The Pleasure Cats of Nova Playa

By A. Malone

The Pleasure Cats of Nova Playa is a story of sex, drugs, alcohol, violence and techno music. Set in the fictional sun soaked Mediterranean resort of Playa Nova where underground, under town, cats mirror the excesses of the sunseekers above. Into this bustling, vibrant underground city arrives the beautiful Napoleona, a charming and cunning cat with a past, but with her eyes fixed squarely on the future, and in particular the coming winter. In the summer the cats feast and party, but the cold desolate winter threatens to thin them out. She encounters new dangers, especially Count Luciano, the second in command to King Louie, gangsters with pretensions of nobility. The pursuit of power and pleasure seems to have no bounds in this subterranean city. How far will Napoleona go to ensure the party never ends?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Feb 3, 2023
• ISBN: 9781528999298

A. Malone

Ambrose was born in Limerick, Ireland but for a long time now has been living and working in Spain. His writings are borne of living in four countries, Ireland, France, England and now Spain. At an early age, through reading on his bunk bed back in a room he shared with three other brothers, he discovered a universal world where he believed at heart (and later on confirmed by DNA) that we are all basically the same. His writings say we are all the same, we are all individuals. There are no superior races or cultures, we all have a lot more in common than differences, if there really are any. However, despite his universality, there is one thing he does hold on to from his origins, and that is his Irish optimism and humour.

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The Pleasure Cats of

Nova Playa

A. Malone

Austin Macauley Publishers

The Pleasure Cats of Nova Playa

About the Author

Copyright Information ©

About the Author

A. Malone was born in Limerick, Ireland but for a long time now has been living and working in Spain. His writings are borne of living in four countries, Ireland, France, England and now Spain. At an early age, through reading on his bunk bed back in a room he shared with three other brothers, he discovered a universal world where he believed at heart (and later on confirmed by DNA) that we are all basically the same. His writings say we are all the same, we are all individuals. There are no superior races or cultures, we all have a lot more in common than differences, if there really are any. However, despite his universality, there is one thing he does hold on to from his origins, and that is his Irish optimism and humour.

Copyright Information ©

A. Malone 2023

The right of A. Malone to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781528999281 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781528999298 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published 2023

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd®

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Canary Wharf

London

E14 5AA

Only a life of pleasure is worth living. – Clayto

We place above all else the pursuit of pleasure. From the preamble to the Pleasure Society on a warm and pleasant night, the terrace of Tom Brown’s seafront restaurant was busy with tourists enjoying their meals with a view of the beach and blue sea. A kilometre or two out lay a hilly and rocky uninhabited island that local superstition claimed was cursed.

In front of the restaurant, there were lots of cartoon posters in bright colours offering all the delights of the food on offer. On the large terrace, waiters and waitresses rushed here and there to sounds of Excuse me! to replies of Be there in a minute! Meanwhile out of view and in the kitchen, the shouts were more stringent followed by the furious ringing of a bell. Table six is away! – Table twenty-five have finished their starters! – Table nine doesn’t want any sauce! – Jesus! At the back of the restaurant, a waiter sneaks away from the madness for a sly cigarette, but he stays close to the back door, his eyes glued on a young, sun-tanned girl with blond hair tied at the back by a red ribbon that rested on her handsome brown shoulders. She with her back to him was washing up. He knew she knew he was staring at her as he had earlier brushed past her and nodded that he was sneaking out for a cigarette, the inference being that she was to follow him out. Some torturous moments later, she came out to join him. She pushed the hair that had fallen over her face back and smiled showing a mouthful of perfect white teeth and a face so beautiful it cut his respiration. She accepted a cigarette from him. The back of the restaurant looked inland to the low mountains that were ablaze with the seasonal forest fires, but he didn’t make any reference to it; in fact, he did not speak at all for he was on edge and couldn’t think of anything of interest to say. It didn’t matter for the girl began to speak and it was all about the tension in the kitchen; the manager Vicente had said she was lazy and if it was up to him he would sack her and then she went on about how Ellie who was the other girl washing up had only have cleaned the cutlery and she was getting the blame. To the waiter, it did not sound at all like complaints but poetry from her voice and he could have listened to her all night if he could, but he heard a voice inside shouting his name. ‘Gotta get back in, are you going to Mano’s tonight?’ The hesitation in her reply made his heart sink.

