Cat on a Hot Tiled Roof (32 page)

  'They're having a ball at F. A. O. Schwarz and Central Park Zoo.'

  'It's all right for some. I don't know if I can face Manuel tonight.'

  'All I care is that he gives me my two thousand dollars.'

  She reaches out for some canapés from a bored waiter. 'Just shadow us.'

  He shrugs and hangs about, relieved that he's found an enthusiastic taker.

  'Do you think your legs will hold out tonight?'

  'If I zap them with enough champagne.'

  Barbara is now welcoming us all from a small platform, her voice piercing through a crackly sound system on the terrace. Greedy George has wandered over and stands at her side.

  'So, finally, let us have a few words from the maestro himself.'

  Guests gather closer, surrounding the circular red catwalk.

  'Great to see you all in your lunchtime glad rags,' booms George. 'And welcome to our presentation, Hot Dogs and Even Cooler Cats. [polite titters] If any of you fancy buying any of the models, we'll be selling them off after the show [gasps of surprise]. Only kidding [more titters]. And now without more ado, let the show begin.'

  There's enthusiastic applause as from all sides as tall, skeletal women in black Lycra stroll down the terraces and onto the red carpet, each dangling a dog or cat from diamante red leads. Rachel watches in a trance as Afghan hounds, chihuahuas, terriers, pugs, Great Danes and slinky cats of all colours and breeds kitted out in minute leather apparel strut their stuff around the catwalk. In a mad moment I could swear I see Zack the Korat in a billowing red leather cape, swirling elegantly along the length of the red carpet.

  I grip Rachel's arm. 'I think I know that Korat!'

  'That WHAT?'

  I call out his name.

  She eyes me coolly. 'You really need help!'

  For a fleeting moment the Korat turns his head in my direction, nose tilted to the wind. I wave enthusiastically as he strolls on by. A woman next to me does a subtle little side step to distance herself but I take no notice. I feel sudden pride. Perhaps Zack made it. This could be his big debut in the heart of New York and here I am to witness it. Rachel is shaking with laughter.

  'You really are a complete headcase.'

  I shrug in agreement. A cheer goes up as a British bulldog makes his appearance wearing a Union Jack on his leather jacket. I am transfixed when, at the end of the show, a young fair-haired girl dressed as a fairy in a white floaty dress and translucent wings appears holding Tootsie. His big, floppy white ears emerge from holes in the black baseball cap, and he surveys the assembled throng in some bewilderment. Guests begin whooping and camera lights flash. Greedy George is looking pleased as punch and revelling in the applause. He is soon surrounded by adoring photographers. Rachel steadies herself on my arm.

  'Tell me I wasn't dreaming.'

  I sink my teeth into a tiny salmon roulade and contemplate the spectacle before us. 'I think we should get out of here before Bryan's reunited with Tootsie.'

  We weave through the crowds and gesticulate at Greedy George, trying to get his attention. At last he sees me and gives the thumbs up.
See you tonight,
I mouth. He nods.

  Even Manuel Ramirez can't better this.

The old train screeches and grumbles as we snake round the dark, grimy tunnels. Somehow our adventure on the New York subway hasn't been as successful as planned.

  'Rachel, remind me why we're down here?'

  She ignores me and continues to scour the subway map in an attempt to find out where we've gone wrong. Around us tight-faced New Yorkers stare ahead, their eyes boring through the windows and murky darkness beyond. I fidget in my plastic seat. I've had enough. Lurching with the movement of the train, I get up and approach a small whippet of a man in a raincoat sitting opposite me. I shout because the hum of the engine and the squeaking of the wheels is deafening.

  'Excuse me, can you help us? We're trying to get to Tribeca.'

  His nostrils flare and he glances with panicked eyes around the long, bending carriage. We have only seven companions in here aside from the whippet. There's a big, fierce looking, hot mama balancing a plastic shopping bag on her lap, two cool Rasta dudes, a young, pasty faced man with multiple facial studs, a wistful elderly couple and a businessman. The whippet doesn't reply, but instinctively flinches and rises. I watch him scuttle to the far end of the carriage. Rachel gives a snort of laughter and returns to her map, her long hair sweeping the page. The two Rastas are watching me with sly grins on their faces. Dare I? Oh, what the heck. I get up and sway over to them. They nudge each other. Rachel is regarding me with curiosity. I notice a smug little inflexion of the eyebrows.

  'Excuse me,' I boom. 'We need a train for Tribeca. I wonder if you'd be sweet enough to…'

  They laugh inanely.

  'Where you from, lady?' asks the tall one.

  'England.'

  More laughter. 'You on the train to Brooklyn, man. You want One or Nine.'

  I beckon to Rachel who furrows her brow. She stumbles over and plonks herself down next to the skinny, grinning companion.

  'Can you show me on my map?'

  He pulls it from her and then indicates with his finger where we should catch the train.

  'You've been very helpful,' I say.

  The skinny guy explodes into giggles. 'Where you learn to speak like that?'

  'England?' I suggest.

  The train draws into the next station.

  'You get off here, girls,' says the tall Rasta. 'And watch yourselves. Don't speak to no one.'

With relief we find ourselves in trendy Tribeca, with its huge lofts, cobbled side streets and hot bars. The last time I visited, it seemed more run-down, but with the likes of Robert De Niro moving his studios here and some of the smartest restaurants setting up home, it has taken on a new mantle.

  'We just turn left at the next intersection and H Hotel should be halfway down the street.'

  'Thank heavens. Let's take a cab next time.'

  'Remember it was your idea to get the subway?'

  My mobile rings. 'Hello?'

  It's Greedy George. 'Fab news! Tootsie escaped in the park and security staff have only just found her.'

  'What's good about any of that? Poor Bryan must have been distraught.'

