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CHAPTER TEN CLAUDIA

It was foggy again.

Damn this fog, Claudia Wittmore thought, as she backed the Chevrolet SUV out of the carport. One week of vacation and two out of three days, all they got was murky grey clouds of it, blocking out the view of the bay and the Golden Gate and everything else she should have been able to see from the house. After all, she and Alana had picked this house because of the view, and because it was in a historic neighbourhood. But what good was a view if you could never see from it?

And not only that, but these damn sloped streets! She tapped her claws restlessly on the SUV's steering wheel, which was already scarred by previous times when, in the craziness of Hollywood traffic, she'd found herself gripping the wheel with the same intensity with which a shipwrecked traveller clings to wreckage. How she longed for the sunny skies of insane LA; where the pavement and skyscrapers and bright lights stretched as far as the eye could see, a sparkling metropolis where dreams came true, or had for her anyway.

The houses she was passing were mostly older, many of them the Victorian style that had attracted Alana to this neighbourhood in the first place. The swift vixen had a particular interest in the Victorian era; most of the novels she read were historical fiction, and it was she who had suggested the name Emma for their daughter. Thinking of Emma made Claudia look into the backseat, to where Emma was goo-gooing happily in her carseat, batting a spotted paw at the dangling shapes that hung from the top of the carseat. Claudia winked at the leopardess kitten, only ten months old, and smiled. Even now, when Emma was nearing her first birthday, her mother sometimes had to pinch herself; yes, she was 46 years old, and she had carried and borne a baby girl, her very own child. Not that she didn't love the others, of course - she loved all four of their children equally, and she would have been offended if anyone accused her of playing favourites. But Ricardo was Alana's boy; and Rufus and Mei-Ling were adopted, he from Tanzania, she from China, and now that both she and Alana had contributed a child to their marriage, Claudia felt that their family was entirely complete.

Of course, Alana hadn't really contributed Ricardo to their marriage, not originally at least. Alana's husband, Tomas, had been a good man, but he had also been a crazy rodeo rider, and after he'd got himself killed when a horse fell on him, Alana had decided she was done with men; as a bisexual vixen, she was ready for someone with a bit more sense.

And she picked me, Claudia thought, giggling to herself. She glanced in the mirror again at her baby. The SUV's stereo was playing the same nursery rhyme CD that they usually played when traveling with the young children, although Ricardo, at 11, found it extremely irritating, and embarrassing, should any of his friends chance to hear it. Even five-year-old Rufus had recently declared that, as he was now a big boy hyena, he was too old for nursery rhymes. But Emma seemed to like them, and they calmed her, although she was not at all a noisy baby like Mei-Ling had been.

Thinking about Mei-Ling brought her back to why they'd bought this house in San Fernando. They'd bought it the same year that they'd adopted Mei-Ling; four years prior, when the little panda was only three months old, freshly arrived from the adoption agency in Beijing. After nine years of non-stop shows, a new one every day, except for holidays, Claudia had put her paw down. "I deserve a little bit of vacation," she'd told her sponsors, "even if just a week every four months or so. I'll even agree to keep within California."

When she'd mentioned that she'd meant that she'd get a place in San Diego, or maybe even Baja - not Cali, but close enough. But Alana had preferred San Fernando, and Claudia had relented. When two people loved each other, sometimes you had to make sacrifices, and this was one of those times. And it wasn't like Alana hadn't made sacrifices of her own, too. There were probably thousands, if not hundreds of thousands or more, of lesbian women who would gladly have abandoned their own lives in favour of marrying Claudia Wittmore, host of The Claudia Wittmore Show; the most famous lesbian of the 21st century, or so Entertainment Weekly had once said. Claudia's show was insanely popular, she knew that, and she'd had first ladies and actors and actresses and politicians and religious leaders and poets and Nobel Prize laureates and bestselling novelists and popular athletes and spiritual visionaries and scientific prodigies and reality show stars - pretty much any kind of celebrity one could imagine, and she'd had them on her show, for interviews and introductions and general good times. So probably the general public thought that Alana's life was a piece of cake, her being the lucky fox who'd married Claudia Wittmore of all people.

