I can do this, Cora thought as she wrapped up the three-minute lesson. It’s not that bad! She finished and then knelt down next to Daisy and scratched behind her ears. Daisy remained in a perfect sit, as if posing for a stock photo of a well-trained dog.
“Okay . . . cut!” Wade exclaimed.
Cora looked down at Daisy because she couldn’t bear to look at Wade. “I’m afraid to ask . . . how was I?”
“You’re a natural! You did what you were supposed to do—you talked through the camera like you were talking to me. You didn’t put on an act and you didn’t try to change your personality. Granted, there is a performance element to running a show, but they can teach you that stuff.”
“Really? A natural? I find that sort of hard to believe.” Was Wade just trying to make her feel good?
“I’m being honest—I think you should go for it. I wouldn’t steer you wrong, Cora.”
Cora made a noncommittal noise and stared at Daisy, who was rolling maniacally on the carpet and making huffing sounds, back to her typical goofball personality. Cora shook her head. If a dog could summon the skills to act on camera, than surely she could, too.
Cora’s stomach twisted as she inched closer to a decision.
THIRTEEN
* * *
Cora checked her phone as she walked out of Wade and Rachel’s house, imagining what the real audition might be like. There was a group text from Vanessa to Cora and Winnie that said only “Uh-oh” with a link below the message. Cora clicked it open and saw a video still of a smiling Boris Ershovich.
Do I really want to watch this now? She didn’t need more stress but she pushed play anyway. A middle-aged woman appeared on the screen.
“I’m Cheryl Baum for Washington Post Live here with Boris Ershovich, who is bringing his popular ‘Doggie Dictator’ show to the National Theater next week. Boris, thank you for talking with me today.”
“It is my pleasure,” Ershovich responded in his thick Russian accent with his signature magnetism. Cora couldn’t deny his good looks. In his mid-forties with a boyish face, clear pale skin, wide-set eyes, and a disarming smile, he had closely cropped brown hair with a racing stripe of gray above his left temple that made him look like a cartoon villain.
“Let’s start off with the controversy surrounding your show. You have no shortage of detractors, including trainers and veterinarians, who don’t approve of the way you work. How do you respond to that?”
Ershovich laughed. “Well, I say that they’re jealous! Look, Cheryl, my methods work. I fix broken dogs, simple as that. My success rate speaks for itself.”
“Some of the criticism is fairly intense. There’s a website called ChienParfait.com—have you heard of it?”
Cora went numb and paused the clip. This reporter, Cheryl Baum, was her mysterious blog crawler, and she was outing Cora to Boris Ershovich! Her heart pounded, and she felt light-headed. Was this real life? She took a breath and pushed play again, afraid to hear what came next.
“Oh, Cheryl, I don’t have time to play on the Internet. I’m a fixer, not a surfer.” His tone was flirtatious.
The interviewer smiled. “Well, this website is by a local trainer here in DC—an anonymous trainer—and he or she levels some pretty heavy accusations against you, saying that the way you train is inhumane and that you should be kicked off the air. The title of a recent post about you is in French for some reason and translates to, ‘Burn in Hell, Boris Ershovich.’ I’d say that’s someone with a very serious grudge.”
“I’d say that’s someone who is a bully. That is a . . . a . . . what do you call them? A gnome?”
“Troll,” the interviewer corrected him.
“Yes, a troll! A common schoolyard bully who hides behind a computer screen.”
Cora was nearly hyperventilating. She was the bully? Boris Ershovich, whose name almost had the word shove in the middle of it, was calling her a bully? And why didn’t the reporter mention the most important aspect of her blog: her scientific takedown of his methodologies? She was sensationalizing based on a few questionable post titles.
“Let’s switch gears. So what can your fans expect to see at your show this weekend?”
“Oh, Cheryl, we have some wonderful stories to tell. Broken dogs get fixed, owners are so happy with me, and it all happens before a live audience. It’s going to be an amazing night. The show is sold out, Cheryl, but I’m going to live stream the first fifteen minutes for my fans.”
