by Fox, Sylvie
Well, that was one hour down, she thought. She sat down in her hippie era white leather office chair and powered up her MacBook. Scrolling and clicking through headlines on several news websites could not hold her concentration either. Against her better judgment, she found herself Googling the City of Los Angeles Animal Services. When the site came up, she clicked on the East Valley shelter and looked at the dogs that were coming up for adoption. On the third page, there was a picture of Sasha, looking wide-eyed and silly, along with her particulars and the day she would be up for adoption—which, Sophie realized glancing at the calendar on her desk, was tomorrow. The city made found dogs available after only four days. She hoped it had been enough time to find Sasha’s true owner.
Sophie found herself in her backyard kicking at the ground stakes, assessing the strength of her fence. She was seriously considering adopting the dog. She didn’t know if taking another living being into her home was selfish or impulsive, but she picked up the cordless phone and placed a call to her older sister Selena to hash out her thoughts. Selie was not as great a sounding board as her best friend Holly Prentice, but she knew Sophie’s history with animals better than anyone.
“Hey, sis,” Sophie said. Her sister Selie was the older, beautiful, and now happily married one in the family. Their parents loved to gloat about her. She’d done all the right things—finished college at Berkeley, gotten an MBA at UCLA’s Anderson school, gone into marketing at Warner Bros. studio, and had a perfectly timed baby. She had achieved the nearly impossible; she had it all. Now she was the vice president of marketing, the perfect mom, and the perfect wife. She lived in a beautiful house just around the corner from their parents. Sophie was sure she heard the clink of her sister’s ever-present pearls against the plastic of the receiver. In her mind’s eye, Selie was perfectly outfitted in Lilly Pulitzer.
“I’m so glad you called,” Selie said.
That was a new one, Sophie thought. She and Selena only talked sporadically even though they lived less than twenty miles apart. “What’s up?”
“Well, I’ll get to that later,” she said, evasively. “What’s up with you?”
“I’m thinking about getting a dog.”
“Mmmm,” Selie said, non-committal.
Sophie told her sister the whole story about finding the dog on the freeway, carefully excising Ryan from the tale.
Selie, always the voice of reason, weighed in without hesitation. “Do you think you can handle a dog with your schedule? What will he do when you’re on set for those twelve-hour days?”
“I figure I can hire a dog walker or sitter or ask a neighbor or something. There are a lot of days when I’m off, especially during the spring hiatus or in the winter when productions are slowing down.”
“I don’t know, Sophie. You should think hard on that one,” Selie said, her tone going from friendly to preachy. “Being a new mother now, I’m realizing how much responsibility another life is.” Sophie was glad videophones had never taken off and her sister couldn’t see the eye rolling or the gagging motions she was making with her hands and mouth. She would always be the little sister and look up to Selie, but she found her to be a little too self-righteous and patronizing at times. Unfortunately, this was one of those times. She would have to work out her uncertain feelings about Ryan on her own. Her sister would probably push them down the aisle once she found out a ‘suit’ was interested in her.
Rather than start those same sibling arguments all over again, Sophie decided to let her behavior pass. See, she had maturity. “Thanks,” she said a little too unconvincingly. “I’ll take your advice into consideration, sis. What’s the other thing you wanted to talk about?”
Selie paused for a long time. “Well…Daddy is scheduled to receive a lifetime achievement award from the bar association and I think we should have a reception with all of his friends and colleagues at the house.”
“We?” Sophie laughed, unable to hide her incredulity. Her parents never missed a chance to express their disappointment at her life and career choices. “I don’t think they envision me being co-host of a party for another of Daddy’s endless honors. Besides, my Norma Kamali is at the cleaners.”
Selie sighed, the old hurts resurfacing. “It was just a thought, Sophie. I think you and the ’rents need to bury whatever hatchet you guys have between you—or however that metaphor goes.”
