The California Club (17 page)

She motions us through the wire fencing and suddenly we’re met with a writhing mass of leopard spots, like an animal print Magic Eye. I blink, trying to correct my vision.

'I've never seen so many cats in one place!' Sasha tries to take it all in.

'We've got sixteen leopards, a mix of Northern Chinese and Asian, the Asian are the smaller ones …' Carrie points over to a pair hanging back from the group. 'Those two were in a Brooke Shields movie called
Born Wild
.'

'Oh wow!' I haven't seen it but I'm sure it's an impressive thing to have on your resumé.

'They're all entertainment cats, born and bred in captivity.'

'Is that a panther?' Sasha enquires.

'Black leopard,' Carrie corrects her. 'You can see his markings better if the sun shines directly on him.'

We squint at his self-patterned fur, just about making out the dark chocolate spots.

'Is he going grey?' Sasha notes the tufts of silver over his nose.

'Yeah a couple of them are getting old now and osteoporosis is setting in.'

It's then that we notice the stiff arched spines like a humpbacked bridge and wince in sympathy.

'This one looks in his prime, though,' I say, pointing to the sleek individual who's keeping a keen eye on us.

'That's Freddie.'

'Freddie as in Kruger?' Sasha gulps spotting his flick-knife claws.

‘He went out on the road with Janet Jackson for her
Rhythm Nation
Tour.'

'Really?' Zoë would love this! I wonder if the cats have evening get-togethers and swap celeb stories under the stars.

'Freddie runs this camp.' Carrie sounds suitably respectful. 'He's top cat.'

'The indisputable leader of the gang' plays in my head.

'Why is that one separate?' Sasha nods over to a black leopard with a mangled ear, restlessly prowling and hissing, clearly peeved at being barred from the party.

'With leopards there can be only one leader,' Carrie explains. 'Freddie and Malachi like to tango – if we'd left them in together one of them would have died.'

As if to prove her point, Malachi flares up and hurls himself at the caging. My heart goes out to him, it just doesn't seem fair. 'Can't you divide up the rest of the leopards so they get a gang each?' I suggest.

Carrie smiles and shakes her head. Malachi skulks into his shabby wooden hut and then sticks his head up through a rip in the roof.

‘We build them nice boxes but they just tear them apart.' Carrie shrugs, moving on.

'Here's Ryan again.' Carrie bows to the liger. He gives us a regal nod which seems to say:
Charmed, but please don't put on any airs and graces on my behalf.

I love him! Even at this early stage in the tour I know he's going to be my favorite.

'How come he's a liger not a tion?' I ask hoping it's not too stupid a question.

'Actually it's tigon – that's when you've got a tiger father, lion mother. Ryan is the other way round, hence liger.'

'I seeeee!' I nod. 'He's a big guy, isn't he?'

'Eight hundred pounds.'

'What?’ I reel.

'Just as well he's not a lap cat, huh?' Carrie laughs, leading us to the next cage. This is Tyson.'

I gulp at the sight of the stocky, power-packed tiger. 'You wouldn't want to mess with him!'

'No you wouldn't,' Carrie confirms. 'He used to belong to Mike Tyson!'

He's not the only bruiser in the pack. Several of the tigers appear pumped-up and ready to rumble while others are slender and demure. I'm intrigued by how much their coats vary in color – from soft golden syrup tones to burnt orange sunsets and, most dramatic of all, pure white with licorice stripes.

‘That's Syntar, our white Bengal tiger,' Carrie sounds suitably proud.

He's stunning. I'd defy anyone not to get tingles looking into those sapphire blue eyes.

'He's been used a lot for calendars and photoshoots but only facially – the back end of his body has a yellowy tinge that's no good for full body shots. Not in Hollywood, anyway.'

Sasha takes a step forward. She knows what it's like to be admired only for your looks, to be scrutinized and then dismissed for the slightest flaw. They'll get along great. Beauty and the Beauty.

We continue down the open-air corridor – passing large cages either side with just the odd paddling pool, tree stump or potted plant breaking up the yards of sandy earth and wire meshing. I'm just wondering how many of these cats would trade what essentially is a spacious squat for a penthouse at the zoo when Carrie

opens another gate and we step out into a dusty wasteland backed by distant mountains. Other than a row of clapped-out cars, a tractor and a random scattering of rusty tools, it's just flat, dry earth as far as the eye can see.

