Chihuahua Karma

by Rice, Debby

“All right, guys, let’s get this stuff out of here. I don’t have all day. One layer of the blue stuff is plenty. It’s not a baby, it’s a couch.”

  “Excuse me, but this is definitely not a couch,” interrupted Charmaine. “It is a $20,000 Roche Bobois modular seating sculpture—in other words, CJ, this is a work of art, which you may not appreciate. And I hope that these gentlemen will treat it like their very own precious little infant—so please wrap away, boys. Take all the time you need.” Charmaine superarticulated each word, making a show of keeping her voice in the calm range.

  The movers’ slo-mo became freeze-frame. They regarded Charmaine as though she was some kind of exotic animal, which was not an inappropriate response. She was wearing black velvet jeans and a white silk work shirt with pearl buttons undone to cleavage level. An invisible cloud of perfume, like burnt crème brûlée, mingled with mover sweat. Her hair was caught up in a messy ponytail, and her tortoiseshell half-glasses on a black silk cord dangled over her breasts. She teetered on four-inch patent leather Gucci stilettos with enormous silver G’s on either side of her ankles. Silver hoop earrings skimmed her shoulders, and a chunky Southwestern-looking bracelet clanked whenever she moved.

  The commotion was making her nervous. Her left eyelid twitched furiously, and her nails were strumming a flamenco riff on her leg. Lucille was at her side, carrying the laptop in a black alligator case also embossed with a giant silver “G.” Zoya, her leg encased in a neon-blue plastic cast, hobbled behind them on crutches.

  “Hey, Char, howya doing?” called CJ. Just trying to get you all set up and ready in time for the big event. Your guests are gonna love this. It’s gonna be better than the casino at the Bellagio. Wait till you see the equipment I got. Definitely six-star, top-of-the-line. My blackjack table makes your couch-sculpture thingy look like it came from Wal-Mart. Don’t worry. I’m gonna make this the best goddamn casino night your Gold Coast yuppie posse has ever seen. They’re gonna be talking about you for months.”

  “Let’s make sure it’s in a good way,” said Charmaine. She squinted at him as though he was painful to look at, cocked an eyebrow and added, “Listen, CJ.” (Pause for throat clearing.) “Nobody calls me Char. So, if you don’t mind, it’s Charmaine, or you could even try Ms. Charmaine. Many of the individuals I work with find that comfortable.”

  “Okay, Charlene. You got it,” said CJ with a smirk.

  “Zoya, you really don’t need to be here. Between CJ, Cristoff and me, we’ve got it under control. Why don’t you go back to your room and rest.”

  “Really, Ms. Charmaine, I okay. I just gonna sit down and keep an eye on these guys for you.”

  “Zoya, there isn’t any place to sit.”

  “Oh, I think they bringing the chairs pretty soon.”

  “Zoya, are you sure you feel all right?” said Lucille. “Your face is a funny color. Oh, sorry, you don’t look bad. I just meant you’re really pale.”

  “I feel fine. My leg ache a little, but that’s all.”

  I could tell that both Lucille and Charmaine clearly wanted Zoya out of the way—Charmaine because she sensed that Zoya was a magnet for the strange poltergeist disturbances that had been disrupting her party planning, and Lucille because she was pretty sure Zoya’s next accident would be fatal.

  Two movers hoisted the couch in its blue swaddling and marched it toward the door. On their way, they nicked the tree. Its tinny branches rattled like icicles in a blizzard. The glass ornaments swayed.

  “Oh, my God. Oh my God! Jared screeched. “Moving people. Attention! Attention! Be careful of that tree. It took us eight hours to assemble.” The startled movers dropped the couch. There was another mini-seismic event.

  The drama queens Brandon and Jared had arrived, trailed by a competing set of movers bearing cardboard boxes, plastic bags filled with snowy decorations and several enormous fluted silver bowls resting on pedestals (the Christmas cauldrons). In contrast to CJ’s thugs, this group looked like New Age elves bearing Magi gifts for the Baby Jesus. Several sported knockoffs of Cristoff’s turban, and one was actually wearing short red leather boots with pointy up-turned toes. They were all outfitted in tight green T-shirts embossed with the “Green Extravaganzas” logo—a stylized silver tree with branches in the shape of a champagne flute—and skinny black leggings. The scent of clove cigarettes, patchouli and essence of pine mingled with Charmaine’s perfume and Balkan B.O.

