Cat People (11 page)

"That was after I was all through drawing. I was petting him."

"Petting him? I can't believe I'm hearing this. Did you say you were petting my leopard?"

"Of course. Couldn't you see that? He was upset when I got here. Something happened earlier that disturbed him. And he was very lonely. I don't believe anyone here has shown him any love."

Oliver stared at her. "You're serious, aren't you?"

"Yes, of course I'm serious."

"Don't you realize that this is a highly dangerous animal? We know for a fact that he's mauled one woman severely. God only knows what other mayhem he's responsible for."

"Pooh. All he needs is some affection."

"Oh, you could sense that, could you?"

"As a matter of fact. I could." she said, ignoring the sarcasm. "And if you're supposed to be the ... what did you call yourself?"

"Curator."

"If you're the curator here, I should think you could sense things about animals too."

"I can, sometimes," Oliver said in a gentler tone. "But I still wouldn't go poking my arm into the cage of an animal who could rip it off with a swipe of his paw."

"I was in no danger," she said.

In the moonlight Oliver saw that the girl had a nice smile. An exceptionally nice smile.

"You know who I am now," he said, "how about making us even?"

"I'm Irena Gallier."

"Welcome to the New Orleans Zoo, Miss Gallier. It is
miss?"

"It is."

"I'll be glad to show you around personally next time, but it might be better if you come during the hours when we're open to the public."

"I'm sorry," she said. "I guess I lost track of the time."

Her knees seemed to weaken suddenly. She staggered, and Oliver reached out to catch her.

"Are you all right?"

"I—I think so. Just a little dizzy for a moment."

She was light and vulnerable-feeling in his arms. Oliver put a hand to her forehead. He found it hot and dry to his touch.

"You're feverish," he said.

She leaned against him. "Your hand feels so nice and cool."

"Can you walk all right?"

"Oh, yes, if I can lean on you a little."

"My pleasure. Come on, and I'll take you up to the ad building. There's a dispensary there."

"No, really, I think I'll be all right in a minute," she said.

"I'll be the judge of that. Did I tell you that I'm a doctor?"

"No, you didn't A medical doctor?"

He smiled down at her. "Not exactly, but I can at least get you an aspirin."

"You're the doctor," she said weakly.

Behind them, the leopard growled softly as they started away.

Irena let herself be led through the trees and up the grassy slope to the administration building. Oliver took her into the small dispensary and persuaded her to lie down on the couch. He soaked a cloth under cold running water, wrung it out, and laid it gently across her forehead.

"No kidding," she said, "I don't want to be any trouble to you."

"Hush. If I can find a thermometer, I'll take your temperature and we'll see if we ought to call a genuine doctor for you."

He took a bottle of pills from a shelf, shook two into his hand, and gave them to her with a plastic cup of water.

"In the meantime, take these."

"I don't much believe in medicine."

"It's only aspirin."

"I don't need it. Really, I feel all right now."

Irena took the damp cloth from her forehead and sat up. She smiled at him.

"See? Good ae new."

Oliver looked at her suspiciously. "You sure didn't seem all right a few minutes ago." He came over and put his hand on her forehead again. Her skin was smooth and cool under his fingers. "That's funny. You were burning up when I brought you in here. Now you feel normal to me."

"I have a peculiar metabolism," she said. "Doctors have told me I don't have the same kind of reactions that other people do."

"A medical marvel," he said.

"In a way. I don't like doctors. I'm glad you're not a real one."

"But I
am
a real one," he told her, a little defensively. "I just happen to be a doctor of zoology instead of medicine."

"Well, that's all right, I suppose."

"Thanks."

"You're not mad at me?"

"No," he said, chuckling, "but somebody ought to be, for the chances you take. Can I get you anything?"

"Well ..." She looked around the dispensary. "I don't suppose there's anything to eat around here. Suddenly I'm starving."

"Not unless you'd like a nice mash of meal worms and crickets."

She made a face.

"Or horsemeat tartare?"