But it wasn't all glory. Claudia knew that more than anyone. The show was her constant focus; every day she had to drive to the studio, meet with her makeup and grooming crew; prep the show staff and prepare for whoever that day's guest star happened to be. Alana had to take what time was left, which sometimes wasn't much. There was never much time for traveling, so when Claudia was at last able to secure some vacation time, she gave Alana the choice of their vacation home. She deserved that, at least.

The WINCO parking lot was pleasantly crowded as Claudia pulled into the gas station across the street. But that was ok. There was a reason she preferred to shop at lesser grocery stores like WINCO. Yes, when one was a celebrity it was pretty much impossible to go very long without someone recognising you, but at least in a place like this, she could blend in perfectly among hundreds of other shoppers, just another middle-aged leopardess with a kitten in her arms. First, though, to fuel up the SUV. The cool air made the fur on her arms prickle as she got out of the car. Damn it, why hadn't she brought a thicker jacket? She was just too used to LA, where it rarely got below 80, or during the summer anyway.

When the fuel was pouring speedily into the SUV's tank, she relaxed. The tank was only half empty anyway. The SUV was a horrible gas hog. Then again, it was probably excellent camouflage. No one would ever guess that Claudia Wittmore was driving an SUV, of all things. They'd expect a Lamborghini or a Rolls Royce or a Lexus, but those, while nice on the eye, were not practical for family traveling.

In the car, Emma had started crying, which probably meant she was hungry. The guy fuelling up his white Prius on the other side of the pump looked up at the sound of the kitten's wail, and Claudia smiled apologetically at him and opened the door. "Just a moment, baby" she purred. "Mommy has to finish feeding the car before you can have your lunch."

The pump shut off, indicating that the tank was full, and as the gas station had a warning sign dictating that customers not top off their tanks; Claudia put the nozzle back in its holder, waited for the pump stand to spit out a receipt, and climbed back into the SUV. Emma was still gurgling. Definitely hungry.

She parked the SUV in the middle of the WINCO parking lot, unnoticeable among dozens of other ordinary vehicles, and grabbed her purse. It was a big leather affair, a bigger purse than she normally would carry, but after raising three babies, Claudia had learned that one never travelled without a spare diaper and a package of baby wipes. Also a bottle - which she had forgotten. That meant she'd have to breast-feed - but oh well. Let people stare. She was a modern lesbian mother of four, and if anyone had a problem with her feeding her baby in the way God intended mothers to feed their infants, then they could go jump in a lake, as far as she was concerned.

The inside of the store was thankfully warmer than the outside, and she made a beeline for the carts. Emma was not a particularly large baby, although it was possible she'd be taller than Claudia - the sperm donor they'd picked was a tall guy. Nonetheless, sometimes carrying her made Claudia's arm tired, so she liked to have the cart there to set Emma on, just in case. Of course, she needed it anyway for shopping. She checked the grocery list that Alana had made up that morning, before she'd left with the three older children to see the tour of Alcatraz, about which Ricardo was supposed to be writing an essay for his summer school composition project. Alana's handwriting was neat and precise as always:

Eggs (one doz)

Bacon

Bread (wheat or sourdough, whatever's on sale)

Taco shells

Peppers (one green, one yellow)

Cheese (Tillamook brand)

Oregano (check the bulk section)

2 Red onions

Mushrooms

Turkey burger - one lb

Claudia read the list again and shook her head. She had never been a cook; not since that disastrous attempt at making chicken parmesan back when she was in college. She'd said as much to the famous chefs she'd occasionally had on her show and besides, with her schedule, she would never have had time to cook anyway. Most of their meals at home were catered, but Alana did love to make creations on the kitchen, even more so now that the children were beginning to take interest in it as well.

The cart had a squeaky wheel. Just my luck, she thought. Fortunately, the vegetable section was very close to the store entrance, and it didn't take her long to find peppers and onions; then the dairy section, for cheese. Alana must have been planning some Mexican egg dish for breakfast the next day. But where was the meat section? She almost laughed at herself. Here she was, the famous Claudia Wittmore, and she barely knew how to grocery shop. But when was the last time she'd been in a grocery store? It was almost sad that she couldn't remember.

