Part 72 (1/2)
The next time Blair came by the house she barely gave Zach a chance to kiss her before she wrinkled her pretty nose and said, ”Ugh. What is that smell?”
”What smell?” He'd showered.
”Cat box,” she said in disgust. ”When was the last time you changed the cat box?”
”Tuesday, before I left for the station,” said Zach.
She made a face and shook her head. ”Your whole house smells.”
He sniffed. Okay, it did stink a little. ”I guess I'd better change it.”
”I guess you'd better do something about the cat. Coming in here to that nasty odor is a definite buzz kill.” She dug a small bottle of perfume out of her purse and spritzed it around the front hallway, shuddering the whole time. ”I'll wait for you in the car,” she said, leaving him alone with his stinky house and his stinky cat.
He started a new topic of conversation as they drove to Captain Crab for lunch, but later, when they sat in a corner booth, hemmed in by red tinsel garlands and looking over the menus, she brought up the subject again. ”So, how are you coming with finding a home for the cat?”
”I'm working on it,” Zach hedged. He set down his menu. ”You know, Blair, I'm kind of surprised you don't like him. I thought you'd be more of an animal lover. I mean, your dad owns Pet Palace, for Pete's sake.”
”Don't be silly,” she said, making him feel both stupid and irritated. ”That's like expecting someone who owns a j.a.panese restaurant to like sus.h.i.+.”
”Yeah? Why would you want to own a j.a.panese restaurant if you didn't like j.a.panese food?” he argued.
”To make money,” she replied. ”Look, I have nothing against cats, and I have nothing against the one you found except that he makes me sneeze. And now he's making your house smell. Really, Zach, I get one whiff and I have no desire to hang around there.”
He knew what that meant. It meant, well, no desire. Blair's house was pretty much off-limits due to the presence of her teenage son. And the neighbors, who she was sure would tell the teenage son that she wasn't just cleaning house when he was gone. Dumb, if you asked Zach. The kid had to know she had a life. Still, that was the way she wanted it, so he had no objections. Except if hanging out at Zach's place stopped being an option ... This didn't bode well for their love life.
”Don't worry. I'll take care of it,” he promised.
”I hope you do,” she said. And to prove she meant business she went straight home after lunch.
”No problem,” said Ray, when a very frustrated Zach called him. ”I can come over this afternoon and we can put in a cat door. Then he can come and go when he wants. No more cat box, no more smell.”
It was a perfect solution, and when the guys were done Zach had a dent in his charge card and a dent in his thumb from where he'd hit himself with the hammer. But Tom had a cat door. Zach smiled as Tacky demonstrated how easy it was to use. Perfect.
But that evening, when Zach tried to introduce Tom to the wonders of having his very own door, the little guy balked. He not only balked, he ran away.
”Hey, come on, now,” Zach called after him. ”I'm trying to work things out so you can stay.” He fetched the cat and tried again, and Tom dug in with all fours. When Zach flipped the door and tried to nudge him through he hissed and took a swipe at Zach and bolted a second time.
”Okay, guy. You had your chance,” growled Zach, his feeling of goodwill toward cats evaporating.
The following morning Zach was back at Pet Palace, this time for a cat carrier. Somebody was going to get hauled here tomorrow to have his picture taken with Santa because somebody was getting a new home for Christmas.
He stood looking at the vast array of carriers and suddenly felt mildly guilty about stuffing Tom into one. The little guy had made up the night before and sat in Zach's lap while Zach read the December issue of Do It Yourself.
But if a man had to choose between having a cat or a woman on his lap ... Blair was absolutely right. Tom needed a real home, and posting a picture of him all dressed up for Christmas was a good way to ensure he got one. Zach grabbed a cat carrier and then went in search of cat treats, figuring bribery would make both him and the cat feel better about the whole thing.
Wouldn't you know? There on the kitty treat aisle stood the elfette, stocking shelves. Her cheeks turned rose pink at the sight of Zach and she managed a tentative smile.
