Baad Dog

by Sal Conte

  *

  On Saturday the family went to Legoland. Pam knew it was an outing they all needed. The past several months had been filled with unspoken tension between her and Harry. Their funds were running low. Even though Harry hadn’t mentioned it, she was no dummy—the bank statements told the story.

  Pam had wondered over the years about going back to work. She was a bank teller when they’d met. It wasn’t the promising career that Harry had, but it was hers. Then, Ariel came along, and with Harry having the crazy schedule of a TV writer, they felt it best if she stayed home to raise the family.

  That placed all the weight squarely on Harry. If he couldn’t keep his career afloat they’d be forced to sell the house, and maybe even have to move into the mountain cabin they’d purchased with money from Harry’s first big sale.

  That big sale was before the kids came along, when escaping to the mountains for a weekend rendezvous seemed like the perfect adventure.

  “What do you guys do in the mountains all the time?” friends would ask. She and Harry would look at each other sharing secret smiles. Being away from the city in the fresh mountain air released all their inhibitions, and they’d have wanton, wild and crazy sex all hours of the day and night, sometimes outdoors in the woods, with just the rugged earth beneath their bare backsides.

  Pam would never have thought of doing anything like that in the city, but once the city was behind them, so were her inhibitions. They were newlyweds back then, beginning their journey together, and the journey was shaping up to be a wonderful trip.

  Lately, however, with all the unspoken tension between them, sex was not even the remotest of options. It’s amazing how money worries can affect a relationship. It was as if they’d forgotten how to love each other. With the sale of the new show, the tension between them seemed to be melting away like winter snow, and Pam was sure it wouldn’t be long before sex was again a part of their lives.

  The Legoland trip was everything Pam had hoped for. Miniland was the children’s favorite part of the park, along with Pirate Shores. In Castle Hill, Ariel got to ride the Dragon Coaster, which totally made up for her not being allowed on the Super Scream at Knott’s Berry Farm the previous summer.

  Pam and Harry teamed up with the children—boys against the girls—in a game of miniature golf. She and Ariel won and spent the rest of the afternoon high-fiving each other and crying out “Girl Power.” Pam had never felt closer to her family than she did on that day.

  *

  “You said you unplugged her!”

  “I did!”

  “Then how come she’s still on the charger, Ar?” Harry asked, raising his voice, and Ariel began to cry.

  The evening before the trip to Legoland, Queenie had begun acting sluggish. She was losing the pep in her step, and there were times when she’d literally stop cold for a moment or two. She was like an old Christmas toy that by Christmas night had burned through its double D batteries and was stutter-stepping up and down the living room floor. It was time to put Queenie on the charger.

  Ariel persuaded Harry to let her charge her dog in her room. Of course, Queenie wasn’t Ariel’s dog, she was Harry’s dog. But Ariel was so cute with her little lisp that against his better judgement, Harry said yes.

  The next morning as the family was getting ready for the two hour drive to Legoland, Harry asked Ariel to make sure she unplugged Queenie from the charger, impressing upon her that if she didn’t remove the dog from the charger before they left, something bad would happen.

  “Bad like what, Daddy?” Jackson asked.

  Harry and Pam hadn’t yet introduced the concept of death to the five-year-old, and Harry knew he had to tread lightly. “Bad like Queenie will be taken away,” Harry had said in an ominous tone.

  “Nooo,” Jackson whined.

  “Itth all right, Jackthon. I’ll take her off the charger. Queenie ithn’t going anywhere,” Ariel lisped, and smiled at her baby brother. The whining ceased, and Jackson smiled back.

  Unfortunately, Ariel’s eight-year-old mind was focused more on the prospect of Legoland than her dog. When she dashed into the room to pull the plug, she pulled the plug on the floor lamp instead of the charger, and the family left for the amusement park.

