Juliette and the Monday ManDates

by Becky Doughty

  "Right. Well, Mich—"

  "You can't say it, can you? Tootles." She was beginning to smile, teasing him. "What's the matter? Is it not tough enough for you?"

  "I'll just call him Bob."

  "But his name is Tootles! He won't come to Bob."

  "Sure he will. He knows a real man's name when he hears it." He grinned.

  She rolled her eyes again.

  "Let's test my theory, then." He moved several feet down the walk before turning back to face them. He spoke firmly, but not loudly. "Bob. Come here!" She stepped aside, and Tootles charged down the steps, hurtling himself at the man. Victor looked up at her, his eyes challenging.

  "Tootles! Come here, Tootles! Come to mama!" The dog had suddenly gone deaf. It continued to circle the policeman, panting and licking, leaning into the man's legs and whacking him with its tail. "Hey! I'm the one who feeds you! Come here, right now, you little turncoat!"

  "He's not a turncoat," Victor chuckled, as he and the dog came back up the steps together. "He just doesn't like that 'I was named by a girl. Come beat me up!' name you gave him."

  "Ha! And you won't say it, will you? A big, hunk of a manly man like you can't say Tootles!"

  "Big hunk of a manly man? I thought I was Meanie Man Jerkett."

  "You are!" She jabbed a finger into his chest, but he caught her wrist. With his thumb, he uncurled her fingers and brought her hand to his chest, covering it with his own, holding it there the way he had before, pressed flat over his heart. She stared at their hands, the way his covered hers so only the tips of her fingers could be seen.

  Then she remembered to breathe and suddenly, everything wrong with the night seemed to right itself. Her shoulders relaxed, and the crease between her eyebrows disappeared. She lifted her gaze to Victor's face and forgot to breathe all over again. He studied her, his storm-gray gaze wandering over her features; her own misty eyes, the curl of her hair around her ears, her parted lips. Tootles stood between them looking back and forth, trying to choose which one he should lean against first.

  "He doesn't even look like a Bob," she whispered.

  At that moment, Mrs. Cork's front porch light flipped on. Victor released Juliette's hand and took a step backwards, and Juliette reached for Tootles' collar just as her neighbor stepped outside. She did not look happy.

  "Mrs. Cork." Victor called out softly, nodding in her direction.

  She glared at them, obviously waiting for some kind of explanation. Juliette pulled the collar of her robe up with one hand, covering her flushed face, while the other held tightly to Tootles' collar. At that moment, Mrs. Cork's little dog catapulted from her arms, charged down the front steps, and across the adjoining lawns. Tootles lunged forward, dragging Juliette to her knees, but she held tight to his collar. Mrs. Cork began to wail, flapping her arms like a scrawny chicken.

  "Mr. Bobo! Mr. Bobo! He's going to eat Mr. Bobo!" She reached for the handrail on her porch and hitched her way down the steps, the old lady slippers on her feet making her descent rather precarious. "Do something, Officer! Call the police! Mr. Bobo!"

  "Bob!" Victor's booming voice cut through the shrieking, and brought everything to a standstill for one breath of a second, even the dogs. It wasn't much; just long enough for him to grab Tootles' collar and help Juliette right herself, and then Mr. Bobo was on the porch. The two dogs were all over each other, sniffing and licking, pawing and circling, like long-lost relatives at an overdue reunion.

  Victor crossed the lawn to Mrs. Cork, who was making her way over the dew-dampened grass. He offered her his arm and she looked up at him. "I don't think he's going to eat Mr. Bobo after all."

  "No," said the officer, "I don't see that happening. In fact, I think Bob is missing his wolf pack, and is happy to find another man around." Juliette stifled a giggle.

  "They do look like they want to be friends." Mrs. Cork's tentative tone, usually so curt, made Juliette's eye widen in wonder. Victor was an old lady whisperer, too! With a tight grip on Tootles' collar, Juliette led the dog down the steps to the lawn, Mr. Bobo frolicking playfully between the big dog's legs.

  "Yes, it does. Maybe you and Juliette should arrange some play dates for your boys. It looks like Mr. Bobo might enjoy spending time with a young pup, and we all know Bob is still learning to adjust to his wonderful new life."

