Page 53 of The Holy Grail

Pussy magnet

Evan almost didn’t go to Malcom’s place on Wednesday.

He ended up deciding to go at the last minute and then, because he hated being late anywhere, drove like hell to arrive on time.

All the while, his mind churned with pessimistic and optimistic thoughts at war with one another—pessimistic because he didn’t think anything was going to be accomplished, but optimistic because he apparently couldn’t give up hope something would be accomplished.

Hope springs eternal.

It was a mindset which had gotten him nowhere many, many times.

His knock at the door was answered quickly by Jules, who was apparently very much at home in Malcom’s large townhouse, and as soon as the thought took up residence in his head, Evan squashed it. It was much too early for his inner bitch to be coming out to play.

“Come in,” Jules said invitingly. “Thank you for coming.”

He almost rolled his eyes at that, as if she hadn’t used extortion to get him here.

Instead, he simply looked her up and down, taking in her jeans and long gray sweater, which, despite the relative shapelessness of it, managed to make her look feminine and sexy.

Even with her hair pulled back in a ponytail, and very little make-up on, she was still a smoke show.

“I didn’t have much of a choice. Doing whatever it is we’re doing here at the bar was not a real option. ”

Since he didn’t have a coat to hang up, she immediately started leading him down a long hallway, and as they passed open doorways, he glanced in out of curiosity, expecting to see rooms catering to rich people, like a formal sitting room or a library.

Instead, all of the rooms were empty, which gave him a strange feeling.

He couldn’t help but think if he were watching a movie, this is where a character would find himself (or herself, because he wasn’t sexist) being murdered and then buried in the basement.

“Where’s all the furniture?” Evan asked. “I thought lawyers made good money.”

Lowering her voice, Jules answered, “When Malcom and Gwen got divorced, she ended up with their house and almost everything in it, and when he bought this place, he—”

“Didn’t buy any furniture to put in it?”

“He bought some, but he’s not really big on shopping.”

“Clearly. The divorce was like … what, six years ago?”

“I know.”

“So, are we going to be standing around the entire time we’re doing whatever it is we’re doing here?”

Just then, they stepped into a kitchen that had Evan stopping in his tracks.

“Whoa. This is nice,” he said, looking around at the beautiful and impressive space.

He wasn’t much of a cook (watching shows on TV was about as far as he got), but he knew a state-of-the-art kitchen when he saw one.

He also knew when something really delicious was being cooked, and he figured at least he was going to get a good meal out of the evening.

Malcom turned and reiterated what Jules had said just moments before. “Thank you for coming.” Then motioning behind him toward the island, he added, “There’s wine if you’d like some.”

Seeing both Malcom and Jules had glasses of wine already, Evan decided one of his own wouldn’t hurt, so he picked up the glass which had obviously been set out for him and filled it halfway.

As he was setting the bottle back down (it was a really nice Cabernet Sauvignon), a cat jumped up onto the island and made its way over to him.

It was beautiful, with multi-colored fur in shades of black, brown, gold, russet, and white.

“Well, hello, there,” he greeted the feline, who began to rub its face against Evan’s arm.

“I didn’t picture you having a cat,” he said to Malcom.

“She’s a stray, who just sort of moved in. I really didn’t have any say in the matter,” Malcom replied, moving from the cook top to the double ovens to check on something inside .

“Hmm,” Evan said, giving Jules a pointed look, as if to say, I know how the cat feels. “So, what’s her name?”

“At first it was Don Corleone—”

“Don Corleone? As in The Godfather ?” Evan asked. “You named your female cat after the male head of a mafia crime family?”

Malcom nodded as he turned around and picked up his wine glass and took a sip. “I thought she was male and—”

“You could have just looked between her legs. Boys and girls do look different, you know.”

“Yes, I know, but even if I’d been inclined, she never would’ve let me get that close in the beginning. And she was a stone-cold killer, so it seemed like she was a ‘he’.”

Evan slid his eyes over to Jules as he mused dryly, “A lot of females can be stone-cold killers.”

Malcom hid his amusement at the comment, not wanting Jules to see it, because that would be bad for business. “Anyway, Jules was kind enough to set me straight on the sex of my cat and immediately changed the name to D-A-W-N Corleone.”