“That’s wonderful! You have quite a loyal following. Boris, is there anything you want to say to the dog owners of DC before we finish up? Any words of advice?”
He looked straight into the camera with a serious expression, a master showman. “I always have advice, because you people always make mistakes. Remember, you are the boss of the dog, no matter what. You must demand obedience. And finally, don’t pet your dogs so much. It makes them spoiled and lazy.”
The camera cut back to the reporter. “Boris Ershovich will be performing his sold-out dog training show at the National Theater next Friday. Thank you so much for joining me on Washington Post Live!” The clip ended with a shot of Ershovich’s punchable face.
Cora’s fingers shook so hard that she could barely respond to Vanessa and Winnie. She typed a ghost face emoji and about a thousand exclamation points, unable to put her thoughts into a coherent sentence. Her secret was out, and now her blog was going to be flooded with hundreds of haters.
Winnie texted back immediately. “Don’t worry, we got your back, sister.”
FOURTEEN
* * *
“Sydney, stay, darling. Stay. Stay. Stay.” Fran backed away from her dog slowly, chanting the word and holding her hand up, as if giving Sydney a blessing. He watched her move away for a few steps and then followed her.
Cora interrupted her. “Fran, say ‘stay’ once. If you do it right, he won’t need you to repeat it. Set him up to succeed, say it once and believe that he can do it. And yes, that sounds totally woo-woo.”
“I love it when you get woo-woo. I’m woo-woo. Just look at all of the totems, guards, and gods all over my house,” Fran said, pointing to a shelf crowded with statues of Buddha, Durga, Freya, two bright blue foo dogs, and Bastet. “I’m wearing a healing crystal around my neck! I am the very definition of woo-woo.”
“Well, maybe all of that spiritual energy will help you guys get this one right. Try it one more time, and then I promise you’re done for today.”
The pair aced their final attempt. Cora was pleased that Sydney was making progress despite Fran’s endearing flightiness.
“Okay, that’s a perfect place to end. Nice work! Now let’s go over homework.”
“Before we do, I want to talk to you about something,” Fran said, sounding excited. “You’ve heard of Santiago Rivera, yes?”
“The Latin drummer? Sure, I know of him, but I don’t really know his music.”
“Did you know that he got his start in DC? He’s doing an invitation-only miniconcert to kick off his tour at Café Fuego, which is part of one of our properties. One of my job perks is I get to attend these types of events, and I would love it if you could come, too, darling!”
“Wow, that would be amazing!”
“Wonderful! And I’m sure someone will be very happy that you’re going to be there.”
“What do you mean?” Cora asked.
“Shit!” Fran covered her mouth. She sighed. “I might as well spill it. Girl power, sisterhood, and all of that, right?” She paused. “You know Eli from my office?”
Cora nodded.
“He thinks you’re lovely.”
Cora’s eyes widened before she could get her reaction in check. The Human Blur liked her? Why hadn’t she picked up on it at Beth Ann’s?
Fran continued, looking stricken. “Please don’t let on that I told you!”
“Scout’s honor.”
Fran leaned toward Cora conspiratorially. “Since we’re on the subject . . . what do you think of him?
”
“Well, I haven’t thought of him, really. He seems nice but—”
“Are you seeing someone? I’m sorry, how rude of me not to ask first.”
“No, I’m actually single. Painfully single.” She pictured Charlie’s face but quickly dismissed it.
“Hooray, darling! Allow me to give you some background on him.” She paused. “He is a wonderful person. He’s an incredibly hard worker. He’s a team player. He is resourceful—”
“It sounds like you want me to hire him!”
“Whoops, it does. On to the juicy bits, then. He’s the most emotionally intelligent man I’ve ever met. He has three younger sisters so he gets women. He’s surrounded by women in our office and he navigates our hot flashes with ease. He’s been elected the office’s unofficial psychiatrist, so everyone goes to him with their troubles. He’s bloody hysterical, in a really weird way—you have to learn his sense of humor, so at first some of what he says will sound bizarre. He’s a . . . a good egg. I adore him. And the two of you together? My heart would explode with joy.”