  Juliette narrowed her eyes to glare at the policeman.

  "Well," Mrs. Cork shook her head slightly. "I'm awfully busy, and Mr. Bobo usually just follows me around all day. I don't know how he'd do going to visit someone else."

  "But it's not just anyone else he'd be visiting," Victor protested, patting the hand she had curled around his bicep. "It's Bob. And practically in his own backyard, too. Besides, you'll never know until you try it."

  Now Juliette was getting perturbed. Who did he think he was, trying to orchestrate a relationship between her and her crabby-pants neighbor? "I don't know, Officer," she hemmed. "That might be tough with our schedules."

  "Well, maybe we could work something out." Mrs. Cork stepped forward and reached down to touch the top of Tootles' head. The traitorous hound looked up and licked her fingertips. "What do you think, Bob? Would you like to play with Mr. Bobo sometime?"

  "His name is Tootles," Juliette corrected.

  "What? Oh. I thought...." Mrs. Cork's voice trailed off as she glanced from Victor to Juliette and back. "Tootles? That can't be right. He doesn't even look like a Tootles! I'm sure I heard you calling him Bob."

  Juliette looked up at the policeman who had his hand up covering his mouth, as though he were pondering something of vast intellectual consequences. "You know, Mrs. Cork, I think you're right. He really looks like a Bob, doesn't he?"

  "Yes, he does," the older woman nodded emphatically. "Bob. See? He likes it, too." Juliette shook her head in utter amazement. The dog looked up from chewing on Mr. Bobo's ear because the woman was paying attention to him, not because he liked the name Bob.

  "But he's my dog, and I named him Tootles," she declared, feeling a pout coming on.

  Mrs. Cork shook her head vehemently. "Oh no, Juliette! You are Bob's person, not the other way around." Then she actually chuckled, shocking Juliette into silence. She'd never heard the woman laugh in the four years they'd shared the two halves of the condominium. "The sooner you figure that out, the sooner you'll find out how wonderful it is to be loved by a dog."

  "Ladies," Victor interjected. "And gentlemen." He reached down to scuffle Mr. Bobo's ear. "Duty calls and it's late. I'm sorry to have kept you up so late, but I hope the four of you will be able to figure out a way for your dogs to interact in the future. Mrs. Cork? May I see you to your door?"

  Juliette snorted as he once again held out his arm to the old lady who scooped up her dog and smiled up at the officer like a blushing schoolgirl. Juliette glared at the dip between his shoulder blades as he escorted the ridiculous woman and her Mr. Bobo across the lawn and up to her own front stoop, where Mrs. Cork held out her dog for the nice officer to pet. He obliged. Then Mrs. Cork did something she'd never done before. As Officer Jarrett made his way off her porch, she looked across the street lamp-lit lawn and waved, calling out, "Good night, Juliette. Good night, Bob!"

  Amazed, Juliette waved back and turned to go inside, wrestling Bob in ahead of her.

  "Juliette. Wait." Victor stopped her with a hand on her shoulder and she jumped.

  "How did you get over here so fast?" she gasped, having assumed he'd go straight to his car.

  Grinning, he held both hands aloft in surrender. "Sorry I startled you. I didn't want to call out and wake up the neighborhood."

  "Um, between Mrs. Cork screaming that my dog is going to eat Mr. Bobo, and you showing off your dog whisperer skills, I think it's too late. The other neighbors are probably calling the cops as we speak." She pulled the door nearly closed behind her again, but this time Tootles seemed content to stay inside. She looked up at Victor with narrowed eyes. "You know, that was pretty slick back there. Mrs. Co
rk and I haven't interacted that much in the entire time I've lived here, no less in one sitting. I think she's actually considering having a neighborly relationship with me now. I don't know whether to hit you or kiss you."

  His eyebrows went up and his smile broadened. Juliette blushed and rushed on. "Sorry. Like I said, I'm ridiculously tired so I can't be responsible for what comes out of my mouth. Was there something else you wanted?"

  He hesitated, as though choosing his words carefully. "I'm glad you have Bob." That was what he wanted to tell her? Juliette couldn't prevent the swell of disappointment in her belly.

  "Tootles," she quipped, a little too brightly.

