Life on the Leash

by Victoria Schade

  “Absolutely not. Pass.” Cora was doing her best to continue filtering Aaron from her life, but his comments had turned him into the handsome villain everyone loved to hate. Vanessa was probably dying for Cora to spill insider gossip about Aaron, since she lived for reality television.

  “I’ll let Winnie give you our updates. She’s a better storyteller anyway,” Vanessa answered with a shrug. She and Winnie trained in tandem until her apprenticeship was complete.

  Cora considered asking them if they’d ever had a crush on a client, but kept her mouth shut. She didn’t want to give voice to what was rattling around in the dark parts of her brain.

  “So did any of you see the Animal Asshole last night?” Winnie asked, slamming her empty mug on the table. The group always tried to make each other laugh with alternate names for Boris Ershovich.

  “It was awful,” Vanessa replied.

  “I didn’t watch,” Cora said. “What happened?”

  Winnie pretended to gag. “Oh, the usual choking, kicking, hanging, and yelling, all gussied up to look like dog training. It was a young dog—a really young dog. I had to turn it off.”

  Cora shook her head. “It makes me want to throw up. Why can’t people see that he’s abusing those dogs?”

  “If it’s on TV, it has someone’s blessing, right? If it’s on TV, it has to be okay. We should make them do one of those disclaimers at the beginning of the show; ‘using these techniques may cause your dog to freak the fuck out, bite people, cause property damage, develop redirected aggression, blah, blah, blah,’ ” Vanessa said.

  “But what can we do to stop him? Aside from Cora’s wonderful blog that she won’t let anyone read and protest letters to the network, we’re powerless to do anything,” Winnie said.

  Maybe this was her moment to tell her friends about the possibility of auditioning for her own show. But she didn’t want pressure from them clouding her decision-making process. She stared at her mug.

  “Spill it, Cora. You know something you’re not saying. What is it?” Winnie’s observational skills never turned off, even after a few drinks.

  Cora took a swig of beer to buy a few seconds before she answered. “There’s a casting call for a new dog training show. I’m thinking about auditioning.”

  “What?!” Vanessa shouted.

  “Thank you, Jesus, we have a voice!” Winnie exclaimed, raising her hands to the ceiling.

  “Whoa, there! I said I was thinking about it.”

  Winnie studied Cora’s face. “Do you want to do it?”

  Vanessa and Winnie stared at Cora. The scrutiny was intense.

  “I don’t know. Maybe. I mean, my rational brain is a hundred percent against it. You know I hate being the center of attention. But my heart . . . there’s something telling me to go for it.”

  “If I were done apprenticing I’d do it in a heartbeat,” Vanessa said. “This face?” she pointed to herself. “Ratings, baby!”

  Winnie shook her head. “That ship has sailed for me. And even if I weren’t a hundred years old I don’t think I could put myself out there like that. People can be brutal. But you should definitely do it.”

  Cora thought of Aaron. His TV trajectory was a cautionary tale, and one that made Cora feel less confident about pursuing the show. She would never say anything as spectacularly awful as Aaron had, but Cora knew that standing up to Ershovich would make her chum for his brainwashed supporters. She feared the backlash that would inevitably come. There were hundreds of opinions about Aaron on Twitter, less than a day later, the slur (#freespeech), what he meant by it (#homophobe), what he looked like (#smokin), if he was in fact gay (#closetcase), how stupid he seemed (#bagofhammers), and how people felt about the show (#fireaaron). Cora almost felt sorry for him.

  Winnie placed her hand on top of Cora’s and brought her back into the moment. “Clarity will come to you. Don’t force it.”

  “You would be amazing, Cora. You’ve got to at least try out. For the dogs. And for me, so I can come visit you on the set,” Vanessa said.

  The three of them sat in silence, contemplating what it would mean if she decided to pursue the opportunity.

  “Whatever you decide, we’re here for you,” Vanessa said. Then she threw her hand up to catch the bartender’s attention. “Another round for the Hounds, please!”

  NINE

  * * *

  Charlie Gill Day.

