by Claire Cook
“Nice bitch,” said the man.
“Excuse me?”
“Your dog. She’s a bitch, right? Show-quality, looks like.”
“Oh, I thought you meant your dog.” Now there’s a bitch, I was thinking.
He didn’t get it. “Yup, Clementine’s a bitch, too. Best of breed, twice. The Eukanuba Classic, two years ago and Newport, last summer. How ’bout yours?”
I was starting to get a headache. “Is there any way you can make her stop?”
“Sure.” He turned to the dog and said sternly, “Clementine, sit.” Clementine kept barking. He took a step forward. She barked louder. He reached out a hand. She bit it. “Jesus! What is your fucking problem?” Shaking his hand, he turned to me and managed a smile. “Sorry. That hurt. A lot.”
“Did it break the skin?” I asked.
He examined his hand. “No, I don’t think so. Listen, can you watch her for a minute while I get her travel crate? That should work.”
I didn’t say a word, and since I hadn’t committed to anything, I figured Mother Teresa and I could just take off if things got rough with Clementine. She had stopped barking, but her stance was defiant. If her owner had any brains at all, he would have hopped in the car and taken off. Instead, he raced back with the crate. Fortunately, Clementine jumped in, seduced by a doggie treat, and he whisked her off to the car.
“John Anderson,” he said, extending his hand, when he came back. I looked for signs of blood before I shook it. Through the cracked window of the car, we could hear the faint sounds of Clementine barking.
“Sarah Hurlihy.” I wondered if I should have used an alias. I wondered if he was using one.
“So.” He sat on the green bench and patted the space beside him. Mother Teresa jumped up. I sat down on the other side of her.
“So. Who told you you look like Harrison Ford?”
“The same person who told you you were voluptuous.”
We looked at each other. What a jerk, I thought. It wasn’t as if I actually thought of myself as voluptuous, but what gave this guy the right to an opinion? “Well, gee, thanks,” I said finally, wondering if it was too soon to get up and leave.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. Usually voluptuous goes the other way — toward the fat end of the spectrum. ‘Rubenesque’ is even worse, a tip-off for morbidly obese. ‘Weight proportional to height’ is another one to look out for. Anyway, next time you should probably just say ‘attractive’ or ‘great body.’ Just don’t say ‘athletic.’ That means flat-chested.”
“So if you didn’t like my ad, why did you answer it?”
“I didn’t mean I didn’t like it. Let’s see. I’d have to say it was the ‘seeks special man to share starlit nights’ that got me. Slightly overused but a nice image all the same. And I thought ‘alluring’ was an excellent word choice.”
“Why, thanks a bunch. You certainly sound like an expert.” I was feeling a little bit like I was playing a game of tennis but couldn’t tell if I was winning or losing. In fact, I was pretty sure I wanted to lose. “Well, John, the truth is that I didn’t even write the ad. My sister wrote it for me. And I thought the starlit nights line was awful. I’ll tell her you liked it, though.”
He nodded. “So what got you in my message? Harrison Ford?”
“Yeah, sorry. What made you write that?” I mean, you could break someone’s heart with that kind of promise. All those expectations with nowhere to go.
“I guess I thought it captured my adventurous spirit.”
Now there was a stretch, I thought. I supposed I should feel a little bit sorry for him. I wondered if it was too late to let him down carefully. “Oh. Well, I also liked the fact that you love dogs. Although the joke about fetching was pretty bad.”
“Yeah, I know. Sorry. But I do love dogs. Yours is a beauty.”
“She isn’t even my dog. I borrowed her from my brother.” I was scratching behind Mother Teresa’s left ear, and John was working on her chest. It was kind of nice, like talking through a wall of dog. I searched for something else to say. “So, how long have you had Clementine?”
“She’s not mine. Thank God. I borrowed her from an old lady in my building. Her full name is Darling Clementine.”
“I don’t think she was quite the look you were trying to achieve.” It was getting dark already. Horizontal stripes of pink and blue sky plummeted along with my mood. They were followed by a thicker band of dismal gray.
