Cat With An Emerald Eye

Chapter 24

Calling All Cats. . .

Temple was in a tizzy. She had to admit that, at least to herself alone, often the best person to confide in.

She hesitated in the hall outside of Electra's penthouse, wondering who besides her hostess would be inside. Certainly not the obnoxious Mynah. Perhaps poor D'Arlene Hendrix, fresh from her grilling downtown. Temple could certainly compare notes and sympathies about that!

And the professor, probably. Agatha Welk was a maybe; a little fragile for Electra's taste, Temple thought. No Oscar Grant. No Crawford Buchanan. No Max, boo hoo. But . . . maybe Matt?

Temple sighed and lowered her shoulders so she had a soldierlike posture when she rang the doorbell. This should be fascinating.

As usual, it took the requisite Ice Age for the door to open, and then it opened just to peeking width, despite the magnifying peephole the resident could rely on.

Electra peered out, her hair in a condition Temple had never seen before: obscured.

The obscuring mechanism, however, was even more brash than Electra's round of washable spray-on hair colorizers. It was a gold lame scarf arranged like an Egyptian pharaoh's headdress.

Electra checked the usually deserted hall before admitting Temple.

"No one followed you?"

" Nope. Louie's resting comfortably on my bed downstairs."

Electra nodded solemnly.

Standing in her circular entry hall, with the mirrored vertical blinds reflecting slices of each of them, felt oddly like the hall-of-mirrors scene in some old intrigue movie, say The Lady from Shanghai, with Orson Welles and then-wife Rita Hayworth.

In the spirit of the evening already, Temple could hardly wait to penetrate the heart of darkness beyond, often glimpsed but never explored. Already she could see light gleaming from the huge green ball atop Electra's vintage TV set.

Electra turned and led the way into the inner sanctum.

"Does that work?" Temple couldn't help gushing the minute they were in the large room.

Electra glanced at the TV set surmounted by what resembled a huge green glass turban.

"Like a top."

"Really? You can pick up contemporary signals with no trouble?"

"Contemporary, old-time, anything your heart desires."

"Cable even?"

Electra frowned and turned halfway to the television set.

"Cable? Do you mean 'Gable'? I've never been one to try for the celebrity spirit, dear. I've been tempted, but that's kind of amateurish, if you know what I mean."

She lifted the green globe by its complicated brass base. "Clear that end table and we'll sit right down here and get to work."

Temple obediently swept away several alternative health magazines, an issue of Modem Maturity and ... a Frederick's of Hollywood catalog?

Well, she was learning something, albeit nothing unworldly yet.

"Sit," Electra said, beaming, as if instructing a favorite Pekingese.

Temple sat.

"Is this it, Electra? Just us? We're the only 'true believers'?"

"Almost. Our most important seance partner has not arrived yet."

" I'm breathless with suspense. Let me guess."

"No, don't! Expectations can destroy a seance. While we're waiting you can fill me in on the latest developments in your love life."

"Electra! Why would I do that?"

"I have gingersnap cookies, with icing. And raspberry zinger tea. And it does one good to unburden one's soul."

"You can't bribe me with tea and cookies."

"Besides, you might get some good advice from the spirits if you come clean."

"What spirits? You might conjure up Bluebeard. Not my idea of Ann Landers."

"Well, while we're waiting for our special link, we could at least discuss my fascinating tenants."

"Get the cookies and tea, then."

"All right!"

Electra bustled off to what must be the kitchen, allowing Temple time to give her place a long look.

Wow. The sofa she sat on was almost seven feet long, upholstered in a nubbly fabric with gilt threads here and there. The big green glass ball was not entirely smooth, but nubbly in its own right. Must be sixties glass, when wavy-everything was decoratively chic, especially in pole-lamp shades. Ooof. Speaking of pole lamps, a rather rank example held up a corner, its lights aimed hither and yon.

This place was a paradise of the Truly Tacky. Kitsch in Full Flower. As Temple looked around, she even discovered a brandy snifter filled with colored marbles, an aquarium occupied by multicolored crystal growths, a black-and-chrome institutional cigarette snuffer, a stuffed squirrel on a very inauthentic-looking tree branch (the squirrel was absolutely true-to-life) and, well, lots of unbelievable junk. The odd decorative marble lay scattered here and there. In fact, two of them glowed a desultory green from under the very sofa she sat on.

And then they moved.

Temple lifted her feet from the floor and shrieked in the lady-like manner of a vintage cartoon lady who had seen a mouse.

"What is it, dear? See something awesome in the globe?"

"I saw something sentient under the sofa. Do you have rats?"

"Oh, good. She's warming up to you."

"What is 'she'? Cleopatra's asp?"

