Guys & Dogs

by Elaine Fox

  “Thanks.” He looked down at the card. Long, elegant fingers held it in the dashboard light.

  “Sutter?” she said. The name felt strange on her lips, incomplete, almost rude. As if she’d just met Michelangelo and called him Mickey.

  He looked up, brows raised inquiringly. His eyes looked very green in the twilight glow.

  “Thanks for taking Baywatch,” she finished lamely.

  “Who? Oh.” His eyes shot toward the back seat, though not enough to really look at the dog. “Sure.”

  She suffered a slight misgiving. He would treat the pup well, wouldn’t he?

  “That reminds me,” he said, putting the Jag in gear. “Can I change the name? I don’t believe I can bring myself to use the one it’s got and I’ve got to call it something, haven’t I? I mean, I can’t just let it wander about without identity.”

  Megan’s smile blossomed. If he was worried about the pup needing a name, then of course he was going to take care of it. Worrying about a dog’s identity was a great sign. She congratulated herself on being right the first time. He needed this dog.

  “Of course you can change the name,” she said. “Anything you want.”

  He smiled, perhaps the first truly unfettered smile she’d seen from him and it made her positively weak in the knees.

  “There it is,” he said gently.

  “There what is?” she breathed.

  “That triumphant glow. I knew it wouldn’t be gone for long.” With that and a wink she might have imagined, he backed out of the parking space and drove off.

  Megan watched until his taillights disappeared around the corner. Only then did her heart climb back from her throat.

  Five

  “Will that be all?” the clerk at the pharmacy chirped.

  “That will be all.” He pushed the bottle of sleeping pills closer to her and fingered through the bills in his wallet.

  She picked it up and scanned it with her handheld gun. “This stuff is great. My boyfriend Dwayne used it. Well, he’s really my ex-boyfriend.” She leaned down for a plastic bag. “You know, we went out for a long time but it just wasn’t working, so I pulled the plug. He was real into, like, sitting on my couch watching sports? Like he never took me out or anything? So a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do, you know? I mean, these are supposed to be the best years of my life. I can’t be waiting on a guy who can’t even commit to a whole night’s sleep, you know what I’m saying?”

  “I thought you said it worked for him,” Sutter said, immediately sorry he’d encouraged the conversation. He’d been holding out a twenty to her for the last three minutes but she hadn’t noticed. He remembered now, vividly, why he usually delegated these tasks.

  “No, I said he used it. And it might’ve worked for him, really, if he didn’t find out he liked to take ’em with beer. Get kind of a high, you know? Dwayne’s an idiot.” She handed him the bag.

  “I see.” The idea would appeal to him too, in the sick part of his brain that longed to be unconscious, except for the risk of permanent insensibility. “Uh, how much?”

  “Oh, sorry!” She giggled. “Seven ninety-seven. It’s like, twisted, you know? Everyone says alcohol’s bad for sleep, so to take a sleeping pill with a beer, well it’s just stupid. I told him he could wake up dead some morning. He just said at least he’d of fallen asleep.” She shook her head. “Twisted.”

  Sutter rued the fact that he understood this side of the couch-dwelling Dwayne.

  He held the twenty out farther. She took it and made change, counting it out into his palm. He wondered if the woman in line behind him was ready to spit nails yet. Or maybe people who shopped all the time were used to this kind of thing. All Sutter knew was it would drive him batty, and he vowed to let Martina do all the shopping from now on, no matter what it was he wanted her to purchase.

  “Good luck. You let me know if that works, now,” the clerk said, smiling at him. “If not you just bring it on back and we’ll see what we can try next. There’s lots of stuff, you know? I know ’cuz of my boyfriend. But maybe this’ll work on you.”

  “We’ll see,” he said, turning away from the counter. “Thank you.”

  “My name’s Trudy!” she called after him. “Just ask for me, I’ll help you. I’ve helped plenty of people who couldn’t sleep. Between ’em they’ve tried everything there is out there.”

  Sutter kept walking until he was out of earshot. He’d just bet they tried everything. A little oblivion around talkative Trudy would be a blessed relief.