“Yeah, I know. I was supposed to get a greyhound from someone else, but it fell through.”
“A greyhound would have been better. Too bad.”
“I read an article about show dogs, too, to impress you. That’s where I got the bitch line. I also had one about show points I didn’t get to use.”
“You can say it now if you want to.” I mean, it wasn’t as if I had anything else to do, since the real Harrison probably had plans already.
“No, that’s okay. I’ll save it for another time.”
“You mean, save it for someone else?” He sounded so ready to move on that all of a sudden I wasn’t sure I wanted him to.
He laughed, which made the corners of his eyes crinkle. “From the moment we caught sight of each other, your disappointment was all over your face.”
“Sorry,” I said. “It’s nothing personal. I think I was just expecting Harrison.” I pulled back behind Mother Teresa so he wouldn’t see me blush.
“Do you wear all of your emotions like that?”
I reached up to touch my cheek, felt silly and pulled my hand away. “I don’t know. I’m not sure I even feel all of my emotions anymore, let alone wear them.”
“That sounds serious. Maybe this is where we exchange tales of woe.”
“You go first.” I heard the muffled sounds of Clementine barking again. “Is she all right?”
“Damn. She doesn’t even have any water in there. I’d better get her home while she’s still breathing. Listen, Sarah, maybe I could call you or something. You know, maybe we could try it again without the dogs.”
I looked at him. Behind his wire-rimmed glasses, his eyes were interesting, kind of a toffee color, like the inside of a Heath bar or the coat of a lion. “Okay,” I half- surprised myself by saying.
Why not? I thought as he ran toward Clementine, whose barking had grown disconcertingly faint. Maybe if we didn’t fall in love we’d at least get to be friends. What was wrong with connecting with another human being, adding to my circle of friends, enlarging my too-small world?
I watched as John Anderson opened the car door and leaned inside. I knew it was a superficial observation, but I couldn’t help but notice that, from this angle at least, he was kind of fetching himself.
*
I dropped off Mother Teresa without a hitch. Phoebe invited me to stay for dinner. Annie and Lainie set the table while Michael sliced a pork tenderloin at the kitchen counter. I would have felt better helping them, but Phoebe insisted that I chat with her in the living room.
“Siobhan is teaching Irish step at Bayberry? That’s great. Can you squeeze the girls in? I’d love them to get some extra practice.” Phoebe held up a finger, then turned to yell into the next room, “Michael, can you drive the girls to Bayberry after school on Thursdays?”
Michael poked his head in from the dining room. He looked tired. “Phoebe,” he began. “I can’t keep leaving work early. Soccer days are tough enough.” I knew it wasn’t my business, but I never quite understood why Phoebe never left her job early.
“Please, honey bunny,” Phoebe said in a helpless, little-girl voice that made me feel embarrassed to be in the same room with them.
“I can swing by and get them after I pick up Siobhan,” I offered, if only so she’d stop talking like that. “I’ll drop them off afterward, too. No big deal.”
“Thanks, Sarah,” Michael said. He turned around without looking at Phoebe.
We all joked and laughed through dinner, though I noticed that Michael and Phoebe direct
ed their comments to Annie or Lanie or me, but not to each other. It made me think of Kevin, the many dining room tables we’d sat at together with family and friends, pretending everything was fine. I couldn’t wait to leave.
Michael followed me out to the car after dinner. “Thanks again, Sarah, for taking Mother Teresa. And for offering to drive the girls to step dance.”
“Are you all right, Michael?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little overextended. We’ll talk soon, okay?”
*
There was a message from John Anderson on my machine when I got home. Hi, Sarah. It’s me, John. Anderson. Just wanted to say I had a good time and that Clementine was still alive when I returned her to her owner. And you are really kind of voluptuous, in a minimalist sort of way. Anyway, while I was driving home I had some ideas for our second date, or our first dogless date, depending how you want to look at it. What would work for you? We could walk along the banks of the Charles River and maybe have a picnic? A good champagne, nice sandwiches? Would you want to go to Cambridge for the Gospel Brunch at the House of Blues? Take a ferry to one of the Boston Harbor Islands? Have you ever done that? Oh, no, I’m doing it again, talking too much. I was just thinking of some fun things to do if you want to give it another try. And, if not, that’s okay, too, and, um, I hope you find what you’re looking for. Well, take care, Sarah. Hope to hear from you.