"Silly! She's just the psychic we were waiting for. Remain calm and I'll bring your goodies out and we can begin. Just pretend you didn't see her, and she'll relax and come right on out."

"I didn't see her, except for the eerie eyes. You mean to say a grown woman can fit under this sofa? I know it's big, but--"

Electra had disappeared, leaving Temple to slip her heels off and curl her feet beneath her on the cushion. No way was that green-eyed mystery going to snap at her Achilles' heels from under the sofa.

Electra returned with a hammered aluminum tray bearing teacups, cookies and a shallow dish of dried greens that looked like very minced loose-leaf tea.

"This is a ... condiment."

"Oh, no. It's a bribe. Just munch and sip and we'll be ready to begin in no time." Electra bent to position the dish near the sofa bottom.

Temple shrugged and ate icing off a slab of cookie. "I haven't had one of these forever."

"Sometimes store-bought is superior. Well?" Electra waggled her eyebrows at Temple.

"Well, what?"

"Have you seen Max lately?"

"Um, sort of."

"Max is not the kind of person you sort of see. He's either there, or he isn't."

"Don't I know it. Yes, we ran into each other once or twice."

"What about Matt?"

"What about him?"

"Don't you run into him more often around here? Is it really fair to see both men?"

"Electra, that's my business."

"Maybe, but I can't help feeling solicitous."

"For whom?"

"Well, Max did bring you to the Circle Ritz."

"So he's your favorite?"

"But Matt has really been here for me, and for you on some serious occasions."

"I know that."

Electra sighed, sipped her tea and leaned over to check under the sofa. "I confess, it's a good thing I'm the grandmotherly sort and a mere onlooker at life these days. I would be hard-pressed to choose between those two darling boys myself."

"Thanks, Electra," Temple said between her teeth. "You took the words right out of my mouth. Now, my cookie is eaten, my tea is drunk and I have been debriefed. Can we get on with it?"

Electra leaned way over, until her headdress almost touched the floor. "I think so. We have decided to approach the offering."

Temple leaned over to witness this signal event.

What looked like one of those beige faux-lambskin (she hoped) dust mops was edging out from under the sofa to sniff at the bowl of dried leaves.

When soft white paws appeared, Temple opened her eyes wider. When she glimpsed stunning bright blue eyes, she blinked. When dark-tipped ears perked, her own twitched in surprise. When a dark-tipped but bushy tail swished free of the sofa's shadow, she breathed a sigh of relief.

"Electra, this is a cat."

"I know. And not just any cat. A Sacred Cat of Burma. This is a Birman cat, and her name is Karma."

"You've denied having a cat for months!"

"She's shy," Electra said in melting tones. "We do not allow just anyone to know of our existence, do we? No ... She has abilities greater than those of mortal cats."

"Oh?"

"She is a gifted psychic."

"How do you know?"

"You will see. Just watch the green globe. When Karma is present and participating, the most astounding visions appear within its murky center."

Temple had to agree about the murky center. She watched the cat, which was a beauty, no doubt. All that golden hair ending in paws gloved in dainty white, while nose, ears and tail were tipped with sable brown. And in between, the pools of limpid blue, like morning-glory hot springs in Yellowstone National Park.

Nothing murky about this lady.

"Electra, why so secretive about this cat?"

"She's so very, very sensitive. All the great psychics were that way. Too much outside influence can overwhelm her. It is a great honor that she deigns to show herself to you. Please don't make any sudden motions. Simply sit back and prepare to wonder at what the crystal will show when Karma begins her wonders to perform."

"I can hardly wait."

"If you have any urgent personal matters you wish guidance about, merely keep them in mind and watch the crystal."

Temple rolled her eyes. Maybe she was most deeply interested in guidance on her Crystal Phoenix renovation project. She doubted the crystal would have much to say about that. She kept an eye on it, wary of any sudden images that might show up.

But none did.

Although Electra clucked and crooned at the cat, the animal simply fell over on its side, as Temple had seen Midnight Louie do dozens of times, and gazed at them, blinking every now and then.

A subtle hum rose from the floor.

"Well, she's purring. She must like you," Electra said. "But I don't understand. Usually by now the crystal ball is teeming with interesting images. Karma, dear, time to tippy-toe through the empyrean."

Even this lilting reminder did not seem to rouse the cat, who laid her head on the carpet and drowsed her eyes shut.

"This is most embarrassing. Karma is such a strong medium. Her mere presence is like heat under a pot of water: everything comes to a boil. I don't know what to say. I'm totally perplexed."

There wasn't much Temple could say either. This was like being invited to the music recital of a friend's child, and then said child forgets the music.