“That’s quite the endorsement! I will certainly, uh, keep it in mind.” Cora thought about how she enjoyed hanging with Eli while waiting for Beth Ann. Eli was sweet, yes, but could anyone compete with Charlie Gill? Particularly a quirky good egg with a big brother vibe.
Fran studied Cora’s face. “If you’re into guys like that alpha male Aaron, it’s likely Eli isn’t your type. But please, just give him a chance. Trust me, darling, little by little he’ll win you over if you let him.”
FIFTEEN
* * *
Charlie was staring at Cora with such intensity that she worried she had something hanging out of her nose.
“Thank you. Seriously, this is such a huge help.”
Cora had agreed to hold the remainder of Charlie’s sessions at 7:00 p.m. because his work schedule no longer allowed for day classes, and her Saturdays were booked for weeks in advance. Having cut her teeth in the always-on-the-job world of tech, she knew the value of long hours, but she forced herself to never take clients after 3:00 p.m. As a business owner, she could afford herself the perk, and it took her a year to feel comfortable doing it. The 3:00 p.m. cutoff was ironclad for most people, but for Charlie . . .
“Pas de problème!” she said with a sweep of her hand.
“Madison told me that you speak a little French! I wish I’d kept up with a language. I can order a taco and a beer in Spanish, that’s about it.”
“I barely have the chance to speak anymore, so I’m getting rusty.”
“Well, you can speak French to me anytime. It’s such a sexy language.”
Red flags. That was flirty, Cora thought. Pretty sure that was flirty. And now I’m here with him at night, alone in his house. And he looks adorable.
Charlie had changed out of his work clothes into a snug black T-shirt with a drawing of a vintage toy robot on it and jeans. Cora had never seen him without a suit on, so she took the opportunity to study him while he interacted with Oliver. She noticed that the sleeves clung to his biceps. His forearms looked strong, with a few vine-like veins visible. His jeans fit well, and Cora wondered if Madison had helped him pick them. Guys never knew how to buy jeans that fit.
Oliver stood at Cora’s feet, looking up at her expectantly and waiting for the lesson to begin with a patience beyond his age.
“Hey, did you eat dinner?” Charlie asked. “I’m starving. I want sushi. You want sushi?”
Cora hated sushi.
“I haven’t eaten either. Why not?” She normally wouldn’t stay for a meal with a client, particularly alone with a male client who wanted to eat sushi, but she was hungry as well, and Charlie Gill was doing the asking. She changed a lot of her rules for Charlie.
He rifled through a drawer filled to the top with menus, which made it obvious that they ordered takeout frequently. Cora wondered if Madison ever actually cooked in their beautiful kitchen.
“Ah, there it is. Yojisan Sushi. I already know what I want, so why don’t you take a look?”
She gingerly took the menu from him and scanned it without a clue as to what any of it meant.
“It’s overwhelming, right? Can I order for you? We eat here all the time, and I know what’s good. Does that work?”
Cora nodded, grateful that she didn’t have to pretend to know what she was doing. She sat down next to Oliver and scratched his chest while Charlie placed the order, contemplating the difference between what was happening with Charlie versus what happened on a real date. Alone at night? Check. A meal on the way? Check. A frisson of sexual tension? Check.
Charlie hung up the phone. “Excellent! It’ll be here in about forty-five minutes. Oh crap—I didn’t even put it together that the lesson will be almost over by then. Is it okay for you to stay a little bit late? Do you have plans tonight?”
The only plan Cora had was another Bikram session that she was dreading.
“Nope, my calendar is clear, so if you don’t mind me cramping your style a bit longer than usual, I’ll stay.” Cora made a mental note to shoot Maggie a text bailing.
“Speaking of ‘stay,’ I’m having a hell of a time with it. I can barely get two steps away from Oliver, and then he jumps up and follows me. Can we work on that first?”