‘Emm, eem, ah…I have to see what Maca is doing.’ He knew she was lying. When the waiter left, a chef came out with a joint already rolled up. Without bothering to look around, he lit it. ‘Wanna drag?’

‘Sure.’

‘Couple of my mates playing a gig tonight; wanna come along?’

‘Sure.’

Watching all that had just happened from a safe distance above the kitchen yard was a cat whose name is Lorenzo and as soon as the humans disappeared, he came nimbly down from the roof of the storeroom where he had been lying patiently and out of sight to rifle through the bins ever careful because the humans could come out any moment. Tom Brown’s was always a happy hunting ground and he filled his bag, which was concealed under his body. This was summer and he could pick and choose. Humans, the seaside cats had long discovered, throw away a lot of food in the summer. In winter, all the places of the beachfront and for miles around shut down and hunger set in. But that was a long, long way off; it was only May.

Later that night when all the seafront restaurants and bars had closed and few humans were about, Lorenzo waited patiently by a sunbed on the beach and his impatience and nervousness apart, he enjoyed the salt sprinkled breeze and occasionally looked at the large bright moon; bigger and closer than ever he thought and now isn’t that a good omen, and look at all those stars. Could life be better? He had a bag of delicious food and some bottles of wine and he was waiting for the feline who marked the rhythm of his heartbeats. The moon, which was very bright, seemed so close that he thought if he built up enough speed, he could leap to it. His ears pricked up for he had heard the sound of sand being disturbed and his eyes made out a graceful feline figure strolling elegantly close by where the waves broke whilst his heart started a nervous dance. The feline was Napoleona and she was very beautiful. ‘Napoleona, what kept you?’ he asked trying to sound authoritative, but at the same time afraid of being too stern and then what would he do if Napoleona, his love, his life, his…everything reacted badly and finished what they had, which it pained him to admit dangled on a thread.

Napoleona looked at him and smiled offering a lame ‘I had to see someone’, but seeing his hurt expression she quickly added, ‘Oh, it was nothing important, nothing for you to worry about…I was with Mariemar…but I’m here now, what have you brought me?’ She asked with a most seductive voice that never failed to melt Lorenzo. Lorenzo spread out the food and had even had the delicacy to add serviettes, but he could see she was not overly impressed and this hurt him badly. All his hard work so easily dismissed with a look of indifference. He had imagined it a feast for kings and queens, but the feline, he wished to be his queen, was not impressed and he had picked it up. It was a devastating blow. Suddenly, he felt in quick sands, he had picked up her disappointment at the best he could offer. A voice or a feeling inside told him he was out of the game, eliminated and he knew it, but he couldn’t face up to it. He put on a brave face, took a good swig of wine to steady himself and cited how beautiful the moon was and how it made her look more beautiful than ever. If the goods he brought could not win her over, he would try poetry. He knew she loved to hear him say nice things and he began to let it all flow out although with a crackling voice, as he knew she was slipping away. ‘Oh, Lorenzo, I am afraid you are going to conquer me.’ She sighed and for a moment, or maybe less than a moment, he wanted to believe her. Napoleona was beautiful without argument and that made her most desirable, but she was also and this killed him to admit that she was the most devious feline he had ever met. She had lied so often and effortlessly to him that he couldn’t square it in his mind how an angel could act like this, for in his heart that is what she was, while his head had a more terrestrial and objective view of her which did not favour her in the least. But the heart ruled for as he admitted to himself and shouted when drunk, I’m weak! I’m weak! When his heart wasn’t pumping out poetry and prose to her beauty and sanctity, his head was coldly churning out the facts. In the short period of time she had been in Nova Playa, she knew who was who and what they were up to.

