“Please, Mr. Ng, please give Mr. Koodles back. I love him,” Mrs. De Mille begged in her gravelly chain-smoker’s voice.
“No! His incessant meowing is killing me. I told you to have him de-meowed.”
“The vet said he was too old for the operation. I tried.”
“For God’s sake,” Michael said. “Mrs. De Mille, allow me.”
Renata was excited to be in the midst of all this drama. She couldn’t wait to write about it in her diary. Mr. Drummond was about to be a hero. She thought something like this happened on Family Affair once. But it was Buffy who was kidnapped and Mr. French who saved the day. Or, maybe it was her doll, Mrs. Beasley, who disappeared and Uncle Bill who came to the rescue. She couldn’t remember for sure.
“Mr. Ng, please, open the door. You’ve already kidnapped the cat. You don’t want to add murder to your crime.”
“The cat’s a nuisance. It deserves to die. I’ve called the pound. They’re on their way.”
“Nooooo,” Mrs. De Mille gasped. She leaned against the wall like she was about to faint. Renata fanned her with a Chinese food menu she found on the floor.
“Mr. Ng, Mrs. De Mille is ninety-five. Look at her. How can you disrespect your elderly neighbor like this?”
“I don’t care if she’s a hundred. She deserves it for not shutting up the damn cat.”
“Mr. Ng, take the chain off. At least let me come in and talk to you. Man-to-man. Come on.”
Mr. Ng hesitated, then unlocked the door. Michael stepped inside while Renata stayed with Mrs. De Mille, fanning and comforting her. A few minutes later, Michael walked out holding a huge orange tabby cat out in front of him like it was a bomb about to explode.
Renata squealed and Mrs. De Mille let out a cry of relief. “Thank you, thank you. You saved my Mr. Koodles!” Michael hustled the two back to Mrs. De Mille’s apartment.
Once inside, he asked, “Are you okay, Mrs. De Mille? Can I get you some water?”
“I’m fine. Thank you again,” she said. “What did you say to him?”
“I promised we’d take the cat to our apartment so he wouldn’t hear it meowing anymore.”
“What! Never!” Mrs. De Mille said, holding Mr. Koodles tightly.
“Don’t worry.” Michael smiled. “I didn’t mean it.”
“You lied?” Renata said, her eyes wide. “On purpose?”
“I did, but I shouldn’t have, Renata. It’s not right to lie, but in this case, Mr. Ng was a thief, a kidnapper, and a possible cat murderer. I had to do something drastic.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t start lying. Unless it’s an emergency,” Renata said solemnly.
“Mrs. De Mille, you better be careful. Mr. Ng is crazy.”
“Don’t worry about me. I’ve been a city girl my whole life. I know how to handle nut jobs like him.” Mrs. De Mille hugged Mr. Koodles tightly.
“You’re my hero,” Renata whispered to Michael, batting her eyes.
“No big deal,” he said, as they started back upstairs.
Mrs. De Mille cracked open the door again. “Mr. Drummond, would you consider buying my apartment and then leasing it back to me for life?”
“Well, I’ll definitely give it some thought,” Michael said in an interested voice. “But why would you want to do that? Do you need money to live on?”
“No, it’s not that. Mr. Ng has been scheming to buy my apartment for years. I’ll be Goddamned if I’ll have my money-grubbing heirs selling my home to that fucking cat snatcher.” She smiled at Renata. “Pardon my French, dear.”
DEAR DIARY,
I’LL NEVER FORGET LAST NIGHT AS LONG AS I LIVE. MICHAEL SAVED MR. KOODLES FROM CERTAIN DEATH AT THE HANDS OF AN EVIL MANIAC. IT WAS A HORROWING EXPERIENCE THAT BROUGHT ME AND MICHAEL TOGETHER AS FATHER AND DAUGHTER. NOTHING CAN TEAR US APART NOW.
YOUR HOPEFUL FRIEND,
R. E. RUIZ
Renata Spies While Christy Shops
DEAR DIARY,
THIS MORNING I HID INSIDE THE PANTRY WHILE YOK WAH MADE BREAKFAST. NOTHING OF INTEREST HAPPENED. BUT I GOT IN AND OUT OF THE PANTRY WITHOUT HER SEEING ME. IT WAS GOOD PRACTICE.
LOVE,
RENATA THE SPY
Christy slipped on the red double-breasted jacket and admired herself in the mirror. “So, what do you think?”
“It’s not quite right,” Katherine mused. “You need something a little more feminine. Too bad Ophelia went out of business. Their jackets were so beautiful.”
“What about something vintage?” Ava suggested. Ava was Christy’s stylist, usually called in for big photo shoots for Fortune, Wired, the Wall Street Journal.
“No, not vintage. I want to go with a current designer. These are the Matrix Awards. I can’t get too funky. I’ll wear an antique brooch or something,” Christy said.
“Then try the Dolce and Gabbana suit,” Ava suggested.
“Now this I like,” Christy said, unzipping the skirt, a fitted, retro-looking tweed with a row of leopard silk ruffles peeking out from the hem.
“I have the perfect brooch you can wear with that,” Katherine said. “It’s a Cartier piece from the fifties, a sculptured ivory rose with diamonds. My mother gave it to me before she died.”
“You’d lend that to me?”
“Of course I would. You’re my best friend. This is a huge occasion. I can’t believe you’re getting a Matrix.”
“What exactly is a Matrix Award?” Ava asked. “I know they’re prestigious. I just don’t know why.”
“They’re for women who make outstanding achievements in communications,” Christy said, examining the back of her suit in a three-way mirror. “We’re getting one for sponsoring Columbia scholarships for girls going into sports journalism. It’s the community service award,” Christy said.
“Did you tell them we’re both involved in that?” Katherine asked.
“Of course. But they could only take one person, so they went with the CEO. Sorry.” She gave Katherine a sympathetic smile. She really did wish she could share this.
“That’s okay. I’m happy for you. My day’ll come. You’re in good company this year.