Cora walked him through the basics of the behavior again and demonstrated how to do it, while her stomach growled and her mind reeled about sitting down with Charlie to share a meal.
The doorbell interrupted them, and Oliver leaped up, barking like a trained guard dog.
“Can we get Oliver to do the stay now?” Charlie asked above the din.
“Eventually, yes, but we’re not even close to being able to use it in real-life scenarios yet. You answer the door, and I’ll do some work with him.”
Cora clipped the leash on Oliver before Charlie got to the door and stood a few feet away with the young boxer. Oliver swiveled his head back and forth while Charlie chatted genially with the delivery guy, as if trying to decode exactly what was happening with the stranger in the foyer. Cora saw the puppy’s mouth go into an O shape, so she tossed a treat for him to chase before he gave voice to the bark in the chamber. It was their first time attempting a real-life training scenario, and even though they were still in the beginning stages of training, Cora was impressed with the dog’s commitment to work in the face of such a tempting distraction.
“Soup’s on—let’s eat!” Charlie announced, holding a bulging bag of food in the air and placing his hand on the small of her back as he passed her. The intimacy of the move surprised Cora and sent a wave of heat to her face.
She followed him to the large round table in the kitchen. The lighting was dim and romantic, and the French doors were open to let in the cool spring air. She stole a glance at the framed photos on the mantel over the fireplace and saw a glamorous smiling Madison in every one of them. Cora felt like she was being watched, which would’ve been tolerable during the actual lesson. But now, officially postlesson, she felt guilty under Madison’s gaze.
Charlie unpacked the bag, placing tray after tray of sushi on the table in front of them. “You said you were hungry!” he said, as if acknowledging the excess of his purchase. Cora nodded and worried about how best to fake her enthusiasm for slimy raw fish and sticky rice. She hoped her hunger would short-circuit her taste buds.
“Where do you want to start? We have Hokkigai, Akagai, Toro nigiri, Gunkan maki, Chuka Idako, and some rainbow rolls.”
Cora looked at the horrifying options before her. She saw what looked like two different types of caviar wrapped in black, tiny curled-up bits of octopus, pink slabs of uncooked fish atop rice beds, and something that looked like a red-tipped claw of meat wearing a black belt. She seized on the only name that made sense to her. “How about a rainbow roll?”
“Ah, you’re starting slow. I like that! Want some wine to wash it down?”
Was wine a transition to date territory?
“Well, since we’re do
ne with the lesson, sure. But normally I don’t drink on the job.”
“I assure you, you’re off the clock now. Take a look at your student.” Cora leaned forward to get a glimpse of Oliver, who was on his side and half asleep in the doorway between the kitchen and the hallway. A mentally exhausted dog: her parting gift to every client.
As Charlie searched the cabinet for glasses, Cora sniffed at one of the rainbow rolls. Peeling back the slab of salmon and biting into the edge, the rice tasted fine. She took another bite and got a mouthful of fish and had to stifle her gag reflex. How was she going to fake her way through the meal?
Charlie returned to the table with oversize red wineglasses. “This oughta do the trick,” he said as he filled them to the brims. He sat down next to her and looked at her with his typical intensity. “So tell me all about Cora Bellamy. How did you get into dog training?” He took a big swig of his wine and looked into her eyes.
Cora wasn’t used to answering questions. She was a steadfast ear for her clients, part confidante, part therapist, but always on the listening end of the conversation. The rare occasions when a client actually asked her a personal question, whether about her weekend plans or what book she was reading, usually ended up with her sputtering an abbreviated reply and gently steering the conversation away from herself. This felt different. She was off duty, and the two of them were hanging out as people, not as helper and helpee.
“I’ll give you the highlights: college to corporate America just like Mom and Dad wanted, even though it wasn’t what I wanted, good job, great pay, much confusion. Cue quarter-life crisis, quit job, became a dog trainer, and here I am.” She shrugged.
“Okay, that was the lamest summary ever. Start over. What exactly did you do?”
“Junior project manager in government contracts reporting for duty, sir.” She saluted him.
Life on the Leash Page 7