It was true. “Okay, okay. I’ll admit that even though he has a girlfriend, and even though you think he’s the d-word, I’m still attracted to him. There, I said it. And I’m pretty sure it’s mutual. I don’t know, maybe he thought everything was great with Madison until . . . until he got to know me. It feels like we have a connection.”
“So you want a relationship with him? Not just a fuck-and-run?”
Cora choked on her coffee. “Maybe?”
“So your goal is to break them up?” Serious conversations with Maggie often devolved into interrogations.
“No! I wouldn’t do that. I just want to . . . make myself available to him, I guess. Let him decide what he wants. Is that bad?”
“Bad? It’s disgusting. It sounds like you should be one of those dumb bitches on The Bachelor or something. You’re better than that, Cora.”
“Sorry I’m insulting your feminist sensibilities. Listen, I’m not going to throw myself at him, but if we have a moment, I’m not going to stop it.”
Maggie shrugged. “Whatever. I said my piece. Do whatever you want. I just want to go on record that I think it’s a mistake, and he’s a douche.” She paused. “But at least you have reason to buy that goddamned Léger now.”
“Holy crap, Darnell was right! I found the dress, and now here’s the event.”
“He’ll be thrilled. He was so convinced that it was going to happen that he hid it behind some awful mother-of-the-bride dresses.”
Cora grinned despite herself at Darnell’s omniscience.
The gala would simply be a chance to get dressed up and surround herself with like-minded animal lovers, supporting a cause they all believed in, and maybe make some professional connections. The fact that Charlie would be at her side was inconsequential. At least that’s what she told herself, hoping that everyone—Charlie, Maggie, Madison—would believe it, too.
TWENTY-FOUR
* * *
“I hope you don’t mind, I have some people coming over tonight,” Maggie said while she stroked Josie languidly, the two sprawled on the couch like twin odalisques. Cora couldn’t help but be a little jealous that Josie was Maggie’s shadow. Fritz was sacked out on Cora’s bed, overtired from keeping Josie entertained all day.
“Of course not. Anyone I know?”
“Darnell, a few other people,” she replied vaguely.
“Cool. Is it okay if I hang with you guys? I’ve got no plans tonight.”
“Duh, of course, dummy.”
The doorbell rang. “By ‘tonight’ do you mean ‘right now’?” Cora asked, making her way to the door as Josie barked out a warning beside her. Cora stood in front of the door and asked Josie to “hush,” placing a treat in her fist in front of Josie’s nose and waiting until she had stopped barking before she tossed it away. Josie chased the treat down the hallway and Cora opened the door.
“Hello, pretty,” Darnell said. “This must be Miss Josie.” He reached down to scratch her beneath her chin. “How’s the hunt going for her new home?”
“It’s not,” Maggie shouted from the other room.
“I think someone has fallen for her,” Cora whispered, pointing down the hall.
“Is keeping her an option?” he whispered back, still petting Josie.
“She claims she’s not ready for a dog, but who knows what that means. I could probably work it out with our landlord, but that would mean no more fosters.”
“Stop whispering!” Maggie shouted again.
Darnell started toward the family room and called to Cora over his shoulder. “Your Léger is still in hiding, and now it’s on sale. When are you coming to buy it for that fairy-tale gig you got coming up?”
“Soon,” she answered vaguely, trying not to think about what might happen when Charlie saw her body weaponized in that dress. She whistled for Fritz, who trotted out of her bedroom with sleepy eyes. “I can’t believe you didn’t wake up! Uncle D is here! Go see him!”
Darnell dropped to the floor and allowed Josie and Fritz to snuffle and lick him, laughing the whole time. It was hard to tell who was doing the most kissing, Darnell or the dogs.
“You love those dogs more than me,” Maggie pouted.
“Never, my darling,” he said, getting up and planting a kiss on her cheek. “You’re my work wife for life.”
“Speaking of work, I still haven’t gotten my nom and I’m getting pretty stressed about it,” Maggie said.
“Aw, baby, it’s coming. Don’t worry.” Darnell had already been nominated for the Saks Excellence program, which would fast-track him to a promotion as a buyer.