When he asked why she was so curious to know everyone and everything, she replied, in all honesty and probably the only time she had ever done so at least to him, ‘I’ve learnt that information is power and by knowing that little bit more than the others, you can get and exploit whatever great or little advantage it gives you and anyway…’ Lorenzo noted the change of expression in her face, gone was the beautiful and generous smile, the face of innocence, her face seemed to contract and it had lost its charm. Lorenzo must have expressed his thoughts in his face because Napoleona quickly changed her tone and facial expression to that of before and gaily added as she realised she may have let her mask slip and said a little bit too much. ‘Well, we are cats, we are by nature curious. I am doing only what is natural.’ Lorenzo at the time made little of this confession and it would be only later on that he remembered it and began to get an inkling of what she was really about. But this psychological insight only developed when he was resigned to losing what he never really had, for deep down, he didn’t really care how she was because it was his feelings for her which counted and they were of a tidal sea force and had swept him along and he, a willing passenger. He never cared to see in which direction he was being swept about. He just went with the flow, but now, as the rocks appeared on the horizon did he take stock of the situation. Disaster loomed. The warnings had been all ignored and now he was being hurtled fast to the rocks. All this had come back to Lorenzo who wished he had the courage to face up to his feeble heart and say the horrible things that that were in his head. But he couldn’t. He was hooked. He was a mouse in the jaws of a playful cat and he only lodged temporarily there while it was amused, but he knew that if not the next one, it would be the following bite that would be fatal.

Napoleona had an uncommon attraction to every masculine she came in contact with and disarmed all and sundry with her smile that was a mixture of devilish delight, sparkling enthusiasm and that of the kitten that wanted to be hugged, kissed and loved, but above all, protected. She knew that every masculine before her was hers for the taking and she was not a miser with her charms. Lorenzo when forced to think about it, doubted if she could even, if she wanted to, be loyal to just one masculine. ‘I have some other friends,’ she once said and although he only grimaced forcing a grin, but later on and away from her, he cried his eyes out when alone and drunk. And yet he could not break the chain and free himself.

She had appeared in late March when most of the hotels and restaurants had just begun to open up. She said she had arrived on a cruise ship, which she said she had boarded in Malaga in the few biographical details she had mentioned and hinted at a distant aristocratic background, but it was all sketchy and out of focus and she always changed the subject when brought up. On board the cruiser, she earned a good living but added nothing else. There was a small community of cats on board and as Napoleona was the only one that jumped ship rumours that could never be substantiated were that she had wreaked havoc with the masculine feline relationships on board and she had been kicked off when it docked in a port close to Playa Nova. But these were only rumours and spread by the increasing number of feline enemies she had started to make. With her beauty and open personality, she was accepted into the cat community of Playa Nova with all except the felines, of course, who saw her as a threat and with their feline intuition said there was something very deceitful about her and they cited her effusiveness and over the top manner of saluting everyone, felines like long-lost sisters and brothers as if they were the most handsome and interesting cats alive. Get close to a cat, invade his space, tilt your head to the side and smile the warmest one you’ve got, look into his eyes, delight in his conversation and…he’s yours! Seemed to be her modus operandi noted Lorenzo and he should know because he had been captured just as easily, but he fooled himself, like all those in a love out of their depth, that deep down she sees my soul, my pure heart and all that nonsense. But he was a fool wishing to be fooled as all the others who fawned at her and felt their blood heat up and bodies ache to lie with her. Every masculine that might be of some use to her were treated thus and not one male she exercised her charm on was not completely disarmed, convinced she had fallen for his charms despite the fact that she was setting snares and reeling in the quarry. Of course, the felines knew what she was up to and despite her feigned hurt when one of them would challenge her to say keep your paws off my cat, I know your game! Only old Moggie of all the felines sensed that behind the smiles and innocence was a calculating cat that she was quite sure was capable of great evil and was bereft of any conscience and anything that might get in her way of achieving what she wanted. The most common opinion was she was just pretty and dumb; however, most felines kept their distance from her except when their masculines were in danger of being spellbound by her, then they were prepared to show their claws. In no time at all, several masculines had declared undying love and willingness to sacrifice themselves for her. Napoleona, however, was not interested in such sacrifices that fed her ego; she had a stomach that needed attention. She had several cats working overtime to bring her the best of food that was on offer, freeing her up to either have fun or sleep. Napoleona only confided in Mariemar, a plain unattractive feline from the same region as her and who quickly became her companion, servant some said as she was forever dancing to her attendance, brushing her hair or fetching her things. They shared a small flat that Mariemar kept spotless, Napoleona didn’t do a hand’s turn, but she did bring home some delicious food. ‘Will you marry one of your lovers?’