  'Great PR though. We should get some diary snippets out of that.'

  Rachel leads me across a set of traffic lights. A massive highway unrolls before us with multiple lanes of traffic.

  'Anyway, are you still all right to meet at the store tomorrow?'

  'Aren't you coming to the launch tonight?' I ask.

  George groans. 'Got a lot on. I'll do my best.'

  A sudden thought strikes me. 'You didn't plan it, did you?'

  'What?'

  'The lost bunny thing in the park?'

'Not exactly,' he guffaws. 'What d'you take me for? Remember, I'm an animal lover.'

H Hotel is tucked away down a cobbled street, its exterior anonymous save for a discreet H stamped into a slab of oxidised metal on the left side of its entrance. Sliding glass doors open onto an airy, chocolate, leatherpanelled lobby with a wide rich oak floor, library alcove, and simple reception desk. H Bar, a temple of cool in steel and glass, is located down in the basement while on the upper levels brick-walled loft rooms offer stunning views of the Empire State Building and New York skyline.

  Sitting on one of the deep leather sofas in H Bar, Dannie clasps my hands between hers and smiles like a seraph.

  'What a glorious day it's been,' she says dreamily. 'George's show was a triumph and as for Manuel – what a handsome, intelligent man.'

  Mary Anne is knocking back a dry martini and eyeing up one of the Latino waiters. I extricate myself from Dannie's grasp.

  'It's always good fun putting like-minded people together.'

  She nods sagely. 'You waved your wand and Manuel, George and I found each other.'

  Rachel coughs wildly and, apologising, makes her way over to a table of press. Dannie grows restless.

  'Well, if you'll excuse me, darling, I'll go and talk with the editor from W. She's been waiting so patiently. It's a shame George couldn't make it tonight.'

  I watch Dannie squeeze through the throng of partygoers and scanning the minimalist dungeon that serves as H Hotel's new funky bar, then espy Alan and Ollie in deep conversation with Charlene, Ed's new Internet babe. They all seem to be getting on famously as they munch on mini hamburgers and chips. I'm pleased that she and Ed came along and even more relieved to see that he's managed to find someone normal. Ed suddenly appears at my elbow.

  'Scatters, there are some awfully strange people down here, and I'm not sure about that Ramirez chap. He keeps giving me dark looks.'

  'It's all right. He doesn't like anyone carrying bags. It creates uncertainty.'

  He absorbs this information carefully, holding the MEK close to him.

  'The barman's nice. He's called Randy. He says he suffers from claustrophobia so this isn't the best venue for the poor chap.'

  I look around the windowless room. 'Listen, I've got to talk to Manuel. Could you chat up the press over there for me?'

  He gulps. 'OK, I'll tell them about my life at the BBC.'

  'Great. That should have them riveted.'

  I push through the crowds. The bar is air-conditioned, but the air feels sticky. My legs have seized up and my knees ache. Manuel is smoking by the bar and looking almost relaxed. He gives me a crocodile smile.

  'Psst…come here.'

  I see that his forehead is beaded with sweat and his eyes marinating in their own juices. Heaven knows how many whisky chasers he's consumed. He grabs my hand.

  'Come outside. I want to you show something.'

  I watch him lurch slightly as he attempts to ascend the under-lit wooden staircase to the lobby.

  'Are you OK, Manuel?'

  
'Seguro,'
he growls.

  In the lobby he pads across the vast expanse of wood and out into the cool night air. A lone doorman doffs his cap, but Manuel only has eyes for me. He walks into the silent road and buttons up his expensive jacket.

  'Shoot!' he bawls.

  'Pardon, Manuel?'

  'Shoot me!'

  I notice that two limo drivers ensconced in their cars by the hotel are discreetly averting their eyes. I decide to play the game, whatever it is.

  'Sorry, I forgot my gun.'

  'Come on!' he yells. 'You can do better than that!'

  I stick out two fingers the way Ollie always does when he's playing cops and robbers with his chums and shout, 'BANG! BANG!'

  He laughs manically. 'Here,' he says, drawing me closer. 'This jacket can take a shot from a 44 Magnum or a 3.57 revolver and I wouldn't feel a thing.'

  His eyes are bloodshot. 'Feel it. It's only about a kilo in weight.'

  touch the coarse fabric. It feels neither heavy nor cumbersome.

  'That's marvellous, Manuel.'

  He sways on his feet. 'My Colombian tailor is Mr Caballero in Bogota. The world's best kept secret.'

  I smile indulgently. In a flash he sobers up.

  'Now, I must go. Please, take this cheque.'

  He thrusts a folded piece of paper into my hand, and with a clap of his hands commands one of the attendant limos and speeds off into the dark night.

Christmas is upon us and yet the air is warm and the cobalt sky streaked with long wispy clouds that curl round the Tramuntanas like ghostly white fingers. In the highest peaks of the mountains small tufts of snow hint at the cold weather to come, but for now the sun is the colour of ripe corn and the valley is giddy with the scent of lavender.

  Alan puffs up from the field carrying a large pannier brimming with the first of the season's oranges. His shirt sleeves are rolled back and he is singing one of his crusty old Scottish ballads.

  'What a glorious vision!' he says contentedly. I follow his gaze past the front garden and up to the tiered terraces which overflow with wild clematis and lavender. In a few days time it will be Christmas Day and I wonder whether this year, with such heavenly sunshine, we'll be carving the turkey out on the terrace. My eyes rest on the pond and with a tinge of sadness I acknowledge that my toad and his croaking companions will be gone until March. Absurdly, I worry that Johnny and I had not parted on the best of terms. There's a toot at the gate and Llorenç arrives with a delivery of wood. Alan strolls over to the gate and with a flourish guides him in. The van shudders to a halt. Llorenç gets out and straightens his back.