The Spotted Tail

“Hum, Tails tend to do that. The impossible. Your grandma and I realized after she got Tinder. It makes it easier for her and me to exchange information. Through the Tails,” Garon said.

Paxine’s toast stopped half way to her mouth. “So that’s how you’ve… Is that how you were ordering dinner? Pizza? Chinese? You never called and were back so soon.”

“Yep.” He finished his toast, uncovering his own plate of omelet.

“We have a busy day,” her grandma said, coming into the kitchen. “Come along. Time for your manicure, young lady.” She was holding her own nails out while they dried.

The sofas were pushed against the walls to accommodate the chairs and tables needed by the beauticians. A woman wearing a pink smock was waiting. The table by her was full of clippers, files, polish, and cotton balls.

“Have a seat. Let me see your hands,” said the woman.

Paxine thought for sure her nails were going to fall off. The woman trimmed, filed, buffed, soaked and glued on new nails. She had never had this much done to her nails, ever. Her first coat of polish was drying; Tache strolled in and tickled her legs with his tail.

“Don’t,” she said with a giggle. “I can’t pet you. My nails are wet.”

Tache threaded through her legs one last time and trotted off with a sorrowful meow, only to tackle Tinder passing by to check on her grandma. They wrestled until Tache broke off, racing away with Tinder in hot pursuit.

Paxine laughed, and it proved to be her only entertainment for the hour. Tache made another appearance when the manicurist finished.

“You’re next,” the woman said, picking up some nail clippers. She didn’t look like she liked cats. Tache fled the room. “All done. Let the nails dry for twenty minutes before you do anything.”

The manicurist packed her tools and left, replaced by the beautician. With nothing to do while her grandma got her hair done, Paxine snoozed on the sofa.

“Paxine. You’re next,” her grandma said.

“All ready?” She felt like she just closed her eyes.

She couldn’t snooze while her hair was trimmed. It was boring to sit there. Tache and Shaloonya raced in to check things out.

“Out,” her grandma said, louder than normal. “I don’t want hair tracked all over this house.”

The two Tails disappeared faster than a cube.

“Okay, missy,” the beautician said, putting in one more pin.

Paxine felt like there were weights pulling her hair. The curlers were uncomfortable.

“Here’s your gamer,” her grandma said, plopping a pillow on the sofa for her. “Just be careful of the nails.”

The gamer was harder to play with her fake nails. Paxine was just getting the hang of it…

“Time to take the curlers out,” the beautician said.

“Finally. I think my scalp is getting pulled out,” Paxine said.

The almost constant spritzing of hairspray dampened her relief to get rid of the curlers. It was like getting her hair glued in place.

“Take a look,” the beautician said, handing her a mirror, while she held a mirror behind so Paxine could see front and back. Her hair was styled into an elegant bun. Not a hair was out of place.

“Wow,” she said, certain her hair sparkled.

“There’s some lunch in the kitchen,” her grandma said, heading upstairs.

Paxine found a sandwich, taking it out to the patio. Tache was sleeping in the sun. She poked him, but he didn’t move. He needed his sleep, so she left him undisturbed, finishing her sandwich. She returned to the kitchen to drop off her plate.

“You’ll have to walk,” her grandma said to Garon. “Oh, Paxine. You might as well listen in. These are the plans for tonight.”

Paxine joined her grandma and Garon at the table.

“You’ll have to walk from the house. You can’t catch a taxi here. Go over to Market Square and catch a taxi there to the back of the Gala parking area. There you can take the public cube to the Gala,” her grandma said.

“What’s wrong with a cube? I don’t like cars,” Paxine said with a moan.

“No cubes,” Garon said.

“So then why can’t we catch the taxi here? Why not take the taxi to the Ball?” she said, wondering why a direct route wasn’t the best route.

“You can’t be seen coming from here,” her grandma said. “You can’t be associated with me in any way. Because of security, you can’t go directly to the Gala. You have to go to the parking area and take a cube from there. If you have private cubes you have to go to another area and then take a public cube from there.”

“That is confusing,” she said, thinking people had a weird idea of security, just like the restaurant.

“All in the name of security,” Garon said, seeming to know what she was thinking. “So, we walk, get a taxi, and then walk some more to a cube. Got it.”

A woman popped her head into the kitchen.

“Oh,” her grandma said, jumping up. “Paxine. Off you go. Time for makeup.”

“What? I’m tired of this and I haven’t even gone anywhere. How does my mom do this?” she said, trudging into the living room.

Mud. Plaster. A spatula. Paxine’s skin felt smothered with makeup. Black gook hung from her eyelids. Her lips felt coated in rubber. Even her eyebrows felt heavy as if they would pull her skin over her eyes.

“Take a look,” said the woman.

Paxine didn’t recognize herself. There was no mud or plaster. There was no black gook handing from her eyelids. It just felt like it. She looked like a model and it wasn’t her own face she saw.

“Marietta will help you get dressed,” her grandma said, calling from the kitchen.

“This is like a major production,” she said, whining.

“Paxine, you have no idea how big this is,” her grandma said with a stern voice, having heard her.