She asked only for Napoleona to respond, ‘No, no, lovers they are not for I love none of them nor see the advantage love could bring to me. Some are quite decent and could probably provide a comfortable life now in the summer, but what about winter?’ Winter struck fear in all seaside cats. Attendance and fine words are nice she thought, but not even a fool would prefer them over being lavished with wealth. And she, Napoleona, was no fool!

The cats at this time in Playa Nova were pretty much independent with no real ruler or central power. All cats and especially felines, to protect their honour, carried swords or knives they might conceal in their clothes. Humans only saw cats as fur-lined animals that walked on all fours, but in cat towns, which were underneath human ones; cats wore clothes and walked upright only resorting to all fours when in danger or wishing to travel fast. The human districts and even streets were controlled by families of cats, but the cats did not live in human streets, they had their own towns underneath human towns and cities, which they accessed by the drainage system tunnels. It was impossible for humans to enter, for they were too big. Playa Nova too had its cat town underneath with its narrow streets and alleys, which like the town above also came to life at night as cats and felines for miles around poured in attracted by Night Town where all the best bars, clubs and speakeasies were. Napoleona in common with most cats loved the night. It was when she was most alert and keen to have fun. Now as she strolled gaily through the tight narrow streets of Night Town, with Lorenzo in tow, she breathed in the heavy alcohol and smoke-filled night. In a doorway, a hag-like feline, destroyed by drink, caught her eye. ‘Ah, I see you are pretty too and think life is one great party, well, I have news for you, pretty one; it finishes quicker than you can imagine, look at me and see your future!’ Then in a most frightful and witch-like cackle, she laughed and sneered at Napoleona who only looked at her with disgust. Lorenzo who had only heard a little of what the misfortune had said could see that Napoleona was livid and muttered several curses under her breath before she hurried away. They soon came to a speakeasy called Delta Blues. Cats and felines carried knives or swords but had to hand them in when entering most clubs. Napoleona never carried a sword as she was nearly always protected by a masculine and so she bounded into the hall while Lorenzo was handing in his sword. By now, she had composed herself, had forgotten about the old wino as she looked around the club eager to see what the night offered, in the smoky cat-filled hall with jazz music coming from a tight stage where a group called Los Gatos Negros blasted out hypnotic tunes.

‘Now tonight for you cool cats, we got none other than the Lion himself to do us a couple of tunes to blue up da night…take it away, Van…’ The music took a different but completely energetic tone as the heavy cat in dark glasses seemed to scream in the most melodic of voices.

’Baby please don’t go down to New Orleans you know I love you so, baby please don’t go…’

The hall rocked and swayed, but Napoleona oblivious to the musicians liked the Delta Blues because of the cats that hung out there, for she was always on the hunt. Napoleona eyed all around her. She too, for her attractiveness, was the object of many an eye and when Lorenzo went to the bar, a few descended on her to try their chances, which she did not completely reject, only offering a weak ‘I’m with someone…’ But behind the affected coyness and smiles, she was always assessing were they worth proceeding with. So far, nothing too promising she mused, but the night was long. When Lorenzo got back with the drinks, he had to embarrassingly break into one of these encounters and the only hint of an apology from Napoleona was, ‘You don’t mind if I talk to other cats…?’

