The Care and Feeding of Exotic Pets

by Diana Wagman

  He hadn’t meant to fall asleep. He had seen Jessica’s beige slippery nightgown lying across the bed and lain down beside it for just a moment. He intended to go to Winnie’s and confront the cell phone thieves, but Jessica’s nightie felt so good against his cheek and it smelled of her and the sex they’d had that morning. He felt a little guilty for going to Winnie’s and holding the nightgown made him feel better, like playing—paying?—tribute to Jessica. He would go, but first he would caress her silky nightgown and think about how beautiful she was. His penis pushed against his jeans. This is what Jessica did to him. It was all her fault. He closed his eyes. He reached down inside his pants. It reminded him of early mornings before high school, the rough cotton of his underwear against the back of his hand, the soft skin under his fingertips. Like a high school boy, it would not take long and then he would just lie there for a moment and then he would go.

  But he fell asleep and now it was too late. He thought again about the voice on her phone and decided it was a child, a young teen at most, not a member of a cutthroat band of thieves. Winnie was fine. He knew it. They were still connected, he was still tuned in—if anything happened to her, he would know. He got up and went to the bathroom. The size of it never stopped impressing him. Two sinks. Two toilets. Two showers and a tub. All in beige marble. Jessica loved beige. She had all kinds of words for it, taupe and eggshell, cream and fawn and mushroom. She said it was classy. He supposed she was right.

  His cell phone rang. He flushed the toilet and went to get his phone from the pocket of his discarded shorts. “Jonathan Parker.”

  “Mr. Parker. This is Mrs. Campbell, principal of Lacy’s school. Your daughter has fainted.”

  Jonathan staggered. Not Lacy. Drugs? Pregnancy? “Why? What happened?”

  “We’re not sure. The paramedics have been called.”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  “We can’t seem to locate her mother.”

  “She lost her cell phone. I’m in Beverly Hills, but I’ll get there as soon as I can.”

  He knew he should have gone over there. He knew it. Not for Winnie, but for Lacy. He had been tuned in, but he wasn’t listening. That was just what Jessica always said: the messages come, but we’re not home to receive them.

  31.

  Oren was beginning to really like Winnie’s skin—so dark and smooth next to his freckles. Her face was pretty too, even sweaty and pale from feeling bad. He liked her big brown eyes. She got up from the floor stiffly, like an old lady for some reason, but he still thought she was a nice looking mom.

  “Let’s go,” she said again. “Get Cookie that girl.”

  It was great that she seemed to like iguanas so much. He had been instrumental in other conversions to “Herp Fan,” as new members were called in the club. But it was too late to go. Lacy would call soon. Maybe tomorrow they could all three go together. Oh right, he remembered, and then we can take Lacy to the petting zoo.

  He picked up a lank of Winnie’s dark hair. “Your daughter doesn’t look like you.”

  “No,” Winnie answered. “She’s tall and blonde and beautiful.”

  “You’re pretty.”

  “Not like Lacy. She takes after my mother, the movie star, except for her hair. It’s incredibly curly. I love it. She hates it. She has ringlets like Shirley Temple.”

  Another lie. Lie after lie. She didn’t even have straight hair. “Is she really blonde? Not from a bottle?”

  “A true blonde.”

  “She must strut that stuff around, right? Showing off to the boys at school?”

  “No. God no. She thinks guys don’t like her. She has no idea how beautiful she is. Plus, as I said, she’s young for her age. I mean, other girls have babies at sixteen; I don’t think Lacy has ever been kissed.”

  Another lie from the bitch. There were men, supposedly, pursuing her all the time. She had told him she was experienced. She had said she was eighteen and had not been a virgin for two years.

  “Are we going to the reptile store?” Winnie asked.

  “Do you know your daughter is a big, fat liar?”

  Winnie turned to him and a flash of pain erupted behind her eyes. “What are you talking about?”

  He shook his head. He looked at the ground. His hands curled into fists. Winnie stepped away from him. Now the pain filled her head, then her back and then her hand. The ice wasn’t working anymore. He put a finger in his mouth, gnawing at the nail. His other hand opened and closed. She shuffled farther away from him. What did he mean saying Lacy was a liar?

