitting closer to the stage on his account.


Franny smoked on her own cigarette and regarded Catherine a moment before nodding. "Very well. I'm more interested in hearing about this party our Billy boy went to."

"For the last time, Fran, it was a party. I don't know why you're so damned curious. It's none of your beeswax."


"You never go anywhere without us," she said with an exhale of smoke. "Excuse me."

"There's no excuse for you."

"I'm going to get another vodka," Catherine announced and headed for the bar, tired and feeling a headache coming.

She hadn't wanted to come. She called Franny earlier in the day and told her she wasn't feeling well, but Franny wouldn't listen. All Catherine wanted to do was take another bath, to sink into the water and never come out again, but it seemed that Catherine's desire for self-destruction would have to be put on hold. At least, she thought as she waited for her vodka, she could get appallingly drunk tonight. Tomorrow, tomorrow she could lie in bed all day and think of how to make everything stop.

"Now, you're a beautiful girl," someone breathed, hot and moist, against her ear.

Catherine looked up at the man and tried to keep her face blank; some men liked fear, some liked indignant fury. She didn't want to give him either reaction.

"Thank you. I put a lot of work into it."

His bloodshot eyes moved over her body. "I can tell."

"Yes. I'd return the compliment, but I can tell you don't."

It took the man a minute, but her words finally hit him. His face flushed redder than it already was, and if there hadn't been other people around or if he was more intoxicated, he likely would have hit her.

Someone slid against her other side and an arm tugged her close. "Sorry to be late, sweetheart. Hope you weren't waiting long."

Catherine turned her head to see Henry standing there, his attention fully on her. "Not at all, darling."

"Is everything all right?" he asked, his eyes flickering toward the drunken fool behind her who was already shuffling off.

Once he was gone, Henry moved out of her space. "Just for that, I'm not singing your song tonight."

"Just as well. I'd probably get sick of it."

He considered her a moment before tossing back his drink. He made to leave but paused and moved back to her side, his eyes scanning her face. "You look sadder than usual. Did I actually interrupt your attempt at flirting before? Maybe you were right when you said you weren't flirting with me last weekend; maybe you're violent when you flirt, instead."

Catherine felt a real smile cross her face. "I'd tell you I would actually love to kill you, but then you'd just accuse me of propositioning you again."

"Hmm."

"Life is just... funny, is all."

Henry's eyebrows lifted. "Is it? Then why do you look so tragic?"

"Sure it is. A funny proposition." She sipped at her drink. "Do know that song—"

"Yes. I hate it."

Catherine shrugged. "I like it," she said, then quoted, "We're born to die, but don't know why or what it's all about. The more we try to learn, the less we know. Life's a very funny proposition, you can bet. And no one's ever solved the problem properly as yet."

Henry glanced at her glass. "How many of those have you had?"

"You asked why I looked sad. I'm answering."

He reached over and fingered a bead that hung from the waist of her dress. "Life can be...funny, as you put it. It can be a lot of other things, too."

"Happy, you mean?"

"Sure." He took his hand back. "If you want to be optimistic. Sometimes it's enough to just be content."

Catherine looked around the bar pointedly. "And you're content?"

He inhaled deeply. "Sure," he said again, "sometimes. That's enough." He opened his mouth, then seemed to think better of whatever he intended to say. "I have to go on stage in a few. Try not to cause any more trouble."

"I'm not causing trouble."

"Woman, I can tell: you are trouble." He gave her one last look before making his way through the rowdy crowd.

Her friends were watching her closely when she returned, but she ignored them, instead focusing on the way Henry's gaze occasionally found hers as he sang "Life's a Funny Proposition After All".

*****

Catherine's mood deteriorated over the week, so much so that her mother reached out for her as they passed one another in the hallway.

"Shall I call the doctor?"

"What can he do?" It hurt to speak. It hurt to think. It hurt to stand there and meet her mother's eyes, always so concerned and displeased.

"If this is about Edward—"

"No. This was never about him."

"You can't go traipsing through the city with Frances for the rest of your life, Catherine."

"No. I can't."

*****

"You look absolutely terrible," Franny said, clucking her tongue. She crossed her arms and shook her head. "I still think it's better for you to get out for the night."

"I don't want to go."

"Not even to see Henry?"

"Not even to see Henry."

"Billy promised he was going to confess everything about his new lover tonight. Isn't that enough of an incentive?"

Catherine turned her head on her pillow and gave Franny an unimpressed look. "Not particularly."

"Billy never has lovers for long. This is someone he's been with for a month, supposedly! A month, Cat. We can't not seize this opportunity!" Franny sighed when Catherine didn't move from the bed. "What will you do? Lie here all night and avoid your parents?"

"That was the idea."

"Terrible idea. Just look at the dress I brought with me tonight and tell me that you can refuse such an honor to wear it. Please, Cat."

Catherine sighed.

*****

Franny wisely didn't comment on the whiskey Catherine ordered, but her expression did grow more and more alarmed once Catherine returned with the third in under a half hour. Just when she opened her mouth to say something, Billy arrived, looking flushed and handsome. And pleased, because an equally flushed and handsome man stood beside him.

"Ladies, let me introduce Arthur."

Arthur shyly took their hands. "I've heard so much about you two."

"Really?" Franny drawled. "Well, well. I'm very happy to meet you."

The two men sat and shared a secret smile with one another. Billy then launched into a long story about how they met, occasionally and familiarly stroking Arthur's arm as he recited the party where he'd accidentally and rather dramatically knocked Arthur over a table of desserts. He said they were afraid they would be thrown out, but the host never arrived and everyone else around them quickly directed their attention elsewhere.

Franny cut in after a bit. "So, one moment—the man has a party every weekend and no one has met him?"

"Everyone says they've met him," Arthur says, "but I've never seen him and I'm always there."

Franny frowned. "Strange. Maybe he's lonely."

Billy laughed. "Lonely? A man, with all that money? Hardly. Just an excuse to flash his wealth, I'd bet."

Arthur nodded in agreement, and Catherine thought how interesting it was that the men couldn't fathom that everyone had the propensity to be lonely sometimes, champagne fountains and opera singers and grand estates and all. Especially since they had undoubtedly felt lonely before, too.

At some point, she realized her glass was empty and stood to get another. Franny was too distracted by another tale Billy was telling to notice.

Catherine took a big gulp once the bartender slid her drink over.

"Rough date?"

She glanced at Henry and looked at where he was staring: her table. "Not a date. At least, I'm not on one." She leaned against the bar and looked him over. "You know, you never say hello when you see me. Or goodbye, for that matter."

Their eyes met. "Would you prefer that? Should I pretend to be polite?"

"You couldn't."

He smiled, his first real genuine smile, and Catherine thought, Oh. This could be a problem.

This could hurt, and Catherine hurt enough.

"So, it's Christmas next week. Will you be too festive to come here the next day and listen to my voice?"

Catherine froze. Christmas, already?

She pushed down thoughts of Edward sitting at her dinner table and forced a smile on her face. "Why, would you miss me?"