  When they arrived home from Legoland and Harry entered Ariel’s room, he saw faint wisps of white smoke rising from Queenie’s belly area. The mechanical dog was in the corner, standing motionless by the floor lamp. He saw that the lamp was unplugged and understood what had happened. It was then he caught a whiff of the caustic odor of the burned out battery, and couldn’t help but think the worst.

  Dammit, Harry! Archibald told you a new battery costs almost as much as a new dog. No way you should have trusted that level of responsibility to an eight-year-old. He moved further into the room.

  “Queenie?” he called gently, as if he were afraid to startle her. “We’re home, honey.”

  The caustic odor seemed stronger as he approached. They’d have to air out the room before Ariel would be able to spend the night in there again. Queenie remained motionless. He took the dog off the charger and hoped that after she cooled down for an hour or so she’d bounce back to life. By bedtime Harry had to accept that Queenie’s battery was shot.

  A day of pleasure had turned into a wake as Ariel and Jackson turned weepy over their dead dog.

  “She’s not dead,” Harry tried to assure them. “She’s sleeping.”

  “Why doesn’t she wake up? I want Queenie to wake up, Daddy!” Jackson bawled.

  “Ith all my fault,” Ariel whined. “I kiiiiiled her!”

  “You didn’t kill her, Ar. She’s not dead,” Harry said, trying to comfort her.

  “Then make her wake up, Daddy. Make her wake up now!” Jackson’s big brown eyes overflowed with tears.

  “I will, Tigger. Tomorrow. Queenie is still really tired. But Daddy will help her wake up when she’s rested. Okay? Then she’ll be all ready to play with you guys again,” Harry said, realizing now there was absolutely no way he was getting out of plunking down a small fortune for a new battery.

  Pam was in bed reading when Harry came into the bedroom long-faced. When he told her Queenie still hadn’t awakened and he was beginning to sense the worst, he didn’t notice she was eyeing him with a sense of relief.

  “It was nice having her around.” she said. “But I’m sure her batteries are expensive.”

  “They are.”

  “Maybe we should put off replacing them for a while, just until you’ve had a few episodes of the new show under your belt, and we can pay down some of our debt,” Pam added.

  “Yeah,” Harry said softly, the word sounding like air being let out of a balloon.

  “What?’ she asked.

  “I promised Jackson that Queenie would wake up tomorrow.”

  “Oh.” She thought for a second. “I bet a trip to Disney World would take their minds off Queenie waking up.”

  Harry looked over at Pam, a guilty smile turning the corners of his mouth “Are you suggesting I bribe our children?”

  “Yes,” Pam said and burst into laughter. Harry couldn’t help but laugh right along with her. “And it’s a promise we won’t have to keep until next summer when the new show is the season’s biggest hit and we can afford it.”

  “Ooh, you’re good,” Harry said.

  “I try.”

  He came over and sat next to her on the edge of the bed.

  “Do you really think the show’s got a chance?” he asked, realizing how vulnerable he felt just then.

  “I do,” she said and began massaging his shoulders. “Everyone loves pirates, and who doesn’t love outer space? The two together are a no-brainer.”

  He leaned back into her arms. “We did it, baby,” he said, relief washing over him.

  They made love that night. It wasn’t wild or wanton like the love they’d made in the mountains before the children were born, but it was good. It was sweet, and gentle, and needed.

  Chap
ter Three

  Catherine was waiting for Harry when he arrived at his office the next morning.

  “This is a surprise seeing you here. You’ve never come to casting before,” Harry said as he dropped his messenger bag on his desk. He was in a particularly good mood after spending the night in the arms of his wife.

  “Have you been following the news?”

  “No, Catherine, I haven’t been following the news. I’m too busy trying to produce a TV show.”

  Harry heard the irritation in his voice, but he couldn’t help it. He had a full day of casting ahead of him. Casting the right actor to play the lead was a critical part of creating a hit show. He laughed, hoping she’d think he was joking.

  “You are aware of the incident off the coast of Somalia?”

  “I heard it on the radio in the car. Something about Somali pirates capturing an American yacht that wandered into Somali waters.”