  Brandon and Jared rushed to the tree and hovered around it with arms outstretched as though protecting a giant sequoia from a team of lumber jacks with snarling chainsaws.

  “Hey, you guys are not supposed to be here for another two hours.” CJ’s face was squinched up like he’d just eaten a piece of rotten meat. “How are my men gonna get this casino equipment installed with a bunch of fairies dancing around the Christmas tree?”

  “Well excuse me, Mr. Really Rude. If you bothered to check the schedule that Charmaine sent, you would see that she specifically asks us to be punctual. In fact, it’s underlined twice,” said Jared.

  “On time does not mean two hours early. Listen, do you think you and your crew could go get coffee until we finish?”

  “There is no way we are leaving this tree for one single second,” said Jared. “Cristoff will have a hissy fit if anything happens to it, and trust me, you don’t want that.”

  “Really, I don’t know what she’s aiming for mixing our gorgeous party decorations with a low-rent Las Vegas theme,” said Brandon in an aside to Jared.

  “It’s the husband,” said Jared. “She doesn’t have any choice. She’s just trying to make the best out of a really sick concept. Did Cristoff tell you she asked him to find a dirty Santa?”

  “Ohmygawd, a dirty Santa? I don’t believe it. Did Cristoff find someone?”

  “Yes, Cristoff came through. Only the dirty Santa’s a chick or sort of.”

  “It’s Daphne. It’s Daphne! A black tranny Santa! I can’t wait.”

  “Boys, you really are here too early,” said Charmaine. “Why don’t you all go into the Solarium, and Lucille and Zoya will help you unwrap the candles. I’ve got a cart you can put them on to move them back in here. There are sandwiches and some sodas in the mini-fridge.”

  “Can we take Sugar with us? She’s so adorable.” Brandon had the pleading look of a child asking permission from his mother. “She looks so unhappy in that cage.”

  I hung my head, lowered my ears and whimpered more aggressively.

  “Brandon, honey, the cage is protective,” said Charmaine.

  “I’ll watch her, Charmaine,” said Lucille. “I promise I’ll keep her leash in my hand at all times. She really wants to get out. Hear her whimpering? Sugar is a free spirit.”

  “Lucille, since when do you have the inside track to Sugar’s feelings? And what is ‘free spirit’ supposed to mean anyway? I have spent hours studying this breed, and I happen to know that in stressful situations the mini Chi likes to be confined.”

  I had to agree with Charmaine. I was anything but a free spirit. I was the unluckiest genie. There were no magic words to release me from my bottle. It seemed that we undead lead a very restrictive existence. The other “spirits” that I had met were neither free nor blithe. In fact, they were slaves to an infinite number of strange rules and OCD behaviors. I whined louder and wagged my tail furiously, hoping they would move me away from CJ.

  Just as Charmaine was about to make a decision, the intercom in the hallway buzzed.

  “Oh my God. Who on earth is that? I certainly hope it’s not Cristoff already. We’re just not ready for him yet.”

  “Good mornin’, Ms. Charmaine,” Darien’s jolly, disembodied voice boomed over the intercom, startling us all. Darien had gone to the Illinois School of Broadcasting, and he used the intercom as a radio surrogate. “I have a Mr. Richard Preston down here to see you.”

  Charmaine’s eyes went round with excitement and surprise, and so did mine. I could almost see her heart thump through her shirt. M
ine was pounding just as loudly. “Send him up, Darien. Lucille, is my hair okay—my lipstick?”

  “It seems okay.”

  “What do you mean seems? It’s either okay or it’s not, and I need to fix it.”

  “It looks about the same as usual.”

  “Lucille, are you trying to be annoying? Tell Richard I’m on the phone and that I’ll be right back.” Charmaine rushed out of the room, patting her hair.

  I had to check the urge to dash to the mirror with her. But being a dog eliminates much of the superfluous activity associated with male/female relationships. While dogs do flirt, there is little primping involved. Hours of female angst are condensed into a simple routine—circle, sniff, schtup. It’s a very up-front kind of encounter. Even the gender distinction doesn’t always apply.