Paxine regretted her whining, heading upstairs with Marietta.

“Very pretty dress,” Marietta said in Portuguese, helping Paxine step into the dress so as not to mess her hair or makeup. Marietta zipped her up and fluffed out the skirt.

Paxine expected to be excited about the shoes and dress, but…this was business and she regretted that she was acting like a whiny child. She noticed her backpack on the floor, taking out the spoon. Marietta must have brought the backpack upstairs for her, she thought, slipping the spoon down the front of her dress.

Marietta gave her an odd look, but said nothing.

Paxine felt odd. The reflection she saw in the mirror showed a stranger with an odd-looking spoon sticking out of her dress. She felt like she stepped into a dream. But was this a good dream or a bad one?

Paxine took care to walk down the stairs to go to the kitchen. She still wasn’t use to the skirt or the shoes. There was a strange man in the kitchen.

“Wow,” Paxine said in total surprise, recognizing the man.

Garon was dressed in a black tuxedo, newly shaven and his hair combed. He stood straight and tall.

“Wow,” she said again.

Garon turned at her voice. “How do you do? And who may I ask are you?” He smiled and offered her his hand. “I’m Garon.”

“It’s Paxine,” she said with a roll of her eyes.

“Paxine? Why my great niece is named Paxine and I think she is around here somewhere.” He looked around as if another Paxine would appear.

Her grandma joined them in the kitchen. “Oh, my goodness. You are gorgeous,” her grandma said, stopping in her tracks and staring.

“Please introduce me to this beautiful lady,” Garon said, continuing to look very serious.

Her grandma responded in stride, “Why this is Ms. Paxine Cushing, your date for this evening.”

“Well, how do you do?” he said, taking and kissing her hand.

Paxine blushed.

“I don’t feel beautiful. I feel like someone plastered mud all over me,” she said.

Tache ran into the room, looked around and left. However, he was soon back, meowing as if he couldn’t find her.

“Tache, I’m right here,” she said.

Tache jumped as if startled, whipping his tail to spin around and dashing out of the room.

“I think he’s been sniffing too much catnip,” Garon said with a chuckle.

“I think you put him up to that,” her grandma said.

“Do I look that different?” She tried to find a mirror, even though she had seen herself upstairs.

“Dear, you look like a stunning young lady. Hold on one moment,” her grandma said, leaving the room.

“Are you sure you’re Paxine,” Garon said, staring at her like he suspected she was someone else.

“And just who would I be? Tache?” she said.

“Do you have a tail?” he said.

“Of course.” She had to struggle to keep a straight face, but they both broke out laughing at the same time.

“Here,” her grandma said, returning and handing her some rings.

Paxine was surprised to find that they fit.

“These were your mom’s when she was younger. It’s all play jewelry, but no one will notice,” her grandma said, holding out a necklace. “And this will help with the spoon. Garon, couldn’t you have found something less obtrusive?”

The necklace dropped around Paxine’s neck low enough to touch the spoon. Bangles hung from the necklace, disguising the spoon even more.

“I think it’s perfect,” Garon said with a wink to Paxine.

“Beautiful,” her grandma said, ignoring Garon. “Your own parents wouldn’t recognize you.”

“A good thing since she’s not supposed to be at the Ball,” he said.

“Garon. You should’ve left fifteen minutes ago. Hurry up. I have to go,” her grandma said, leaving in a hurry, slamming the door behind her.

“Do we have everything?” Garon kept checking his pockets.

“I’m dressed. I have my spoon. And Tache is raring to go,” she said, standing by the door.

Whack. Tache’s tail tried to dent the floor while he and Shaloonya waited.

“That’s it then. Hurry up,” Garon said.

Paxine shook her head at him. He was the one delaying them.

Tache and Shaloonya led the way the six blocks to Market Square. A taxi waited for them.

“We’re going to be awfully early,” she said.

Garon checked another pocket. “Not really,” he said, not explaining any more

Paxine thought he looked distracted and thought it wise not to ask for more of an explanation. In her head, she kept going over her training with him like a song she couldn’t get out of her head. There was how to get through the Gala Ball security, what to eat and what not to eat. She even ran through all of the self-defense moves he taught her. In between those thoughts, she kept wondering if she really knew what was going on?

Tache felt alert. Paxine knew he had been training with Shaloonya and he had developed the ability to focus. Both Tails sat on the floor of the taxi, out of sight of the driver.

The taxi crawled through the city. Paxine felt she could walk faster. The streets were crowded with traffic and people. She was sure she saw other people dressed in tuxedos and fancy dresses.

The taxi’s meter clicked away the time. An hour passed. She felt as if they had been riding forever but had only gone a few blocks. There were no cubes in sight. Why? Weren’t cubes faster?

The meter clicked to the two-hour mark and the driver turned into a huge parking lot. There was a long line of taxis ahead of them. Garon hummed as the taxi crept up the line.

“Here ya go sir. Miss,” the driver said, pulling the taxi up to the unloading zone.

Garon handed over payment. He fumbled over opening the door, taking some time getting out. Paxine felt exasperated with him until she realized he was giving Tache and Shaloonya the time to get out and disappear.