While Temple searched for consoling words appropriate for the owner of a contrary cat, a sinister thump sounded from elsewhere in the penthouse.

"I thought you said we were the only ones coming," Temple said.

"We are." Electra was so downcast she merely stared sadly at Karma sleeping on the carpet; she didn't even react to the distant thump.

"That noise could be an intruder."

"Probably is," Electra said mournfully, regarding Karma as if the cat were on her deathbed, when she simply looked at ease.

"Electra. Matt is at work by now and I don't know where your phone is if we have to dial nine-one-one."

"Yes, Matt is gone, and Max is goner. And I don't remember where my phone is. I am heartbroken. What has happened to my poor Karma?"

"She looks fine--"

"She is not fine! Karma lives and breathes her role as a medium. If she is present and nothing astounding is happening, she is terribly, terribly ill. What will I do?"

Temple recognized true distress and quickly shoved her native skepticism aside.

"She is obviously physically healthy, so ... there must be some psychic interference, that's all."

"But why now?"

Why now chose that moment to walk right in.

"Electra, it's Louie!"

"What can Midnight Louie do from two floors below to a receiver of Karma's power and experience? He is just an alley cat."

"He is just an alley cat," Temple agreed, "and what he can do is get to where he wants to be.

Louie is here."

Electra looked up to the shadow at the edge of the room and the two glowing embers of green. "Louie! Are you interfering with Karma?"

Midnight Louie affected his usual bored look as he stalked over.

He bent to sniff Karma's supine form when he arrived, then looked up at them, eyes narrowed.

He leaped up onto the sofa between Electra and Temple. While Temple ran her hand down his back, Electra leaned away in suspicion.

Louie sat and stared at the green globe, tilting his head most intelligently.

Temple exchanged a look with Electra.

"Don't watch me; watch the globe," Electra urged her with sudden fire.

Temple complied. She had spent many less interesting evenings watching the screen in her TV set, especially since Max had left.

Midnight Louie was as focused as herself and Electra. Karma was off in Lullaby Land.

And as Temple stared at the rippled glass, as her thoughts drifted to other matters, as her body relaxed and her mind softened, she seemed to see small beams of light darting like tiny translucent fish in the shoals of glass.

The motion, the image was soothing, in a self-hypnotic kind of way. Imagine. Electra thinking her cat could produce phenomena in a garage-sale globe ... consider the crystal a kind of aquarium, like the Mirage's immense tanks. Consider the cats as not psychics but predators watching snail darters of the Id and Ego swirl through the empty air within the globe. Air-breathing fish of the imagination. Phantoms. Ideas. Memories in motion. Subconscious submarine spirits.

Cats would like that kind of scenario. Cats might watch it for hours, but it didn't mean that the cats evoked anything within the globe. It didn't mean that they saw anything other than motes in an emerald eye. It didn't mean that people saw anything either.

Except... Temple saw swirls. Saw oily patterns in the water, saw words written on waves, saw images . .. like the Luxor, that pyramid of a hotel on the Strip.

She saw a pyramid!

She saw ... stone walls covered with images ... glyphs. Egyptian tomb scenes. A lotus flower floating by. And cats. Cats in profile. Perk-eared cats, lean and bronze. Mummified cats, wrapped in the Egyptian equivalent of Ace bandages. Mummy cases floating in the tide inside the globe like Moses's willow basket.

Motion, motion. Waves, waves. Images darting like schools of fish. Why was she hungry?

Sharply hungry. Yet, pleasantly . . . sleepy too. In the sun, the dappled sun on the water, the flicker of torches on stone, on gilded mummy cases and furniture and jewels. King Tut's tomb.

She was inside King Tut's tomb, under water, under waves, but she recognized the world-renowned treasures and her eye panned a train of tomb friezes like an educational channel's camera. But she had walked here. Trotted. On all fours. And she looked up, sniffed the torch fumes. Her eye-slits narrowed in the bright light. Her whiskers twitched with recognition.

Birds. Painted in profile. Feeders. Painted in profile, with dark-rimmed almond eyes. Our Kind, painted in profile, ears erect, necks richly collared, tails curled neatly around the feet.

An entire string of the Kind, forming words and concepts. Glyphs. All bronze gods. All sacred.

And there, the King himself, in profile, looking down.

One of the Kind lying, not sitting. One of the Kind sprawled like a Pharaoh himself awaiting a pat of the Royal Hand. Why shouldn't a King look at a Cat, and why shouldn't a Sacred Cat look right back at a Pharaoh? And why shouldn't this particular Pharaoh look at this particular specimen of the Kind, seeing that it was most large and unusual, handsome, gifted and wise: the only all-black one in the bunch?