  The moment I heard Richard’s footsteps in the foyer and inhaled his scent, Brandon and Jared disappeared. CJ was gone. Everything was absorbed in his presence. If a jet plane were about to blast through the window and send us all to subatomic smithereens, I would not have seen it. There were two only two people in the room.

  “Hi, everyone. I hope I’m not interrupting.” Richard unwrapped the plaid scarf he was wearing. His nose and cheeks were red from the cold, and ice crystals shone on his wool coat. “I was just in the neighborhood, and I had something I wanted to drop off for Sugar. Oh, she’s in a puppy crate. Come on Sugar. Let’s get you out of that thing. You don’t need to be in there.” Richard unlatched the metal door and lifted me out of the cage. He unbuttoned his coat and held me to his chest. His shirt was soft against my paws, and I could feel the steady beat of his heart. “Hi, puppy. You are a great girl, you are,” he said, rubbing his knuckles over my back.

  “Richard, what a nice surprise!” Charmaine’s visit to the bedroom had turned her cloud of perfume into an atmosphere.

  Richard coughed. “Hi, Charmaine. It looks like you’ve got a lot going on. I’m really sorry to drop in without calling. But I was just walking by your building, and I remembered that I had a bottle of those high-potency vitamins that I was telling you about in my pocket. Sugar should be on these. They’re important during the winter. We never get enough sun here in Chicago. She really needs some extra vitamin D,” he said, scratching my ears. He pulled a large brown bottle out of his pocket and handed it to Charmaine. “I’ll write you a prescription so that you can get refills.”

  “Oh, it’s no problem. Great to see you. I can’t tell you how wonderful it is to know a vet who is so knowledgeable about the mini Chi.”

  “In all fairness, most vets don’t know a lot about these hybrid breeds. Since I met Sugar, I’ve been reading up. I was always more interested in larger dogs, but Sugar is something special. She has so much personality.” He held me tighter. My eyes closed and my head relaxed against his shirt. “Say, who’s this?” Richard said, looking at Lucille.

  “That’s Lucille,” said Charmaine. “She’s our ward. Lucille, this is Mr. Richard Preston.”

  “Hello,” said Lucille, extending her hand.

  “Hi. It’s really nice to meet you Lucille.” Richard looked confused, but he was not about to delve into the granularity of Lucille’s relationship to Charmaine.

  “It’s nice to meet you too. Sugar is my best friend. Thanks very much for bringing her the vitamins.”

  “Well, then we have something in common,” said Ricard. “Any friend of Sugar’s is a friend of mine.”

  “She’s the smartest dog I’ve ever met,” said Lucille. “She understands everything I tell her. She seems to really like you.”

  “I hope she does,” said Richard.

  “It’s awful outside.” Charmaine hugged herself, making her cleavage pop. “Can I offer you a cup of coffee or maybe hot chocolate or a drink?”

  “Do you really have hot chocolate?”

  “We not have chocolate, Ms. Charmaine,” said Zoya.

  “Of course we have chocolate, Zoya. We always have chocolate. You know that.”

  “Really, coffee would be great.” Richard eyed Zoya’s cast. “You know, I actually need to be back at the office. I still have half a day of patients to see.”

  “Are you sure? We could go have some lunch if you’d like. It’s almost 11:30. Your office is close by.”

  “You’re just being polite. I can see you’ve got lots to do here.”

  “Actually, I could take the time. It would probably be good for me to get away from all this for a while.” She ran her hands through her hair, making her bracelet rattle.

  Richard made a show of looking at his watch. “Actually, it’s later than I thought. My next patient is in 15 minutes. I should get going.”

  “Well, don’t forget the party. I really want you to be here. One of Larry’s friends, Sal Victorian, is very high-level at Waste Management, right under the CEO, and I think they’re interested in making a six-figure contribution. I’m hoping that you’ll chat with him a little about Chihuahua Rescue.”

  “I’d be happy to. I’ve got your invitation. It’s on my calendar. I’ve never been to a Casino Night Christmas.”

  “I guess it’s a little unusual, but Larry is fascinated with poker. Many of his friends are high-stakes players. It’s not your typical Christmas party, but we wanted to do something unique. We’re going to be green, you know. Cristoff is doing the food and all the decorations. Have you heard of him?”

  Charmaine’s face was pink, and her tone was hesitant. She was not sure about the propriety of Christmas gambling and was probably worried about making a fool of herself.

