22. GREAT EXPLOITATIONS

The phone rang. I picked it up.

Hello?

Mr. Moore?

This is he. Who’s this?

This is R. U. Fémos, of the All-About-Me Agency, a public relations firm. I’ve received an email from a Miss Annabelle, who’s asked our firm to handle her PR.

Miss Annabelle? My little girl Annabelle?

Annabelle jumped onto the table and tried to put her ear to the phone.

She’s your daughter? She’s asked me to contact you about setting up an account for a Miss Annabelle.

Oh, really?

Yes, sir. I hope there’s no problem.

No, not at all. You’ve just caught me completely off guard. This is the first I’ve heard about this, Mister . . . Mister . . . I’m sorry; I’ve forgotten your name.

Fémos. R. U. Fémos.

I’m sorry, Mr. Fémos. Would you give me your number? I need to discuss this with Miss Annabelle. I will get back to you very shortly.

We ended our conversation. I hung up the phone and turned to the gray kitty watching this phone conversation with great interest.

So, Miss Annabelle, aren’t you sneaky? Did you hear all that?

That was a very quick response to my email!

And what’s with this “Miss Annabelle”?

I’ve decided to be a one-name star, like Oprah or Lilo or Yana.

And you will be “Miss Annabelle”?

Or just Annabelle. So, will you pay Mr. Fémos to represent me? All-About-Me is the best PR firm in the City. All the big stars use them.

We’ll talk.

Just Annabelle, I think. Simple and elegant. Like me.

Oy! I thought. Instead, I asked, When did you contact this R. U. Fémos, Annabelle?

As soon as you told Thatch and me that you were writing a book about us. This is just the opportunity I need.

I should have kept my mouth shut, I thought.

And how did you find this Mr. Fémos?

I read an interview with him in Backstage. He’s the biggest press agent in town. He handles the big stars, and that’s good enough for me. Your book could make me famous!

What about Thatch?

He doesn’t want to be famous, but I need to exploit this opportunity. It could make me the huge star I deserve to be.

I think you’re rushing things, I said. The book’s not finished, and I need to find an agent or publisher.

I must be ready. I’m going to make the most of it.

Well, I’ll talk to him. Are you really sure this is-

Listen: I need R. U. Fémos to make me a star! A press agent will do wonders for my career. Remember that actress who won the Tony?

Actresses win Tony Awards every year, Annabelle.

I forget her name. Absolutely no talent, none at all, but R. U. Fémos put her mug everywhere . . . newspapers, magazines, bus stops, toilet paper . . . everywhere! Whenever she works, she calls him. Remember when she played Rosie the Riveter and the Daily News did that series about her working on a skyscraper for research?

Yes! I actually do remember that!

And the big article when she went to Norway to research Hedda Cabbage?

That’s not the title, but it fits.  What’s her name?

I don’t know, but she worked him to death. He won her that Tony, and I need the All-About-Me Agency. Please, please, Daddy?

I said I would talk to him. I’m just reticent.

Thank you.

I hoped that things would blow over if I dragged my feet about calling R.U. Fémos for a couple of days, but every morning Annabelle reminded me about the call. When I tried to distract her with other things, she was ready for me.

I’ve opened a Facebook page and Instagram and Twitter accounts, she told me. Do I need Pinterest? What do you think?

I don’t see what that would do for you.

I don’t want to miss any opportunity.

I really admire your concentration.

I’m very focused.

I’m very impressed.

I have a complete plan of attack all worked out. Can you take me and R. U. Fémos to lunch at Sardi’s? I’ll dress like a real star, and we’ll talk about all I can do to become famous. I’m going to print flyers about myself, and maybe you and Thatch can hand them out at the TKTS booth?

Oh, Lord, I thought.

Now this is really important: can you hire a good, really good –  and preferably famous – photographer? Names are important. I want photographs of Thatch and me doing things from the book.

You’re moving too fast on this.

I am exploiting the opportunity!

So, what are you and Thatch doing now?

Taking pictures of our breakfast.

For Facebook, Thatch said.  Everybody posts pictures of what they’re eating.

I don’t know about that, I said. Most photos of meals make me hungry, but who wants to look at a bowl of Fancy Feast?

Cats, Thatch answered.

I’m working on my cabaret act. Mr. Fémos will get everyone to come and see me. I’m calling it “Annabelle With An A.” Will you call Rob Berman and Chase Brock for me? I want them to do my act. Did you call R. U. Fémos?

I will as soon as I tidy the apartment. I have to clean the litter box first. Now what are you doing?

Taking selfies for Instagram and Facebook, Thatch said. Then he took my photo.

Ignore me. I’ll be in the bathroom. Cleaning the litter.

Thatch, Annabelle said, we have to start my list of cabaret songs! I want to impress Rob and Chase when we have our first meeting.

As I washed out their bowls, I could hear her and Thatch laughing. Then she’d sing a bit of “Memory,” and I could hear them discussing it. I went into the bathroom and got to work on the litter. I can judge my day will go by how easily I accomplish the cleanup, and I completely crashed and burned. I didn’t get my fingers around the top two trays, and I only picked up the litter trap. As I lifted it off the bottom trays, I could see the litter sliding through the trap onto the floor, and there I sat with dirty litter all over the tiles and my shoes. Damn!

As I took the dust buster from its perch, I could hear Annabelle trying out “Don’t Cry For Me, Argentina.”  I drowned her out with the sound of the vacuum. When I finished that, Annabelle and Thatch came into the bathroom to sing me her selections for her act.

I’m sorry, I said. You know I love you, but I don’t need those high notes in my ear at the moment. This room’s too small, I’m too grumpy, and I’ve got a real mess to clean up.   Go play in the other room. Please?

Well, she responded indignantly, aren’t you grumpy this morning? Thatch loves my “Litter and Be Gay!”

I do, Thatch said, and they both launched into Bernstein’s “Ha ha’s!”

You do know that’s not the title, I said.

They drowned me out. I tossed them out of the bathroom and slammed the door.

Ha! Ha!

©2018, Larry Moore