I started to call John Anderson back, I really did. I had the phone in my hand and everything. Maybe I was still grieving Harrison, maybe I just didn’t have the nerve. But mostly I was thinking about all the things that could go wrong. And all the things that did go wrong all the time for people. Like Michael and Phoebe. Like Kevin and me.
Chapter 10
I was almost going to be early for school when Carol called. “So, how was your date? Tell me everything.”
“Why am I not surprised, Carol? How’d you know?”
“Phoebe. I called and she said you had just left and that you’d borrowed Mother Teresa. The rest was obvious.”
I was beyond questioning Carol’s radar. After years of lapsed Catholicism, it was the one miracle I still believed in. “I don’t want to talk about it, okay, Carol? And I have to go now or I’ll be late for work.”
“What do you mean, you don’t want to talk about it? Didn’t he like you?”
“Thanks a lot. If you must know, the guy might not have been what I was looking for. He wasn’t anything like his ad.”
“So what. I’m sure no one is ever anything like their ads or they’d already be taken. Did you give him a chance?”
“Yeah, I guess. No big fireworks or anything.”
“What’s that got to do with anything? Lots of good relationships start off gradually. Why I knew Dennis for months before I felt anything.”
Enough said, I wanted to say. “Listen, Carol, I have to go. I’m going to be late. Oh, and I’ll pick up Siobhan tomorrow at three-thirty.”
“Thanks. Hope you know what you’re getting yourself into.”
“She’ll be fine, and she’s such a good dancer. I mean, what could she do?”
“Would you like a list? Never mind, let’s not anticipate. I’ll talk to you later. Oh, I almost forgot. Dad wants you to hurry up and buy Dolly a new feather boa. He says she’s getting impatient. And that maybe you can drop it off at the trailer. Today would be good, he said.”
*
Even though my back was turned, I could actually feel Bob Connor come to the door of my classroom with Austin. Quickly, I took a few pieces out of the wooden puzzle on the shelf in front of me, just so I could look busy putting them back in. I was glad I was wearing a fairly decent black sweater and skirt. Just in case he should happen to notice me on his way to looking at June. I kept myself focused on the puzzle, little wooden children planting a little wooden garden.
“Hey,” he said from somewhere about an inch behind me. I jumped and the puzzle jumped with me, pieces scattering all over the floor. Bob laughed and we bent down at the same time to pick them up. I’d never known that squatting on the floor next to someone could feel so intimate. I stood up.
“Don’t worry about those. I’ll get them later,” I said, smoothing my skirt down carefully.
Bob finished picking up the last couple of pieces. His hair was curly and still damp from his morning shower. He straightened up and handed the puzzle to me. He smiled his twisted-tooth smile and when his hands grazed mine, I tried not to notice. “Well, I guess that’ll teach me to come in and say hello to my favorite teacher.”
“Oh,” I said. “June’s over there.”
Bob laughed. He was close enough that I could smell his toothpaste. “I mean my other favorite teacher. Who, by the way, looks very nice this morning.”
“Thank you. Well, I’d better get to work.” I turned and walked to the other side of the classroom. From the corner of my eye, I saw Bob give Austin a hug. He waved casually across the room to June, as if he’d never even noticed her gorgeousness, and was gone.
I called the kids to circle. June and I pushed the tables and shelves back to make more room. Cho-cho- chuckie was always a hit. I’d found it years ago in a book called International Playtime. Basically, it was an African version of duck-duck-goose, so that’s where we started.
