Charmine yipped. My spine straightened.
“Milly put special water in the stroller,” I blurted. “Move it!”
“Oh,” Winky said. He pulled a water bottle out of the holder in the stroller while my anxiety level shot through the roof. “Well wasn’t that thoughty of her. I ain’t tried this here kind a special water before.”
“It’s for the dog.”
Charmine opened her eyes and looked around. She spotted me and her beady little eyes narrowed to slits.
“Then where’s my water?” Winky whined.
“Arggh! I’ll get you a bottle, okay? Just get out of here!” I scooted behind Winky and shoved him out the door with both hands, then slammed the sliding door shut, nearly catching Winky’s heel in the process.
“Hey! Watch it!” Winky said through the glass.
“Sorry. But you haven’t seen that little monster when she’s conscious!”
Winky eyed Charmine’s fancy water bottle, still in his hand. “Val, could you run my water through the percolator first?”
Charmine’s little black nose poked out from under the laundry basket. She eyed me through a hole and snarled. My gut flopped.
“Percolator?” I asked. Then it hit me. “Oh. Sure. Cream and sugar, right?”
“Right-o,” Winky beamed.
The sound of my voice must have set Charmine off. She started yapping her little head off like a rabid rubber duck.
“Well, look who’s awake!” Winky said. He lifted the laundry basket up and bent over the stroller. Charmine leapt at Winky. He caught her in his arms.
“Watch out!” I cried in horror.
“For what? Too many kisses?” Winky asked, as Charmine covered his neck and face with friendly licks from her long, pink tongue.
I scowled. “Yes. That’s it. For too many kisses.”
WHEN I STUCK MY HAND out the sliding door to hand Winky his coffee, Charmine lunged at me. I managed to slam the sliding door shut just in time – right on my own big toe.
“Ooowww!”
As I hopped around and cursed up a blue streak, Winky watched my display through the glass door, doubled over with laughter. He spilled half his coffee, then followed Charmine’s lead and started howling at me.
“Very funny,” I grumbled. But I wasn’t amused. I wasn’t exactly mad, either. As I glared back at them through the glass, I had a feeling akin to being the odd man out – the kid not picked for kickball—the left-out nerd stuck inside alone while all the cool kids played in the backyard without me.
I watched with envy as that little she-devil Charmine romped around with Winky like he was her new best pal. She hated my guts. Why?
Did I have doggie cooties or something?
I fixed myself a Tanqueray and tonic and pondered that thought, along with the unexpected proposal Tom had suggested last night. Did I want to restart my old career as an advertising writer? Or try my hand as a would-be novelist? Creating a snappy radio jingle did seem more appealing than making coffee and schlepping tax files at Griffith & Maas. Or maybe I could do something totally different – like write a self-help book for people who hated dogs....
A rap at the back door made me look up. Winky was staring at me through pudgy-finger binoculars. I got off the couch and padded to the door.
“I’m starvin’,” he said through the glass. “And I done ate all the snacks.”
He held an empty bag of bacon-flavored treats upside-down.
“Winky! Those were for Charmine.”
Winky eyed the bag and shrugged. “Huh. You should ‘a been more ‘pacific.”
I blew out a breath. “What do you want for lunch?”
Winky licked his freckled lips. I didn’t even know lips could get freckles. “I sure could go for me a fish sandwich.”
“Okay. Is there any food left for Charmine?”
“Yeah. I didn’t like the kibble too much. Tasted like cat.”
My nose crinkled. “How do you know...ugh...Never mind. You like tartar sauce on it, right?”
“Only on fish. Not on cat.”
“Got it. Be back in a few.”
Chapter Eight
I’d planned to take my sweet time during my lunch escape from Winky and Charmine, but the sky made me hurry home from the drive-thru instead. On the western horizon over the Gulf of Mexico, slate-blue clouds had begun to gather. As I watched them turn dark purple, I knew it was a sure-fire sign Mother Nature was getting ready to bless us with another tropical thunderstorm. Being the middle of May, we were definitely due for one. But as much as we needed the rain, on the drive back home I prayed it would hold off at least until tonight. I didn’t want to think about what might happen if Charmine, the fuzzy little couch mauler, got loose inside my house again.