  He arrived at the office fifteen minutes later only to be greeted by Arnetta and her theme song: the spilling of the pencils and the ramming of the file cabinet. In her fist she held a wad of pink “while-you-were-out” slips.

  “Mr. Foley,” she said, giving him her most ingratiating smile, the one that made him feel simultaneously sorry for and fatigued by her. “I’ve got your messages.”

  “Wonderful, Arnetta,” he said without missing a step as he headed for his office. “You can bring them in here and put them on my desk.”

  “Yes, sir, although Franklin Ward says it’s better if I read them aloud to you. Would you like me to read them aloud?”

  He didn’t look back to see if she’d followed; she always did. “No, thank you, Arnetta. I prefer to get to them in my own time.”

  “All right,” she said in a tone that made clear she thought it was not all right.

  He laid his briefcase on the desk and removed the file he was working on.

  Arnetta sidled out of the room. “I’ll just be out here if you need anything.”

  “I know.” Once she’d closed the door, he sat in the chair and picked up the messages.

  The first one had two phone numbers, the “please call back” box checked and written on the bottom the note, “says you can reach him at first number until noon, second number until five,” but there was no indication of any sort whose numbers they might be.

  He looked at the second one. A name, “John,” and no accompanying message or phone number, just the “please call back” box checked. He knew at least three Johns and could think of no reason for any of them to call.

  The third had a long message about copier needs with no name or number or box checked. He wadded this one up and threw it in the trash. The fourth had no name either, but an 800 number with the message, “Urgent,” underlined three times.

  He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. The first thing he wondered was if Arnetta would have noticed her mistakes had he let her read the messages out loud. The second thing was how much longer he’d have to endure this before he could honestly tell his sister he’d given the woman every opportunity. He knew, however, that the first thing Lizzy would ask him would be what Arnetta’s mistakes had cost him and the truth was nothing, except for a lot of hair-graying aggravation.

  He thought about calling Arnetta in to point out the mistakes, but honestly he was getting tired of correcting her all the time. It was like chastising a toddler for not knowing algebra. Neither the chastising nor the algebra was going to do the child any good, and either would only make the child cry. He was tired of making the child cry.

  He thought about the vet last night, how her face had glowed at him just before he’d driven off with the mutt. He’d made her happy just by keeping the damn dog, and it had made him feel good. How long had it been since he’d made a woman happy like that? All pleased and glowy and surprised at him.

  And it had been easy. The more he thought about it, the easier it seemed it would be to keep the pup. Martina would deal with it during the day, and hell, maybe he’d take it for a walk at night. Do him good to get a little outdoor exercise. Despite working out in his home gym, he needed some activity in the fresh air. Might make him sleep better too, to do something cardiovascular.

  His intercom buzzed. “Yes?” he answered.

  “Miss Montgomery is here,” Arnetta said.

  He told Arnetta to send her in.

  “Su
tter,” Montgomery greeted him with a brisk nod. “I’m sorry I’m late.”

  “Are you late?” he asked, looking at his watch, then searching for the daily schedule Arnetta had given him last night. He looked at it for the first time and saw nine-thirty with the word “meeting” next to it. No wonder he never paid these schedules any attention.

  Montgomery gave him an arch look that accused him of forgetting her.

  “I just arrived myself,” he said. “Martina was late so I had to take the dog out.”

  “You’ve still got that dog?” She gaped at him. “I thought you were getting rid of it.”

  “As did I.” He cleared his throat, pulled the file onto his lap and opened it. “The vet talked me out of it.”

  “The vet talked you out of it?” she repeated. “I thought old Doc Rose’s powers of persuasion only worked on drunk females.”

  For a moment he was taken aback. Drunk females? Was Dr. Rose…? No…she couldn’t be. There’d been a…a vibe between them last night, hadn’t there? A little flirtation? He pictured her dazzling smile, the curve of her cheek, that blush.

  “What do you mean?” he asked.

  Montgomery chuckled. “Oh, only that the good doctor is kind of known around town as, well, a ladies’ man. To be generous about it.”

