They were invited to the window to watch the end of the riot. Once it was over, Madeleine said it was a perfect ugliness, and that police were barnyard swine. Julius posed the question of whether or not the society of man demanded policing and rules. Mme Reynard took up this line in sympathy but Frances cut her off. “All police are swine,” she declared. “That’s the final fact.”
Mme Reynard prepared and distributed drinks. She had, since moving in, and in an effort to create a demand for her presence, purchased a cocktail recipe book. On this night she fixed an antique British concoction named the Corpse Reviver II. Its recipe called for fresh lemon, gin, Lillet, Cointreau, and a mist of absinthe, floated with a star of anise. All were pleased with the drink, and time passed as they discussed its history and ingredients. It was decided they would contact Small Frank that night and Mme Reynard pointed out how timely it was for her to select such a cocktail on such a day. She admitted that she’d always wanted to take part in a séance, and that Blithe Spirit was her favorite movie, and had anyone seen it?
“I’m not sure this qualifies as a séance, actually,” said Madeleine.
“Why not?” asked Malcolm.
“A séance is the summoning of the deceased,” she replied. “I don’t know if we can say that the man we’re to contact is dead.”
“Of course he’s not dead,” said Mme Reynard reassuringly.
Madeleine asked Frances, “What do you think?”
“To be honest I wish he were more dead, but I don’t know if that speaks to his aliveness so much as my dislike of the man.”
Madeleine looked at her with a curious expression.
“What,” said Frances.
“Would you mind telling me the story?” Madeleine asked.
“Which story is that?” said Frances politely.
“How the cat came to house your husband?”
“Oh.” Frances took a drink of her cocktail. “Well, he died in our bedroom one morning, you know.”
“All right.”
“A heart attack, and he did die, but it was unexpected, and I found I couldn’t face it, somehow. He’d put me through such hellish trials, I can’t tell you. And I was not, speaking generally, at my emotional best during this period of my life. Anyway, I was set to go away for the weekend, the car was idling in the street, the driver was loading up my luggage. And I remember thinking it was silly to tell Frank I was going, because he wouldn’t care, and what was the point? But I decided I would tell him, and up the stairs I went, and he was dead in our bed, naked and uncovered, and there was a cat sitting on his chest.”
“A cat or a kitten?” asked Madeleine.
“A young cat.”
“Had you seen it before?”
“No. So, consider, please, the double shock of this. The corpse, but also that the corpse was being interfered with. They were mouth to mouth. The cat was licking his face and making a noise.”
“What noise?”
“A wanting, almost a whining—needful. It was simply the ugliest thing, unbearable, actually, and I chased the cat away, down the stairs and out the front door. Then I went back upstairs to sit with Frank awhile. I couldn’t seem to feel anything besides a sense of hopelessness, that there was nothing to be done. Then came the feeling of wishing to leave; then the feeling of needing to. The driver was honking his horn.” Frances shrugged. “I left.”
“Where did you go?”
“I went skiing.”
“You went skiing.”
“I skied.”
“And you didn’t tell anyone about it?”
Frances shook her head. “I don’t think I said ten words the entire weekend. The story is that I was gaily vacationing, but that’s not true at all. I thought of Frank all through the days, and every night I dreamed of him. He was shouting at me, but no sound came out—he was mute. Oh, he was very angry with me.”
“Why?”
“I think he wanted someone to come and cover him up. To come and take care of him.” Frances looked at Malcolm, who looked away. She looked back at Madeleine. “I assumed somebody else would deal with him while I was gone, but our live-in had the long weekend free, and no one else came around. I got home on Monday afternoon. The house was so quiet. When I entered our bedroom, Franklin was where I’d left him, only he was blown up like a balloon and as colorful as one, too. I called the ambulance, and the paramedics came. They were bothered by the sight of him and I suppose I must have been acting strangely, and they started in on me, asking me questions—when had I discovered him, things like that. I felt so odd, as though I wasn’t completely in my own body; and I didn’t think to lie to anyone. I wish I had lied, actually. It was stupid not to. The paramedics called the police and in a little while the house was full of them.”
“Were you arrested?”
“Mildly. Nothing much came of it from a legal standpoint. It was the social aspects that were problematic. When I got back from the precinct the paparazzi were on the stoop, and so was the cat. It followed me in as though it were a natural thing. I knew just to look at him.”
Madeleine was nodding. “All right,” she said. “Let’s get started and see where this wants to go.” She pointed at the dining table. “Does this work for you?”
“Fine,” Frances said.
“May I stay?” Mme Reynard asked Madeleine.
“Sure.”
“May I?” asked Julius.
“Why not?” Madeleine turned to Malcolm. “Anyone else you want to invite over? Any neighbors or garbagemen?”
There was an esprit de corps among the group. Frances called for help organizing the room, and now they all began dutifully moving the furniture around.