Lost, Found, and Forever

by Victoria Schade

  “Is this Monty’s?” the woman asked, pointing to the old brick building. “I read that there’s no sign outside, but I think this is the place.”

  “It is,” Justine said with a winning smile. “Are you a new member?”

  She shook her head. “No, we’re just visiting for the weekend, but we were hoping we’d be able to eat here. We’ve read such wonderful things about it.”

  “Oh, so sorry. Monty’s is a members-only club for locals. But Sweet Oven is wonderful.” She pointed to the restaurant half a block away.

  Having to turn away weekenders at Monty’s locked door was a regular occurrence, since Rexford bridged several worlds. First there were the crunchy, tree-hugging locals who had claimed the area as an artistic retreat in the 1960s. Then there were the tourists, who hogged parking spots, crowded the hiking trails, and kept the restaurants busy every weekend. And more recently, the “escape from New York” new-money folks who built weekend “cottages” and infused the area with artisanal bread shops and higher property values. It was a delicate ecosystem, but it worked.

  As much as Justine loved her adopted hometown and was tempted to put down real roots, sometimes it made her feel claustrophobic. Anytime she wanted to gossip in public she’d crane her neck to make sure no one was within eavesdropping distance. Her mailman Bruce’s wife was the receptionist at her gynecologist’s office, so when Bruce dropped off Justine’s mail he’d put her annual pap appointment reminder postcard on top of the stack, wink at her, and say, “Going to see Phyllis soon, are ya?” Rexford was like a cooler, more diverse Hallmark town, but it still felt like it wasn’t enough for Justine.

  It was her mom’s fault. Four states before she’d even hit high school meant that she had wanderlust in her blood. Justine had loved trying on new locations together to see if they’d finally found “the one.” East Coast, Midwest, West Coast; they found something to love in each state. Her mom’s final move to Phoenix had happened while Justine was in college, and at first she was bummed that she couldn’t experience desert life, but her visits there convinced Justine that she was an East Coaster through and through. Their magical time together in Connecticut during her elementary school years had left an imprint on Justine’s heart, and she knew she needed the change of seasons to feel at home.

  She just wasn’t sure that Rexford was her forever.

  * * *

  • • •

  Justine peeked around the mostly empty restaurant and spied Monty herself seated at a table in the corner with two other people, deep in conversation. Luis waved his spatula at Justine from the open kitchen. She could smell something smoky and oniony on the griddle.

  “Hey, Luis, we just need a quick lunch; I know it’s late.”

  “No problem, Justine, sit,” he said, pronouncing her name with a soft hus. “Nice bow tie, Spencer. How’s he doing?”

  “Soaking wet. Sorry, we’re going to stink up the joint.”

  “I just burned the boss lady’s fish tacos. I think wet-dog smell is better.”

  Luis met her at the counter and Spencer’s tail thumped in anticipation of getting something greasy from him. “What can I make for you?” He slipped Spencer a piece of bacon.

  “Falafel wrap, please. We’re going to eat here. Your girlfriend is holding down the shop.”

  Luis closed his eyes and sighed. “If only . . .”

  “Why don’t you just ask her out already? You’ve been in love with Sienna since the day you came to town. She’s single; you’re single. It’s getting stupid, Luis.”

  “I will, I will. I just need to be ready, okay?” He widened his eyes at her like she was asking him to cliff dive instead of asking out a woman who was secretly just as hot for him.

  If she wasn’t on a dating hiatus and was just a few years out of college like Sienna, Justine would pounce on Luis herself. His black eyes and full sleeve of tattoos on a ripped arm made him look like he was the naughty boyfriend in a telenovela, but he was teddy-bear sweet. Add in his skills in the kitchen and he was basically the perfect man. Justine had held true to her promise not to tell Sienna that Luis was pining for her, but her patience was running out.

  “Have you taught him anything new?” Luis nodded at Spencer.

  “Always. Check it out.” Justine stood up and sped Spencer through a series of tricks, including an impressive “pawstand,” which was a handstand on paws. As she finished she noticed that Monty and her tablemates were watching and realized that one of them was Monty’s daughter, Taylor.

