Cat by Any Other Name (9781101597729) Read Free

peculiar—from the herb garden planting to the tea party to the funeral. Something was very wrong.
    Suddenly I felt ashamed at myself for all those strange speculations. Logic? Theater? Shame on me. I was there to bid good-bye to my dearest friend. And besides,
Where Is Emma Now?
had closed after eleven performances.
    I shut my eyes and prayed to my own God that whatever part of Barbara still lived would be at peace.
    Tim Roman stepped forward just then. He said in a booming voice: “I am glad you could all come today. Barbara would have wanted—” But suddenly his resolve crumbled, and he began to weep horribly. We didn’t know what to do, so we just stood there and watched him act out his pain.
    It didn’t last long. Tim held up his hand, and that seemed to help him regain control. Composed, he started his speech again, this time more quietly.
    â€œThis is where she would have wanted her ashes . . . um . . . planted.” He stopped, laughing somewhat crazily. “I don’t know . . . what does one do with ashes? Place them? Plant them? Dump . . .
Strew
them, I suppose.” For a minute he stared, lost, at the box in his hands. Tim sighed deeply. “Oh, Barbara loved—but I guess I don’t have to tell you how much she loved this garden. It was always on her mind. And you were always in her thoughts. She loved all of you so much.”
    Without further words, he opened the box and turned it over quickly. The powdery white substance fluttered out. There was so little of it. But we could see the ashes float on the air and disperse, almost as if someone had flicked a giant cigarette.
    Tim snapped shut the lid on the box. All was quiet now. Even the persistent sounds of the city seemed to recede, like the last strains of the music at the end of a movie.
    Some of the guests began to leave, making their way over to Tim to offer their condolences. I heard one woman whisper to a companion that she was surprised there had been no religious ceremony, that there should have been a minister—or
someone
—to say a few words. Or at least Tim should have said a prayer.
    Renee suddenly wheeled in her place, away from the garden, and stared out at the street.
    â€œSo stupid . . . so inexplicable!” she said to me bitterly.
    I watched her profile, her thin, dark face like a glove pulled tight.
    â€œDo you understand what I am saying, Alice? She had everything to live for.
Everything
, period. She was loved. And she loved. Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! No meaning. No sense at all. One moment she’s here with us, listening, laughing, talking. And then she’s gone. There’s no reason, Alice. Where’s the reason? Oh, God, sometimes I hate this world!”
    I couldn’t dispute what Renee had said. And I didn’t know how to comfort her. So I said nothing.
    Renee turned back toward the garden. “Ashes!” she snorted. “How appropriate: ashes,
nothing
, specks landing on some effete little plants in the most godforsaken part of the city.” She buried her face in her hands.
    All I knew was that it was imperative I should be alone. I wanted to go back to my apartment and see my cats. That’s all. I told Renee that I had to leave. Through the tears she nodded in assent. I walked briskly out of the garden and headed for Second Avenue, quickening my pace as if to match the speed of the flashbacks reeling through my head.
    In my mind I was back in Ava’s apartment, and Barbara had handed me her brandy glass because she was going to get some air, she said.
    â€œAlice!”
    At first I thought the sound of my name was just part of the reverie.
    â€œAlice! Wait!”
    But no, it wasn’t. When I stopped and turned, I saw a figure running up the block toward me. It was Tim Roman.
    He was approaching with frightening speed and purpose—at least it seemed that way. Running with abandon, desperation, as