PI On A Hot Tin Roof

Suzanne yelled at him!”
    “What about?”
    “I don’t know. They’re married, that’s all—they’re always fighting about something. She says Royce drinks too much and he says she’s a lazy bitch. Mommo says they’re both ungrateful and they ought to be glad to have a roof over their heads. I’m never getting married. I’m going to be a lesbian.”
    Glad for the distraction, Talba said, “You don’t think women fight with each other?”
    That stopped her, but only for a minute. “I’m going to be a hermit. Have you talked to Kristin? I hate Kristin.”
    “I thought she was the only adult you could stand—besides me, of course. And now you hate her?”
    “She’s deserted me. She never cared about me at all.”
    “Honey, she’s had a lot on her mind.”
    “She’s a phony bitch.”
    You should hear what her own father has to say about her,
Talba thought, and said, “She has her own grief. You should give her a break.”
    “Oh, God, I just want to die.”
    “Well, don’t die. Luce—I’d miss you. I’m on my way over, but I’ve got to go somewhere else first. I have to pick something up. Can you just sit tight for awhile?”
    “I guess so.”
    “Good. Look, about Royce—did Suzanne bring him home?”
    “No. Mommo went with her to the marina, and she called from there and said they were going to the hospital.”
    “And you don’t know what’s wrong?”
    “God, I don’t know anything! I’m all alone here.” She began to cry again.
    “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
    Talba rang off, having decided what she was going to do with the cat. She’d actually gotten the idea the minute Darryl’s allergy became apparent—after all, Suzanne wasn’t really allergic. She probably just needed the opportunity to work through her fears.
    She found Darryl’s house as sterile as a hospital. He’d already vacuumed and confined the innocent offender to the bathroom, and he was breathing as normally as she was. Talba bundled the kitty supplies into the car, boxed Gumbo up, and vacuumed the bathroom—it was the least she could do. And then, after a little rehashing, she left, forbearing to tell Darryl her plan—he’d probably just point out the foolishness of trying to take an animal where it wasn’t welcome.
    She wasn’t up for that.
    This poor cat needed a friend and so did Lucy. Even if they were only together for a few days, it had to help—if it didn’t work out, the animal could come live with her and her mama and its wicked stepsisters, Koko and Blanche. If it did work, the kitten would be another bond between Lucy and Raisa. They’d have to see each other if they had a pet in common.
    Nearing the Champagne palace, she got Lucy on the phone again. “You okay?”
    “I’m better. Mommo called and said Royce is just banged up a little, and they’ll bring him home as soon as they run some tests—but she said they’ll be awhile.”
    “Good. Just what I want to hear. Have you read
Life of Pi
yet?”
    The first response was a scream so piercing Talba had to put down the phone and rub her ear. It was followed up by a wall of words, some of them the same. “Oh. My. God. That is the best book I’ve ever read.
    “Oh. My. God!! I stayed up all night. I cried and cried when the ship went down. That poor zebra. Thank you so
much.
”
    “Was I right? Did you identify with it?”
    “Yeah…” She hesitated. “Except for one thing—at least Pi had a friend. I
really
cried when he left.”
    “Hold on five minutes, okay? Then meet me at the back door.”
    “Why the back door?”
    “Because I don’t want anybody to know I’m there. And neither do you.”
    She had the supplies on the back porch by the time the girl got there. For once, the animal was blessedly quiet. Seeing the box, Lucy said, “What’s that?”
    “Richard Parker.” The tiger in the book. “You take the litter and food, okay?”
    “Richard Parker? There’s a
cat
in there?”
    “Litter box, cat food, cat,” Talba said. “Brilliant, Holmes.” And Gumbo said something, too—something more protesting than piteous, like
Let me out of here, you two-footed scum.
    At the angry little sound, Lucy’s face took on an expression similar to the one Raisa had worn to watch the Bacchus Parade. And just as quickly, the childlike wonder was gone. Lucy was suddenly a character in a spy movie. Soundlessly, she picked up the equipment, kicked off her shoes, and padded upstairs, Talba behind her, cooing softly to the