Lorenzo stood embarrassed and handed a drink to her mumbling, ‘Naw, it’s okay,’ while burning inside he wanted to say, Of course, I mind! Take it easy, feline, don’t you know there is no such thing as friendliness between masculines and felines and is there a need to smile so brightly and hang on words that are mere disguises, for I want to get physical with you and your body language saying this one next to me isn’t really anyone…it pained him to see the other pretenders look at her like wolves, tongues out and dripping in saliva, but what hurt the most was she was wallowing in it, emitting signals as much to say come you cheeky hungry wolves and feast on this tender lamb! Napoleona then gulped back her drink and handed the empty glass to Lorenzo, who could only comment, ‘Wow, you didn’t half murder that.’

‘It was only a drink, are you not going to get me another? Get me a double; I think they water down the liquor here.’

‘Shouldn’t you take it handy? It is a long night and you don’t want to be like those outside.’ Napoleona flashed a look with such menace that Lorenzo, who was only joking, rushed off with his tail between his legs to get the drinks. Napoleona, who had stood in silence and deep thought, suddenly seemed to get an idea and her whole demeanour changed. She slipped out of the club but not before passing first to the cloakroom and then she slipped out moving with speed and purpose through the narrow streets.

‘Wha waddya wan, do I know you?’ asked the tremulous and shaky voice of an old feline that had been brusquely awoken.

‘Well, you were kind enough to read out my future earlier on.’ The withered feline looked puzzled and then her eyes registered shock and horror as a long knife was produced and without another word, it was plunged into her heart.

When Lorenzo returned with the drinks, he couldn’t find Napoleona anywhere and when he was just about to give up, he saw her re-enter the club with what looked to him like a change of clothes. He went up to her, she took the drink and when his eyes looked at her new outfit, she smiled and said, ‘Ah, I just felt I had to go home and change my clothes, do you like them?’ But before he had a chance to answer, she removed the smile from her face and said, ‘I’m going to meet Juan now.’ Lorenzo stood stupefied. He knew he was being dismissed and the feline he would have given his life for there and then had abruptly and without warning ended his life. While she skipped off not in the least perturbed for his feelings, he stood rooted and paralysed, tears streaming down his cheeks and only snapping out of it when, Miguel, a mate and lover of jazz and blues, came up to him and started talking and taking his tears to be for the music that he had been listening to as on stage at that moment.

‘Wow, cat, didn’t know you took music like that. This music kinda goes to your heart, don’t it? Oh, by the was just saw that lush, if I ever saw one, whatshername with another bunch of cats, fucken’ bitch is always in heat, did the right thing they’re getting shut of her.’ Lorenzo looked at him and a fresh wave of tears exploded. ‘Wow, cat, you love your blues!’

‘Hey, cats, give it up for the one and only T and J, we gotta say J Hooker!’ Lorenzo somehow made it to the door as the singer began to sing:

‘Boom boom boom you shot me down…’

Meanwhile, Napoleona was with a group of cats who were fawning all over her, but her sights were above them as she looked at a private alcove. ‘Who’s that?’ she asked as she looked up to see waiters rushing about all hasty and business-like.

‘Why, they are the fat cats, King Louie’s men.’

‘King?’ asked Napoleona incredulously.

‘Well, it may have started as a joke but Louie had enough muscle to keep it going so now he is known to everyone as King Louie.’

‘Is that him?’

‘Naw, he don’t get out much, some say he is always ill; that’s Count Luciano, and the joke here is that he is a count on account…get it?’