The doorbell rang, and Josie sounded off anew. Cora followed her to the door, worked the “hush” routine again and opened the door. She was shocked to see Winnie and Vanessa standing there.
“This is your intervention!” Vanessa exclaimed, holding a bottle of wine above her head.
“What? Why are you guys here? Did Maggie . . . ?”
The duo pushed past her and cooed over Josie, greeting her gently and allowing her to sniff them one at a time.
“Maggie asked us over for your intervention. Your audition intervention,” Winnie said, as if it would make sense to her.
“What does that even mean? I don’t understand.”
Vanessa stood up. “We thought it might be helpful to do a practice run to get you ready for the audition, so the Hounds are here to help you with the dog part of it, and Maggie is going to do the acting part of it.”
“And I’m your swagger coach!” Darnell called out.
Cora couldn’t say a word, overcome by love for her friends.
“And who better to help you than the newly crowned queens of social media?” Vanessa asked. Winnie and Vanessa had become minor Internet celebrities after their Ershovich protest, christened “Hot Pink and Woodstock” by the likes of Buzzfeed and The Huffington Post. Winnie’s training business had tripled, and Vanessa was finally taking clients on her own to meet the demand. Their stunt had also reignited the conversation about Ershovich’s methodology, leading to debates on morning news shows featuring telegenic vets and trainers on both sides of the equation. Cora studied the experts as they weighed in with their arguments. They were all a mix of flawless logic, perfect brows, and flat ironed hair. She didn’t have a chance.
“You guys . . .” Cora struggled to put her gratitude into words.
“Come on, slackers, let’s get to work,” Maggie ordered.
The group gathered in the crowded family room, Josie and Fritz sitting at attention side by side while the rest scattered on the floor and couch. Someone’s phone went off.
“I almost forgot—tonight is the finale of America’s Hottest Landscaper!” Vanessa exclaimed as she turned off the ringtone.
“You set an alarm for that crap?” Winnie asked.
“I know, I know, I hate myself. It’s so bad. Sorry, Cora, but I can’t help it.”
Cora hadn’t watched it in weeks, but she couldn’t avoid the online gossip about the show. The final three contestants were Carly the hot girl, James the underdog, and Aaron, of course. How he didn’t get kicked off after that slur was a mystery to her.
“Let’s try to cram some practice in before we turn it on. It is okay if we watch, right?” Maggie said, turning to Cora.
“Sure, whatever.”
“Are we ready to do this? I’m going to critique you and make suggestions as we go along.”
Cora looked around the room sheepishly. “This feels really weird and embarrassing, you guys.”
“You’re gonna be great, don’t worry. Okay, stand in front of the TV. Boozehounds, you ready?”
Winnie went first. “Cora, answer quickly and with the first thing that comes to mind. I’m starting with a softball; what dog influenced you the most?”
“Oh God, you call that a softball?” Maggie asked. “You guys clearly don’t know the Cooper story.”
Cora hated talking about it and had only ever told her family and Maggie before. A sanitized, happy-ending way
of telling the story didn’t exist—there was no happy ending for Cooper—so she kept it locked inside. Cooper was always with her, though, whether she chose to think about him or not.
She’d been twelve when she’d seen the pathetic dog chained to a doghouse when she was riding her bike to a friend’s. Even then, Cora’s love of animals was strong enough to make her get off her bike and approach the strange dog in an unfamiliar part of town. He was black and tan with ears that lay plastered to his head and a thin body hunched from a lifetime of tirades and beatings. He gave a few halfhearted barks as Cora approached, but she knew, instinctively, that the dog wanted her to get closer.
The moment she touched him, he curled into a ball on her feet and wagged the tip of his tail. They fell in love with each other in that instant. Cora tried to visit Cooper every day, stealing handfuls of food for him from her family’s stash and lavishing him with enough love to carry him over until her next visit. She never saw the dog’s owner, but she often noticed the blinds moving as she sat with him.
Cooper was the sweetest dog Cora had ever known. He blossomed each time he saw her, gradually transforming from a shy, untrusting shell of a dog to her devoted friend. His affections were always guarded, though, as if he had been so broken by the people in his life that he was afraid to make a misstep with Cora.
