FAN FICTION
"PRELUDE TO A HISS"
Chapter 4

Chapter Four
-- by Jenny Allan --

The phone rings, startling David. He jumps, causing the packing material he is laboriously removing from the cat’s crate, to fly up in the air around him. The strips of shredded newspaper land on his head like a toupee dropped from the 12^th floor.

"Hello, Huxley here," he snaps into the phone. He always alliterates when irritated.

"Darling, why have you run off and left Ali and me to fend for ourselves?" Domi purrs into the phone.

"Well, Darling, I mean, Domi, you see, it couldn’t be helped. I’ll be back with you before you know it."

"You’ll be back with me, this evening."

"Oh, no, no, no, Domi. I’m afraid that’s impossible. You see I have to unpack the Californicus. Then it has to painstainkingly preserved. Inch by inch, bit by bit with a twelve step process involving special UV-resistant resin and—"

"You have to eat don’t you? A big, stout lad like yourself, has to eat eventually."

"Well, yes, but I don’t see what that has to do with it. You’re in Connecticut and I’m in Californicus, I mean California—"

"That’s where you’re wrong, Darling. I took the first flight this morning. I’m at the Drake hotel in beautiful, ROMANTIC, downtown San Francisco."

"Oh, dear. The Drake. I’m at the Drake. This is going to be a dreadful distraction, Domi."

"David!"

"What?"

"You’re alliterating again."

"Sorry. It’s just that I won’t have time for social engagements, especially not this evening. I was planning to get some Chinese take-away and just eat here, with the Californicus."

"I thought the cat was dead."

"Oh, it is. Most definitely, long dead. I just meant that I was going to eat while I continued to work on the Californicus. Painstaking … 
bit by bit …12-step process and all."

"The Californi-whatsis will be just as dead tomorrow. I don’t see what difference one little, itty bitty dinner with Domi would make?"

"You don’t? Well, I do. I wish to avoid any type of social entanglements. And children especially," he found himself quoting another woman from his past, Alice Swallow.

"You needn’t worry about Ali. She’s safely back in Connecticut with your Aunt Elizabeth and the Gogarties."

"You left her with Gogarty? She’ll be drinking whiskey and joining the IRA before Saturday. You’d better go back to her right away, Domi."

"Nonsense, David. I left her with your Aunt Elizabeth and Mrs. Gogarty-- a fine up-standing pair of women. She’ll probably teach me a thing or two about manners by the time we return."

"No, no, no, now listen Domi. There is no WE. YOU will return to Connecticut tomorrow morning and I will get on with my Californicus."

"David, Darling, I love it when you’re resolute."

(Perturbed sigh of annoyance on David’s part.)

"Do you dear, I mean Domi. Well, I’m very resolute on this point. I promise I’ll partake of dinner with you if you promise to put yourself on the plane."

"You’ve got a deal, David. I’ll meet you at Eddy Cheng’s in Chinatown at seven o’clock."

"Eddy Cheng’s? I don’t know where that is."

"Oh it’s easy, just walk up to the gates of Chinatown. Eddy Cheng’s is the third place on the left, with a big, jade-colored door. It’s quite a posh little get away. I hear Cary Grant eats there when he’s in town."

"I’m sure I don’t know who you’re talking about. But I’ll try to find it… third door on the right."

"Left."

"Right, on the left. Yes, I’ll remember. See you then. Good-bye."

"Good-bye, David Darling."

David hangs up the phone with an extended cry of frustration. "Third door on the right. Eddy Grant. What a lot of hooey!"

Meanwhile in the elegant penthouse apartment of John and Francie Robbie, Jessie Stevens stares out the floor to ceiling picture window, with it’s VERTIGO-inducing view of the San Francisco bay. She turns and flops down in a mod club chair and begins flipping through a National Geographic magazine. On the cover is a picture of the rolling plains and lush green trees of Minnesota. She sighs deeply. Francie enters.

"What’s the matter, Mother?"