  And all at once, like a piercing high note in the middle of the cacophony, it was clear to her. Lacy. He was doing this with Lacy. No. For Lacy. No. Because of Lacy. She had seen the laptop in his room. The screen he had quickly hidden when she entered, the momentary glimpse of a girl with white blonde hair. She had heard Lacy’s ring tone on his phone. He had to wait until five-thirty to call. He had to wait until she was out of orchestra. No. No. No.

  “Lacy!” she burst. “Is this about Lacy? Is that why I’m here?”

  He nodded.

  “Tell me right now what’s going on.” She stamped her foot and waves of pain undulated through her. “You tell me right now or I swear to God I will kill you.”

  He closed his eyes. When he opened them, he was crying. “Okay. Okay, I’ll tell you. Your daughter. Lacy. I’m in love with her. I am. I know her. We met online. We are both, we were both in love. I thought we—well, I love her.”

  “You’ve met her?”

  “Not in person. Not yet. But I thought—I mean, she said—”

  “When did this happen?”

  “We’ve been talking for six weeks. She told me terrible things about you.”

  Winnie reeled as if he had punched her. “Is she in love with you?”

  “We haven’t said it. Not yet. I wanted it to be in person. I wanted it to be special.” He smiled at her. “Isn’t it special? The first time?”

  “This isn’t happening.”

  “It will all be straightened out soon. We’ll talk. She’s coming over here.”

  “NO!” Winnie screamed. She didn’t care what he did to her, but he could not touch Lacy.

  “We can sort everything out.”

  “She is not coming here.”

  “Yes, she is!” Now he was on his feet and shouting. His face had gone white, the freckles standing out like brown paint spatters. “She has to come!”

  “If you touch her—”

  “She is a lying bitch! She lied lied lied lied—”

  Winnie had to stop him. She rushed at him and swung the dishtowel full of half melted ice cubes at his face. She hit him in the temple with a slap. He roared and grabbed the towel and pulled her to him. She went at him with both hands, pounding on his face and neck and chest, whatever she could reach. She ignored her throbbing hand and kept at him. She kicked and kneed him. She remembered her martial arts and tried for his eyes with her forefingers. He grabbed her hands and squeezed. She gasped with the pain and her stomach lurched. She struggled to stay upright. He shook her and then pushed her violently into the kitchen door. Her sore head hit the wood and she stumbled through the swinging door and fell on the cedar chips covering the kitchen floor. He was coming after her. She scrambled to her feet and jumped up to sit on the kitchen counter. He tried to grab her. She kicked both legs straight out and hit him in the gut. He flew back against the refrigerator. She jumped down and ran to the door. It was stuck, it wouldn’t push out. She had to pull it in. She struggled to get her fingers in the crack, to pull the door open. But she had forgotten about Cookie.

  Cookie rammed into the back of her knees. His horrible mouth snapped and his serrated teeth tore into her calf. She screamed, the loudest scream of a day filled with screams. Pain seared through her as if every vein were on fire. She shook her leg wildly, desperately trying to tear it out of his mouth. The blood made Cookie crazy. His tail thrashed. His long nails scraped against the linoleum.

 
Blood was gushing onto the floor. Her tennis shoe was filling. Flaps of her flesh hung from Cookie’s mouth. Her leg no longer looked like hers, but an image from a horror film. Her other leg gave way and she sank to the ground. Cookie released his jaw, but he was not done. He clawed his way up her thigh, his open mouth dripping blood – her blood. Winnie reached for Oren. She tried to grab his leg. He backed away from her, fascination and horror on his face. She tried to crab sideways to get out from under the enormous iguana. She rocked from side to side. Cookie was on top of her. He was bigger, longer than she was. His claws sunk and tore into her stomach. His tongue stretched out and flicked at her. He pulled himself toward her breasts. The fabric of her shirt ripped away.

  “Oren!” she screeched.

  “What?” He blinked at her.