“I know,” Sophie said, closing her eyes and trying to draw on some reserve of inner calm. “You’re right. We’re all getting a little too old for this. I’m never going to finish college, and they’re never going to have the perfect younger daughter they wanted. The sooner we all settle on that, the better.” She paused to clear her thoughts. “Let me think about it. Maybe I can play the perfect daughter for one night. So,” she said, abruptly changing the subject back to her original reason for calling. “Do you think I should get Sasha?”
“Who?” her sister asked. Sophie sighed. Why was it so hard for anyone in her family to focus on her problems for more than a minute? It was all too easy for them to dismiss anything that concerned her as frivolous.
“The dog, Selie. That’s our nickname for her.”
“Our? Yours and whose?” Selie said, fully attentive now that her curiosity was piqued. Sophie wanted to kick herself in the ass for that unintentional slip.
“No one, really. There was just a guy who helped me out when I caught her on the freeway,” Sophie said doing her best to minimize Ryan’s role and avoid any awkward questions.
“Is this guy single?” Selie asked, very much back into the conversation.
“Yes, I think he’s single, but he’s a suit. And you know I don’t do suits.”
“Mmmm.” Selie packed a lot into her mmmms. “That’s too bad. A nice normal boyfriend could do you some good. Anyway, I can’t make that doggy decision for you,” her sister said, displaying the wisdom of age, or at least the wisdom of being a few years older than Sophie. “But I do know that you can put ‘first rights’ on the dog, so you can be the first to adopt her if you decide to.”
“What are first rights?”
Selie explained the procedure that guaranteed the dog would go to the person who brought her in. Almost decided, Sophie ended that call and placed another call to the animal shelter. With a little trepidation, she forked over her credit card information and paid ten dollars for the right to be able to adopt Sasha when she became available first thing Monday morning.
Ryan had completed his pro and con lists, neatly printed on a thick yellow legal pad, Saturday night. The reasons for bringing Sasha home outnumbered the reasons against. He was getting the dog, and that was that. He had called the shelter and knew Sasha would be available for adoption first thing Monday morning. Ryan would be there bright and early to make sure he was first.
“I’m getting a dog,” Ryan announced to his mother and brother at Sunday brunch.
He was the last to arrive to the busy upscale eatery on Ventura Boulevard, Sherman Oaks’s restaurant row. His brother had a large mug of steaming coffee, likely his second, and his mother, tap water, per usual. He ordered decaffeinated tea.
“That’s cool,” Cameron said, clapping him on the shoulder. His mother didn’t look as thrilled. “I think you need a wife, not a dog. Someone to take care of you, not something to take care of.”
“Mom, it’s not like I’m not trying,” Ryan said, casting a sidelong glance at his brother. Cameron shrugged almost imperceptibly, looking happy not to be the brother under scrutiny for once. Cameron was two years older than Ryan and already had one divorce under his belt. His mother had given his brother a reprieve for a little while. Instead she nagged Ryan every chance she got about finding a suitable mate.
The waitress came. He and Cameron ordered eggs—his with turkey bacon and micro greens, his brother’s with sausage, bacon, potatoes, and toast. His mother ordered whole-wheat toast, dry. When their waitress took their orders to the kitchen, he shook his head.
“Mom, a
ren’t you hungry? You could have had eggs or pancakes or French toast.”
“Ryan, the toast is just fine with me. The food here is too rich for my blood.”
“Cam and I always pay when we all go out. You know that.”
“It doesn’t make me any more comfortable wasting money like this. I could make the two of you eggs for less than a couple of dollars. I’d even throw in the coffee for free,” she said. She patted him on the arm. “At least you can afford it,” she said, barely concealing a smile. Ryan knew his mother was proud of his and his brother’s accomplishments—Cameron had joined the LAPD after high school and had recently made lieutenant two in the vice unit.
But their mother was loathe to give up the frugal way she’d learned to live as a single mother to two boys who could have eaten her out of house and home without her careful budgeting and planning. The unexpected loss of their father’s pension and death benefits had made her even more frugal.
Ryan had a huge soft spot for his mom and wanted to please her. She’d sacrificed so much for them, he thought it was their duty to give her what she wanted. That was the only reason he could think of later—when he was kicking himself—for what he said next. “I met someone.”