“Duck …. duck …. duck ….” I began, tapping each child gently on the head as I moved around the circle with exaggerated slowness. Molly Greene was so excited that she jumped up in anticipation just before I tapped her head. I waited patiently until she sat back down. Molly was one of those children who came to school coifed and wearing an ensemble, then became more like her true self as the day wore on. First she’d yank off the grosgrain bows that tied her elaborately braided hair. June and I would never see the actual dismantling. Instead we’d find one bow next to the fish tank, another on a pillow in the reading corner. As the morning continued, Molly would shed her pearl- buttoned cardigan and kick off her shoes. Her tights would start to stretch out and bag around the knees; then eventually the bagginess would work its way south until several inches of empty fabric flapped around in front of her toes.
“Duck …. duck …. duck ….” I continued around the circle. When I came to June, I said, “Goose!” and tapped her on her silky blond hair. I wondered briefly what kind of conditioner she used. It was quite possible that Bob Connor had no romantic interest at all in June, that he’d only commented on her gorgeousness in a conversational manner, the way you’d point out a child and say, “Isn’t she cute?” It was even remotely possible that Bob Connor had wandered into the classroom this morning to talk to me.
June got up slowly and gracefully, as always, just as we had rehearsed. As June chased me, I ran as slowly and gracefully as I was capable of around the circle. I got to June’s place before she tagged me, and sat down quickly. The children clapped appreciatively.
In theory, when teachers model safe indoor movement, children imitate it. In reality, sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn’t. Today was a good day. Everything went smoothly: June chose Max Meehan who chose Jack Kaplan who chose Molly Greene.
Before Molly could start tapping heads, I put my
hands on her shoulders. “Can you say, ‘Benin’?” I asked the children.
“Buh-NEEN.”
“In the country of Benin in the continent of Africa, there are lots of chickens. And when the children of Benin call out to these chickens, this is what they say: cho-cho-chuckie! Can you say that?”
“Chuck-chuck-chuckie!” Amazingly, every year this happened. The children changed the “cho” to “chuck” to make it rhyme with “duck.” I figured the children of Benin would never know, so I didn’t bother to correct them.
“Chuck …. chuck …. chuck ….” Molly Greene began. She tapped Amanda McAlpine and then June and then Jenny Browning on their heads. When she came to Austin Connor she shrieked, “Chuckie!” and ran all the way around the circle. She stood in Austin’s place on one foot, flapping her arms like a chick
en.
Austin was still moving around the circle, in extreme slow motion. He looked like he belonged in one of the running-on-the-beach scenes in Chariots of Fire. As he touched first the heel and then the toe of his left foot while circling his right arm forward like the wheel of a train, he smiled at June. “Look at me, June. How’m I doing? Don’t you think I’m the slowest?” June smiled back.
“Chuck….” Austin said as he touched my head. “June had dinner with my dad and me last night. We had Chinese food with extra chicken fingers just for me.”
“Chuck ….” Austin said as he touched Jack Kaplan’s head. “June read me a book before bed.” He stopped, his hand still resting on Jack’s head. He took a deep
breath. “She let me pick the book. I wanted the fourth Harry Potter but she said well then only one chapter. Except then she read me two.”
“Austin….” I prompted.
“You can come to my house, June,” said Jenny Browning. “I have a very big house.”
“No, my house.”
“My house!”
June’s palms were turned up on her knees, her index fingers and thumbs touching. She smiled vaguely. I raised my eyebrows, intending to send her a look to let her know that, while Bayberry Preschool didn’t have an official rule prohibiting teachers from dating the not-even-divorced parents of students in their classes, this was why it was generally not a good idea.
*
Victoria’s Secret always makes me feel as if I am an impostor. As if the minute I lift a padded satin hanger off the wall rack to consider its silky lace camisole a little closer, an alarm will go off somewhere. A spotlight will shine in my face and a store full of glamorous women will point to me and say, Hah! As if.
Today wasn’t too bad. There was an older man off in one corner, talking quietly to himself as he looked at the bras. The salespeople seemed to be occupied, too, moving clothing from one of the racks to an identical rack nearby. I’m sure they had a good reason.