  “When did Taylor get to town?” she whispered to Luis when she sat down again.

  “Yesterday. And that’s the director of her new show, Ted-something,” he whispered back. “That prohibition series she’s doing. They’re staying at Monty’s farm for the weekend.” He walked into the kitchen to start her lunch.

  Monty Volkov had been a model turned muse for the Sonic Dukes in the early ’80s, when Russian glamazons dominated magazine covers. She’d let her chestnut hair go silver, but her cheekbones were still as sharp as her wit, and no one could mistake the green eyes that cemented her place as rock-and-roll royalty. She’d claimed a writer’s credit on the band’s most successful song, “Her Eyes,” and used the money she made from it to open her first restaurant in SoHo. A well-deserved Michelin two-star award and twenty years later, Monty decamped to a sprawling lavender farm in Rexford to simplify. Her daughter had thankfully inherited more of her mother’s genes than her meth head–skinny rocker father’s and was a rising star in Hollywood. She found her way back to Rexford after breakups and in between projects.

  “Impressive,” Monty said in her commanding voice from the table in the corner. The man in a baseball cap and sunglasses sitting with her nodded. “What else can he do?”

  Even though Justine considered Monty an acquaintance-friend, she still got a little nervous when the Russian wolf singled her out, especially when she was with her famous friends and family. She ran her hand over her hair self-consciously, pissed that the chin-length bob wasn’t growing out fast enough. Whenever she was around Monty and her people she felt like a bumpkin.

  “Tell me what you want to see and he’ll do it,” Justine said with a smile.

  “Show her how Spencer does that bell trick.” Luis jogged from the kitchen and placed a deli bell on the edge of the counter. “Do it, she’ll love it.”

  Justine felt silly interrupting what was surely some sort of important strategy session with Taylor but knew she couldn’t refuse. “Hey, Spence.” He looked up at her. “Service, please.”

  Spencer stood on his hind legs and danced in place, trying to gauge if he was tall enough to reach the bell with his paw. When he realized he couldn’t, he sat down for a second, then launched himself onto a stool, placed one paw on the edge of the counter, then delicately rang the bell with his other.

  “Woo-hoo,” Taylor hooted and clapped like she was at a hockey game. It was easy to forget that five-ten creature was only twenty-two, until she suddenly acted her age. “Good boy!”

  Justine was still totally starstruck by Taylor, as was the rest of Rexford. Seeing her in person was like being in the presence of an endangered animal you’d only ever seen in photos; she was taller, skinnier, and more luminous than any camera could rightly capture. Even though Taylor had always been friendly when they’d run into each other around town, the air around her felt different. In Rexford she was a blue blood surrounded by a sea of normals.

  The man wearing sunglasses inside leaned close to Monty and said something softly to her. She nodded.

  “Justine. Bring Spencer over and sit with us.” Monty gestured to the empty chair at their table. It wasn’t a request.

  She’d shared lunch with Monty before, but it was always a casual “I’m here, you’re here, let’s sit at the counter and eat” situation, not a formal invitation to join Hollywood royalty. She ran her hand over her hai
r again and walked Spencer to the table.

  Monty grabbed a piece of crust off her plate and fed it to the gleefully wiggling dog, then thrust her chin at Justine. “Ted, this is Justine. She owns the little dog shop here in town, and obviously this handsome boy is Spencer.”

  Justine waved at Taylor, who flicked her eyes up from her phone for an instant and beamed her showstopping smile at her. Justine gave her palm a stealth-wipe on her leg, then reached out to sunglasses man. “Nice to meet you. Spence, say hi.” Spencer cocked his head and raised his front paw in the air to wave at them. He looked like a kindergartener on the first day of school.

  “Wow, he’s incredible,” the man replied in a soft voice as he shook Justine’s hand. “Such an expressive face. What else can he do?” He managed to tear himself away from watching Spencer to look Justine in the eyes. Or at least she thought he was looking at her eyes, since all she could see was her distorted reflection in his aviators. “I’m Ted Sherman, by the way.”

