Guys & Dogs

by Elaine Fox

  “What on earth are Neuticles?” Penelope asked, pulling out of Megan’s driveway later that week.

  Megan and Penelope were riding together for drinks at Georgia’s, since Pen knew where Georgia lived, and Megan decided to get Penelope’s opinion on what Georgia’s reaction to the news would be.

  “They’re basically fake testicles,” Megan said. “After we neuter a dog, we can implant Neuticles so nobody can tell.”

  “And Monique had that done to her dog? Are you sure?” Penelope cast her a quick, appalled glance.

  “Apparently. I found the records. She told my father the dog’s name was King but I checked on the Internet, and her dog Danny’s show name is Danny’s King of Hearts. The rest looks the same. Age, markings, etc.”

  “That’s pretty damning,” she said. “So, are these fake testicle things allowed in the show ring?”

  “Absolutely not,” Megan said. “Those dogs are supposed to be unaltered, but it’s very difficult to tell the real thing from the fake. I imagine Mona could get into a lot of trouble if this were discovered.”

  “So why would she do it?”

  “To calm the dog down. Rumor has it he had quite a problem with aggressiveness.”

  “So that’s why they market these things?”

  “Well, technically they’re not marketing them to show people. Mostly it’s for people who have to neuter their pets for behavioral or health problems, but like the way their dogs look with balls.” Megan shrugged and Penelope laughed.

  “Men,” they said together.

  Georgia’s house was a large colonial on four acres of land in a subdivision just outside of town. She used to live in town, a few blocks away from Sutter, as a matter of fact, but after her divorce moved to this wooded lot with plenty of room for Sage to run. And plenty of room for a Great Dane was plenty of room.

  They were just pulling into the driveway when Penelope turned to her and said, “Oh I almost forgot! Did you hear? About Sutter and the SPCA?”

  Dread filled Megan’s stomach. Had he said something else to piss them all off? Surely he’d told that secretary of his to stay away from them…

  “No,” she said warily.

  “He sent Wilma Jones a check for ten thousand dollars!” Penelope announced, her eyes wide and laughing.

  Megan choked over the news, inhaling wrong and causing her throat to catch and her body to convulse with coughing.

  Her eyes were still watering when they reached Georgia’s door.

  The house was spotless—sandblasted weekly by a team of maids, according to Georgia, as she led them into the kitchen. A large pitcher of margaritas sat on the counter with three glasses and a saucer of salt.

  “Hope you girls are thirsty!” she crowed, picking up the pitcher.

  Megan grinned. “After what I just heard, hand me the pitcher. I’m not driving.”

  Penelope pouted.

  “Now, now,” Megan said, “I’ll spring for the cab for both of us, if we need it, okay?”

  They filled Georgia in on Sutter’s gift, then Penelope picked up a glass. “Fill ’er up! I’ve had the day from hell.” And she proceeded to tell them about the number of friends of her mother’s who had come into the shop and the number of times she had to hear the latest about Glenn. “It was Mrs. Newman who really got to me. Instead of just passing on the news, ‘Glenn is dating somebody now, did you know?’” She imitated the woman in a haughty falsetto. “She had to add, ‘You were a fool to let that one go, my dear. He’ll be snapped up in no time!’ I could have slapped her. Honestly, my palm actually itched to give her a good hard wallop.”

  Georgia laughed and escorted them all through the sunroom to the deck. “Honey, if you’d just get a good hard somethin’ else none of this would be a problem. Glenn could put his johnson in everythin’ that moved if you had somebody servicin’ you properly.”

  “Georgia!” Penelope objected, then laughed. “Servicing me properly. Oh my lord, how you talk!”

  “It’s the truth,” Georgia said, crossing herself with her margarita while lounging in a deck chair under the warm lowering sun. Her smile was at its most pointed and devilish. “Take me, for example. I was lonesome and horny after Clifford and I split, until I found…” She lowered her eyelids a fraction and along with them her voice. “Now you all can’t tell a soul about this. We’ve kept it secret nearly a year now, but I thought I could tell you two.”