His mother stopped fiddling with the straw in her ice water, her faded blue eyes, sharp with intelligence, focused keenly on him.
“Where did you meet her?”
He told them the tale of rescuing the dog on the freeway and explained that was the dog he was adopting first thing the next morning. And then he mentioned Sunflower, how she bravely rescued the dog with no thought about her personal safety, how she skipped work to take the dog to the veterinarian. Her confession of her childhood pain and the kiss they shared, he kept to himself. It was something he liked to savor in the darkness of the night, in his bed, alone.
Cameron looked up from his eggs for a moment. “What does she do?”
“She’s a makeup artist for television,” he said.
“Cool,” his suddenly monosyllabic brother responded.
His mom, distracted from her normal grumbling, ate her toast and even helped herself to butter and some of his eggs without comment on the cost. “So what’s her name? What does she look like? When are you going to bring her by?”
Cameron smirked. “It’s never too soon to give her that grandchild she’s always talking about. Marisol and I certainly failed her there.”
Ryan ducked his head, embarrassed. “Um, well, about that… ”
“Answer your brother’s question. I don’t want to die with no grandkids.”
“I kind of don’t know her name… ”
His brother put down his fork and peppered questions like the cop he was. “Her address?” Ryan shook his head. “Her number?” Ryan shook again. “So what exactly do you have?”
He shrugged. “Her license plate.”
His mother got up from the table. “Humph. You got me all excited over nothing. I’m going to the ladies’ room,” she said, stomping off.
After he stopped guffawing, Cameron let loose. “No name, no number. What’s the story, man?”
“She said something about me not being her type.”
“Mm, and you can’t take no for an answer.”
“She didn’t kiss me like I wasn’t her type.” So much for keeping that a secret. Ryan cleared his throat and lowered his voice. “Do you think you can help me out here?”
Cameron shook his head. “Sorry, dude, I use my special police powers for good, not evil.” He waved his fingers in the air like a phony psychic. “You’re on your own here. Wish you luck, though,” he added, another chuckle escaping.
“Gee thanks,” Ryan said facetiously. “I’ll find her. Don’t worry.” There was more conviction in that statement than he felt.
After he dropped his mother off at home, he drove around town laying in supplies and preparing his house for its newest occupant. At a Studio City pet superstore he picked up a crate, a leash, and a collar. He went to a natural food store in Beverly Hills and bought organic kibble and several varieties of canned dog food that claimed to be just like homemade. Who made the homemade dog food that it was trying to emulate, he wondered.
He stopped by Goodwill and purchased a blanket to protect the leather seats of his Acura. Next, he talked to his neighbors and perused the Internet, searching for available dog walkers in his area. He had interviewed three and hired one. He was, by two o’clock on Sunday afternoon, exhausted, but ready for Sasha.
It was damned hot on Monday morning, and Ryan was sure he was seeing things as waves of heat shimmered from the pavement. The yellow Beetle convertible with the personalized license plate appeared like an apparition before him. Was Sunflower here to adopt Sasha too? He raced into the shelter, and the bright purple hair in the small crowd called to him like a beacon. It wasn’t yellow, but the nearly neon color had to be her. He pushed his way to the front of the line and froze, unusually indecisive. What was he going to say to her? She solved his dilemma when she turned around unexpectedly to look for something in the small messenger bag looped around her body and resting on her very scrumptious-looking derriere.
“Oh, Ryan, hey there,” she said, looking taken aback, her raspy voice sounding a little breathless. “What are you doing here? Are you getting a dog too?”
“I came to get Sasha. I couldn’t leave her here after all your talk of doggie jail. And over the weekend I worked out how I could fit a dog into my life.”
“Ma’am,” the woman behind the counter called out. “Your dog is ready to pick up.” Sunflower turned back to the counter and took the nylon leash he offered, and followed the woman back to the outdoor caged area. A few minutes later, she emerged with Sasha in her arms.