I pulled up in the driveway, then hit the switch on Maggie’s rag top. I drummed my nails on the steering wheel and practiced a deep breathing relaxation technique as the convertible top slowly arched up, then over the seats. The can-opener whine of the motor ceased and the top collapsed onto the windshield frame like a worn-out floozy. I knew how it felt. The stress of dealing with Charmine had worn me to a frazzle, too.
I fastened the top’s chrome latches into place and texted Winky. He met me at the side gate to the backyard, where I handed over the food, a safe distance from Charmine’s snapping jaws.
“Hee hee!” Winky laughed as he snatched up the bags. “Look-it you, Val. Scared of a lil’ ol’ ball a fluff. What is Charmine, anyways. Some kind ‘a miniature fox?”
“No. She’s a miniature Cujo.”
I stomped off as Winky howled with laughter. I yanked open the front door and kicked off my sandals, sending them flying across the room. I plopped my butt down on a stool at the kitchen counter and tore open the fast-food bag. Crap. They’d forgotten my fries. As I nibbled sullenly on my cheeseburger, I watched the Charmine & Winky Show through the sliding glass doors. They were having a blast. It just wasn’t fair!
Winky was perched on a barstool at the tiki hut, gobbling his lunch like he was in some kind of county-fair sandwich-eating contest. He devoured it in six bites while Charmine danced at his feet for scraps and fries. My fries. I didn’t know if a dog should be eating that stuff or not, but what Milly didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her, I guess. Besides, that would have been the least of my lies to her about Charmine.
I scowled at myself. It wasn’t like me to be envious – or to lie to my best friend. I was about to feel bad when the universe sent me some comic relief. Winky slapped a hand to his forehead. Apparently, his vanilla shake had given him a brain freeze. I snorted with laughter.
Imagine that. Who knew Winky even had a brain to freeze?
I got up and padded over to the sliding glass door. “Put your garbage in the laundry basket and hand it over,” I called out through the one-inch slit I’d opened up.
Winky grabbed the basket and tossed his wrappers in it. When he got to the door, he shook his head and chuckled. “I got news for you Val. This here basket ain’t gonna fit through that there hole.”
“I know!” I hissed. “Put the basket on the ground, then hold onto Charmine.”
“All right, already. Hold your horses!” Winky said. “What’s wrong with you, anyways?” Then he smiled. “Oh yeah – yore one a them weirdos that don’t like dogs.”
Winky laughed at his own joke while I scowled at him like a church lady at a harlot convention. One glimpse of my face sent his eyebrows up to his buzz cut. He snapped to attention and grabbed Charmine up in his arms.
“Coast is clear,” he said.
I slung open the door, snatched the laundry basket and slammed the door shut again.
“Hey, Val?”
“What.”
“Too bad you don’t got no rod ‘n’ reel,” Winky said as Charmine licked his lips. He nodded his head back toward the inlet to the Intracoastal Waterway. It marked the backyard property line of my little 1950’s ranch house. “You got all this good fishin’ water goin’ to waste out he
re.”
“I don’t fish,” I grumbled through the glass door. “You need anything else?”
“Gotta tinkle.”
I shot him another church-lady scowl. He almost wilted.
“No problem. Me and Charmine can take care of ourselves in that department.”
I sighed. “Super. Glad to hear it.”
Winky picked up a stick and tossed it toward the fire pit. Charmine bounded off after it.
“I just don’t get it,” I mumbled to myself as I threw the fast-food wrappers in the kitchen trash bin. “Why doesn’t that dog like me?” I headed out into the garage with the laundry basket. As I set it on top of the washing machine, I noticed a fishing rod leaning on the wall between the washer and some storage shelves. It wasn’t mine, so it had to be Tom’s.
My gut roiled. Tom never said anything to me about putting a fishing rod out here. More importantly, he’d never asked if it was okay. I yanked the rod and reel away from the wall. As I held it in my hands, a wave of confusing feelings swirled through my head. On the one hand, I was angry; He should have asked my permission! On the other hand, I was riddled with anxiety; He was creeping into my space, bit by bit! But then again, there was something oddly, yet deeply comforting about holding something of Tom’s in my hand, knowing that he was near....