He held up the carrier. ”Had to get a cat carrier.” Well, duh. ”I'm bringing my cat in for a Santa picture tomorrow.”
Her eyes lit up and her smile got big.
”With my girlfriend,” he added. The pink in her cheeks turned to red and the smile faltered, a sure sign that he had, in just a couple of encounters, managed to lead her on. He felt like a heel.
She nodded gamely. ”I guess I'll see you then. I'm taking the pictures.”
”Oh,” said Zach. Too bad you'll have Blair with you. Whoa, where had that come from? He wanted Blair with him, didn't he? Of course, he did. Blair came with no strings attached. ”Well then, see you Sat.u.r.day,” he said, and got out of there.
He was back on the road when he remembered he never did snag any cat treats for Tom. He'd get the little guy some after they were done with the pictures as a reward for good behavior. And maybe, if he was lucky, Blair would give him a reward for good behavior.
Ho, ho, ho. He grinned as he pictured ...
Oh, no. Not a redhead with green eyes. Where was the blue-eyed blonde? Blair. You're with Blair. You're happy with Blair. He booted out the image of Merilee posing for him in a skimpy outfit of red velvet and brought Blair back on stage wearing nothing but a Santa hat.
But she was looking stage right and scowling.
A second later there was Merilee again, tap-dancing her way to center stage, and suddenly Blair was nowhere to be seen.
Zach gave his head a vigorous shake in an effort to dislodge the image. What is the matter with you?
It was a question he found he couldn't answer, at least not comfortably.
A woman looking slick in designer jeans and an expensive jacket reached past Merilee to snag a couple of cans of cat food, the diamond ring on her left hand taunting Merilee. Everything about the woman, from her stylish coat and jeans to her makeup, said, ”I'm perfect and I know it.”
Merilee gave her a feral smile and pulled fresh cans out of the carton she was emptying, slamming them on the shelf. Jealousy is not attractive, she scolded herself. If only she was better looking she wouldn't have to fight the green-eyed monster.
But even if she transformed herself on the outside, she'd still probably find it impossible to untie her tongue and manage the art of flirting. Why, whenever she was around hunky men, did her confidence fade like the Ches.h.i.+re cat?
Ha! Years of practice, that was why. The cool guys had never seen her, either in high school or college. They still didn't.
These days just being nice wasn't enough for a girl. You had to have pizzazz. You had to connect.
Sadly, Merilee connected better with animals than she did with men. Animals loved you whether or not you wore makeup. Animals didn't need you to be s.e.xy or witty and clever and entertaining. All they wanted was love and acceptance, and Merilee was good at that. She cared about helpless beings. She cared about anyone in need of help or a shoulder to cry on, which was why she had never lacked for girlfriends. In high school all her friends came to her with their boy problems. Looking back it was easy to see why. They knew they'd get plenty of empathy and no compet.i.tion.
She slammed down another can of cat food. Men didn't want nice, they wanted hot, and she was never going to be hot. She wasn't sure she could even achieve lukewarm. Why were people (especially male people) so shallow? It was what was inside that counted.
The last time she'd said something like that around her sisters Liz had informed her that most people would rather look inside a nicely wrapped gift box with a pretty bow than take a chance on a dirty paper sack.
She frowned at the memory. ”I am not a dirty paper sack.”
”Thanks for the update,” said Dennis the floor manager as he walked by, proving that a girl could, indeed, get noticed no matter how she dressed.
Cat carriers were nothing more than portable cages, humiliating modes of transport for an animal. And in all Ambrose's lives not one of those contraptions had ever carried him someplace he wanted to go.
He watched through slitted eyes as Zach stowed the ugly gray thing in the downstairs closet. So Zach and the cat-killing cougar thought they were going to stuff him in that thing to go see the Santa monster, did they? Well, they could try.
Zach disappeared upstairs but Ambrose remained in the living room under the couch, ever vigilant. Today must not have been the day for the visit to the Santa monster because a few minutes later Zach appeared in his tattered clothes. That meant ... sure enough, soon he was in the eating room, pounding and banging.