"I miss Minnesota already. It’s such a pretty place this time of year. It reminds me of our old ranch, when Jeremiah was alive."

"That broken down old scrap heap was a big patch of dust and cow skulls and you know it. What sentimental rose-colored, or in this case, emerald-colored glasses you wear to look back on it, I’ll never understand. Getting out of there was the best thing that ever happened to you."

"I know dear. I guess I’m just a bit blue is all. How about you? You don’t seem your usual blissful self these days."

"I was happy enough when you walked in last night."

"Yes, but it doesn’t last long does it, the blush of romance. If I didn’t know better I’d say you’re getting worry wrinkles on your forehead."

"Hush mother! How could you say such a thing!"

"Ha! You’d think I said you worship Cuthulu or something. All I meant was you look a bit worried."

"Well, it’s no wonder, I’m anxious. John’s been acting very strange lately. Mother, you have to promise not to breathe a word, but I think he’s returned to his old profession."

"Is that all, Francie? You had me worried there for a minute. If he were running around with someone else, or drinking bourbon for breakfast then you’d have….well, you’d have Jeremiah. But a little cat burglary?! Well, that’s nothing to get yourself in a stew over. That’s how you two met after all."

"Yes, I’m well-aware of that mother. This is different. He’s in trouble somehow; I can sense it. And he won’t confide in me. If it’s money, he needs, I have more than enough for all of us. I just don’t understand why he’s doing it."

"Is this the resourceful girl, I raised? Where’s the young woman who went along with a police conspiracy and nearly drove off the side of a mountain just to prove her man’s innocence. Show a little pluck, girl. We’ll figure this out, the two of us—"

"Figure what out?" John Robie, says, entering from his study suddenly, where he’d spent the morning going over the article about the Hope Diamond.

"Oh, nothing. Just what to do for dinner this evening. I’m so tired of dining at the same old places," Francie quickly adds.

"Well, what about Eddy’s? We haven’t been there in ages," John suggests.

"Not Eddy Cheng’s. It’s in the dreariest part of town: all those headless ducks in the windows and no street lights. Do you want my mother to eat hot lead for dinner?"

"You’d better not answer that, John." Jessie quips.

"And besides didn’t you say that you only went to Eddy Cheng’s for the contacts in the underworld, and not for the Peking Duck?" Francie says, raising an eyebrow in SUSPICION.

"Did I say that? Oh dear."

"John, don’t play coy. You’re up to something and I know it!"

"You’re up to something," John imitates mockingly, then a tender smile flashes across his face. He sits down on the sofa arm next to Francie, taking her hand in his and nibbling her ear.

"Hoooo boy. Do you know how to run interference, John Robbie. You should try out for the Forty-Niners." Jessie interjects, standing and walking over to rub a smudge off of the window. "But we can’t be blown off course, quite so easily. The Stevens girls are a force to be reckoned with, right Francie?" She turns back. Francie and John are making out quite heavily now. They pause briefly and turn to look at her.

"Did you say, something, Mother?" Francie says with a wink.

********Later that Evening at Eddie Cheng’s in Chinatown********

The Robbies and Jessie Stevens await a table at the bar. Domi is seated at a quiet table in the corner. She checks her watch repeatedly as she waits for David to arrive.

"I can’t believe you didn’t make reservations." Francie huffs at John.

"It is my old pal Eddy, after all, I thought we wouldn’t need them," John says a bit miserably.

"Ah, well, there’s always room for cocktails," Jessie chirps.

"Haven’t you had enough? That’s your third already. You’ve had more Manhattan than Gene Kelly on shore leave."

"Ha haaaaaaa," John squeezes out a laugh. "Don’t scold your mother, Francie. She’s a big girl."

"I’m on to you, John Robie," Jessie says "You just want to get me drunk so I can’t find out what little scheme you’ve got going."

"Mother Stevens, I would never think of such a thing. How can you even suggest it?"