Their taxi pulled away and another took its place. Taxis stretched out of the parking lot and down the street.

Garon straightened his jacket. “Start—“

“I know,” she said, sticking her nose in the air and giving him a haughty glare.

Garon smiled, humming.

Everyone moved toward one end of the parking lot where there was a lineup. At the end of the lineup were two cubes. No three. No four. Paxine couldn’t count them. Cubes came and went too fast to count.

Most men wore tuxedos. She noted a few men wearing military uniforms. One man wore a white tuxedo with a red shirt. However, the dresses the women wore were extraordinary. The dresses came in every color, every length, and every width.

Tache wasn’t too far from her, hiding in the fluff of an older woman’s gown. The gown’s skirt fluffed out so much the woman’s husband couldn’t get close enough to hold her hand.

Even farther up the lineup, a woman with an elaborate shawl and purse shifted in the line. Her purse had legs. It was Shaloonya. She fit perfectly underneath the purse, partially hidden by the shawl.

Each time a cube left, everyone moved up two paces. Paxine concentrated to maintain her character, keeping her nose in the air. She was amazed at how many others were doing the same. With noses in the air, she knew no one was going to see Tache or Shaloonya.

The woman with Shaloonya left in a cube, and soon after that, the woman in the fluffy dress with Tache left. Paxine and Garon were next. A man checked their invitation and ushered them inside.

She felt like she was practicing with Garon all over again. The security setup was how he said it would be. They passed through the process without a hitch, entering the path leading to the ballroom.

Balls sparkled along the path, covered with a thin red carpet. Two men, dressed like butlers, opened double doors to the ballroom. A huge glittering ball hung on each side of the entrance. Paxine felt like she needed sunglasses. The ballroom was huge. Tables were set in the middle, decorated with centerpieces of orange bird-of-paradise flowers. A stage stood at the far end. Pale sheets of silk shimmered behind it. To one side was a small orchestra playing music. She knew the theme of the Gala Ball was about children, but the decorations supported a theme of money.

Garon kept to the edge of the room outside of the groupings of people. Paxine felt as if he was looking for someone. Tache was invisible, moving around the room.

A cat appeared from under a table, disappearing under another in the blink of an eye.

Who was that? There were other Tails here?

Tache complained.

“Tache says there’s a Screamer…” she said, careful to cover her mouth.

“Yes, I know,” Garon said between closed lips.

A moment later, Garon uttered a satisfying, “Ah.”

“Ah, what?” She looked about.

“The Portuguese ambassador, Adalberto Marques, and his wife, Cecilia. I do believe we should chat with him. Be sure to mention his daughter, Ana,” Garon said, approaching a small group of people. He smiled with the biggest smile he could.

“Boa noite, senhor,” Garon said with a perfect Brazilian accent, joining the group as if he knew them all. “A minha neta, Paxy.” He introduced her to the ambassador as his granddaughter.

Paxine didn’t know what to do. This wasn’t something they practiced. What was she supposed to ask about? The ambassador’s daughter?

She smiled. “Muito bom conhece-lo. Eu ouco sua filha…” (Very nice to meet you. I hear your daughter)

“Ana, minha filha,” the ambassador said, cutting her off, waving his hands in excitement.

Paxine remembered Garon’s teaching and remembered to listen as if the ambassador was the most interesting person in the world as he spoke about his daughter, who had just been accepted into the local medical college.

“Come. Come,” the ambassador said, changing to English. “You must join us at our table. You speak Portuguese well, but we must speak English while we are here.”

“Thank you. That would be an honor,” Garon said.

Tables were filling up, but the ambassador had his own table. They all sat just as waitstaff streamed out to serve salads.

Paxine stared at the plate of three wilted salad greens with an unidentifiable yellow vegetable sliver. What was that? Salad was a real food that Garon said she could eat, but…

The only salad dressing was orange and smelled odd. She wasn’t the only one who didn’t eat the salad.

The ambassador didn’t give the salad a second look, pushing it away, chatting with Garon. His wife also pushed the plate away, sitting reserved, smiling, and letting her husband talk. The other two couples at their table did the same.

The next course arrived. Paxine didn’t know what it was, leaving it untouched. She noted Garon ignored the food as if star struck with listening to the ambassador. The ambassador was entertaining, gesturing wildly as he told stories. His whole table remained quiet and listened.

Courses came and went. Paxine felt her stomach growl. Dessert arrived.

“What is dis?” the ambassador’s wife said, speaking the words that Paxine was thinking. Mrs. Marques poked at the tiny square of purple on the plate. There was the tiniest dollop of whip cream.

“Pouding de pamplemousse,” said the waitstaff.

The ambassador’s wife pushed aside the dish.

Grape pudding. Paxine didn’t think that sounded too appetizing and pushed her plate away as well. The other couples made faces and followed suit. She had the feeling no one at the table ate.

Paxine wondered if Garon planned to sit at the ambassador’s table. Hadn’t he been looking for someone? Or was this just a coincidence. No, she thought. Garon planned this. He had to have. They could both speak Portuguese and the ambassador had a daughter. Way too coincidental. So what else was planned that she didn’t know about?