Swamp Monster

by C. A. Newsome

  “What’s she doing here?”

  “The video wasn’t enough. She wants to insult me in person.”

  “Forget what I said about the Rule of Three. Do you want me to sic Kita on her?”

  Kita, who was about seventy-eleven in dog years, looked up at the mention of her name. A four-inch tendril of drool hung dangerously from her muzzle.

  “You’d have Kita slime her for me? You’re a true friend.”

  Susan exited her car and joined Terry and Steve.

  Bailey cocked her head. “She’s wearing an Ann Taylor suit to a dog park. Goddess, she’s wearing pumps. That’s reason enough to slime her.”

  Napa, Jackson, and Penny crowded around Susan, sniffing. Susan took a stiff step back. Terry said something to the dogs and they retreated.

  “Don’t,” Lia said. “If Kita goes near her, she’ll swear out a complaint against you and try to get Kita put down.”

  “She can’t do that unless Kita bites her.”

  Kita gave Bailey a mournful look.

  Lia snorted. “She’ll bite herself and say Kita did it.”

  Bailey tickled Gypsy’s chin with a calloused finger. “I have a screwdriver. We could puncture her tires.”

  “She won’t be able to leave. We’ll be stuck with her.”

  “That’s no good. How did she find you?”

  “I don’t think she did. She’s talking to Terry and Steve like she knows them. I bet she wants to interview them about the bones.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  Gypsy wandered across the table. Lia picked her up, holding her like a baby as she rubbed the fat tummy. “Nothing. I refuse to let her get a rise out of me. And I’m not leaving my own damn dog park.”

  The trio progressed up the service road. They parted at the picnic shelter with Terry and Susan remaining behind while Steve brought the dogs into the park.

  Bailey waved to catch Steve’s eye. “We need intel,” she explained.

  Steve ambled back to their table, opening his arms to Gypsy. “Come to papa, you vixen.”

  Lia surrendered the pup. “I’m going to start renting her out by the quarter hour.”

  Bailey nodded at the pair now assembling a tripod in the picnic shelter. “What’s with the overdressed blonde?”

  Steve cradled Gypsy as he looked over his shoulder. “Susan’s a video blogger. She saw the story Aubrey Morse did with the guys at Boswell’s and called Terry to set up an interview. He offered to meet her here.”

  Bailey’s protuberant eyes widened for an alarming effect. “Didn’t you get the memo? That’s Peter’s old girlfriend. I can’t believe you brought her here.”

  Steve’s eyebrow raised as he turned to Lia. “Peter’s ex? I saw you take out Desiree in that video. You plan to put her down?”

  “Don’t ever joke about Desiree. I won’t plow into Susan however much she deserves it. She’d cry fake tears while she asks Peter how I could be so mean to her.”

  “What will you do?” Steve asked.

  Lia lifted her head to a virtuous angle. “She’s Peter’s problem. I plan to let him handle it.”

  Bailey bit her lip. “Are you sure you want to do that?”

  “Why wouldn’t I?”

  Steve and Bailey exchanged glances.

  “What?” Lia demanded.

  Bailey folded her arms. “You think she’ll ignore you and go on her way?”

  Steve said, “We know that’s not happening.” He eyed Lia shrewdly. “Question is, if Lia can handle someone with obvious mean-girl chops when Susan decides to get under her skin.”

  Lia’s back went up. “What mean-girl chops?”

  Inside the shelter, Susan and Terry stood in front of the tripod, an iPhone serving as camera. Daylight bled into the darkened space, illuminating the pair while the shadowed background created a natural chiaroscuro effect. It was a sophisticated choice. Has to be an accident. Lia shoved the thought away as petty and mean-spirited.

  Terry removed his camo cap and flipped an index finger skyward, making some point. Susan tilted her head and clapped her hands, clasping them between her breasts.

  Steve interrupted her thoughts. “Former cheerleader, right?”

  “How can you tell?”

  “You saw her clap her hands and toss her head,” he said. “Classic cheerleader moves. All cheerleaders have serious mean-girl chops. You can’t make the squad without them. But there’s something else you should consider.”

  Lia’s temples pulsed with an incipient headache. “And that is?”

  “None of us will admit it, but guys like it when a woman shows a little jealousy.”