‘Yeah, but you don’t wanna joke with any of them,’ some other cat said in a lower voice and all the others, Napoleona noticed, went quiet out of fear and respect, but as she looked up, nothing could hide the look of envy in her green emerald eyes. ‘Next to the count is his mistress, Lady Julia.’

‘Them cats take their titles serious,’ another cat said. Napoleona no longer listening, slipped into thought, she is old; she won’t be able to compete with me. Then she drank back her wine and held out an empty glass and there were no shortage of suitors who rushed to get her another drink. But now, she was not only drinking wine and breathing in the smoke from the club but she was drinking and smoking in the scene from the high table. To her, the high table oozed class and wealth and although a succession of great jazz cats hopped on and did a song or two on stage, this meant nothing to Napoleona; the only thing that mattered to her was the high table with the count and his entourage. That is where all her ambitions lay; this would be her ticket against winter hunger. In her mind, she willed herself to get to those heights. They are the cats to be with, that is life, all the rest are just poor vulgar cats fighting for scraps while above them are expensive bottles of champagne, caviar and what not. Such well-dressed masculines and felines, the cream of society, the pinnacle of success. She made a vow to herself. That is my destiny and nothing is going to get in the way of it. With my beauty and guile, I will make it there and nothing or no one will stand in my way. Step aside or fear the consequences for out of the darkness and into the light, I move!

Lorenzo had made it from the club feeling mortally wounded and extremely drunk. He had gotten into a row at the cloakrooms because they could not find his sword. The arrival of the bouncers was enough for him to stop complaining and slink away. When he hit the night air, after throwing up, he decided to end his life and he cursed not having his sword. ‘I’ll show her, let my death be on her conscience! What is left to live for?’ he asked as he left Night Town stumbling and falling in a wretched drunkenness. Between the frequent falls and occasional stops to puke, he declared to the world he was going to end his life to the hilarity and amusement of all the other cats he passed who only derided him by saying he didn’t have the guts or the bollox! Somehow, he managed to get to the sea. He would have one last cigarette; philosophise on the cruelty of this world before he ended all ties to it.

The following day, Lorenzo awoke perceiving the warmth of another being, but the scent told him it wasn’t a cat for it was much stronger. He struggled to open his eyes and to his fright, he found that he had been curled up next to a human! In shock, he jumped from the sunbed searching with his hand for his sword, which was not there. He withdrew a safe distance from the human that made contrary to his expectations no movement whatsoever. He noticed that beside the bed were a lot of beer bottles and cigarette butts. Then slowly, he began to recollect the previous night. He thought of Napoleona and it hurt him as fresh as if the wound had been just made as he began to recollect snatches of conversation with the human. But how was that possible? He was not a go-between, he had no instruction in those arts, but the evidence was on the ground and not only that but it was the very same human he had seen in the restaurant some time before and then in his mind, the puzzle of puzzles, did he see the human go to the sea to end his life and he intervened? Or did the human sense that he, Lorenzo, was under great duress and drunk in head and sick at heart? Now as he made his way from the beach, with great difficulty for he had a tremendous hangover and his throat was sore from all the smoking, more fragments of the previous night came back to him. He remembered listening to the human describe the girl he loved and how she loved to flirt with the world and his brother, and he responded that she sounded like a bitch to him and then the human to say the same when he described Napoleona and while both had initially got angry, they soon laughed at the absurdity of it all. He remembered saying to the human that love is blind. No, replied the human, love makes you blind and stupid, which is something completely different! That is it thought Lorenzo. Love is such a devious and selfish animal that magnifies what little good there may be and minimises beyond recognition the sure to be myriad of faults that one may have. It is a state where one glides and floats until of course it runs its course or is shot down before it begins to fly. ‘Yes, Napoleona, I could write in the sands below a thousand of your faults but such is love, were you to appear now I would have the seas sweep them away with ease, but my cold head tells me to tell my grieving heart that will not happen. Alas! What now? My life here is spent, overdrawn as it has been and