“Hmm, clever,” Evan said, scratching his new friend behind her ears, earning some enthusiastic purring in return. “I think she likes me.” Then, switching gears, he asked, “So, what’s for dinner?”

“Eggplant Parmesan, with steamed broccoli and a Caesar salad on the side.”

“His salads are really good,” Jules told Evan. “I mean, everything he makes is amazing, but his salads are worth eating, too.”

“Okay. I’m not a big salad eater, but I’ll give it a try.”

“It should be ready in about ten minutes,” Malcom said, as Jules began pulling plates out of a cabinet, clearly knowing her way around the kitchen.

Since he obviously wasn’t needed at the moment, Evan decided to pretend like he wasn’t feeling awkward and wander around.

With a glass of wine in one hand, he figured some company wouldn’t hurt, so he picked the cat up with the other hand, using his palm and forearm to support her body from underneath, and holding her against his side, leaving her legs to dangle.

Surprisingly, she seemed content to be held in such a manner, so Evan started a lap around the living room.

The first thing he saw was the framed movie poster for The Godfather , and he immediately stopped and admired it. “That’s really nice,” he said to Dawn Corleone. “But I think mine is better because in that one, Brando’s holding a cat. ”

There weren’t any other pictures or artwork on the walls to look at, but there was a normal amount of furniture, which was good, along with what turned out to be a decent vinyl collection.

Immediately interested, he set his wine down in order to thumb through the albums, all the while keeping up a conversation with Dawn Corleone.

“As far as collections go, this one isn’t bad,” he said, estimating there to be five hundred or more records, although they were in complete disarray.

“It needs to be organized, though, because what the hell? Johnny Cash next to Led Zeppelin? What’s going on here?

I mean, I know it would take some time, but it’s not like your owner has a bunch of furniture to dust, eating up all his spare time, right?

” he asked Dawn Corleone, who gave a low meow.

Shaking his head, Evan continued. “So, who’s your favorite band?

The Stray Cats? Sorry, I know that was low hanging fruit, but sometimes you’ve got to pick it.

Maybe the Pussy Cat Dolls? Again, sorry.

Josie and the Pussycats? I know, they weren’t a real band, but you wouldn’t know that …

” he trailed off as he came across John Cougar’s self-titled album John Cougar.

“Here we go. John Cougar before he added the ‘Mellencamp’, which is a terrible last name, if we’re being honest. Not a bad singer, though.

How about Cat Stevens? No? Yeah, I’m not a fan, either.

Same goes for White Lion. Maybe the Cheetah Girls?

Or Atomic Kitten?” At another low meow, Evan said, “You like them? Yeah, they’re not bad …

” he trailed off again as he saw Pyromania and pulled it out .

“ Now this is a band I think you’d really like.

Good music, great in concert, and their drummer only has one arm.

He used to have two, but then … car accident.

Did you know that? Yeah, I didn’t think so, since it was way before your time.

Anyway, Def Leppard should be your go-to, if you’re looking for recommendations,” he said, showing it to Dawn Corleone one more time before putting it back.

To Evan’s amusement, the record right behind it was Donna Summer’s Bad Girls. He immediately picked it up with a grin, and that’s how Jules found him when she came to a stop next to him.

“Dinner’s ready,” she announced.

He tilted the record her way. “And you said you weren’t sure if there were any signs Mal was bisexual,” he murmured.

She pursed her lips together for a moment. “I said there was nothing ‘concrete’.”

“Well, this is what you’d call ‘concrete’,” he said dryly, setting it back into its slot.

With the cat still perched on his arm, Evan grabbed his wine glass and followed Jules to the table, which was set with nice plates, sparkling silverware, and cloth napkins.

As they all sat down and began eating, Evan felt a tug of hope, that vicious bitch trying to sink her claws in him and make him think this could become an ordinary day in his life, having dinner with these two people.

Sharing a life with them.

“I’m not usually a big eggplant fan, except for the emoji,” Evan said, forcing the conversation in a casual direction. “This is delicious, though.”

Malcom smiled. “Thank you.”

“I didn’t know you … cooked.”

“Well, it never came up ... before.”

Evan took another bite and made a sound of appreciation. “Gwen was a lucky woman. And a really stupid one, too … but I guess her stupidity was a gift to you in the end,” he added, before nodding his head toward Jules.

“I certainly think so,” Jules said. “But I’m biased.”