'We've got two acres up at the back here. The idea is to build a free-roaming area with trees and waterfalls where the cats can take it in turns to run and play.'

'Like a day out at the park?' Sasha suggests.

'Paradise Park!' I suggest a name for it.

'Why not!' Carrie smiles. 'We're trying to raise the funds to get it landscaped.'

'You should charge more for your tours – is it really just $5?'

'Yeah, but until it's prettied up there's not much to see,' she admits, tugging up a tangle of weeds. 'Listen, you girls must be tired, I'll introduce you to the rest of the cats tomorrow.'

Carrie turns to lead us back to the house.

'What's through here?' I point to a gate with a NO ENTRY sign. 'If you don't mind me asking.'

Carrie hesitates then reaches for the padlock. 'These are a few of our special friends,' she says, voice softening. ‘The ones that have been rescued. They're not so used to being around people so we keep them in a quieter area.'

'Oh we don't have to—' I feel bad for being so nosy.

'It's fine, just don't make any sudden moves and if they turn their ass towards you and lift their tail, make sure you jump to the side – it's like skunk spray and it goes back a good few meters so there's no point in running backwards!'

Carrie pushes open the door. Nervously we step through.

A slim-hipped tiger scrambles to her feet, checking out the intruders.

'Desiree was rescued from a restaurant in Texas. We don't declaw any of our animals but she came to us already done so we have to keep her in her own cage because she can no longer defend herself.'

I feel a pang for her: she must feel so vulnerable.

'And this is Oliver. He was found abandoned in a garage in Wyoming. He'd been left on his own in the middle of winter with no food or water and was frostbitten all over.'

Sasha's eyes well up and gently she moves closer but the instant Oliver sets eyes on her he starts freaking out.

Carrie bundles her out of the way.

'I'm sorry, I forgot – can you tie back your hair?'

Sasha looks confused as she swiftly winds her hair into a knot. Oliver gradually calms down.

'We think he might have been abused by someone with long hair, it always seems to set him off.'

I grip Sasha's hand and find her shaking.

'Ty's been spending a lot of time with him lately. We think he's making progress but after what these animals have been through it's tough …' Carrie shakes her head.

It seems unfathomable that anyone could be deliberately cruel but Carrie points out that there's a shocking amount of ignorance in the world, citing the man who thought that if he stopped feeding his tiger cub it would stay the same size…

'Come on, I'll show you the house,' Carrie jollies us out of our slump.

It's a pretty basic wooden bungalow with very little in the way of furniture and trimmings but the large kichen/dining area overlooking the preserve is warm and homely and smells of baked ham and cornbread (our upcoming dinner, it transpires). There's a long corridor with three bedrooms and a bathroom off it and a half-painted porch with a hammock at the end. I'm rather taken with the idea of sleeping al fresco but we've been assigned sleeping bags on an old mattress two doors down. Bit of a contrast to La Valencia.

'I'm just going to have our personal butler run a Jacuzzi for us,' I joke to Sasha as we wheel our suitcases in from the car.

It's pretty spooky in the darkness with the curious walrus-like barking of the cats. I wouldn't like to be staying here by myself and I wouldn't blame Sasha if she suddenly bleated, 'I can't do this!' But instead she seems oddly resigned to her fate, as if she somehow feels she deserves this punishment.

We're just inside the front door when the lights cut out.

'You girls okay?' Carrie finds us in the darkness.

'Fine!' we say gripping on to each other.

‘Looks like we got a power cut,' she says matter-of-factly. ‘Ty's moved the torches again so we're gonna be blacked out till he gets here. Why don't you come on through to the kitchen – it's nice and toasty by the stove.'

'Wood-burning?' I check.

'That's right.'

Sasha continues trembling but I heave a sigh of relief – dinner is still on, thank goodness for that!

'You two sit tight,' Carrie instructs as we fumble towards the table. 'How about I fix us some drinks?'

We nod and then realize actions alone are just not going to cut it. 'Yes, please!' we say out loud.