She paused among the bulk herbs section, which didn't seem to be getting much business, to let Emma have a brief snack. "Just a little more, baby" she crooned, as Emma suckled contentedly. "We'll be back to the house soon -" although, she thought, it wasn't like she could relax. She needed to finish reading that new memoir, a book by some philanthropist she'd never heard of which was currently at the top of the New York Times bestsellers list, which meant it was also a necessary edition to Claudia's book club. She should probably invite the author onto her show.

She passed a magazine section, glancing humorously at the tabloids. The fox on People's front page looked familiar. She looked closer. Oh, Conrad Fincher. Poor Conrad, getting murdered like that. She'd had him on her show two or three years ago. They'd talked about his roles and Conrad had commented on how he was typecast in roles as tough, masculine straight characters. He'd felt that that left something to be desired; said he wanted to play a gay character who met those descriptions. And now he couldn't.

Oh well. Nothing she could do about that. Celebrities did get murdered every so often; just part of the business. Maybe after they'd caught the murderer she'd invite one of the police officers onto her show and they'd discuss celebrity murders. She filed that away for a future show.

After wandering for a short while she finally found herself in the checkout line, the car full of Alana's items, as well as a couple candy bars for the kids and a colouring book for Mei-Ling. The bear cashier looked at her a big strangely, so Claudia said "Is it normally this foggy here? I'm from Florida and I was expecting more sun." No better way to throw off unwanted attraction than to pose as a stupid tourist, she thought.

The bear fell right for it. "If you wanted sun, lady, you shouldn't have come here" she muttered. Claudia easily picked out the poorly-disguised eye roll, but she kept up the part.

"Oh dear; well it's simply dreadful" she shivered. "I just cannot stand cold weather."

"Go back to Florida, then" the cashier said. "Or down to San Diego."

Claudia was trying not to chuckle as she left the store, her humour restored. Sometimes it was fun to pretend to be someone ordinary; although it could also be educational to see the difference in how people treated her based on when she was Claudia Wittmore and when she was just a random leopardess.

And as luck would have it, the fog had cleared, just a little. Maybe she wouldn't have to spend the rest of the day cooped up in the house. Alana had mentioned the possibility of seeing Chinatown that evening; maybe for dinner. That actually sounded fun. It would be another outing she could talk about on her show.

She parked the cart behind the SUV and unlocked the car. Two vehicles had parked on either side of the SUV while she'd been shopping. That was strange, she thought. The white one looked strangely identical to the one that had been at the gas station when she was there. Must be a coincidence, though.

She put Emma back into the carseat, shut the door, and walked back to unload the groceries. Most of it went in the cooler; it wasn't that far of a drive back to the house, but it protected the eggs from rattling around, at least. She kept one candy bar out for herself. It was ok to reward yourself every once in a while, right? Someone had said that on her show once. A fitness lady, a rat, although Claudia couldn't place her name.

She closed the door and pushed the car away, chuckling to herself. Well, she'd survived shopping. Maybe she could even make a joke out of that, something for today's Twitter post, or for a future humour segment on the show.

That white Prius did look remarkably familiar, though. But perhaps they were just a common car here. She walked around the side of the car, next to the Prius, and grabbed the driver's door handle.

A paw tapped her shoulder. "Ma'am?" The voice was polite, but unfamiliar.

Did I leave my purse in the cart again, she wondered? She'd done that a couple months earlier, when she and Alana were leaving their favourite fur salon.

"Yes?" she started to say, turning, but a paw gripped her shoulder and something wet and smelly was pressed against her muzzle, into her nose, a strange, chemical scent, and suddenly her mind was dizzy. Why was the sky spinning; why couldn't her eyes focus, and why did she feel so incredibly sleepy?

"Don't worry, I've got you" a distant voice said, but Claudia Wittmore barely heard him, because she was drifting off into a silent sleep, entirely unaware that she was being carefully laid across a strange backseat, while in the SUV, baby Emma stared uncomprehending through the window as the white Prius drove away with her mother.