  “The pirates killed everyone on board,” Catherine said in a dark tone.

  When Catherine said the word “pirates” Harry knew why she was there.

  “No,” he said and collapsed into his chair. “Tell me they’re not canceling my show.”

  “They’re shelving it, Harry.”

  “Nooo!” he crowed, sounding a lot like Jackson. “Dammit, Catherine, it takes place in outer space in the twenty-seventh fucking century. This has got to be some kind of joke.”

  “They love the show, Harry. They just want to put it on hold until this international incident blows over. You know how cautious the networks are. They feel airing your show with this thing in the news might seem insensitive.”

  “To who? Swashbuckling pirates in outer space has nothing to do with an international incident. Can’t you reason with them?”

  “I tried. All morning, I tried.”

  “Fuck!” Harry said. “How long will I be out of commission?”

  “I don’t know, but I’m on top of it.”

  “I guess today’s casting session has been canceled too, hasn’t it?”

  Catherine nodded. “I’m afraid so. No casting until further notice.”

  “Fuck,” he said again, softer this time.

  “It’s not the end of the world, Harry. The show’s just being shelved for a while, not canceled.”

  “Right,” Harry said with a nod. He’d been in the TV business for a long time, long enough to know that “shelved” was usually the soft body blow before the knockout punch of “canceled.”

  The first thing he wondered about was money. With no new episodes being produced, there’d be no money coming in. The check he’d received for the pilot script—half of which he squandered on the mechanical dog—would be the last check until the show went back into production.

  They could easily make it a few months with the money left over from the pilot. He wouldn’t be able to pay down any of their debt, but at least they could live without drastically having to change their lives.

  But what if it takes more than a few months? What if the show is canceled?

  Harry refused to entertain answers to that question. Of course the show wouldn’t be canceled. Pirates and outer space—a no brainer. The Somali incident would be out of the news in a week, two at the most. This wasn’t the end of the road, it was merely an unfortunate pothole. On the bright side, he’d taken Pam’s advice and hadn’t called Archibald about a new battery for Queenie. With no money coming in and no clear understanding of when payroll would start again, a new battery was out of the question.

  *

  When Harry pulled into the driveway at noon instead of his usual arrival time of seven, Queenie was seated in front of the garage door facing him.

  At first he thought Pam had placed the burned out shell of Queenie there as a joke. She was sitting as still as the night, blocking the car’s path to the garage. When Harry got out to move the burned out mechanical dog, Queenie stood up.

  Harry’s lips broadened into a smile. “Queenie?” he said, his eyes widening. He tried blinking the image away, but his eyes weren’t deceiving him. He didn’t know how it had happened, but somehow Queenie was all right.

  “Good to see you, girl. Com’ere.” He stooped, reached out for her, waggling his fingers. Typically, that was the sign for Queenie to run and jump into his arms. Today, Queenie stood staring at him.

  She’s confused. Looks like some of her memory got shot with the overcharge, but she’s fine.

  Harry walked over to Queenie and scooped her up into his arms. “Daddy’s so happy to see you, girl. I was worried about you,” he said. In the past, Queenie would have licked his fingers. Today she did nothing.

  The caustic odor about the dog wasn’t as strong as the previous night, but it was still there.

  Harry proceeded up the walkway, scratching the mechanical dog atop her head, wondering how he could get rid of the odor. I sure can’t give her a bath. The front door opened. Pam stood in the doorway.

  “This is a pleasant surprise,” Harry said, all smiles.

  “I know,” Pam replied.

  “What happened?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine. What are you doing home so early?”

  Seeing Queenie, Harry had nearly forgotten the morning’s events. Now they came rushing back to him.

  “Are you aware of an incident off the coast of Somalia?” he asked.

  *

  At first, she thought what Harry was about to tell her had something to do with his parents or his brother. His parents didn’t travel much anymore so she ruled them out immediately. Pam knew Lenny enjoyed going on fishing excursions all over the country, and figured that had to be it, although she had no idea what Lenny would be doing in Somalia.