  Penelope leaned forward. “Who? Who have you found? Is he here? In Fredericksburg? Am I the only one who can’t find someone new?” she wailed.

  Georgia looked at Megan. “Is she the only one?”

  “Never mind.” Penelope collected herself. “Sorry, go ahead. Who did you find?”

  Georgia gave her Cheshire smile. “Peter Linton.”

  Penelope gasped.

  Megan sat up. “Who’s Peter Linton?”

  “The mayor!” Penelope said. Then, turning back to Georgia, added, “The married mayor.”

  Georgia lifted her glass, toastlike, and leaned back on her chaise. “Not everyone can be single.” She took a sip of her margarita.

  “Oh Georgia,” Penelope said, in her most disappointed tone.

  Georgia swallowed and pointed a red manicured finger at Penelope. “Honey, he’s nearly divorced. He told me. They haven’t slept together in years, he lives in the basement, for pity’s sake. Poor man.”

  Penelope snorted. “Poor man. Huh. Out screwing the town’s most notorious woman…”

  “Why Penelope,” Georgia cooed, “thank you.”

  Megan sat back in her chair and took a long swig of her margarita, feeling it course down her esophagus and stimulate all of her nerve endings in the most relaxing, delightful way.

  Then she remembered her news. Georgia was looking pretty relaxed and pleased with herself, so Megan took a deep breath and dove in.

  “So Georgia, I was having a talk with my father the other day, and I asked him about your blue Dane problem,” she said.

  “You mean Clifford’s blue Dane problem, don’t you, hon?” Georgia said, her eyes freezing over. “It’s up to him to prove those puppies are legitimate, as far as I’m concerned.”

  Megan sent an apprehensive glance at Penelope. “Maybe not.”

  “Oh I think so,” Georgia said. “If he’s gonna try and pull—”

  “Georgia,” Penelope interrupted, “listen to Megan.”

  Georgia’s expression grew immediately alert, and she turned to Megan. “You know something.”

  In for a penny, in for a pounding, Megan thought. “My father neutered a harlequin dane for Mona Gibbons two years ago. Said it had nearly killed another dog in the ring. And she requested Neuticles.”

  Georgia sat bolt upright in the chaise, spilling her drink over her arm. She placed the glass on the table next to her, barely noticing her drenched hand. “Have you got records on this?”

  “Oh yes.” Megan nodded. “The name Mona gave, according to the record, is ‘King’—”

  “But Danny’s show name is Danny’s King of Hearts,” Georgia supplied. “Oh, honey. You have earned your place in heaven, let me tell you.” She pushed out of the chair and came over to give Megan a big kiss on the cheek. “Thank you for telling me. Your daddy isn’t gonna mind, now, is he?”

  “He thinks you still need other proof. He wouldn’t be able to say it was the same dog without having done an x ray of something unusual or a DNA test, which of course he didn’t do, but it’s pretty compelling. And if it came to a court battle, I think he’d be behind you.”

  Georgia sat back in her chair and picked up her glass, taking a long sip. Penelope and Megan exchanged glances.

  “I’ll have to think about this,” she said finally. “Yes…I have to think just how to go about this…”

  Megan and Penelope watched her, Megan’s stomach fluttering a bit nervously. Georgia was scary when she was angry, and Megan was uncomfortable knowing she had handed her the cannon with which to blast her ex-husband’s new
wife.

  Impulsively, Megan said, “So, I had sex recently.”

  It took a beat but Georgia finally let go of her thoughts and turned an astonished look on her.

  “Sex!” Georgia exclaimed. “With someone?”

  They all burst into laughter.

  “With another notorious citizen,” she grinned, sharing a look with Penelope. She shouldn’t be doing this, not on the heels of that nosy reporter’s call, but she had to change the subject and she knew this would do the trick.

  Georgia glanced at Penelope too. “Oh, so that’s what you meant by you being the only one not to find someone. Well, do tell, honey.”

  “All right, but this absolutely cannot go any further than the three of us,” she said.

  “And the mystery man,” Georgia added, “unless you jumped him in his sleep.”