Cora pleaded with her parents to help Cooper, but there were no antichaining laws in effect at that time, and because he had shelter and a food bowl, the authorities were powerless. The plywood doghouse did nothing to protect Cooper from the rain, wind, or sweltering sun, though. Cora hated that she could feel his ribs when she petted him, and how he paced back and forth so much that he wore a deep path in the dirt, and the way he howled mournfully when she pedaled off after each visit.
She spent six months visiting him, and then one day he was gone. Cora ran to his doghouse, hoping he was curled up and sleeping inside, but he wasn’t there. She noticed broken beer bottles strewn in the dirt yard near the doghouse.
Someone opened a window and yelled at her, “Cooper is gone. Stop coming here.”
Cora was afraid of the shadowy figure but she needed answers. “Where is he? What happened?”
“What happened was that he was stupid. Now don’t come back here, kid.” The window slammed shut.
Cora detoured on the way back to her bike so she could investigate the area near the doghouse. Cooper’s dirt trail was packed with something dark. She ran to look at the collar still attached to his dog chain and saw that it was dried blood. She pedaled home crying, destroyed by what might have happened to her friend. The image of his empty chain never stopped haunting her, and it eventually propelled her into dog training, so that on her watch no other dogs would end up like Cooper.
Cora quickly explained Cooper’s story, and the mood in the room changed from jovial to heartbroken.
Winnie spoke up. “We all have a story like that in our past, right? That’s why we do what we do.”
“Use that passion to fuel your answer, C,” Maggie said. “Go for it.”
Cora nodded. “Um, my biggest canine influence has to be, uh . . .” She paused. “It’s, um, a dog from my past named Cooper. He had a tragic life, so I pledged to him that I would help every dog I could. It’s, uh, a way to honor him, I guess.”
“Okay, okay, that was good!” Maggie said encouragingly. “But you have to watch the uhs and ums. Try to end with a confident summary; ‘I train in honor of the first dog I loved, Cooper.’ And smile. Fake it, baby.”
Vanessa raised her hand like a schoolgirl. “What would you say is the biggest challenge when helping people train their dogs?”
Cora smiled at Vanessa. “The biggest challenge for me is helping people understand that some training problems take time to address, like teaching a dog who has been pulling on its leash for years to stop dragging you down the street. I don’t carry a magic wand in my bag.”
“What do you hate about dog training?” Winnie asked.
“Driving. DC traffic is awful, and it really makes scheduling my clients tough.”
Darnell chuckled. “I see what you did there, boo. It’s like when people say their biggest weakness is they work too hard. What you really want to say is that some people are assholes, am I right?”
“I’m lucky, most of my clients are wonderful.”
“You’re really playing up the goody-goody thing. I like that.” He nodded at Cora approvingly.
“I’m sorry, that sounds like a cop-out,” Vanessa said with a concerned expression on her face. “Give us something real. What’s the toughest part of your job?”
Cora paused and chewed on the inside of her cheek, her mind drifting to Chanel and Blade and Hunter. “The toughest part is when I can’t help the dog. Sometimes, no matter how hard I try, it’s beyond my control. I hate that.”
The Hounds nodded and whispered between themselves.
“I need to jump in here for a second,” Maggie said. “Look at your body language, C. You are twisted up like a hypochondriac’s tissue. Can you . . . unfurl a little?” She demonstrated by shaking her shoulders and arms.
Cora imitated her.
“Now please stand straight. Shoulders back, show off what your mama gave you. Watch your feet, you look a little pigeon-toed. If you don’t know what to do with your hands, do the newscaster thing; hold your hands together at belly button height, but don’t keep them there the whole time. Gesture naturally if you can. And please don’t cross your arms, you look super pissed when you do that.”
“Am I doing okay, guys? Because this feels really awkward.”
Everyone spoke at the same time, offering encouragement and praise.
Maggie stood up and clapped her hands to quiet the room. “Let’s not torture her any more. You’re all done, and you were fantastic. We love you, Cora.”