  Cora tried to pretend like it was any other lesson, but she took a few extra minutes getting ready, pressing her apple-green logo shirt that complemented her eyes, wearing her most flattering jeans, and taming her waves before braiding her hair.

  “Are you wearing mascara?” Maggie asked accusingly as Cora got ready.

  “I don’t know . . . ,” Cora answered, using a jokey teenager voice thick with vocal fry, hoping to deflect the question. She hadn’t told Maggie about Charlie Gill. Cora loved nearly everything about Maggie, but she didn’t appreciate her cavalier attitude about poaching men. Maggie had had an affair with a married professor while she was in college, and she had occasional dalliances with guys in relationships. Cora was sure Maggie would push her to cross the professional boundaries she worked so hard to maintain. Plus, there was no reason to mention him. He was just a handsome client, nothing more. A very handsome, charismatic, kind, funny client that kept popping into Cora’s head uninvited.

  Fritz rolled onto his back to expose his freckled pink stomach as Cora dashed by, his catfish mouth grinning and his tail thumping a Morse code invitation on the hardwood floor. Fritz knew that no matter how pressed for time she was, Cora always responded to his entreaties for belly rubs. She bent over and gave the naked part of his stomach a few quick scratches.

  Cora sped out the door in the haze, ignoring Maggie’s demands for clarification. She checked her face in the rearview mirror as she navigated the end of the morning rush hour, not surprised to find a preemptive red blotch forming on the side of her neck. Be cool, be cool, this is no big deal, she told herself. It’s all about Oliver. We’ve got lots to accomplish with that little dog! Cora wanted to make sure that Oliver’s behavior was extra polished so that Madison would be impressed when she returned home.

  Charlie and Oliver were outside on the front step when she arrived. Charlie was in a dark suit and jaunty orange-striped tie, leaning back against the stairs with his eyes closed and his face turned up to the sun, his hands clasped behind his head. Oliver sat next to him and chewed on his leash contentedly, using his fat puppy paws to clasp it with surprising dexterity. They were even cuter than Cora remembered.

  “Hey, guys!” Cora called out. “Are you ready to work, or are you taking a nap?”

  “Oliver, look who’s here—it’s your teacher!” Charlie straightened himself and grinned at Cora. “We are so ready for this lesson. Like, beyond ready.” Oliver strained at the end of the leash, trying to reach Cora, making high-pitched whining noises. “Wow, someone has a major crush on you!”

  Which someone are you talking about? she wondered. “Eager students are my favorite,” she replied, trying to keep her voice steady while her stomach flip-flopped. “Let’s start with a leash walk.” She didn’t want to go inside with him alone. She needed fresh air and the bleach of sunshine to sanitize the thoughts running through her head every time he looked at her.

  Cora explained the mechanics of loose leash walking while Oliver dashed around them, investigating every inch of the world as only a puppy can. The sidewalks were empty on the quaint street near Charlie’s house, but Oliver still managed to get distracted by every scent molecule that drifted by. When Cora took the leash from Charlie after watching his staccato attempt at walking Oliver, their hands grazed accidentally and sent a jolt up Cora’s arm. She refocused and demonstrated how if she occasionally rewarded the dog with a small treat for walking near her without pulling, he would eventually choose to fall in line beside her, awaiting more goodies instead of pulling like a sled dog. The beginning stages of the lesson were easy but
dramatic enough to make Cora look like a magician.

  “This makes so much sense!” Charlie said. “Madison made me watch that awful Boris dog training show, and it was insane, like a church revival but with dog training. She still doesn’t get it that we’re not training the O-man like that. The dogs on the show looked miserable, he looked angry, and the whole thing was depressing to me. If you watch the dogs it’s obvious they’re hating every minute.”

  Boris Ershovich’s TV show was shot in front of a live audience in various venues throughout the country, and there was indeed a religious fervor about them. He packed his audiences with acolytes that cheered and applauded madly any time he gestured to himself or the dog he was training. Many of the audience members brought homemade signs with sayings like BORIS IS FOR US on them. They waited in lines after the show for autographs and photos. Ershovich was every inch the celebrity dog trainer, and he seemed to care more about his fame than about the dogs he was supposedly helping.

