Another shake. His cues were subtle enough to make her responses seem real.
“I know…” He drew the word out. “You want to use me as your own personal climbing gym.”
She yipped a short, uncatlike sound and leaped up at him, pausing for a moment as he caught her in his arms, then launching up to land on his head. The routine that followed was surely scripted, but seemed like play, as Shane bent and knelt and held out his arms, and Mimsy leaped from his head to the ground to his back or knee or shoulder, on and off, and balanced on his outstretched arms, then on a raised foot. He formed his arms into a hoop, and she jumped through, back and forth, as he twisted the circle in different directions. Then she dashed behind him as he stood, reaching up to plant her front paws on the back of his leg. He shaded his eyes with one hand, pretending to look for her, turning in a slow circle as she mirrored him standing on her back feet, staying behind his leg, her front paws on his knee.
He stopped, a hand still shading his face, looking left, then right, and she sat back on her haunches behind him, a paw raised to her forehead, turning her head back and forth. The mimicry made the gathered audience laugh.
Shane whirled. “There you are!”
The cat sprang high, landing neatly on the top of his head. The effort he made to stay under her wasn’t invisible, but as he stilled and she sat primly on his hair, I couldn’t help applauding with the rest.
Shane tapped his neck, and the cat climbed down to drape around his shoulders. He kept a hand on her as he bowed and pointed to the hat. “Contributions to the Mimsy Dried Shrimp Fund are most appreciated.” He fished out treats from his pocket for her.
Smiling people came over to talk to him, to pet Mimsy and tell her how smart she was. From her lounging throne on his shoulders, she took the praise as her due. I watched the hat as people dropped in bills before dispersing. No one seemed inclined to snatch his money, and once the crowd had gone, Shane scooped the hat up with a sound of satisfaction. “Decent haul.” He folded the bills into a front pocket without counting them, poured the coins into the other, and stuffed the cap into the front of his hoodie.
“You and Mimsy are amazing. Like, you should be on a stage somewhere.”
“I like the open air.” He eyed me sideways. “Does it bother you to watch me beg for money?”
“You give them a lot of value for their bucks.”
“And if I didn’t? If it was a day I was standing at a stoplight with a sign that said, ‘Homeless. Anything Helps?’”
“You’re not homeless anymore,” I said, dodging the question.
“I am until I’m paying rent.” But he shrugged and didn’t press the question. “I do prefer doing a show. People go away happy.”
“And what makes you happy?” I asked.
He got a faraway look on his face and began wandering toward the pier. I walked beside him, looking forward, and with my eyes off him, he said quietly, “Lots of things. Mimsy. A good book. A sunny day… You. You make me happy. When we just hang out, and you let me be myself, and you act like that’s a good thing?—”
“It is. Exactly who you are is a very good thing.” I reached for his hand, slowly, giving him space and time to move away.
Instead, he wove his fingers through mine. “I like having the right to touch you, to be with you.” He squeezed my hand and spoke more loudly. “You know what else makes me happy? Nachos. Nachos make me ecstatic. You think we might find some down here? My treat.”
I nodded in the direction of the food stands by the pier. “I think it would be a stain on the essential reputation of California if we couldn’t find nachos. Gaynor Beach would never let that happen.”
“Come on, then.” He smiled as bright as the sun. “Gooey cheese and corn chips, here we come.”
CHAPTER19
SHANE
Beingwith Theo was almost too easy. A week had slipped by. Sure, I’d been busy enough. I took care of Foxy and the pups, worked with Mimsy, cleaned Arthur’s yard and worked with the dogs, spent hours online researching fundraising ideas for nonprofits, and more hours helping Theo check out building layouts for animal shelters. I got through half of my new book, gulping down the pages in big chunks the way I’d never let myself when I rationed every precious word to last a long time.
But I hadn’t job hunted. I hadn’t panhandled again. The stint outside the bookstore brought me almost sixty bucks, and since Theo refused to let me pay rent, that covered my share of the week’s groceries. So I wasn’t freeloading, exactly, but the arrangement didn’t feel right.
Feltgood. Hell, my life felt wonderful and warm and comfortable and sweet, felt like heaven to get into bed beside Theo each night, and maybe trade blow jobs or jack off together, and hold each other as we drifted off. But it didn’t feel right.
I worried about that in the dark hours of the night.
In the daytime, with Theo grinning at me, my doubts faded. Especially when I saw him here, in his childhood nemesis building, actually seeming happy. He pointed up at the smoothly painted ceiling above us. “A pretentious light fixture’s fine for the lobby, but I figure we’d want something simpler in the cat-room half? In case they jump for it?”
I squinted up at the now-illuminated cut glass fixtures shimmering near the high ceiling. They had to be eight feet off the floor. “They’re cats, not birds.”
“You said they’d go over a seven-foot wall.”
“Climbing, not flying. I mean, fuck if I know how we’ll get the cat hair off a chandelier, but no reason to replace something that’s working.”