“Thanks for doing this, you guys. I feel a little less nervous now.”
“We’re counting on you!” Vanessa cheered. “We’ve got five minutes before AHL is on. I’m opening the wine and getting ready.”
“You do realize that you’re sort of a traitor to Cora for watching this show, right?” Darnell asked Vanessa as she walked to the kitchen.
“I’m not rooting for that jackass,” Vanessa answered. “I want James to win.”
The finale consisted of a single challenge on the property of the sprawling French country mansion where the contestants had been living, involving three large sculpture garden installations and heavy equipment. The players were being judged by a panel of experts including a botanical garden director, an editor from Modern Gardening magazine, and the president of a tractor company who was undoubtedly relishing the product placement on the show.
“I hope Aaron loses,” Cora said after they’d all settled in. Seeing him rounding the final lap in the lead was more uncomfortable than she had anticipated, but it made her feel small to want him to lose.
“We all do, baby. I’m a traitor to my sexual orientation because I want Carly to win, not Mr. Abs,” Darnell replied.
“Well, the fact that he’s a raging homophobe might discourage your support as well,” Maggie added. Darnell made a noncommittal noise.
The challenge required the finalists to bring to life their plans for modernist sculpture gardens by moving large boulders with a miniexcavator. The contestants had to tread gently over the sod they had painstakingly laid in the previous episode, taking care not to turn the wheel roughly or pause in one spot for too long and risk damaging it.
Brittany, the host, spoke gravely into the camera. “The sculpture garden challenge is a timed event, so our finalists have to execute their plans while keeping an eye on the clock. James, you’re up first. Good luck.”
James shed his black tank top before he climbed into his excavator, exposing his sinewy chest and the dark Asian-style tattoos on both of his arms. He had been a quiet but fierce competitor during the series, and a fan favorite to steal the win from extroverts Carly and Aaron.
&nbs
p; Sadly, his installation looked like Stonehenge if it had been assembled by a kindergartener. Aaron sat close to Carly on the sidelines, whispering to her and laughing as James sweated through the challenge. The judges didn’t hide their disapproval.
Brittany stepped in front of the camera again, speaking with the reverence of a choir director. “Carly, are you ready to take your turn with the sculpture garden challenge?”
She nodded her head and blew a kiss toward the camera, bounding to her customized pink excavator like she knew she had already won.
Carly opted for ease over style, selecting four large round polished rocks that she merely needed to transport to her assigned plot and place in size order, a design that subliminally referenced her unmissable implants. She worked quickly, pushing the excavator to its top speed. It jostled over the uneven terrain, bumping her around in her seat and causing her oversize breasts to ricochet in her tiny sports bra.
The camera cut to Aaron. “Mmmm, girl. Make your ponytail bounce!”
“Oh my God, did he really say that?” Maggie asked.
“I don’t get it, why does he care about her ponytail?” Darnell asked.
“Duh, it’s a gross way of saying he wants to see her boobs bounce. Cora, I’m sorry but he is such a tool.”
“I know, I know. I’m mortified,” she replied, unable to stop staring at the TV. He seemed so at ease on camera. She hoped that skill lurked somewhere in her, too.
Vanessa looked up from her phone. “Ugh, ‘make your ponytail bounce’ is already trending on Twitter.”
Carly finished the challenge, and the two male judges golf clapped for her while the lone female judge looked down at her clipboard and made notes. Her time beat James’s, so unless his design was deemed superior, he was out of the competition.
“Aaron, are you ready to go?” Brittany asked solemnly.
“Yee haw, you bet I am!” he shouted, pumping his fist.
“Wait a sec, when did he pick up that accent? Isn’t he from suburban Fairfax or something?” Winnie asked.
“He is. I have no idea when he converted to good-old-boy-ism,” Cora answered, still mesmerized by what was unfolding on the show. Aaron seemed familiar and foreign to her at the same time. She remembered the way he walked, his laugh, his broad hands and his quick smile, but she had never seen this practiced cockiness to his mannerisms, as if he had studied other successful reality show contestants for tips on how to act on camera.
Life on the Leash Page 13