"HA!" says Jessie, "Ah, well, you’re cute and you can talk your way out of anything. I guess you’ll do."

"John, we’ve got to get some food into her before she starts dancing on the bar top."

"You’re right. I’ll go check with the matre’d see where that table went to."

"Here, give ‘em this. That should do the trick!" Jessie says stuffing a 20 into John’s breast pocket. He blushes, but he doesn’t refuse the money.

John heads to the front of the restaurant to look for the maitre’d, but he’s is nowhere to be seen. He turns around a quiet corner, thinking maybe the errant host slipped into the coat check for a smoke, when he passes by Domi’s quiet little out of the way table.

"There you are! Do you realize your thirty six, no thirty seven minutes late."

"I’m sorry, you must be mistaken, I’m only—"

"I’m not mistaken, I just had this watch cleaned and checked before I left. You are precisely thirty seven minutes late. But I forgive you darling," she purrs, grabbing the sleeve of his suit and yanking him down into the seat next to her, This movement is accompanied by a distinct tearing noise as she separates the top of his sleeve from his coat.

"Oh, you’ve torn your coat."

"That’s quite a grip you have there. Ever thought of becoming the girl on the flying trapeze."

"Oh, darling. You’re so witty this evening. I thought for sure you were sore at me."

"Sore, no, it’s just a jacket after all. Be a little bit tricky explaining it to my wife, but that’s alright."

"Darling, I’m worried about you. You’re working too hard. You know very well that your wife is dead."

"Say, young lady, that’s not funny," John stands, turns and begins to leave. Domi grabs his other sleeve, and RIIIIIPP.

"Oops."

"That’s alright. Vests are in this season. Look, if you’ve no more tailoring to do for me, I’ll just be getting back to my wife," he says yanking his arm away from Domi, with a final tear, leaving her holding his shredded sleeve. He returns to the bar to find Francie and Jessie. The Stevens girls are no longer there. He goes back to the dining room to find them seated in another quiet corner, the opposite side of the restaurant from Domi.

"That’s a new look for you John, but then again you never can tell with the kids these days," Jessie says.

"What? Oh this. Never mind , I had a run in with the lunatic. Never did find the maitre’d."

"That’s fine. We got this table anyway with our feminine wiles," Francie says, leaning into John. "Say is that Chanel #6 I smell?"

"I don’t know. Maybe it’s the eggrolls, they always smell good when you’re hungry and I’m starved aren’t you?"

"Stop changing the subject. You know I only wear Chanel #5. Where did you pick up that strange scent?"

"I told you I had a run-in with a lunatic. A babbling idiot who mistook me for someone else. Someone who was 37 minutes late, apparently. And I got the short end of the sleeve for my troubles."

"This lunatic didn’t happen to be your fence did he? Rough you up a little over a disagreement?" Francie says toying with his remaining, tattered sleeve.

"My fence? Rough me up? What kind of talk is that for a lady. Next thing you’ll be going on about moving the hot goods and knocking over liquor stores. I tell you Mother Stevens, your daughter watches too many crime dramas."

"Besides, who ever heard of a fence wearing Chanel #6." Jessie adds.

As John talks his way out of his predicament, David Huxley finally arrives at Eddy Chengs. The maitre’d seats him immediately at Domi’s table.

"There you are! Am I ever livid. I see you at least changed your suit. I feel a bit bad about that, but leaving me here alone again and babbling on about your wife. I was just about to give up on this whole evening!"

"Sorry, I’m late Domi. No, I didn’t need to change my suit and you know perfectly well that Susan, God rest her soul, is no longer alive. I came straight from the museum. But I got all confused. The directions. Third door on the right. Eddy Grant’s and all that. It took me forty minutes in a cab with a toothless smelly driver, to find this place."

"Well, never mind you’re here now. And I’m sure your tailor can reattach this," she says dangling the sleeve in front of him. His eyes bug out in confusion.

"What is that?"

"A sleeve."