  Lia’s mouth dropped open. “You think making an ass out of myself would please Peter?” She turned to Bailey. “Tell me this isn’t a thing.”

  Bailey’s expression filled with pity. “It’s a thing.”

  “Would you do it?”

  “No, but John isn’t like other men.”

  Lia looked from Bailey to Steve. “And Peter is?”

  Steve cradled Gypsy with one hand and held the other palm up in defense. “Don’t look at me. But you might want to consider how many hits that video got before it came down.”

  Like children banging on an out-of-tune piano, Lia’s friends gleefully punched all the buttons she didn’t know she had. It was something friends did—usually at the worst possible time—and she’d never understood it. She dedicated herself to picking stray twigs out of Chewy’s fur.

  “I refuse to lose my dignity over a woman Peter doesn’t want.”

  “Famous last words.” Steve nudged Bailey, whispering, “I bet she makes Lia blow up.”

  Lia stuffed her irritation and maintained an even voice. “I heard that.”

  Bailey poked her tongue in her cheek, considering. “What qualifies as a blowup?”

  Steve rubbed his chin. “Screaming, profanity in a raised voice, anything that meets the requirements for assault under the law.”

  “You’re on. We need a deadline.”

  “I say she loses it within a week.”

  “Up the stakes and make it two.” Bailey placed a hand on Lia’s. “You can avoid hitting Susan for fourteen days, can’t you? You won’t even see her for most of them.”

  The pulse in Lia’s temples became a throb. She ground out, “I don’t plan to hit anyone. Ever.”

  “Good girl.” Bailey turned back to Steve. “What’s at stake?”

  “Steak sounds good. If I win, you can buy me one.”

  “That’s low, expecting a vegan to buy you a steak.”

  “Why do you think I chose it?”

  Head beating like a drum, Lia pretended she was far, far away. Somewhere without people. The Mojave would do, or that vacant beach Jody Foster found herself on in Contact. The one on the other side of the intergalactic wormhole.

  Bailey said, “All right then. If I win, you detail my truck.”

  Steve’s eyes tracked over the fifteen-year-old Toyota Bailey used to haul mulch. “What would be the point?”

  “You want dead cow. I want a clean truck.”

  “Doesn’t matter, since I’m going to win.”

  Her skull pounding, Lia snapped, “I’m not here so you can abuse me for entertainment value.”

  “See? Short fuse,” Steve said.

  Bailey didn’t miss a beat. “What if Chewy attacks Susan? Does that count?”

  “We’ll take that on a case-by-case basis. Depends on whether Susan does something that would make any dog respond aggressively, or if Lia instigates the attack. Can’t have loopholes.”

  Lia screeched, “You think Chewy would bite someone, even if I told him to?”

  Chewy whimpered and hid under the table. Gypsy whined and squirmed in Steve’s arms, desperate to get to Lia. She jumped onto the table and burrowed into Lia, seeking reassurance, giving solace. Lia’s headache faded.

  Steve tsked, shaking his head. “Short fuse. Still think you’re going to win?”

  Lia held Gypsy
to her chest, glaring at Steve. “I won’t punch Susan, but I may give you a good smack. Why aren’t you interviewing with her? You found the bones.”

  Steve removed his Panama hat, scratched his bald scalp. “I spent enough time talking to the press when I was a union rep. No matter what you say, they find a way to make you look bad.”

  Lia forgot her pique. “You didn’t warn Terry?”

  “This is Terry we’re talking about. The women he knows are either Mensa nerds or former hookers court-ordered to A.A.” He finger-quoted the “former” part. “You think he won’t invite public humiliation to hang with a classy blonde?”

  On the far side of the park, Susan leaned over her tripod and removed the phone. Terry collapsed the tripod and presented it to Susan, who tucked it into her hobo bag. The pair strolled across the park to Lia’s table, Susan’s manicured hand resting lightly on Terry’s arm.

  Terry, at his most gallant, nodded to the group. “Susan, I’d like you to meet my friends.”

  Susan’s eyes met Lia’s and her practiced smile froze. Those eyes dropped to Gypsy, still in Lia’s arms.

  “I see you have that adorable puppy with you.”

