Chihuahua Karma

by Rice, Debby

  “Larry, you didn’t eat the nachos Zoya made for you,” said Charmaine. “You know she worked late to fix those.”

  Larry snorted but did not reply.

  “Larry Finkelstein. Will you please answer me? It’s too early for you to be sleeping. You said we were going to watch Sex in the City together.” Charmaine poked him in the stomach with her index finger. “Okay, quit pretending you’re asleep. We can watch Gangs of New York instead.”

  Larry opened his eyes. They were glassy. He yawned loudly and lifted himself onto his elbows. “Charmaine, you are way too wound up. Come over here. I want to show you something.”

  Charmaine put me on the floor and sat down next to Larry on the bed. He dropped a flaccid arm over her shoulders. “Let me see your hand.” He took her hand, stroked it with his thumb, then turned it over so that her wrist and the inside of her elbow were exposed.

  “What on earth are you doing? Are you drunk?”

  “Not drunk at all, honey,” he said, but his speech was slurred. “Maybe I’ll get drunk later.”

  My ears pulled back. His strange behavior was making me nervous.

  “I just wanted us to be on the same level. You’re way too wound up.”

  “You just said that.” Charmaine tried to pull her arm away, but he held her fast. “Let me go!” She shook her arm, but he did not loosen his grip.

  “Hang on there. Just give me a minute.” He opened the drawer in the bedside table and pulled something out. I couldn’t identify the long, shiny object until Charmaine punched him in the belly with her free fist and the hypodermic landed on the floor next to me.

  “Sugar, don’t go near that,” Charmaine screamed. “Jesus Christ Larry. What are you trying to do to me? Are you crazy?”

  Larry didn’t seem to care that he had been punched in the stomach.

  “Oh, get over it. I was just going to give you a little needle pop. You definitely need something to make you chill out.” He leaned back on the pillows and closed his eyes—too spaced to continue arguing with her.

  “What’s in there?” She asked. “And since when have you been poking needles into yourself?”

  “It’s just a little Mexican Brown. Enough to give you a bump.”

  “Where did you get that?”

  “It was a Christmas gift from CJ”

  “Some gift. You and CJ are disgusting.” Tears were streaming down Charmaine’s face. “I can’t believe it. What kind of life am I living? What kind of person are you?”

  “Since when did you become such a prude?” said Larry, “You never used to be like this. Hanging around with those Chihuahua Rescue people has gone to your head. I never should have written that check.” He rolled over on his side to indicate that the conversation was over.

  “I’m sorry. I just can’t handle this. I’m going to sleep somewhere else.”

  “Suit yourself,” he mumbled.

  Charmaine grabbed her cell phone from the nightstand and put it in her pocket. She opened the minifridge and pulled out a bottle of wine and a chilled glass. “Come on, Suggie. I’m not leaving you here with him. God knows what he might do to you. Turn you into an addicted dog.”

  Charmaine slammed the bedroom door. She cradled me in one arm and carried the bottle and glass in her other hand. I wondered which of the many vacant bedrooms she would decide to occupy. Zoya had dimmed the hall lights. The long, dark passage was like a deserted hotel corridor.

  We passed Lucille’s room, and I hoped that Charmaine would stop and look in on her. It was hard to determine which of her choices was worse—opting to live under Magnus’ dubious protection in the basement of the Lucky Dream or an unknown but certainly bizarre and scary future with the Pattersons. In a very short time I might never see Lucille again, and there was nothing I could do to keep her safe. The light was shining under the door, and we heard the muffled sound of the TV. A whiff of melted cheese and grease made my nostrils flare. I nudged Charmaine’s armpit to get her attention.

  “I can’t possibly sleep after that, Suggie. I need to think. Consider my options. Let’s see what Lucille is watching on TV.” She wiped her eyes with the corner of her robe and opened Lucille’s door.