  “Oh yeah, him.” They laughed. Megan, briefly, told the story of going to see Sutter after the SPCA meeting, and how things turned out much differently than either of them had expected.

  Georgia, however, instead of relishing the tale and the fame of its leading man, was strangely thoughtful. “You watch out for yourself with that one,” she said ominously.

  “What do you mean?” Megan asked. “We’ve already said it can’t happen again. And I’m fine with that, really. He’s way too high profile for me.” She again thought of that uncomfortable call from the reporter. “Way too high profile.”

  “Hm,” Georgia said. “I don’t know. He’s good lookin’, and God knows he’s rich as the devil, but I don’t trust his dealin’s with women. Don’t you remember, Pen? What did Bitsy say?”

  “Oh Bitsy.” Penelope waved a hand dismissively. “She was divorcing him, of course she had nothing nice to say.”

  “Yes but she did say this one thing all along. She said he was amazin’ in the sack, but talkin’ to him was like beatin’ your head against a wall.” Georgia tipped her head back, looking at the sky a moment, remembering. “I think she called him ‘The Vault,’ didn’t she, Pen?”

  “Oh yeah,” Penelope said thoughtfully. “I remember thinking it made him sound like a professional wrestler.”

  “The Vault?” Megan repeated. She took another sip of margarita. God forbid the tequila wore off in the middle of this conversation.

  “Yes, you could put stuff in there, and it’d be safe…” Georgia licked the salted rim of her glass slowly, thinking.

  “That’s right, I remember this,” Penelope added. “But you couldn’t get anything out that wasn’t yours.” She turned to Megan. “But I already told you that. He’s an emotional cripple.”

  “You also said he didn’t like dogs,” Megan pointed out, “but he’s kept Twister. And he brought her to the park that day. And he was walking her the day we had lunch.”

  “That is odd,” Penelope acknowledged.

  “He’s obviously after you, girl,” Georgia said. “He kissed you in the park, threw you in his bed, then ended up skulking around your house to take you to lunch.”

  Megan pointed her glass in Georgia’s direction. “Not all in the same day. And the second time I came to him.”

  “Yes, darlin’, we heard.” Georgia gave a lewd cackle.

  “I meant—”

  “Oh I know, I’m just raggin’ on you. All I’m sayin’ is, you keep whatever this is just physical and you’ll be fine. More than fine, really, if the rest of what Bitsy said was true.” She laughed her big boisterous laugh and when Megan glanced at Penelope she saw her blushing scarlet and grinning.

  Megan chuckled. “Poor Sutter. He doesn’t know how little privacy he’s really protecting. Speaking of which…”

  She told them about the call from the reporter at NatTat.

  “Oh, that sleazy, sleazy man!” Penelope protested.

  Georgia shook her head. “You got nothin’ but more a that to look forward to if you keep bang-in’ the billionaire, honey. The moment he steps out in public they’re all over him like flies on shit.”

  Penelope sighed. “It’s true. Ever since he and Bitsy divorced and he landed on all those most eligible bachelor lists, they can’t get enough of him.”

  “Kind of like Donald Trump. With better hair.” Georgia polished off her margarita. “Who wants another one?”

  Two and a half hours later Megan and Penelope poured themselves into a cab in Georgia’s driveway. Georgia, teetering in the doorway, waved one hand at them while clutching the doorjamb with the other.

  “Bye y’all! See you first thing in the mornin’ at the park!” And with that she shrieked with laughter and fell backwards into her front hall. She continued to wave. “I’m all right! I’m all right!”

  The cab pulled out and Megan and Penelope slumped down on the vinyl seat.

  “Oh my God, I’m going to be so sorry tomorrow morning,” Penelope said with her hands over her face. “I’m supposed to play tennis at seven A.M.!”

  Megan stretched languorously. “Oooh, that’ll be fun. Me, I’m just glad I don’t have any clients or I’d probably have surgeries scheduled in the morning. Guess there are benefits to failing. I sure do feel good right now, though.”

  They dropped Penelope off first, since she lived on the way, and then Megan directed the cabby down Washington Avenue. She just wanted to see if Sutter was awake. She looked at her watch, but couldn’t see it in the dark of the back seat.