"I can see it’s a sleeve, but where did you get it."

"Off of your coat."

"Well, honestly, Domi, I knew you were obsessed, but next time, I’ll give you a lock of my hair. No sense ruining a perfectly good suit just because you can’t bear to be away from me for an afternoon."

"No silly, I pulled it off the coat you were wearing not ten minutes ago. What’s the matter with you? Have you been knocked on the head or something?"

"No, but I’m beginning to want to knock you on the head! Ten minutes ago, I was riding around with toothless Joe from Oakland, looking for Eddy Grant’s place only it turns out, you told me wrong, it’s Eddy Cheng’s and —"

"Excuse me sir, you’re wanted on the phone," a waiter says, suddenly appearing from the kitchen.

"It must be the museum. I told them to call me here, if they had any trouble unpacking the Californicus. I’ll be with you in a minute, Domi," he says and follows the waiter around the corner.

"Grrrrrr. Alone again!" Domi says, slamming her napkin down.

"Ok, where’s the phone?" David asks the waiter.

"What phone?"

"You said I was wanted on the phone? Is everyone here completely nuts?"

"Not nuts sir, just a little screwball. I apologize for the ruse, but Mister Cheng told me to come and get you away from your lovely wife so that he can give you the low down on the job."

"My wife is dead."

"She sure looks lively enough to me," he says elbowing David in the ribs.

"That’s not my wife, that’s my dinner companion. Oh what’s the use, I’m going back to the museum to get some work done."

"That’s what Mister Cheng wants to talk to you about—the museum job."

"Well, now we’re getting somewhere. Take me to this Mister Cheng!" David demands and the waiter ushers him through a darkened corridor behind the cloak room and into a tastefully decorated paneled office. Eddy Cheng, a well-dressed Asian man of forty, sits behind a large walnut desk, with a Ming dynasty vase, encased in the wall behind him. He rises and embraces David, who is somewhat confused by Cheng’s informality.

"Good to see you, my friend. How is the Cat this evening?"

"Oh fine, fine. Still all packed up at the museum. Say, how did you know about the job?"

"There’s not much that goes on in the way of museum jobs in this town, that Eddy Cheng doesn’t know about."

"Oh I get it. Philanthropist, eh. Museum groupie. We get those all the time. Back in Connecticut we had a Mrs. Carlton Random who left all her dough to me for my work."

"Left it for your work? Ah, what a charming way you have of putting things. I shall have to remember that one."

"Ok, suit yourself, Mister Cheng."

"Call me Eddy."

"Suit yourself EDDY, but I really must know what it is about the museum that you are trying to tell me."

"Only this: the story about the rock is all a ruse. They’ve got it hiding in a prehistoric cat. Californicus, something or other."

"What??"

"I know the irony is delicious, is it not. The Cat, stalking the rock, all the while it’s in a cat."

"Good, heavens man, speak English!"

"I’ll have you know my English is impeccable. I was born in this country and went to Stanford."

"That’s not what I meant at all. I beg your pardon. I didn’t mean to offend you. I only meant that I haven’t the faintest idea what your talking about."

"This is not the Cat that I remember from the old days. The Cat never missed a trick. I will tell you one more, time and I wish you’d pay attention. They’ve got the rock hiding in some old fossil at the natural history museum. The one on display is fake."

"Now, you’re mistaken, Eddy. I see where the confusion is. It’s quite a common mistake actually. When a skeleton becomes a fossil, it literally becomes a rock. You don’t hide rock in it. It actually is rock. The minerals in the bone get slowly replaced with earth minerals and turn to stone, bit by bit, inch by inch, over thousands of years. I’d love to stay and give you a lesson in basic paleontology, but my eggrolls and my dinner companion are getting cold," he turns to leave and bumps smack into the waiter who has crept up behind him.