  “A ladies’ man? Dr. Rose is a woman.”

  “Awoman? Oh, I thought you went to that place on Sophia Street, the animal hospital.”

  “That’s the one.”

  Montgomery sat back. “Huh. That was Doc Rose’s place. Older guy, close to sixty, I’d say. Drinker. He’s got a real shabby reputation around town.”

  “Does he then?” Sutter looked at her with interest. “Could be her father, maybe. Uncle. Some sort of relation.”

  Montgomery shrugged, indifferent. “Could be, I guess. I didn’t know he had a daughter but that doesn’t mean anything. My mother, like I told you, takes all her pets to Dr. Prichard.”

  Sutter nodded thoughtfully. Could Megan Rose have a father who drinks and picks up women? Why not? She just seemed so…confident. That didn’t quite go with a father who had a “shabby reputation.”

  “I’m certain she said her name was Rose. I remember because…well, no matter.” He picked up the file in front of him again and tried to focus on it. He’d remembered because when she blushed the color was a definite rose, but he wasn’t about to tell Montgomery that.

  After a moment, Montgomery said, “So she talked you into keeping the—what did you call it the other day? The bloody raging beast?”

  He looked up to see Montgomery regarding him with uncharacteristic intensity.

  “She must have had a pretty good argument,” she added, for all the world like she was miffed about the whole thing. “You’re not one to do something you don’t want to do. Generally speaking.”

  He eyed her steadily. “I hope that I am not above doing something altruistic every now and again.”

  “Altruistic?”

  “Yes. I’m fostering the pup. When Dr. Rose finds an appropriate home for it the dog will go. Now, shall we concentrate on VamTech or would you like to examine this further?”

  Ordinarily that would have been enough to put Montgomery squarely back in her place.

  Not this time.

  “What does Briana think of the dog?” she asked.

  The question hit its mark and Montgomery knew it. He could see the sharp look in her eyes, the look a woman gets when she knows she’s cornered a man.

  “Briana is not yet aware of the dog. I’m sure she’ll love it.” He couldn’t help frowning even as he said the words. “It’s been my experience that women have a soft spot for puppies.”

  He could actually think of none of his acquaintance other than Dr. Rose who might appreciate the animal. And Lizzy, but then she had a soft spot for everything helpless.

  His assistant VP snorted in a most unladylike way, not that he’d ever accuse of her being ladylike, and put a hand to her mouth.

  “I gather you don’t agree,” he said stiffly.

  “I’d rather not speculate, sir.” She hauled her briefcase onto her lap and opened it.

  Then why the devil did you bring it up? he wanted to ask. But it was his own fault for even engaging in the conversation. With effort, he turned his attention back to work.

  “You won’t believe what I just found out,” Georgia said, stalking over to Megan and Penelope, who had just found each other at the dog park.

  The day was overcast, the clouds heavy with unshed rain, and a low breeze moved the humidity around them like a veil. Even the dogs seemed affected by the weather, moving about with obvious fatigue, as affected as the humans by the meteorological malaise.

  It was Saturday, early afternoon, and the park was nearly empty, no doubt due to the foul weather. Megan rather liked it, however, this thick calm before the impending storm.

  “What did you find out?” Penelope asked, petting Sage’s giant head as he lumbered by, intent on Penelope’s dog, Wimbledon.

  “That bastard Clifford and his new wife are having a litter, due any day.” Georgia nearly spit the words and raked a hand through her blond curls, something she rarely did as it dislodged the carefully tousled and heavily sprayed look she favored.

  “Who’s Clifford?” Megan asked quietly, looking at Penelope.

  “He’s my asshole ex-husband,” Georgia supplied, “who slept with our show handler and then had the bad taste to marry her when our divorce came through. Cheap little bit of Christmas trash that she is. And her dog too.” She shook her head, her mouth compressed into a mean red line.

  “That harlequin Dane she’s got?” Penelope asked.

