While I was still telling him "No no no" he opened the trunk and said, "At least try it on for size."
He made me curl up in the trunk and found that I fit rather nicely, like a shoe in a shoebox. "Great, now we just need to pack and be off. Let's be ready and have you in there in forty-five minutes, all right?"
Before I could answer, he traipsed into his bedroom. Freddie picked up the phone and called Mary to ask her to watch over the cats, as he had to leave the country for a little while.
I kicked the trunk again. What good was the word "no" if every time it was used, Freddie went miraculously deaf? I huffed, walked into the bathroom with a change of clothes, and showered. I was tired of this.
Freddie was still on the phone, but not with Mary, when I dressed and walked back out, picked up my backpack, trudged down the stairs, and opened the door, about to leave. I had had enough of the idiocy, enough of being used, enough of being chewed on, both figuratively and literally. My patience was at an end.
Look, I'll turn myself in, I said to myself. Take me to jail, lock me up. Throw away the key. At least I'll be alone. I can't take this anymore.
Just before I walked out into the overcast day, I heard a soft meow behind me. I turned, and there was Oscar, staring up at me like always. Once he had my attention, he padded closer and nuzzled his head against my legs, looking up at me almost affectionately- which, for a cat, is saying something. I smiled, bending down to rub his back. The orange tabby purred, arching up against the palm of my hand as I stroked his fur.
"I'm in a house full of wildcats," I said aloud as I tapped Oscar's nose. "Any sane person would have left days ago. Why am I still here?"
"Evie?" Freddie called. "Darling? Where are you?"
I rolled my eyes. "Down here," I replied. To Oscar I whispered lightly, "You distracted me, you little fink. Now I can't sneak off. You guys planned this, didn't you?"
Freddie appeared at the top of the stairs. "What are you doing down there? We have less than half an hour and your hair's still wet."
I shrugged in defeat. "Shoot me."
"I'd rather not. I'm fond of this carpeting."
"I'll say this one more time," I told him. "This isn't important. I'm not important. The album is. Queen is. Why don't you take Mary to Vegas, have her pretend to be Eve Dubroc and you pretend to be Mark Zuckerberg, don't you know that would make her year?"
"Yeah, but I didn't bet on Mary."
"Exactly. You-"
"I what?"
"Never mind." In my head, though, I finished, You have respect for her. I'm just me. You don't give a damn about me.
"Freddie," I said, getting up off my knees, "I've got just one question for you."
He planted his hands on his hips, tapping his foot. Sitting still and talking on the telephone had given him the jitters. "Well, go on."
"Is this absolutely necessary?" I asked. "Do we have to do this?"
"That's two questions."
I blinked. "Would you mind answering at least one of them please?"
Freddie waltzed down the stairs a way, and folded his arms. "Darling, it's not a have-to, certainly, but I consider it an ought-to."
"What are you trying to prove?"
He ignored that question too. After a moment, Freddie said, "Look. I'll make a pact with you. You do this for me, come with me to Vegas, not only will I promise not to report you, I won't ask any more favors of you ever again."
I looked him over. "The favor to end all favors, eh?"
"You could say that."
"And Roger will back off?"
Freddie held up his right hand. "I'll make sure of it."
I rubbed my eyes, forgetting I had cat dander all over my fingers. "Very well," I sighed. "Travel by trunk. There are worse things, I suppose."
"Indeed, such as you leaving-"
"The front door open. I know, sorry." I walked over and closed the door and locked it.
When I looked back up at him, I noticed the oddest expression on his face. His features were a little stiff, and his eyes narrowed. Freddie let out a deep breath through his nose.
"What's the matter?" I asked.
With an annoyed little cough, Freddie put his hand on the rail and snapped, "Just start packing so we can f---ing go. Jesus." He turned then and hustled toward his bedroom, slamming the door.
Good Lord, the man's practically bipolar.
Oscar was now walking tight circles around me, his tail curling around my shins. Even though he started my throat to itching and my eyes to watering, this little guy was so cute. I couldn't resist petting him.
Maybe that's the answer, I wondered. Like I do Oscar, I find Freddie cute (or in his actual case, sexy) and so, though I know neither of them are good for me, I stick around and put up with them. I'm not trapped here, and yet I stay. Because... he's cute. Cute, but mean and manipulating. Yeah. That's just great. What happened to my standards?
"There's only two things keeping me here, Oscar," I told the little tabby. "You, and his cheekbones. That's it. I can't stand the rest of him."
To all the cats, I said, "See you later, my children, got to go pack. I'm being smuggled into Las Vegas to fake a marriage to Mark Zuckerberg."
In spite of myself, I burst out laughing. And people thought Freddie sneaking Princess Diana into a gay bar was off the wall...