  Lia bared her teeth in a parody of Susan’s smile. “Always. She’s my bodyguard. She’s so enjoying the scarf you gave her.”

  “Delighted to hear it.”

  Underneath the table, Chewy sensed Lia’s tension and whined. She dropped a hand and rubbed his neck.

  Terry’s face brightened. “You know each other? Excellent!”

  Bailey cleared her throat. “Susan’s an old friend of Peter’s from high school.”

  “Really?”

  Lia saw gears turning in Terry’s head. Steve planted a foot on Terry’s camo-patterned Croc. She wondered if Terry felt the pressure through the spongy synthetic. Probably wouldn’t matter if he did.

  “Peter and I were engaged for years. I can’t believe I let him get away.” Susan addressed Lia. “We got off on the wrong foot the other day. I hope we can start over. Do you mind if I sit?”

  Bailey stood and Kita jumped down. “We’re going for a walk.” She nudged Steve. He and Terry followed, three rats deserting a sinking ship.

  Susan took a faded bandana from her hobo bag and laid it across the bench before she sat. Not Hermès. Terry must have given it to her.

  “Peter says you’re an artist—”

  Not bloody likely he said anything to you about me.

  “—It must be tough, making a living that way. Did he tell you about my video show? Maybe I can help you.”

  Gypsy squirmed, wanting to explore the table. Lia stuffed her in the Moby wrap to keep her away from Susan and a possible case of rabies.

  “What did you have in mind?” She didn’t know why she bothered asking. She knew what was coming.

  “It would be fun to interview a local artist, and it would give you exposure.”

  Exposure: code for “something for nothing.”

  “Thanks, but I don’t need the help.”

  Susan scanned Lia’s paint-spattered shorts, took a side trip to stare pointedly at her bare left hand. Her eyes softened with pity as she took in Gypsy and the rumpled Moby wrap slung across Lia’s chest like bandoliers.

  Lia saw herself through Susan’s eyes, saw Gypsy as a poor substitute for the infant the wrap was designed to hold, saw the studio clothes as a pathetic lack of personal pride. She understood in that moment how the right clothes provide armor. Today, in her safest of safe places, she had none.

  Susan’s eyes completed their circuit, meeting Lia’s, oozing sympathy like too much maple syrup drowning a stack of pancakes.

  “Artists are so independent. I admire that. Really.”

  “Let’s not pretend. You’re in Cincinnati because of Peter. You have no interest in me.”

  Susan tilted her head, blinked, made a little frown. The sequence made Lia think of android Nicole Kidman in The Stepford Wives. “Honey, you’re selling yourself short. I find artists fascinat—”

  “Peter and I are together. You can’t waltz in here and snap him up like a purse at Nordstrom’s.”

  Chewy’s head butted Lia’s leg, demanding reassurance. She dropped her hand again. Gypsy wiggled, trying to climb out of the wrap. Lia kept her eyes on Susan, restraining Gypsy with her free hand.

  Susan’s eyes hardened to cold, stone disks. “Believe what you want. I’ve known Peter all his life. You don’t mean a thing to him, no matter what he tells you.”

  “And what makes you say that?”

  “If you mattered, he’d marry you. You don’t even have a ring.”

  Lia’s hand flew to the lump under her shirt, the bit of Peter’s heart she wore on a chain, precious and personal to her. Her fingers curled around it, drawing on it for strength and dignity. Chewy butted her leg and whined.

  “You had a ring. You had more than one, and here you are. I guess a ring isn’t everything.”

  The stone disks turned mean, snakelike. “If Peter loves you, why doesn’t his family know about you? All he wants from you is easy sex and cheap rent. Or maybe that’s cheap sex and easy rent. You’re what we call a free-range dairy cow back home.”

  Lia blinked, speechless.

  Susan resumed her cheerful expression. “Get a clue. You and your pathetic dogs mean nothing to him.” She strolled away, abandoning Terry’s bandana on the bench. Then she stopped, looked back, lifted her chin.

  “Nothing.”

  Pride kept the hit from showing on Lia’s face, but there was something smug in Susan’s walk as she left the park. Chewy came out from under the table. Lia ruffled his ears with both hands.

  “You, little man, can be very inconvenient.”

  Bailey hoisted herself onto the table top. “Are you okay?”