Clarity hit me between the eyes like a rubber bullet from a .357 Magnum.
Oh. My. Lord. This was the exact same diabolical, schizophrenic, unsolvable conundrum that had plagued me through all my past relationships! Here I was, once again hurtling down a road that, three times already, had dead-ended in disaster and ruin. It was the ultimate Catch 22.
Guys. You can’t live with them...you can’t live without them.
Flippin’ Jehoshaphat! What was I going to do? I couldn’t afford to let myself get swept down the drain again! I scowled at the fishing rod as if it were to blame for every bad relationship since Eve met Adam. I throttled it, carted it inside, and banged it against the glass door until I got Winky’s attention. He came trotting up.
“Woo doggy!” he said. “Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about, Val! That’s a Shimano Stella and a genu-wine Waterloo. And looky there. Already decked out with an all-purpose saltwater jig. Perfect!”
“Huh?” I grunted. Winky couldn’t conjugate verbs, but he could brand-ID fishing equipment at twenty paces. Guys! I cracked open the door. “I think it’s Tom’s.”
“He won’t mind?”
“Not at all.” Finders keepers losers weepers.
Winky beamed like it was the first day of hunting season. “Thanky, Val! Always wanted to try me one of these.” He grabbed for it through the slit in the door just as Charmine came bounding toward us.
“Hurry!” I said.
Winky pulled. The rod made it through, but the reel got stuck. It wasn’t going to budge, either, until I slid the door open another couple inches. But that wasn’t gonna happen – not with Charmine’s little razor jaws on the other side, barking out another demented, squeeze-toy tirade.
“You want the reel, you’re gonna have to get her away from me!” I groused.
“Boy, you got a bad case of the crabs today, Val,” Winky said. He put a hand down to block Charmine and opened the door just enough to pull the reel through. As soon as it cleared, I slammed the door shut again.
Winky wrung his hand at the near miss. “Gaul-dang, Val! Why you so afraid of dogs, anyways? Goober never did say why.”
“Does it matter?” I sneered. “And I told Goober not to tell anybody. So much for confidentiality.”
“Way I heared it, you told him not to tell Tom. Well, I ain’t Tom.”
I shot Winky a stare that could melt lava. “No. You’re not.” But you’re a guy, so you’re guilty by association.
Winky stared back at me, an open, curious expression on his face. “So, why you hate God’s poor little critters, Val?”
“Because they hate me, Winky!” I shrieked. “Just look at Charmine.” The sight of her bared fangs caused me to instinctively cover my neck with my right hand. “She’d go for my jugular if she had the chance!”
Winky looked surprised. “Gaul-dang, Val. I didn’t know you had you your very own juggler. I seen a guy juggle three chainsaws once at the county fair. Wat’n easy, either. Feller only had six fingers amongst both his given hands.”
“Fascinating,” I said, grinding my teeth. I looked down, then around. “Hey. Where’s Charmine?”
Winky glanced to his left, then hitched a thumb in that direction. “She’s over there digging a hole.” He shrugged. “Dogs ’ll be dogs, Val.”
My fists clenched and my eyes turned to slits. “Yes, they most certainly will.”
Chapter Nine
“Laverne, we’ve gotta think of something fast,” I said into the phone as I flopped on the couch. “I found Tom’s fishing rod in the garage.”
“So?”
“He never asked me if he could keep it there.”
I could almost hear the old woman gasp from her house next door. “Good lord, Val! This is getting worse by the day! Can you believe it? J.D. left his coffee cup in the sink this morning!”
“Unbelievable!” I commiserated. “It’s not fair, Laverne. They move in and expect us to be their cooks, maids and housekeepers! We gotta figure out some way to keep these guys from weaseling in and taking over our lives. You got any ideas?”
“Well,” Laverne hemmed and hawed. “I’ve been watching Forensic Files. Maybe we could poison ‘em?”
“I was thinking of something a little less drastic.”
“Oh.”
“But let’s keep that as Plan B.”
“Right.”