  “Shelved? she asked after Harry had told her about his conversation with Catherine. “What does that mean?”

  They were seated at the kitchen table. Harry was doing his best not to appear worried.

  “It means I won’t be doing the show for a while, babe. It’s temporary, just until this thing blows over. As soon as some reality star is caught sleeping with her best friend’s husband, this’ll be old news and I can get back to work,” he said with a laugh.

  “Don’t make light of what happened in Somalia, Harry. People lost their lives.”

  “I know, and I’m sorry I put it that way. But you know how the media is, always looking to jump on the most salacious story. This will be over soon. I’m sure of it.” He reached across the table and squeezed her hand.

  It was then Queenie’s odor drifted over to them. Queenie had seated herself across the room by the pantry, and was staring at them. Queenie’s eyes seemed bigger, blacker than before.

  “What do you think is going on in the mind of that little computer over there?” Pam asked, nodding toward the mechanical dog.

  Harry followed her gaze. Queenie sat as still as the dead, not panting or blinking, her eyes shining like black diamonds. “She’s waiting for a command, I suppose,” he replied.

  “No,” Pam said with a quick shake of her head. Her voice went low, and she leaned in to him. “She’s… calculating,” she said, the last word coming as an ominous whisper.

  “What?”

  Pam caught herself, knowing how silly she’d sound if she told him what she’d been thinking. More than silly, maybe a little crazy even.

  “Are we going to be all right financially?” she asked instead.

  “Yeah. Of course.”

  “Are we?” she said again, a bit more forcefully.

  “We’re good, babe,” Harry said and squeezed her hand again.

  She didn’t trust it. She didn’t like the way he was forcing himself to meet her gaze. Harry would say anything to avoid a confrontation, especially one that questioned his ability to take care of them.

  It wasn’t that he lied to her, but he did avoid the truth from time-to-time. She knew he was trying, doing his best, but she didn’t want to find out they’d lost everything by waking up one morning to discover a moving van pulling up in f
ront of the house. She wondered about getting her old job back at the bank.

  Pam didn’t want a confrontation, either.

  And why should she confront him? Harry had to be smarting over his TV series being shelved. The show getting picked up had added a bit of swagger to his step, a renewed air of confidence. The last thing he needed now was to sense that she doubted him.

  A confrontation now would be mean.

  “Okay,” she said, and squeezed back.

  The conversation once again shifted to Queenie. Pam told Harry when she returned home from dropping the kids off at school she’d found Queenie exiting their bedroom.

  “At first I thought you’d gone ahead and purchased a new battery, but then I realized you couldn’t have gotten back home that quickly, especially since I knew you had a casting session.” She left out telling him she’d called out to the mechanical dog as she passed her in the hallway, and that Queenie had ignored her, gone into Jackson’s room and closed the door.

  The closed the door part was definitely something she couldn’t tell him. That was the freaky part. She told herself it had to be a breeze that had blown the door shut. The wind had perfect timing.

  “What do you think she was doing in our bedroom?” Harry asked.

  “Looking for you, I suppose.”

  “Man, the kids are going to be thrilled,” he said.

  “Looks like you kept your promise to Jacks after all. Queenie woke up this morning just as you’d promised,” she said. She didn’t say she wished the mechanical dog hadn’t. “What are we going to do about that smell?” she asked.

  *

  Harry decided to put Queenie through her paces to see how much of her hard drive had been damaged by being left on the charger too long. At a glance, she seemed as good as new. Her coat was smooth and shiny. She was alert, even if she seemed a bit pensive. He took her out into the backyard where they’d had numerous games of fetch, to take inventory of any changes she was exhibiting.

  “Tennis ball,” he said, and Queenie sprang into action, immediately locating the tennis ball that had been stashed behind a large planter. She dropped it at his feet and looked up at him.