Page 37 of Turnabout Is Fair Cosplay
La Jolla is a beautiful town nestled in the much larger city of San Diego. It’s chic yet quirky and decidedly its own place. There are multiple beaches—each with something unique to offer. There’s a charming downtown with amazing food, local retailers, and a stunning art deco library. This is the type of walkable cityscape that everyone dreams about when they are stuck in a dark little cubicle and fantasize about a seaside community.
Part of La Jolla’s quirkiness is on full display as I walk over to my new client. There is no rhyme or reason when it comes to the architecture here. Charming cottages are nestled next to million-dollar mansions. It is head-spinning. I walk past haciendas next to ultramodern glass and concrete homes. Thatched roofs next to tile roofs next to wooden shingle roofs. There is no cohesion. It’s like my mother’s closet. Lots of gorgeous pieces, but all of them at odds with one another. The only thing tying any of them together is place and money. Same deal with La Jolla. These homes share a ZIP code, and I can afford none of them.
So how did Mike come by property here? It doesn’t add up.
Avenida Cresta is not a beachfront street, but it’s still close enough to the ocean to boast some incredible views. I walk through a courtyard and smell jasmine and honeysuckle. I maneuver around a pair of seahorse sculptures and ring the bell.
“Who are you?” a disembodied voice asks from the doorbell speaker.
“Beatrice McKinney. I understand you need a cat sitter for”—I squint at my phone—“Princess Kitty 2000?”
The door swings open, and a woman my mother’s age with immaculate, long, blond waves and half-moon eyeglasses squints at me. “Let me see your hands. Hold them out straight.”
I’m about to slide my phone into my pocket when the woman starts tutting.
“With your phone.”
I give this woman in the muumuu, beads, and half-moon glasses a raised eyebrow. “You want to explain? Or introduce yourself at the very least?”
“I fired Mitzy’s last sitter because her hands weren’t steady enough. Poor video quality drives down views like nothing else.”
I stretch out my arms with my phone in hand.
The woman looks me up and down. “How long did you practice law?”
“Two years.”
“I thought so. Worked out the jitters in the courtroom. Nice steady hands. Very important for content creation. I’m Cheryl.” The woman holds out her hand, fingers down, wrist up, like I’m supposed to kiss it or something. As if. I gave it an awkward shake. “Come in. Come in.” Cheryl stands aside, and I stifle a gasp as I enter the pink marble foyer. “Did you bring your résumé?”
“No, but I’m happy to send it digitally.”
“No matter, I looked you up on LinkedIn. Very impressive. Just the sort of mind Mitzy needs. She’s getting so bored with the usual suspects.”
“Is she now? Well, I’d love to meet her. FroggoDoggo said you need a weekly sitter?”
“Oh, yes. I have a Buti yoga class over at Fit Gym 24. But some of the best lighting happens in the morning, and Mitzy has grown so accustomed to our coffee chats.”
I’m blinking more than I should. It’s a courtroom tell that I’ve tried hard to ditch, but when clients or opposing counsel werebeing particularly ridiculous, I had to release the you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-mes somehow. “What does Mitzy like to talk about?”
“Everything. Come this way. I think she must be sunning herself by the pool.”
I almost choke when I see the indoor pool with the inflatable swan. Cheryl pauses the music that’s playing out of a rock-shaped speaker. “Mitzy?”
“Here, kitty, kitty,” I call.
Cheryl holds up a hand, this time palm out. “Don’t do that. Don’t pander to her baser instincts. Ah, here she is.”
A large white cat with sparse light gray stripes rises and stretches from a chaise near the pool.
“Your Royal Highness.” I sweep into a curtsy. It’s the sort of sarcastic behavior that would get me in the doghouse in Del Mar, but Cheryl is beaming.
“This is Mitzy.”
The cat sniffs my leg before rubbing her cheek against it. “I thought her name was Princess Kitty 2000?”
“No, dear, that’s her social media handle. I’m so used to telling everyone on our strolls that, yes, this istheat-Princess Kitty 2000, that I’ve started including it in all our correspondence.”
I blink twice. “Of course.”
