Free Who's Kitten Who? by Cynthia Baxter Page A

behavior, I don’t dare imagine day three.
    “Just wait until she gets to know you better,” he added. “I’m sure that the two of you will become the best of friends.”
    “It’s probably just as well that I’ll be out this evening,” I said, resigned. I hauled a duffel bag out of the trunk. It was so heavy I decided the Burbys must have brought along their favorite bowling balls. “That’ll give your parents some time to get used to our place without me getting in their way.”
    “‘Out’?” Nick repeated, blinking. “Where are you going?”
    “I have a rehearsal. For the musical Betty roped me into, remember?”
    “But what about my parents?”
    “The three of you can spend the evening catching up,” I said cheerfully. “It’s obvious that you’re the light of your mother’s life, and I’m sure she’d like nothing better than having you all to yourself. You can tell her all about law school and…and you can show her the photos from our trip to Hawaii!”
    Nick grumbled something I didn’t actually hear, since he’d stuck his head into the backseat to retrieve one more suitcase. I figured it was probably just as well.
    Having a rehearsal to go to practically every night of the week was starting to seem like a real stroke of luck. Compared to feeling like one of the characters in
No Exit,
the Sartre play in which three people who hate one another are trapped together in a room for eternity, an evening of acting and singing and, yes, even dancing, suddenly didn’t sound half bad. Even if it
was
likely I’d end up making a complete fool of myself.

Chapter 6
    “A dog is the only thing on this earth that loves you more than he loves himself.”
    —Josh Billings
    I hope you’re not nervous, Jessica,” Betty said later that evening as I drove the two of us to Port Townsend for my first rehearsal with the Port Players.
    Actually, I’d been on the verge of saying something along those exact same lines. Ever since she’d gotten into my VW, I could sense her anxiety. But I suspected it had nothing to do with whether she’d mastered all her dance moves. Instead, what was undoubtedly responsible was the fact that she was still upset about the tension in her household, as well as the possibility that someone in her theater group was a cold-blooded killer.
    I decided to do my best to distract her.
    “I’m a little nervous,” I told her. “But maybe you can take my mind off the butterflies in my stomach by telling me about Amelia Earhart. I don’t really know that much about her, aside from the fact that she’s one of the world’s most famous aviators—and probably the best-known female aviator of all time.”
    “You’re right on both counts,” Betty said. “She racked up quite a long list of achievements. In 1932, she became the first woman to make a solo transatlantic flight. She was also the first person to fly solo from Hawaii to the American mainland, which made her the first person to fly solo anywhere in the Pacific and the first person to solo both the Atlantic and the Pacific Oceans.” Her voice was becoming more animated, a sign that my ploy was working. “On top of all that, she held several transcontinental speed records and a women’s altitude world record.
    “To me,” Betty continued, “she’s a symbol of adventure, a spirited role model who proved that women can do anything men can do.”
    “Then I guess Simon Wainwright had a real brainstorm when he came up with the idea of writing a musical about her,” I observed.
    “Definitely. Have you read through his fabulous script yet?”
    “So far, all I’ve had a chance to look at is the scene with my speaking part.” I cleared my throat and, in my strongest, most self-assured voice, boomed, “Come on, Amelia. Let’s show these men the stuff we’re made of!”
    “That’s very good, Jessica!” Betty exclaimed.
    “Thanks. I’ve only said it about eight thousand times in the last twelve hours,” I admitted.