  "Tootles," he nodded, saying the name for the first time, his deep voice tight with resistance and humor.

  Juliette's brow furrowed. "Oh dear." She shook her head, a grave look on her face.

  "What is it?"

  "You're right, Officer Jarrett. That's just wrong in so many ways. It was really cute when we girls were calling him Tootles in our high, squeaky voices, but when you say it? Eek! Total emasculation." She snorted. "Of the dog, not you. Your manliness just highlights the girliness of his name."

  "I think you just called me manly again."

  "That's not what I said. Well, that's not what I meant. I mean, you are manly, but I didn't mean to point it out." She put a hand up to cover her eyes. "I just said it again, didn't I?" She began backing through the door, then hid behind it, only her eyes peeking out to look up at him. "Officer, I'm going to call it a night."

  "I liked it better when you called me Victor." Hadn't she said those exact same words to him so many weeks ago?

  "Well then, goodnight, Victor," she murmured.

  "Goodnight, Juliette. Sleep well." He saluted and turned to leave. Halfway down the walk, he stopped and looked back at her. "Maybe I'll see you in church on Saturday."

  She grinned. "Maybe you will."

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  HE WAS IN TROUBLE.

  This time, Sarah refused to hand the paper over until Victor gave up some information. They were both putting in extra hours because of a flu bug going around, and everyone who wasn't sick was covering for those who were. It was a slow night, and for that they were both grateful, but when Sarah answered Mrs. Cork's disgruntled complaints with barely restrained laughter, Victor saw it in her eyes that her curiosity would no longer be denied.

  "Whoa," Sarah said, sitting back in her chair after he finished giving her what he thought was a very objective debriefing of his on-the-clock encounters with the now infamous Juliette Gustafson. He left out the pie date with the Petersons and the line-backer take-down. That was none of Sarah's business. Besides, he'd sworn off thinking about that night during work hours. "No wonder you've been wandering around here looking like you've been hit by a Mack truck."

  "What do you mean?" He'd been stupid enough to ask.

  "Oh, man. Denial, too? It's worse than I thought. Hoo-ie!" Sarah shook her head and took another call while Victor glared at her. She handed him the call report and shooed him off with a grin and a wave. He went, feeling like a flushed-cheek kid, glancing down at the paper she'd handed him. She'd written in big block letters across the top, YOU ARE IN T-R-O-U-B-L-E!

  He knew it was true the moment Juliette barged out her front door to greet him with her contempt. Even in her disheveled and pink-robed state, she was radiant, making him ache at the sight of her. He fumbled with his notebook, pretending to read words that weren't written there, collecting his thoughts enough to speak coherently.

  Sarah was right. He was falling for Juliette, the wild girl. The wild girl with the out-of-control sisters. And the out-of-control friends. And the out-of-control neighbor. And now the out-of-control dog named Tootles.

  Bob.

  He could no longer deny it. For three weeks he'd waged war in his heart; praying, thinking, contemplating, imagining, wondering how he could even consider having a relationship with her, then wondering how he could go on breathing without her. Each Saturday night in church, he watched for her, hoping his reaction to her would be different when he saw her, hoping his heart wouldn't feel like a jackhammer trying to punch a hole in his chest. And each Saturday night she didn't show left him feeling more uncertain than ever.

  But tonight, instead of more turmoil, the sight of her was like a cool drink of water to his thirsty heart. When she poked him in the chest and called him manly, hope flooded through the rest of him, sweeping away the murky shadows of fear. Pressing her hand to his heart, he'd felt anchored, connected. And when he pulled away from her curb just now, he felt like he was leaving home.

  "I am in trouble," he said, a hand on the back of his neck, his fingers massaging the stiff muscles. He played things over in his mind, from the beginning, back to his very first encounter with her, speeding because she was hungry. He could see the chagrin on her face as he stood over her explaining why he was giving her a ticket, like she was a child. How ridiculous he must have seemed to her. Her tears the second time—tears that seemed to come from nowhere, but now he knew better—were the tears of a broken heart, of someone taken for granted and tossed away. He welcomed the surge of anger, quickly followed by the longing to protect her from the kind of man who would treat her so dishonorably .... Then he heard her weary voice say, "I spent way too much time trying to figure out what I'd done to make you treat me so unkindly. Well, I get it now. I know your type too well."