  “No, I don’t think I know about Cristoff, but I’m sure your party will be great,” said Richard diplomatically. He handed me back to Charmaine, buttoned his coat and rewrapped the scarf around his neck.

  “Bye, Sugar. You be a good girl now.” He patted my head. “Don’t forget to give her those vitamins.”

  “No, of course not. Thanks so much for dropping them off.”

  Charmaine stuffed me back in the puppy crate. Through the bars, I watched Richard walk away. The front door closed, and I was shocked to realize that, once again, I was a tiny, bug-eyed creature locked inside a metal cage.

  Chapter 20

  “Souls never die, but always on quitting one abode pass to another.”

  Pythagoras

  “Come on, Sugar. They’re all at lunch, and we’re going for a walk. You need some fresh air.” Lucille opened the door to the puppy crate and took me out. She taped a piece of paper to the cage on which she had printed in red marker, “Don’t worry. Took Sugar with me to Walgreens—L.” Underneath the message was a smiley face. Charmaine would not be smiling when she read this note. But with the wrestlers and the elves diverting her attention, she might not even notice that I was missing.

  Lucille got my red cashmere sweatpants and hoodie out of her backpack and dressed me. She wrapped a scarf around my neck and stuffed me inside her parka so that just my head was sticking out.

  Darien was on a break. He was replaced by glum-faced Walter, from building maintenance, who opened the lobby door without comment.

  Lucille walked in the opposite direction from Walgreens. Each time I went out, I never knew where I would wind up. It was the same sense of disoriented captivity I had once experienced on a blind date with a man who told me that we were going to a neighborhood restaurant. Then, to my astonishment and without explanation, he got on the freeway and drove us to Milwaukee.

  After a few blocks, I guessed that we were heading toward Lincoln Park. Although it was cold, the wind had died down, and from time to time the clouds parted and there was a sudden burst of radiance.

  “Are you okay, Suggie? I can zip all the way up if you’re cold,” said Lucille. She was walking with a little skip in her step. “Do you want to get down and walk for a bit? I don’t think you do. You’re fine right where you are. We’re going to stop at McDonald’s. That should warm you up.”

  McDonald’s was crowded. A worker was swabbing the slush off the floors, and
the scent of Lysol mingled with cinnamon. We waited in line for five minutes.

  “That’s so cute. The tiny dog’s got a little hoodie. Where did you buy that? I want one for Bucky,” said the girl behind the counter.

  “Thanks. I think it came from Chi Couture,” said Lucille. “I’ll take two Big Macs, a double order of fries, an apple pie and a McFlurry with Oreo Cookies.”

  “Chi what? I never heard of that place. You think they have something like it at Target?”

  “They have something like everything at Target.” Lucille paid and claimed her bundle of synthetic treats.

  The park’s stark landscape was beautiful in a sad, wintery way. At the end of a long alley of bare trees sat a lumpish figure alone on a bench. As we got closer, I recognized Edmund.

  “Hey, Magnus, how ya doing?” said Lucille. Edmund did not respond. He was slouched into his parka, listening to his iPod. Lucille shook his shoulder. Startled, he looked up and unplugged himself.

  “Oh, hi, Firefly. Sorry. I didn’t hear you.”

  “I brought you something.” She handed him the bag.

  “Gosh, thanks,” said Edmund, eagerly inspecting the contents. “I love McFlurries. How did you know?”

  “Oh, it was just a lucky guess,” said Lucille.

  “You brought Sugar. Can I hold her? Do you think she’d like some Big Mac?”

  My tail thumped against Lucille’s chest, and my tongue swiped my snout in anticipation.

  “She really shouldn’t eat people food. But I know she craves it. Maybe just give her a very tiny taste. Here, you can hold her for a while. Put her inside your jacket.” Lucille took me out of her coat and handed me to Edmund, who dropped me into his parka, and I rested on top of his stomach. He broke off a piece of hamburger and held it out for me. The smell was amazing. Charmaine had decided I was a V dog and was feeding me NaturoPup, a truly disgusting concoction formulated from brown rice and bran. I whined and begged for more, and Edmund gave me a second bite.

  “No more for you, Suggie. You’ll get sick,” said Lucille. “So, are we set for Christmas Eve?”