  “Okay, slow down,” she directed the driver as they neared Sutter’s house. She leaned toward the window. Several lights were on, including the one in his bedroom, the location of which she now happened to know. Just thinking about that night caused her insides to quiver.

  “Slower,” she said and her breath briefly fogged the window.

  “Uh, miss, I don’t feel right about this,” the cabby said, “Are you spyin’ on Mistah Fo—on whoever lives in that there house?”

  Megan giggled. “You can say it, I know it’s Sutter Foley’s house. But don’t worry. I’m a friend of his.” She laughed at herself again. “Sort of.”

  “I don’t know,” the cabby said. “What kind a friend are you?”

  She turned to look at him. What had he heard? “What do you mean?” she asked, her senses alert the way only a drunk’s can be.

  “My friends don’t creep ’round past my house in their cars. They either knock on the door or go on by.” He pressed harder on the accelerator.

  “Wait just a minute,” Megan said, feeling as if he’d called her a liar. She wasn’t a liar. She did know Sutter Foley. And if you defined a friend as someone you knew intimately on some level, then she most certainly was a friend. She bet he had lifelong friends who couldn’t tell you he had freckles from the sun on his shoulders, or the palest, tightest ass she’d ever seen.

  The cabby was still accelerating. “Where do you live, miss?”

  “Take me back to that house,” Megan said, suddenly sure she had to prove something to this man. It didn’t hurt either that the margaritas had made her feel as if taking her clothes off and being touched all over would be about the best thing she could do right now.

  Besides, she figured, with perhaps slightly impaired reasoning, that without her car to leave near his house this was a golden opportunity to avoid the notice of any nosy reporters.

  “Are you sure?” the cabby asked.

  “Yes, I’m sure. I’m going to visit my friend. He took me to lunch the other day, you know.” Shut up, she told herself. This is exactly the kind of indiscretion that makes you juicy game for journalists.

  She pulled her purse into her lap and dug through it first for some money, then for her hairbrush. After whipping the brush through her hair, she tossed it back in the bag and zipped it up.

  The cab pulled slowly up in front of the house.

  “How do I look?” she asked the man.

  He turned in his seat and glanced over her with a wary eye. “Like a pretty girl who gone and had too much to drink.”

  She made a face. “That obvious, huh?”

  He shr
ugged, nodded.

  She made a decision. “That’s okay. I need to see him. He’ll understand.”

  “You want me to wait?”

  She laughed and handed him the money. “I don’t think so.”

  The cabby took it and shook his head.

  Megan took a minute searching for the door handle, finding it only when the cabby lit the overhead light.

  “Okay, thanks,” she said, getting out into the warm night air.

  She shut the door of the cab and walked up to the front door of Sutter Foley’s house. She felt fine, not drunk at all. She felt great, in fact. And wasn’t it fate that Sutter was up in the middle of the night just like she was? Yes, absolutely, she answered herself. It was fate that she even knew Sutter Foley at all. How could his dog coming through her dog door be anything else?

  She rang the bell.

  For a long time nothing happened.

  From the corner of her eye, she noticed that the cabby had stopped again one house down. He clearly didn’t think she was going to gain entry. She hefted her purse higher on her shoulder and shook her hair back.

  She knocked again and minutes later the door opened.

  Sutter Foley stood before her barefoot, in worn khaki shorts, with a wrinkled white business shirt open to the chest.

  He looked delicious.

  Eleven

  “Hi!” she said buoyantly. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

  He looked amused. “No, actually, you’re not. I just got home from work.”

  “From work! In the middle of the night?”

  “Megan, it’s…” He looked at his watch. “Nine-twenty.”

  “Nine—?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Oh my God, I’m so sorry, I thought it was like midnight.”

  He looked puzzled. “You’re sorry it’s not midnight?”

  “Well, no. I meant…” She meant it would have been more obvious fate had had a hand in his being awake at this hour if it had been later, but one of the three un-alcohol-drenched cells left in her brain told her not to get into that. “Can I come in?”