  That’s why he looked familiar. Ted Sherman was in the business of directing blockbuster movies and TV shows. “Nice to meet you. Spencer can basically do anything. He takes requests . . .” Justine trailed off and looked around the table.

  “High five!” Taylor shouted. “Do a high five.”

  Justine held her hand out. He sat back on his haunches and slapped her palm, then waited for her to do the down-low position and slapped her again.

  “Can I try?” Ted asked. He finally pulled his sunglasses off and stared at Justine.

  “Yup, put your hand out.”

  Ted opted for the down-low position.

  “Spence . . .” Her dog turned to look at her. “Go do.” She pointed to Ted’s outstretched hand. Spencer dashed to Ted and smacked his hand like they’d done it a million times, and Ted held on to Spencer’s paw for a few moments.

  “How about play dead?” Monty asked.

  “Sudden or prolonged?”

  “You mean he has range?” Ted asked with awe in his voice.

  “Make it dramatic!” Taylor said.

  Justine made a soft clicking noise with her mouth and Spencer snapped to attention. She placed her palms together like she was praying and pointed her hands at Spencer for a moment, then flipped them apart like exploding jazz hands.

  Spencer staggered for a few steps like he was dazed, then slowly lowered himself to the ground on one shoulder. His entire body telegraphed pain.

  “Oh my God,” Ted whispered.

  Spencer paused, panting hard with his eyes squinted, then flopped to the ground on his side. He closed his eyes and let his head drift, his four legs drooping.

  No one moved.

  “Spence, end!” Justine said cheerfully.

  He jumped up and wagged his tail as they exploded into applause.

  “That brought a damn tear to my eye,” Monty said. “He really looked dead!”

  “Why does he know how to do so many tricks? Are you a professional trainer? And why do you opt for hand signals instead of saying the commands?” Ted asked Justine. He was staring at her with an intensity that made her palms sweat.

  She leaned into the barrage of questions. “I’m a hobby trainer, not a professional. It’s just something fun we do together because he loves learning. And I do hand signals because it’s easier for dogs to learn them.” She shrugged. “You caught me; I’m lazy.”

  “I wouldn’t say that,” Ted replied. “Does he ever have trouble performing? Do loud noises or strange people scare him?”

  They were all watching her carefully, and it felt like both she and Spencer were being sized up. She opted to edit her answer and leave out the dicey part of their shared history.

  “Not that I’ve seen. I mean, I’ve only had him for a year, I’m not sure about everything he went through before I adopted him, but as far as I know he’s pretty bombproof.” She reached down and scratched the side of Spencer’s neck. “Nothing really fazes him.”

  Except the one thing that did faze him.

  Luis dropped her lunch on the counter and all she could think of was shoving the warm garlic pita into her mouth.

  “Do you know how to read a script?” Ted asked.

  “Um, yes?” It wasn’t a lie; she’d once dug up an old Living Single script online to win a bet with Sienna.

  Ted nodded. “Would you feel comfortable giving me your contact info?”

  “Sure.” Her heart sped up. What was happening?

  “I’m going to send you the pilot script of the show we’re working on, The Eighteenth. Focus on the parts labeled Ford. That’s the main character’s dog. Read it and tell me if you think it’s all doable.”

  “What’s a pilot script?” She wanted to know exactly what she was getting into even though something in her bones told her that it was going to be good.

  “It’s a test episode for a proposed series, to see if the show is marketable. FilmFlix wants the pilot plus two extra episodes, so as it stands we’ve got a three-show run. But if audience reaction is strong we’ll get a full series.”

  “This might be a dumb question, but what, uh, how do you mean, read it?” Maybe he wanted her to do some sort of feasibility study, to check if the tricks and behaviors were something most dogs could do? A sort of editing pass before they got started?

  And would she get paid for it?

  “It turns out the dog we picked to play Ford isn’t quite right. He’s not ‘of the era.’” Ted made air quotes. “He’s an incredible dog, but he’s just not doing it for me.”

  Justine’s heart thudded. This sounded like more than just an editing pass. She swallowed hard. “Okay.”