  “You heard that?”

  “It’s all crap.”

  “I don’t think so. Not the part about Peter not telling his family about me. I bet that’s true.”

  “Then he has a reason. Peter loves you. You know that.”

  Lia said nothing. She dropped her face to rub her cheek against Gypsy’s head.

  “Peter would marry you in a minute. Not getting married was your idea.”

  Lia climbed onto the table and curled into Bailey. Chewy jumped up beside her, pressing against her hip. Gypsy struggled to reach Lia’s face, the bright pink tongue flicking at her chin. In this moment, Lia missed Honey’s soothing presence ferociously.

  “It’s not that.”

  “Why are you crying?”

  “I’m not crying.” Because she hadn’t let tears come. “It was all bullshit, but it was so ugly. She wanted to make me feel like nothing and she succeeded.”

  “You got hit with a psychic zap.”

  “A what?”

  “Thoughts can hurt, even, especially, when they aren’t true.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “If your barriers aren’t solid, people can impose their thoughts and feelings on you. And when those thoughts are hateful, it can make you sick.” She took Lia’s shoulders, pushing her into an upright position. “Cuddle Gypsy and close your eyes.”

  “You’re going to do puppy woo-woo on me?”

  “I use whatever is available.”

  Lia plucked Gypsy out of the wrap and laid the pup against her shoulder, shutting her eyes as she stroked the tiny body. Felt Gypsy’s butter-soft fur against her cheek, the muzzle poking around her neck, in her hair. Inhaled the warm, sweet animal scent.

  “Tickles.”

  “Feel better?”

  “A little.”

  “Keep your eyes shut. Plant your feet firmly on the bench. Breathe in.... Now breathe out and feel all the poison and hatred flowing through you, out the bottom of your feet. It’s not yours, it doesn’t belong to you. She gave it to you but you don’t need to keep it. Give it to the earth.... Breathe in through the top of your head. There’s a gold light surrounding you. Breathe it in.”

  Lia didn’t hold with Baile
y’s New Age mumbo, but the pit in her stomach was now large enough for her to fall in. She inhaled, having no clue how to do it through the top of her head.

  “Keep breathing. When you exhale, imagine all the poison is dark smoke, leaving through the bottom of your feet, going into the earth where it will be purified. Breathe in the gold light. Fill yourself with it.”

  Lia kept her eyes shut. Gypsy squirmed and licked her nose.

  “I want in on that bet.”

  “No can do.”

  “Why not? If you can bet on me, I can bet on me.”

  Bailey, her voice firm, said, “Lia, look at me.”

  Lia opened her eyes. “What?”

  “We were yanking your chain. There is no bet.”

  Thanks to cell phones, Tony Piraino Jr., Esq. caught Tony Piraino Sr. at the eleventh hole of the Losantiville Country Club, where the old man now practiced golf instead of law. He agreed to meet with Peter, stating this was likely to be more entertaining than his usual round of lies at the bar.

  Piraino stood when the hostess delivered Peter to his table of cronies, shaking Peter’s hand with an impressive grip for a man well into his seventies. Trim build, excellent posture, and a full head of well-tended hair. Alma would call him a silver fox.

  “Maggie, let Carmen know I need another scotch and water, and—” he turned to Peter “What’s your poison?”

  Peter wanted Pepsi, but that wouldn’t win him points with Piraino. “Sweet tea, Thanks.”

  “Sweet tea it is.” Piraino turned back to Maggie. “Pete and I will be over in the corner.”

  He nodded at an empty table in a sea of empty tables, then took the seat in the corner, giving Peter a view of the golf course. It made Peter nervous, not being able to see the door. He imagined Piraino put his back to the wall for the same reason he would, to ensure they were not overheard.

  Piraino leaned back in his chair. “I was wondering when you’d get to me.”

  “You remember Andrew Heenan, then.”

  “It’s hard to forget a client who goes missing.” Piraino lifted his chin, eyes focused over Peter’s shoulder. A waitress arrived, setting down their drinks. “Thank you Carmen.” He waited for Carmen to leave before he resumed speaking. “You sure it’s him?”

  “He was wearing an Elvis jumpsuit and absent the lower half of one leg. Who else would it be?”