"Pardon me," David says to the waiter who’s sprawled out on the floor. Eddy Cheng rushes to help him and David slips out the door. Flustered from his meeting with Cheng, he returns to Domi’s table. She has left. He sits down, thinking maybe she went to the powder room. He takes a bite of now cold egg roll. He sighs. The waiter appears again.

"Ahh, excellent. I’m starved. We’ll have the Peking Duck dinner for two and a bottle of… a bottle of…what goes with duck?"

"Your wife, sir."

"My wife goes with duck. That makes no sense, as I told you my wife is dead, and surely she’s in a place quite free of water fowl."

"Excuse me, I meant your dinner companion. She left. She was a bit upset. She said you could keep your stupid, Californi-whatsis and shove it up your—"

"Oh dear, I see what you mean. That must have been what you came to tell me back in Eddy’s office. Sorry about crashing into you like that. Nose stop bleeding, yet?"

"Yes, sir, thanks for asking. Can I still get you something to eat?"

"I’ll have the duck for one to go, please."

"Anything else?"

"No. Huh. That’s funny."

"What’s funny, sir?"

"Well the duck for one to go, is sort of what I had in mind earlier today, only it’s not the same somehow."

"Perhaps, the duck for two—"

"What good’s a duck for two for one and a dead cat?"

"I’m quite sure I have no idea, sir. Wait is this a riddle? Mister Cheng is good at those. I’ll go ask him."

"No, no, no, leave Mister Cheng back in his gilded cage to ponder the mysteries of nature. You stay right here until I’ve ordered."

"Whatever you say, sir."

David stares absently at the menu, wrinkling his brow. In his right hand he toys with the sleeve that Domi left on the table. He smiles a bit. It reminds him of Susan, who wasn’t above a little sleeve ripping now and again. The waiter clears his throat, bringing David back to the matter at hand.

"You know, I will take that duck for two to go and a bottle of your finest bubbly to go with it."

"Champagne with duck?"

"Why not?"

"Well, it’s just that duck is quite…well, duck just doesn’t go with Champagne."

"Well, what goes with duck?"

"Here we go again."

"No, no. Why don’t you just give me the champagne and some food to go with it. Something ROMANTIC, something that says, I’m sorry I’ve taken you for granted. Something … well, something other than duck."

"Ok, that’ll be one bottle of Dom Perignon to GO and two orders of something romantic that says I’m sorry I’ve taken you for granted. Coming right up!" he says tearing off several sheets in his waiter’s notepad. He rolls his eyes and returns to the kitchen.

Meanwhile back at the Robbie’s table, the Peking Duck dinner for three is well into it’s third course, that being, the duck. Jessie Stevens has headed off to the powder room to freshen up.

"Delicious duck, isn’t it dear. I don’t know why we don’t dine here deliberately."

"John, is there something wrong. You seem a bit irritable."

"What makes you say that?"

"Eight ‘d’s in a row."

"Oh, sorry. I guess I must be the only man in the world to alliterate in times of stress."

"Are you under stress, dear?"

"I am just a bit distracted. It’s just that I remembered a phone call I should have made this afternoon. Need to order more oak barrels from France. One can never have enough barrels in the wine business."

"Mmm hmm."

"Maybe I should go make that phone call. Get it out of the way, you know, so that I can concentrate fully on the duck," he says rising to his feet, scanning the restaurant for a sign of Eddy Chang.

"You wouldn’t want the duck to feel neglected," Francie says but he’s already out of earshot.

John moves around the bar, stealthily, in a manner that some might describe as cat-like. The waiter approaches, carrying a large sack of take-out food and a bottle of Champagne.

"Here you are sir. I think you’ll like the meal. I had the chef, whip up a little something. It’s goose liver. Kind of like Foie Gras, only it’s Chinese. It goes remarkably well with the bubbly."

"Chinese foie gras? I think your mistaken, my good man. I ordered the duck for three."

"The duck for three? You were going back and forth about one and two for a while, don’t tell me you’re going to play duck, duck, goose liver! I beg your pardon sir, but I distinctly remember that you did NOT order ANY duck, let alone three."