  “The one with the short snout and bad front end? Yep. Why anyone would breed that animal is God’s best guess.” Georgia put her hands on her hips. “And I know I left Gretyl behind when I moved out but if I’d known Clifford would cheapen her stock by breedin’ her with that Wal-Mart Dane I’d have taken her with me too.”

  “Oh Georgia,” Penelope said, sympathy in her voice. “But you’ve still got Sage, and his frozen sperm. You can have a litter any time you want. Find the right bitch and have a perfect litter. Just forget about Clifford.”

  “Does he still show the bitch?” Megan asked.

  “She does, the twit. Gretyl is past her prime. She’s only hurtin’ her reputation by trottin’ her out as a has-been. And that harlequin—Danny, of all the stupid, stupid names for a dog—is just second rate all around. Oh it’s just so infuriatin’.” She ran both hands into her hair and made fists, as if she were going to pull it out.

  “Sweetie, it’s not your problem anymore,” Penelope said gently. “Clifford can screw up his reputation in the ring all he wants. It’ll only be good for you, in fact. You should be glad Monique—”

  “And don’t call her Monique! Her name is Mona, she changed it to Monique herself. Back-stabbin’ French-wannabe harlot.”

  Penelope looked at Megan and they raised their eyebrows at one another as Georgia let fly another string of curses, her eyes following her beloved Sage.

  Silence reigned as the three watched the dogs. Two older men with corgis were sitting on the picnic table on the other side of the park. Their dogs scouted the fence near a neighboring house. The men looked up at the sky, speculating.

  After an interval, Georgia said, “I’m sorry, Pen. I didn’t mean to snap at you. They just make me so angry, Clifford and that slut of his. They’re so ignorant and they think they’re so goddamn smart.”

  “I know, Georgia. Please don’t worry about it.” Penelope ran a hand up and down her friend’s arm reassuringly. “You know, it’s funny,” she said after a while, “most women are upset to learn their husband’s new wife is going have a baby, not a litter of puppies.”

  Megan and Penelope looked at each other and chuckled.

  “They don’t have their priorities straight,” Georgia said, causing Megan and Penelope’s laughter to increase.

  “Hear, hear,” M
egan said.

  “As a matter of fact, I wish she were goin’ to have a baby. Serve Clifford right,” Georgia said, her face still dark with anger. Then she laughed. “You know, it really wouldn’t bother me a bit if she turned out to be pregnant. Even though she has more shortcomin’s than her dog.”

  They all laughed.

  After a minute, Penelope sighed. “It would kill me, though,” she said, thoughtfully, “if Glenn were to have a child with some other woman. Especially before I even found a man. I just don’t know what I’d do.”

  Georgia scoffed, still caught up in her own drama. “Clifford is welcome to whatever brat she can produce. And you can be sure that offspring won’t have a short snout! That woman’s got a schnozz on her looks like someone erected a flight of stairs between her mouth and her eyes.” She laughed uproariously at her own joke.

  “I mean it,” Penelope said, looking more horrified by the minute. “All I ever wanted from my marriage was a child and it was the one thing he wouldn’t give me. It was what split us up.” She turned to Megan, her broken heart in her eyes. “If he were to turn around with some new woman…”

  “He didn’t want children?” Megan asked.

  “No.” She shook her head, incredulous. “But he didn’t know it, apparently, until ten years into our marriage. When I think about all the wasted time…” She looked as if she were going to be sick.

  “Honey, you’re getting upset over a disaster of your own makin’ now,” Georgia said. “It hasn’t even happened yet.”

  “Yet?” Penelope practically wailed.

  Megan wished she knew her better, knew what to say or do to comfort her. “I can’t have children,” she blurted in desperation.

  All eyes turned to her and she blushed.

  “I mean, not to diminish what you’re saying in any way, Penelope,” she hastened to add, “but you’re still young. You could meet someone else and have a child. Someone who not only wants one but wants yours.”

  Penelope’s eyes were the soul of kindness. “You can’t have children? Oh that just breaks my heart, Megan. Are you okay?” She reached out and touched Megan’s arm, as she had Georgia’s, only in a more tentative way.