  “Help me.” He turned his head away from her. “Listen,” she continued desperately. “You can have me. Leave Lacy and take me. I’ll stay with you. Forever.”

  She was fading away, she was disappearing into a white hot flame of pain. There was something else she needed to tell Oren, something important, some description about how the world was supposed to be. But the kitchen was spinning too fast; it was too hot and too bright. She could not remember what she had to say. Cookie’s toenails were too sharp. She was burning from a million little stars. His sizzling breath on her face smelled of rotten vegetables and cedar, of the reptile house at the zoo, moist and fetid. Something hard pressed against her leg. Cookie was too heavy, she could not push him away. She covered her face. Cookie would not stop. He rubbed and pumped against her bleeding belly. She felt his dick trying to get in and his tongue on the back of her hands.

  “That’s enough!” Oren shoved Cookie with his foot so he fell off her onto his side. “Enough!”

  Oren lifted her to her feet as Cookie righted himself and lunged again. Oren stamped and shouted and Cookie stopped. There was a pulse in her leg, but no pain, just a throb she could feel in her chest, like the bass turned up too high in the car next to her at a stoplight. Far away, beneath her somewhere, she saw Cookie waiting. Mouth opening and closing. Legs pumping up and down. His organ protruding.

  Winnie leaned her head on Oren’s bony shoulder. Cookie thrust himself at her. Oren pushed Cookie away again, but Cookie charged, trying to get around his master to the bloody female. Oren kicked him. Too hard, even Winnie could see that. Cookie slid back across the linoleum with a weird, squealing cry. When he spun back toward them, his nose was bleeding worse than before. Oren got the door open. He and Winnie went through it together, she had her arms around him, and he held her tightly as he closed the door in Cookie’s face.

  32.

  Buster saw the paramedics pull up at school. He was stoned, sitting on the wall across from the school, waiting for Lacy. He felt amazing. He had loved her for so long. Maybe because he was high he knew the ambulance was for her. He jogged across the street and followed the guys into the school. They looked at him.

  “It’s my girlfriend,” he said.

  They just nodded and let him come along. The principal was waiting.

  “She’s in the music room. Down that hall.”

  “I’ll show them where it is,” Buster said.

  He felt calm and purposeful. The reflective strips on the paramedics’ jackets were beautiful. He ran down the hall with the stretcher clattering behind him. The wide, open hallways were wonderful to run in. It smelled like school, but kind of fresh, without the bodies or the lunch bags.

  “In here.”

  He held open the door for them. The kids were gathered around Lacy. She lay on her back. Ms. Ingram held her hand. Principal Campbell huffed and puffed in behind them. The students cleared for the paramedics. One of the guys shone a light in Lacy’s eyes. The other checked her pulse.

  “It’s my mother,” Lacy said. “I’m fine. Ms. Ingram. Tell them.”

  Ms. Ingram nodded. She touched one of the guys on the shoulder and made him look at her. “She says her mother has been kidnapped.”

  “Whoa,” said Buster. “No shit.”

  “Buster?” Lacy called to him.

  “I’m here, Sunshine.”

  She reached for him and that made him feel great. The students stepped back to let him through. He held her hand.

  “Your mom was kidnapped?”

  “She got a call on her cell phone,” Ms. Ingram said. The paramedics were unconvinced. “Her grandmother is Daisy Juniper. Her dad is Jonathan Parker.”

  The paramedics exchanged raised eyebrows then a nod. Buster nodded with them. His girlfriend was famous.

  “We’ll call right away,” one of them said.

  “Wait,” Lacy said. “No. He said he’d kill her if I called the police.”

  “They all say that,” the paramedic said. “Don’t worry. The cops are good at this.”

  One of the paramedics spoke into the weird little walkie-talkie on his shoulder. Buster definitely wanted one of those. What the guy said was unintelligible to Buster, but obviously a call to the cops. He grinned. He had the coolest girlfriend in the world—the whole fucking world.

  33.

  Oren carried Winnie to the couch and laid her down.

  “I'm sorry,” she said. There was blood on his carpet. A lot of blood on his perfect carpet. She did not want him to be angry. “Sorry, sorry, sorry.”