  “I love that you picked up on those points,” Cora exclaimed, regretting the word love the second it came out of her mouth. “Ershovich’s approach is outdated and really cruel. I always tell people to listen to their gut when it comes to training—if it doesn’t feel right to choke your dog, don’t do it!” The way I train always feels right, Cora thought. I want people to know that.

  “How you train feels right to me.” Charlie paused. “Did you hear he’s coming to DC?”

  Cora stopped in her tracks and turned to face Charlie. “Are you serious?” The show had crisscrossed the country over the years, never coming close enough for Cora to feel territorial. Now Boris Ershovich was bringing his black art to her backyard.

  “Yeah, I saw it on my Facebook feed. He’s live streaming the first fifteen minutes of it. Madison wants me to go to the show. I can’t believe that she still likes him after everything you taught us last time! No way I’m going—I got my own dog trainer.” He smiled and put his hand on Cora’s shoulder, and she felt her neck blush bloom. “Plus I’d never hear the end of it at work.”

  Cora jumped on the opportunity to ask him about his career. Totally within bounds, since Charlie had brought it up first. “What do you mean?”

  “I guess it’s time I tell you what I do. I usually keep it quiet because the second it comes up the conversation gets ugly. I tell people I meet at parties that I’m an accountant.”

  “Now I’m scared to ask. Are you a hit man or something?”

  He laughed. “No, you of all people will appreciate it. It’s an intense job, and I love it, but I need to be able to turn it off sometimes. I’m general counsel for the Animal Legal Protection Foundation. We’re a group that—”

  “The nonprofit?” Cora interrupted him. “You’re basically animal welfare superheroes! I read all about that horse-drawn carriage case in New York . . . you saved those horses.”

  “So you’re familiar with my work.”

  “I donate to the ALPF every year. I’m in awe of you,” Cora said, not holding back now. It was totally acceptable to crush on his job. “Can I get your autograph? You’re seriously like a rock star to me.”

  Charlie chuckled and reached down to pet Oliver, who was lying on his side, chewing on a stick. “Hardly. But yes, it’s a phenomenal organization, and I’m really proud to work there.”

  The three of them walked on, and Cora considered this new piece of the Charlie Gill puzzle. Was he trying to be irresistible?

  “So are you allowed to tell me what you’re working on?”

  Charlie furrowed his brow. “This one is really tough. We’re dealing with a roadside attraction bear that lives outside a restaurant in a cage. He eats whatever people throw to him—lots of candy and french fries and crap like that—and he hasn’t been out of the cage in years. He looks half dead. The owner refuses to relinquish him, so we’re going over his head and suing the state department of wildlife for issuing the guy a permit to exhibit the bear. It’s a mess.”

  “Do you think you’re going to get the bear out?”

  “No question. I never lose.”

  “That confidence has to count for something,” Cora replied.

  “I’m serious. I pretty much always get my way.” He looked at her out of the corner of his eye and smiled.

  The comment felt loaded. Cora sidestepped. “Well, the animals are lucky to have you in their corner.”

  She realized that the lesson had taken an abrupt turn from business to pleasure, so she refocused on Charlie’s leash technique. “You guys are getting it! Really nice work.”

  “Thanks, but I’m not the one you have to worry about,” he replied, looking grim again. “I hate that Madison is missing training. We Skype every night, and she seems a little weird about all of this.” He gestured broadly.

  “Oh, she’s concerned that he’s not going to respond to her when she gets back?”

  “That, and . . . well, I think she’s a little . . . jealous . . . of you. She said you were cuter than she thought you’d be.”

  Cora tried to laugh it off, but it came out as an awkward high-pitched choke. “What? Oh my God! No. That’s so crazy! Seriously? Oh my God, she’s gorgeous! I’m just . . . just a dumb dog trainer.”

  “Please, Cora. You’re a miracle worker—look at my dog!” Oliver was walking perfectly in step beside them. “And forgive me for saying this, but you’re the total package. Seriously.”