"Don’t argue. Just get that Chinese foie gras and that Dom Perignon out of here. If my wife sees that she’ll know I’m up to something. Champagne and trouble always go hand in hand with me. I’m NOTORIOUS for it."

"Right away, sir, what ever you say. By the way, is there something wrong with your coat sir?"

"It’s sensitive to questions! Look, can you just tell me where Eddy is?"

"He’s back in his office, cleaning my blood off of the carpet."

"Alright, now we’re getting somewhere. And remember what I said. Get rid of the CHAMPAGNE!"

John sneaks up alongside the coat check and the rest rooms, on the look out for Jessie returning from the ladies. Seeing the coast clear, he tiptoes behind David Huxley, his identical twin, whose back is turned to him and down the corridor to Eddy’s office.

As John enters Eddy’s office, Jessie returns from the rest room and spots David at his table. Mistaking him for John, she sits down.

"What are you doing over here? And where’s Francie?"

"Francie who?"

"Oh I see, you must have gotten in a fight. I can’t take that girl anywhere."

"Madame, I have no idea what your talking about."

"Don’t you play dumb with me. It takes two to tango. Francie may be uppity, but she’s genuinely concerned about you. You ought to be ashamed of yourself. Leaving her alone in Chinatown to eat hot lead with me in my weakened condition on account of my love for Manhattan."

"That settles it. Everyone in this screwy town is completely, certifiably, commitably WACKO!"

Just then the waiter returns, with an even larger package containing duck for three to go.

"Your duck, sir."

"I didn’t order duck. Remember, I ordered champagne—"

"Aha! Champagne! You ARE up to something. Francie was right!"

"Madame, would you kindly shut up!" David says and then turns his attention to fighting with the waiter. The waiter wanders off shaking his head while David follows still repeating his complicated order.

Meanwhile Jessie stomps off in a huff toward the bar. "Well, I never! Wait until Francie hears about this!" She is just about to order her fourth Manhattan, when she spots Francie out of the corner of her eye.

"I’ll have a Manhattan please, bring it to my table. I’m over there with the pretty blonde that looks like the Princess of Monacco," she says and returns to find Francie quite miserable and alone.

"You’re not going to believe what your husband just did. He told me to shut up. Right to my face. And you know what else?"

"No, what else?"

"He’s been ordering champagne!"

"Champagne! Oh dear. It’s worse than I thought. First the alliteration and now this," Francie says bursting into tears.

"Hush, dear. Don’t make a fuss. It’s not like you to cry in public. You must be really upset," she says handing Francie a handkerchief. She blows her nose loudly.

"Oh I don’t know what it is Mother. I’m so moody lately. One minute, I’m deliriously happy, the next minute I’m anxious and now I’m blubbering like a baby."

"A baby, huh?"

"Oh, Mother, you don’t think. No, it can’t be. Not after all these years of trying. Not now, it’s all too crazy."

"Well, stranger things have happened, my dear. You tell me. Is it possible?"

"Why yes, it could be, but it just didn’t occur to me."

"Well, it’s starting to look like it DID occur to you, honey."

Just then the bar man arrives with Jessie’s Manhattan. She places it in the middle of her otherwise empty plate.

"Thank you. I have a feeling this is going to be just delicious."

"Oh, Mother!"

"Don’t oh mother, me. I’m drinking for two now that you’re out of the loop."

Meanwhile, John fresh from his enlightening meeting with Eddy Chang in which John managed to extract the low-down on the museum job from his bewildered host, heads back across the restaurant. Just then David Huxley comes out of the kitchen bearing a tower of bags containing Chinese foi gras, champagne and duck for three to go. The pile of bags is so high that neither John nor David see each other and narrowly avoid a disastrous collision and the end of the confusion which drives a screwball comedy. David walks out of the restaurant and hails a cab, back to the Drake and Domi, while John returns to his wife and his mother in law…

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