  “It’s okay.”

  She needed to get up. She needed to call Lacy and tell her not to come. “Wait,” she said to him. “Give me your phone.”

  She would clean up the blood if he would give her the phone. She tried to sit up. She couldn’t. She had to lie down and close her eyes. Just for a moment. She had to rest. She heard him go away. She heard a door open. Now is the time, she thought as if rehearsing lines in a play. The character says, now is the time. Now is the time and the actress gets up and walks the five steps to the front door. Now is the time, but Winnie could not get up. She would never get the part. No one wanted an actress who could only lie down. It hurt to shake her head. It hurt to move. She would never be an actress now or a real estate tycoon or even a birthday party clown. She would never be anything, but that was okay. It was all absolutely fine if she could just call Lacy. Her leg was wet. It did not seem right. When she got rid of that, when her leg was dry again, when she had spoken to Lacy, she could go to sleep.

  Oren closed a door. He was coming back. She had missed her chance, but she knew there had never really been any chance. She lay still on the couch. Maybe he would call Lacy and tell her not to come.

  “Oren,” she said. “I’ll stay with you. I’ll cook and clean and take care of you. I’ll be your friend. Just let Lacy go. Forget about her. It’s okay. I’ll never see her again. I’ll stay with you, if you’ll leave her alone.” She was crying. “Please. Just call her and tell her not to come.”

  She knew he didn’t like tears, but she couldn’t help it. She would stay with Oren and Lacy could go far away. She could go to Daisy’s in New York. Daisy’s apartment building was like a fortress. Lacy would be safe there.

  “Shhhh,” Oren said. “Lacy will be here soon.”

  “I don’t want her to come.”

  “I won’t hurt her.”

  A shooting pain made her scream. She tried to shake Cookie from her leg, but it just hurt worse. Oh! Cookie wasn’t even there. She felt him, but he wasn’t there.

  “I wouldn’t shake it like that,” Oren said. And then, “It looks pretty bad.”

  She opened her eyes. He was frowning. The side of his face was red where she had hit him with the ice.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Cookie scratched at the door. “Cookie! Stop it!”

  Cookie clawed faster, harder, like a dog digging.

  “One day he’ll get out of there,” Winnie whispered. “He’ll get me.”

  “He won’t. I won’t let him.”

  “Promise me you won’t hurt Lacy.”

  Oren nodded. It was the best she would get. “You’re still bleeding.” He lif
ted her leg and put it back down on top of a towel. Her leg began to twitch.

  “Don't,” he said. “Don't do that.”

  The twitch spread all over her body. She was trembling, shaking, and she couldn’t stop.

  “Winnie,” he said. “Winnie, come on.”

  It meant so much when a lover called her by name. It always had. She yearned for the moment when a man said her name late at night, rolled over and breathed it into her hair. It was a gift, as if she was given back to herself, as if he was saying you, only you are the one I want.

  “Don't cry,” he said. “It's not that bad. Now that I've cleaned it up, I can see it’ll be fine.” His hands were gentle. The water was warm, but cool at the same time. “This is going to sting.”

  A liquid gurgled from a bottle. Then the pressure of a towel. And then the pain. She shrieked and he put his hand over her mouth to keep her quiet. He had put hot needles into her leg, all the way up to her stomach. Her back arched.

  “Hold still,” he said. “If you can.”

  He took his hand off her mouth. He was kneeling beside her. The fire subsided, but her leg was now in agony. She tried to breathe slowly and quietly. He concentrated on bandaging her. He took his knife out of his pocket and opened it. She half hoped he would kill her, kill the pain. He cut the gauze and the tape. Then he set the knife down on the coffee table. She thought it was sweat on his cheeks and then she saw it was tears.

  Winnie reached for him, put her hand on his smooth arm, his young skin.

  “We’re all frightened,” she whispered. “Everyone is scared to death. The world is such a scary place. So many people hate us. We don't even know them, and they hate us just for living. And now we've gotten in over our heads, haven't we? One thing came along and then another and another and we were swept up, we had to go with it, and suddenly it was out of control.”