  His compliment hung in the air between them. Cora opened her mouth to respond, wanting to thank him but not sure what words were going to come out. She hoped that he’d go on and explain which specific parts of the package he liked best. But she forced herself to focus on Oliver instead.

  “Now this dog here is the total package! Look how great he’s doing!”

  Charlie noticed her dodge and responded in kind. “Yup, that’s my boy! I’m so proud of you, Ollie-by-golly!”

  By then they had reached Charlie’s front gate. “I feel bad,” Cora said, “we took up the entire session leash walking and we didn’t have a chance to work on any inside stuff. Do you have a few minutes to go over ‘stay’?”

  “Actually I don’t today, but I already know that I want to do more than just your standard five sessions, so no worries. We’ve got tons to do together, Cora.”

  More time with Charlie Gill and his adorable puppy. It didn’t feel like work, but she needed to keep it strictly business, despite what was starting to percolate below the surface of their interactions. She’d handled boundary-pushing clients before, bored middle-aged dads and diplomats’ lazy sons. But none of them, not even the very handsome and very married restaurateur who offered to prepare oysters for her in his Georgetown brasserie after-hours, had ever taken up residence in her thoughts the way Charlie Gill had.

  TEN

  * * *

  Cora’s ancient hand-me-down Volvo shuddered to a stop in front of the new high-rise just outside Old Town. The building looked like it wouldn’t be out of place among the skyscrapers of New York, which made it stick out in quaint Alexandria. She was back in Virginia to meet with Beth Ann Devlin, a new client referred by Fran Channing. The dog in question was a year-old miniature poodle named Chanel that was barking at every noise in the hallway, a problem with no easy solution in a busy building, and on top of that, Cora’s initial phone conversation with Beth Ann had been stilted and awkward, not a good sign.

  She called Beth Ann when she was in the lobby, per her instructions. The call went to voice mail—Cora could barely hear Beth Ann’s message over the pounding dance music in the background—so she typed out a quick text as well. When she didn’t get an immediate reply, she took a seat on one of the fierce-looking wood-and-steel benches arranged in the lobby. It was an upscale, modern building with a disinterested young security guard and few defining features other than the gleaming marble floor and modern art on the walls that looked like neon honeycomb. The formality of the building made Cora feel like she was getting ready for a job interview, and her stomach flip-flopped ref
lexively. She would’ve rather been in Wade’s cozy kitchen, or even Fran’s posh living room, than in the unwelcoming skyscraper.

  She was pondering Charlie’s compliment for the millionth time when she heard someone call her name. “Cora, is that you?” She looked up and saw the Human Blur from Fran’s office standing in front of her.

  “Oh, hey! You’re . . . Evan, right?”

  “Close—Eli Crawford. Nice to see you again! I was hoping I’d run in to you today.”

  Cora was confused. “Wait, how did you know I’d be here?”

  “I see Fran didn’t tell you. Beth Ann is my neighbor down the hall, and I’m the reason you’re here today. Chanel’s barking is driving everyone on our floor insane, so I told Beth Ann to get in touch with you. I’ve never even met the dog, but she’s made quite the impression on me.” Cora remembered Beth Ann’s rushed introduction on the phone, and that she had mentioned the hotel association but had mumbled something unintelligible after it. Cora had just assumed that Fran was the one who had referred her.

  “Well, thank you for thinking of me! That’s so nice of you.” Cora looked down at her phone. “We were supposed to meet fifteen minutes ago, and I called and texted her but I haven’t heard back. I might be getting ‘porched.’ ”

  Eli looked at Cora questioningly. “Porched?”

  “Yeah, that’s when you make an appointment with someone and they don’t show up—you end up sitting on their porch. Or in this case I guess I’m being ‘lobbied.’ ”

  “It’s funny how every industry has its own buzzwords. I love that insider stuff. What are some other secrets?” He sat down on the narrow bench next to her.

  “Umm . . . you put me on the spot, so of course I can’t think of anything good right now!” said Cora, startled he actually wanted to keep her company while she waited. “How about the hotel world? What are some of your industry secrets?” There, back on solid footing, shifting the conversation away from herself.