'Now one of these bottles …' Carrie appears to be sniffing a selection. 'Here it is. I guess we should be having wine with the meal but since I don't have any and this is a special occasion …'

Lord knows what she hands us but judging from the searing sensation in my throat and the way my eyes water from the fumes I'm guessing at moonshine. We're tiddly in seconds and chat amiably for the next half hour: it feels a bit like we're having an illicit 'lights out' conversation. We're just getting on to Carrie's divorce and how she came to be heading up Tiger Tiger when the distinctive purr and pop of a motorbike whirrs to a halt outside.

'Here he is! Maybe now I'll be able to see to carve the ham!'

The door creaks open and a figure clomps into the kitchen. 'What's going on here?' a male voice rumbles. 'You girls playing hide-and-seek?'

'Where'd you put the torches?' Carrie cuts to the chase.

'I haven't touched them – they should be right here …' There's a shuffling and the squeak of a hinge. 'You know what? Nina was going to get new batteries.'

'You're right,' Carrie confirms. 'Oh well, we'll manage.'

'Are you going to introduce me?' Ty prompts.

'Oh yes!' We hear Carrie chink a tooth on her glass as she curtails her slurp. 'This is Lara and Sasha. Not that you can see them, let alone tell them apart!'

'For the record, I'm the really good-looking one!' I pipe up, my squiffiness having gone straight to my tongue.

'And I'm the one who looks like she's been smacked in the face with a shovel!' Sasha giggles, apparently suffering similar symptoms.

'Carrie, I'm guessing you've cracked open that bottle of Sambucca you've been saving.'

Is that what it is? I love it. My new favorite drink.

'Yes I did!' Carrie cheers.

'Good job! I'll get a glass.'

'You got your bike back then,' Carrie calls after him.

'Yeah, she's running like a dream.'

'Sounds like an old Triumph Tiger,' Sasha observes.

'It is,' Ty's voice comes back in our direction: '1964 classic. How'd you know?' he asks with obvious delight.

'I had one. Well actually it was my brother's but he gave it to me when he moved away. Best way to get around London.'

'Well I wouldn't know about that but she sure is nippy! You ever take her on any long runs?'

'Mostly just down to Brighton – that's only an hour or two but sometimes I'd continue down the coast.'

'Man, that's the best, isn't it?'

The pair of them rap away about ccs and shock absorbers and the bliss of having sea air mingling with exhaust fumes. Meanwhile Carrie does a pretty good job hacking at the ham and I hoik the cornbread out of the baking tray and on to the plates (sneakily snaffling Sasha's ham portion while I'm at it. She doesn't seem keen to ruin the mood by telling them she's a vegetarian just yet).

'I'm sorry we didn't bring any wine,' I apologize. 'Maybe I could go to a local store tomorrow?'

'Don't you worry about that,' Carrie shushes me. ‘Nother Sambuca?'

'Oh go on then!'

This is great! I'm going to have all my dinner parties in pitch-blackness from now on – it makes the whole thing so much fun. I gave up trying to co-ordinate my knife and fork after the first failed bite and am now picking at the food with my fingers and no one even knows!

'You want a napkin, sweetie?' Carrie offers, foiling me with her night-vision.

'Oh! Er, thank you!' I fluster.

'So, what's your ultimate dream for Tiger Tiger?' Sasha addresses Carrie and Ty.

Interesting. It's not like her to initiate a conversation. And she always used to wince at the mention of dreams – after all, she'd lived the dream of so many girls and look where that got her. I put it down to this lack of scrutiny – in the dark she doesn't have to be her normal self, or the person people expect her to be. As she responds to Ty talking about his trips to Africa and the ideas he's got for the preserve, her voice sounds warm, intimate even. Everything he says seems to strike a chord with her. At first I wonder how she can flirt with someone she's never seen but then I remember all the men I've fancied purely on a phone-call basis – antique dealers, new clients, wrong numbers … – and it hits me – BAM! She's having a blind date! She said she wanted to go somewhere where looks don't count and suddenly she's in a place where no one can even see her! I can't help wondering if The California Club didn't orchestrate the power cut themselves.

We stay up till midnight, Carrie and I yappering over peppermint stick ice-cream at one end of the table, Ty and Sasha sipping coffee and sighing at the other. Finally we retreat to our respective bedrooms.

'Am I detecting a slight fluttering of the heart?’ I whisper as I close the wonky door behind us.

'Slight?' she reels, hoarse with lust. 'I've been having palpitations for the last two hours!'