"Yuck."

"I'll tell you what, I'm about to close up shop for the night, and I'm kind of hungry myself. Why don't you come with me?"

"I'd like that," she said.

Oliver blinked in surprise. He had expected her to be coy about it while they went through the usual thrust and parry of making a first date. She really
did
react differently.

"Good," he said. "There's a little steak house not far from here where I stop sometimes."

"I try to stay away from meat," she said.

"Right." He appraised her for a moment, wondering if she was going to turn out to be one of those health food freaks. A displaced flower child—natural childbirth, save the whales, no nukes, and all that.

"What about seafood?" he ventured.

"I love it."

"Wonderful." He breathed an inner sigh of relief. "There are almost as many fish houses in New Orleans as Dixieland bands. Let's go."

When they left the zoo, Oliver saw to it that they did not walk past the black leopard.

The Little Napoleon Fish House on Toulouse Street was not advertised in the tourist guides. Little attention was paid to atmosphere. However, it was well known to the local people who appreciated good food at a reasonable price and did not need frills.

The Little Napoleon had an oyster bar where a cheerful black man cracked open the shells with hands that moved faster than the eye could follow. The lights were kept low so the plain wooden tables didn't look too shabby. There was no live music and no jukebox, but the door was always open so the customers could enjoy the sounds of a jazz band playing a couple of doors away at the corner of Bourbon Street.

Oliver and Irena sat across from each other at one of the small tables. He watched with a smile as she dipped the last of her half dozen oysters into the spicy sauce and popped it into her mouth.

"Am I doing it wrong?" she said.

"What's that?"

"The way you were looking at me, I thought maybe I was eating the oysters wrong."

Oliver laughed. "Not that I'm aware of. I'm just glad to see that you have such a hearty appetite. For a while, back there, I was afraid that you were a really sick girl."

"I told you I have a strange metabolism."

"Maybe so, but there's sure nothing wrong with the rest of you."

"Are you flirting with me, Mr. Curator?" she said.

"Just a little. Laying the groundwork, you might say."

Irena studied his face. "You don't look much like a curator."

"Oh? What does a curator look like?"

"Older, for one thing. Gray hair, getting thin on top. Wire-rim glasses. A slight stoop. Jacket with leather patches at the elbows."

"I do have one of those jackets at home."

"You still don't fit the image."

"If not a curator, what
do
I look like?"

Irena put two fingers to her cheek thoughtfully. "I don't know. Maybe a high-school football coach. Or somebody who races cars. Or a mountain climber."

"Those all sound very glamorous," he said, "but what I am is the curator of the New Orleans Zoo."

The waiter arrived with two platters of flaky pompano caught that morning in Breton Sound. It was served with lemon-butter sauce and feather-light French fries.

"They have a pretty good house chablis here," Oliver said.

"If you don't mind, I'd rather have a glass of milk."

"Why should I mind?" To the waiter he said, "One glass of milk and a small carafe of chablis."

"I'm not much of a drinker," she apologized.

"That
is
a shame, because I was planning to get you drunk and have my way with you."

"Oho, so that's why you were feeding me all those oysters."

"It was worth a try," he said with an elaborate shrug. Irena took a bite of the pompano and closed her eyes in pleasure. "This is delicious. I
do
love fish."

Oliver smiled, sharing her enjoyment.

The waiter brought the milk and the wine. Irena and Oliver toasted each other.

"So are you going to tell me just what the curator of a zoo does?" she said.

"Are you really interested?"

"Of course I am. I wouldn't have asked you otherwise."

"I'm not a vet myself, but I oversee the veterinary work. Do a lot of research. I'm responsible for buying the animals, when we have the budget for it. I also sell animals when we have a surplus of a particular breed. Set up the exhibits. And sometimes, when we get a donation or win a government grant, I'll head up an expedition."

"An expedition? Like into the jungle?"

"Sometimes."

"Now, that sounds exciting. You see, I knew there was something glamorous about you."