  His foot slid off the accelerator, and his car slowed to a crawl on the empty, past-midnight street. "I am that man. I'm the type of man who would treat her so unkindly, so dishonorably." He hadn't contradicted her when she said those things about herself; his reticence must've led her to believe he agreed.

  Couldn't she tell how violently she stirred his senses? Didn't she see how alive he felt every moment he spent with her?

  Of course not. Because he questioned her integrity every time he had the slightest opportunity. And when he finally did acknowledge feeling something for her, he panicked and ran, abandoning her to her doubts and questions of self-worth.

  To add insult to injury, she'd taken his rudeness and insensitivity like a trooper, like someone accustomed to doing so. She remained authentic and transparent, while he pushed, insulted, and assaulted....

  That kiss. His gut tightened in response.

  She called him manly, not once, but several times tonight. He felt her hand beneath his, curled around his heart, and he brought his fist up to his chest even now. He loved how everything she was thinking and feeling could be seen in her dove eyes. He loved that she didn't wear masks. He loved that she said what she was thinking. He loved that she didn't pretend to be something she wasn't. He loved—

  "I love her."

  He swerved abruptly off the road and thrust the cruiser into park. His chest felt like it was caving in. His vision actually blurred and he thought he was going to be sick. Climbing out of the car, he stumbled to the sidewalk and started pacing, back and forth, breathing deeply, in through the nose, out through the mouth. With those three words everything seemed to fall into place, like a combination lock to his heart, and he thought he might just be consumed by the rush of emotions that crashed through him. He wanted to turn around and fly back to her, to sweep her into his arms, and tell her everything that was bursting out of his unlocked heart.

  "Oh, God," he moaned, bending over with his hands on his knees, feeling his world spinning out of control. "Help me," he begged. "Help me know what to do with all of this. It's more than I can hold on to right now."

  Then let it go, son. Stop flailing and kicking and resisting. Give it to Me. Let me take your heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh.

  "'MAYBE YOU WILL,' TOOTLES, that's what I said. Very clever and mysterious, don't you think?" Juliette actually twirled, the thick socks allowing her an extra half spin. Tootles-Bob ran a circle around the living room, launching himself up and over the back of the sofa. That brought her dance to an abrupt halt.

  "Tootles!
No, no! Bob!" Juliette laughed and plopped down on the sofa, letting the animal figure out it was time to settle down. Finally, she got up, found the leash Ren had given her, and brought the dog's blanket into the living room. "Looks like we're sleeping on the couch tonight. At least I am. You're sleeping on the floor. Tied to me." She held up her arm indicating the handle of the leash looped around her wrist.

  She made a bed of blankets and pillows for herself, got the dog settled on his, and they both fell asleep without further ado.

  The next morning came much too quickly, and with it, a flood of doubt that her fatigue could not fend off. Why would someone like Victor choose someone like her? Of course he was glad she had Bob; now he didn't have to feel so guilty about not calling her.

  Juliette dragged herself off to work, arriving nearly ten minutes late.

  "Oh good. Now I can stop worrying!" Sharon quipped as Juliette stumbled through the office door, the toe of her shoe catching on the carpet because she wasn't picking her feet up. "Ooh. Maybe I shouldn't stop worrying after all. Bad night with Tootles again?"

  Juliette dropped into her chair, her purse falling to the ground with a thunk at her feet. "You won't believe who came to my house at one o'clock this morning."

  Sharon gasped, "No! Are you serious?"

  "I was so mad. And to make matters worse, he was being so nice." She rubbed her burning eyes. "And Bob loved him."

  "What? Who's Bob?"

  "Tootles. He changed Tootles' name to Bob, and Bob is much happier. I just have to get used to calling him Bob now and I'm not very happy about that."

  "You let him change your dog's name? What is wrong with you?" Sharon actually looked angry. "And I thought that dog had more sense than that! Did you let him in?"

  Juliette squinted at her friend across the room. "No, of course not! Why would I do that?"

  "But you let him stay long enough for Tootles to decide that he liked him?"

  "Bob. Loved, not liked. Bob loved him. It took less than five seconds to determine that."