The woman took the paperwork off the counter, dropped it into a disorganized mesh basket, and looked Ryan in the eye. “How can I help you, sir?”
Flustered and holding an empty collar and leash in hand, he said, “I was here, actually, to adopt that same dog.”
The woman nodded. “I think I remember you two from the other day. Found the dog on the freeway, right?” When he nodded, she continued. “Well, she got first rights on that dog, so she’s eligible to adopt her first. If you’re interested, though, we have a whole passel of other dogs that are currently available for adoption and in need of a home.” Maybe, Ryan thought, but quickly shook his head. He needed to stay with Sunflower and figure out how he could arrange to see her, and that dog, again.
Ryan sprinted across the lobby and caught up with Sophie. “Do I at least get visitation rights?”
He looked so eager, she couldn’t suppress a laugh. “I don’t think Sasha would appreciate the back and forth between two different households. We’d have to work out a schedule, who got weekends, who got holidays…it would be hard on her. She’d need psychological counseling within the year.”
“Do you want to have breakfast or something?” Ryan asked. “Maybe we can talk about this.”
Sophie looked down at Sasha, who calmly lay on the floor, panting and looking between them as if she didn’t have a care in the world. “Ryan, please don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t think this…is a good idea. It was nice meeting you, but it was just one of those things. We should t leave it at that. Plus, I’m not hungry.”
Sophie was proud of herself for fighting her attraction to him and tying it all up neatly when her stomach betrayed her and growled loudly. Damn.
Ryan raised an eyebrow.
“Okay,” Sophie agreed. “Maybe a little breakfast.”
They agreed to drive separately to a Belgian café that Ryan recommended. The dog was far calmer than the last time she was in the car, and hung her head out the window as Sophie drove. When she passed Moorpark, the urge to turn and go home was strong. She could stand him up and never have to deal with the feelings he aroused. She didn’t know what kept her driving south, but she made the left on Ventura and headed for the breakfast place. It wasn’t like breakfast was a precursor of sex o
r marriage. They would have a friendly meal, and no matter how attractive he was and how much she wanted to kiss him again, she would go on her merry way.
The hostess seated them outside, shaded from the bright September sun by a large umbrella. Sasha curled up around the umbrella’s stand and lapped up the water the waitress brought her. As Sunflower stared at the menu, Ryan looked at her. There was something about this woman that pulled him to her, even though he couldn’t put his finger on just what that was.
His normal “type” was a quiet, modest woman who dressed conservatively and spoke softly. He met them at Junior League fundraisers and alumni events. Sunflower, with her nontraditional job, wild hair, and multiple piercings would scare those women into hiding. He wanted to get married, have kids, do all those traditional things. He needed a wife who would stay at home, raise their children. Act as a perfect hostess and companion as he moved up the career ladder. Despite his active pursuit of this mythical partner, he hadn’t met that right woman yet.
Intellectually, he knew Sunflower wasn’t that person. But he’d willingly take a breather from his pursuit to see where his attraction to her led, and work her out of his system so he could move on with his end game. He’d planned it all out years ago on a series of yellow legal pads, and while he may be momentarily distracted, he wouldn’t be deterred from his goals.
The waitress introduced herself and scribbled their order on a small pad. When she’d gone, Sunflower leaned down to check on the dog. Damn, the view was good. It was days like this he loved California. Sunflower was definitely dressed for the hot, late summer weather. She was wearing one of those skimpy exercise outfits that were far too expensive to actually sweat in. The purple top she wore did little to cover her small, pert breasts, not that he was looking. Okay, maybe he had glanced once or twice. But she wasn’t wearing any sort of bra under the scanty tank and all sorts of ideas played in his head.
The top was a strappy thing that left most of her back exposed and he admired her pale skin through the intricate weave. She looked very soft and touchable. It was the first time he realized she had a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. She must have covered them with makeup that other day, though she didn’t need a lick of makeup to look good. She also had the sexiest tattoo on her back near her left shoulder. He wondered what the Chinese characters symbolized. He tried not to imagine himself gently kissing those freckles or stroking that tattoo.