"I'm glad you think so, but most of my expeditions are into the bureaucratic jungles. A lot of the local politicians don't think New Orleans needs two zoos. Between you and me, they just may be right."

"How long have you done this kind of work?"

"Ever since I got out of college. That would be almost ten years now. But it really started when I was a kid. I was always comfortable around animals. Spent more time with them than I did with people. I still do, if you come right down to it."

"I love animals too," Irena said seriously. "They're so, I don't know, honest."

"I know what you mean." Oliver grinned suddenly. "I never knew a monkey who would cheat on his golf score."

Irena smiled politely.

"But that's enough of the Oliver Yates story for one evening. Tell me about yourself. Where do you come from? What are you doing in New Orleans? How did I happen to find you with your hand in my leopard's mouth?"

"Which question do you want me to answer first?" she said.

"Take your choice."

"What am I doing in New Orleans? I'm looking for a job. I thought my brother, Paul, was going to help me, but he's been busy and I haven't even seen him since I got in two days ago. I'm just marking time until I get a chance to talk to him."

"What kind of a job are you looking for?"

"Eventually I want to get into commercial art. That's what I studied for. In the meantime I'll take anything I can find to tide me over. I'm good with children. I used to take care of my foster parents' kids a lot."

"Foster parents?"

Irena looked uncomfortable. "Yes. I ... never knew my real parents."

"Look, it's none of my business. I didn't mean to pry."

"It's all right," she told him, "I don't mind talking about it. A therapist I went to told me it would be good for me to talk about it." She drew a deep breath and continued. "When I was four years old my father shot my mother to death, then killed himself. Some kind of a love triangle."

Oliver reached across the table and took her hand. "You poor kid. I'm so sorry."

"It was a long time ago. Seventeen years. Actually, I don't remember anything about it. They tell me I blanked it all out of my mind. A lucky thing, I guess. Still, sometimes I wonder about them, my mother and father. What they were like. In the pictures I've seen, they made a very good-looking couple."

"I'm not surprised," Oliver said. "They have good-looking children."

"My brother will be pleased to hear that," she said mischievously.

"Uh, look," Oliver began awkwardly, "until you find something you really want to do, how would you like to work at the zoo?"

Irena's face lit up. "I'd love it! To work around animals all day, I'd almost do it for nothing. But I really don't have any qualifications for that kind of work."

"For what I have in mind," Oliver said, "you wouldn't need any qualifications other than a good personality and a nice smile. And you certainly have those."

"'Thank you sir,' the maiden said."

"And it's not exactly working with animals, it's in the gift shop. One of the girls there quit suddenly, and we need somebody to fill in until we find a permanent replacement."

"It sounds marvelous. Can you really arrange it?"

"I am not without influence, my dear."

Irena laughed along with him. "I'll bet you're not."

Oliver signaled the waiter to bring the check. He watched as she drank the last of her milk. It left a pale moustache on her upper lip. She licked it off with her pointed pink tongue.

Oliver paid the check and they walked out into the parking lot, where Oliver had left the truck. He helped her in on the passenger side, then went around and got in behind the wheel.

He said, "I don't suppose you'd be interested in coming to my place for a nightcap?"

"On our very first date? I'm afraid you overestimate the power of those oysters."

"I take it that means no."

She smiled and touched his arm. "Not this time, Oliver. I really am very tired."

"Then there will be another time?"

"If you want there to be."

"You can bet on it." Oliver keyed the engine to life. "Where to?"

She gave him the address and they talked easily about inconsequential things as he drove out quiet St. Charles Street. Irena was animated and cheerful. Oliver thought she was incredibly beautiful in the intermittent light from the overhead street lamps.

"That's it," she said, "the house up ahead with no lights."

Oliver pulled to a stop and looked up at the front of the dark brick house behind the forbidding iron fence. "This is where you live?"

"My brother does. I'm staying here until I can find a place of my own."

"It looks kind of grim."

"Maybe the house reflects the lives of the people who have lived in it."