I glanced out the sliding glass doors and did a double-take. Charmine ran by carrying something’s detached head in her sharp little jaws. Either that, or she’d morphed into a four-eyed monster. The way I felt about her, it really could have gone either way.
“I gotta go, Laverne. Keep thinking and I’ll talk to you later.”
I clicked off the phone and pressed my nose to the glass door. Charmine strutted over to Winky and dropped a fish head at his feet. Winky laughed, picked it up and tossed it across the yard. Charmine took off after it. As disgusting as that was, another look at Winky made me forgot all about it. That red-headed redneck was gutting fish in my tiki hut!
“Winky!” I called through a paper-thin opening in the door. He couldn’t hear me. I slid the glass open another fraction of an inch. “Winky!”
He looked up and grinned. “Hey, Val-Pal! Caught me a mess a sheepshead! Lookee here!” He held up a stout, grey fish with bluish-black stripes. It was the size and shape of a dinner plate.
“Why are you cleaning fish in my hut?” I screeched. “You’re getting scales and guts all over the place!”
Winky looked around at the mess as if he were surprised by it himself. “Huh. Oh well. Don’t you worry none, Val,” he hollered. “I know how to clean up after myself.”
Yeah. Right. As if any man did.
I felt something cold and slimy land on my foot. I looked down to find a pair of dead eyes staring up at me. It was a bloody fish head.
“Aargh!” I jerked my foot away, then tried to kick the disgusting head back through the narrow slit in the door. Charmine seized the opportunity to snap at my toes like a starving gator in a cheap fur coat. Her little face was smeared with blood. Her once-fluffy pelt was matted with dirt and slime. She looked like some post-apocalyptic, zombie-Pom.
“Get away from me!” I squealed, and slammed the door shut.
“Ha ha! She really don’t like you, does she?” Winky called out. He set his knife on the tiki hut counter and walked over. Charmine trotted happily by his feet.
“I told you she didn’t! Just look at her, Winky! She’s a mess! You’re gonna have to bathe her before Milly gets here.”
Winky shrugged and scratched his naked beer belly. “Not a problem. Gimme a washtub and some shampoo and I’ll take care of it. Could I get a
baggie, too? For my fish filets?”
I blew out a breath like an overheated steam valve. “Sure,” I muttered to myself. “Always happy when I’m waiting on a man.” I found a box of quart-sized baggies in the cupboard and handed him one through a narrow slit in the door as Charmine and I eyed each other warily.
“I might need me two,” Winky said. “Oh, Val! You won’t believe this! When I throwed them fish guts in the water, somethin’ went to chompin’ on em like a pile a them...what’cha call it...per honor fish.”
“Piranhas?” I pushed another baggie through the slit in the door.
Winky grinned. “Yeah, that’s the ones.”
“Here’s some paper towels to wipe down the tiki hut,” I said, shoving them through the slit. “I don’t want to find any fish guts out there later, stinking up the place.”
“Yes ma’am,” Winky saluted. He started to turn, then looked back at me. “Hey Val, what do you call a fish with no eye?”
“I dunno.”
“A fsh.”
I grinned despite myself. “Shut up and get to work. I’ll fetch the shampoo.”
“NOW DO LIKE I SAID, Winky. Don’t let that darn dog get within six feet of me!”
Milly was walking up the driveway. Earlier that afternoon, after the dog’s bath, I’d figured out Charmine’s threshold of crazy. I realized that if I stayed around six feet away from her, she, for the most part, ignored me. Any closer and she started to go nutso.
“All right already, cool your jets,” Winky said. “I got this.”
The doorbell rang. “You answer the door,” I instructed. “I’ll stand over here by the hallway, out of the way.”
“I tole you already I got it. Now git!”
Winky shooed me with one freckled hand and gripped Charmine tight with the other. I held my breath as Winky opened the door. Despite his best efforts, including a liberal dose of my Silky Strands hair conditioner, Winky had failed miserably at moonlighting as a canine hair stylist. Charmine looked as if she’d stuck a paw in an electrical outlet. Her coat was as round as a frizzy beach ball. I couldn’t tell one end of her from the other, but at least she didn’t smell like a dead fish.
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