  Ted leaned across the table to study Spencer. “It’s a lot. Ford plays a huge role in the first three episodes. And Spencer is a novice so I might kick myself for even suggesting it, but read through the script and tell me if you think he could play the role. I’ll want to see him perform some of the tougher stuff, and if he can do it before we head back to the city on Sunday we’ll move on to a chemistry test with Anderson. That is, if you want to give it a shot.”

  He didn’t even have to say the last name. Ted was talking about Anderson Brooks. Not just Hollywood royalty, but intergalactic royalty for the past thirty years. The leading man who had transitioned from young stud into grizzled and wrinkly but still handsome territory.

  Justine stood with her mouth hanging open.

  “Speak, woman,” Monty urged.

  “Yes, okay! I’ll do it. Yes, that sounds great!”

  She gave Ted her email address, said her good-byes, and went to the counter to tackle her falafel. Monty and company had forgotten they’d asked her to sit with them, though she didn’t think she would’ve been able to eat while they pinged her with questions about Spencer’s skills.

  “What’s going on?” Luis asked quietly as he stacked dishes under the counter.

  Justine looked down at her dog, who was licking up crumbs from the last customer.

  “I think Spencer just paid my rent.”

  chapter three

  Before heading back to Tricks & Biscuits, Justine detoured to Love Letters, her friend Ruth’s card shop. She had two red velvet cupcakes from the local bakery and she wanted to dissect every bit of the Ted Sherman encounter with someone who knew her way around a rehashing session. She caught her reflection in the window on her way in. Most of her strawberry blond bob was plastered to her forehead, except for the cowlick behind her ear, which mocked her no matter how much product she used. The shoulders of her sweatshirt were drenched despite the umbrella. But it wasn’t as if she’d have to see customers on such a crappy day.

  “Excuse me, do you sell birthday cards here?” Justine yelled as she walked into the store once she confirmed it was empty. “It’s me, I need to tell you something.”

  She dropped Spencer’s leash and he parkoured onto the houn
dstooth-patterned chair next to the counter so he could get closer to Ruth’s Chihuahua, Freida, who was dozing in her little pink bed by the cash register. He startled her awake with a woof, and she wagged her tail when she realized her boyfriend was visiting.

  “Very funny,” Ruth said as she swished through the curtain separating her workspace from the rest of the store. They both loved their customers, but sometimes they couldn’t resist making fun of some of the ridiculous stuff people said to them. “Is it still raining?”

  “It’s getting biblical out there.” They leaned in for a quick hug. “Why don’t you join me in the world of athleisure when the weather is this crappy?” Justine did a slow runway turn and pointed to her snakeskin-print leggings like a game-show model. A tiny part of her wished that she were still using them for their intended purpose out on the trail, but she just wasn’t ready.

  “Never.” Ruth shuddered. “I don’t even wear that stuff to bed. I keep hoping I’ll rub off on you.” Ruth smoothed the front of her navy striped A-line skirt, which she’d paired with a crisp white blouse and navy kitten heels. Ruth Vernon’s wardrobe was a few degrees from 1950s housewife cosplay. Everything she wore was as cheerful as a handful of confetti, just like her rainbow-colored shop.

  “Listen, your life is sitting at a desk with paper, scissors, and pens. My life is on my knees with saliva, fur, and poop. I’ll keep my leggings, thank you.” She paused. “I have news. Big news.”

  Ruth’s face clouded. “I do too. I need to show you something. I’ve been waiting to do it in person. Come here.” She started walking to the computer behind her counter as her phone rang. She fished it out of her pocket and squinted at the screen. “Crap, that’s my bride. Hold on for a sec.”

  Justine busied herself checking out her friend’s handmade cards as Ruth talked yet another bridezilla off the ledge about her save-the-date postcards. She was the craftiest person Justine had ever met, from bespoke wedding invitations to handcrafted parasols made out of flamboyant fabrics from India to the replica of the cave canem Pompeii mosaic she’d created for T&B’s front step. Ruth Vernon was a one-woman art show.