The Third Cat Story Megapack. Damien Broderick

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СКАЧАТЬ Beloved of the Day Lord, listen to our pleadings.

      * * * *

      Alex ate neatly, eyes narrowed with enjoyment, avoiding the broccoli. And he had three helpings of ice-cream. “So what do you do when you’re not at home?” he asked.

      “I’m a bibliothecary.”

      “You are not! You’re a librarian.”

      And Alex? He told her he worked in security. She relaxed. How could he be a mass murderer? He told anecdotes about the evil dog who lived with the Russos, her downstairs neighbors, then gazed at her with dreamy interest. Suddenly he said, “Did you see that Now You See It episode where they made people think animals were talking?”

      “I like it when they serve people weird food in restaurants.”

      He sniffed her daisy centerpiece. “Claws von Pumpkin is a stupid name for a cat.”

      “Big orange tom—what else would I call him? Maybe ‘Screwdriver’?”

      “Sandy,” said Alex. “You should call him Sandy. Or Red.”

      “He won’t answer, whatever I call him.”

      “Cats have feelings. They’re very intelligent.”

      “Sure, I suppose they learn their letters and numbers, from watching Sesame Street.”

      He licked his ice cream spoon. “And now what?”

      Her hormones screamed, Take him! Take him!

      A wiser voice said, Screw him on the first date and you’ll never see him again.

      So she opened the newspaper to the movie schedule.

      * * * *

      They saw a show about sharks and jewel thieves. Alex enjoyed the movie so much his eyes glittered. In the quiet parts, when sharks weren’t eating people and thieves weren’t grabbing the Koh-i-noor diamond, he caressed Cara’s ear with the tip of his tongue, getting her amethyst earring damp.

      She liked that.

      * * * *

      Turn your bright face upon us, Lady, for our hearts are breaking.

      * * * *

      At the door, Cara had a flashbulb epiphany. Alex wouldn’t call her again. He would disappear, because that was the way men were. Easily bored. For some reason, men only enjoyed one-night-stands. If she went to bed with him, he would fade like last summer’s suntan. But if she didn’t, he would still disappear.

      No, only did men not stay with the same woman, they also never got married. Only women got married, not men.

      All this stuff in the media about both sexes getting married was just P.R. for the wedding industry. That was why newspapers never printed the photo of the groom, just the bride. When it was necessary to show both bride and groom, they hired a model.

      Children were not really produced by couples. They were decanted in a baby-farm in Akron and given false memories of childhood.

      Her friend Judith was right. A relationship was not in the cards.

      Still, Alex was hot. As long as he was going to dump her anyway, she deserved one night of bliss.

      “Hey, Alex, how about another dish of ice-cream?”

      He followed her into the apartment, went into the bedroom, and sprawled on the bed.

      “Bashful, aren’t you?” she said.

      Alex looked confused. “Didn’t you want—?” He started to rise, but she flung herself on him.

      They rolled around, nibbling each other’s lips, ears, and necks.

      He stroked her neck, then attacked the buttons on her blouse, nails catching on the silk.

      “Let me,” she whispered. He watched her undo the zippers and buttons, his eyes half-closed with sensuality.

      She stroked his luxuriant bronze body hair, then brushed herself against him. He leaned into her caress, exciting her.

      “Yes! A screamer,” he said.

      * * * *

      In the night, twice, he woke her, nipping the back of her neck. It was lovely.

      “Don’t leave me,” she moaned.

      “Oh, I’ll be back, in a while.” He slipped out of bed. She waited, expecting to hear the toilet flush or the shower run. At length, exhausted and satiated, she dozed off.

      * * * *

      Lady whose substance is light, You change all things. Longing or fulfilled, the wisest of us honor You.

      * * * *

      And in the morning, Sunday morning, Alex was gone.

      He won’t call, of course, she told herself, and moped around in a ragged chenille robe, slurping coffee and watching Galaxy Queen.

      She went through her purse again and found the napkin with Alex’s number on it.

      The creep!

      He had written her number on it.

      And yet—he had been delicious. And he used condoms without being asked. Call the whole thing an adventure, almost risk-free.

      Still another part of her thought, He was sexy, so engagingly direct. If only he would come back, just once!

      Toward noon, the doorbell rang.

      Cara threw off the old robe and sprinted for the closet. Her red satin kimono wasn’t too wrinkled. She threw it on, kicked off the beat-up loafers, fluffed her hair. Makeup? No time! She slapped her cheeks in lieu of rouge and opened the door.

      Aw shit.

      Judith stood outside, with Claws von Pumpkin draped over one arm.

      Judith said, “Look what I found in the basement, lying on the Russo’s clean laundry again. And he had a dead rat.”

      “It’s just you,” said Cara, defeated.

      “Don’t tell me you slept with that Alex guy!”

      “Judith, shut up.”

      “What could I expect? Last night was the full moon.”

      Claws von Pumpkin jumped out of Judith’s arms, rubbed his muzzle against Cara’s ankles, and sauntered into the bedroom. On the bed stand was the melted remains of Alex’s fifth dish of ice-cream.

      Purring avidly, Claws licked the dish.

      Back in the living room, he settled on Cara’s lap to watch Spiderman, Meercat Manor, and, later, СКАЧАТЬ