  Lucille was sitting cross-legged on the couch at the foot of her bed. She was wearing a red fleece sweatshirt that said “Gold Coast Gymnastics” in black letters on the back and red sweatpants. Her braids were wrapped around her ears. The packing crates had been moved against the wall. The missing toys and stacks of boxes made her room look both empty and crowded at the same time. On a table beside the couch was a box of pizza and a glass of milk. Her laptop was next to the pizza.

  “Hi, Charmaine. What’s wrong? Have you been crying?”

  “Oh, it’s just big-girl stuff,” said Charmaine sniffing. Her eyes had teared up again.

  “I’m sorry you’re sad. I feel sad too.”

  “What are you watching?” Charmaine dropped onto the couch beside Lucille. She was white with emotion and fatigue.

  “It’s my mom’s film, Jewel of the Eastern Sun. It’s really fantastic. It’s the first in the Jewel series. My mom body-doubles for Jewel. Jewel is so beautiful. But my mom is prettier and stronger. She said that Jewel is really a wimp. She can’t even drive. A chauffeur takes her everywhere. I’ll fill you in on the story. There are these terrorist guys who are after Jewel. Mom does this incredible swan-dive off a cliff into the ocean, and then she…”

  “That’s okay, Lucille,” Charmaine interrupted. “No need for the details. I’ll catch up. That pizza looks good. Can I have a little? I didn’t have any dinner, and I’m so tired from trying to handle CJ, Cristoff and Larry.” Charmaine helped herself to a piece. The sleeve of her kimono grazed the tomato sauce. She paid no attention.

  “Umm, that’s delicious. Where’s it from?”

  “Big Tomato. They’re my favorite. Darien told me about them. It’s artichoke, olive, mushroom and sausage. Do you like the combination?”

  “Yeah, great choice.”

  Charmaine opened the wine bottle and poured herself a big glass. She finished her pizza and reached for another slice.

  “Have all you want, Charmaine. I’m done,” said Lucille.

  Charmaine drained the first glass of wine and poured another. She was eating with intensity. The pizza was almost gone.

  “How was the Teacup Ball?” Lucille handed Charmaine a couple of paper napkins. “Did your speech go okay?”

  Charmaine wiped her mouth, then the top of the table, leaving a greasy streak on the glass. “Yes, everything was just fabulous.” Charmaine was always editing reality to create the story she wanted to hear.

  “That’s where you met Richard, right?” said Lucille.

  “He showed up instead of the CEO of City Dog. At first I was annoyed, but he’s so good-looking.”

  “I really like him,” said Lucille. “And he loves Sugar.”

  “Yes,” said Charmaine between mouthfuls. “Richard is a wonderful person.”

  “Charmaine, can’t I please stay here after Christmas? I won’t be any trouble to you and Larry. You know my gymnastics team is in the state finals, and they need me to compete.”

  I could tell that Lucille had been waiting for the right moment to broach this subject.

  Charmaine blinked. She stopped chewing and stared at Lucille with an expression of pure horror.

  “Lucille, you most certainly may not stay here. This is a very bad place for a child. I don’t even think that I can stay here. Of course, I can’t leave before the party tomorrow. But this is not a healthy environment. I have to get out.” She was talking to herself now. She poured another glass of wine. The bottle was almost empty. The pizza had been devoured.

  “But what about the gymnastics meet?”

  “Honey, handstands and back bends are the least of your worries.”

  “But you don’t understand. That is my future.”

  Charmaine licked her fingers. “No, I’m afraid I don’t. Zoya’s found a lovely family f
or you.”

  “They aren’t lovely.”

  “Lucille, you’re a child. Things look different to children. Trust me.”

  “Have you seen them?”

  “Well, no. But I’m certain that Zoya has your very best interests at heart.”

  Lucille was silent. Charmaine snapped her cell phone opened.

  “Lucille, do you think you could turn off the sound for a few minutes? I need to call my mother.”

  Now it was Lucille’s turn to look amazed that Charmaine counted a mother among her accessories.

  “Hello, Mom. Oh, I’m sorry. I must have dialed the wrong number.” The wine was taking its toll. Charmaine punched in the number again.

  “Hello, Mom. Yes, it’s me, Charmaine. Oh, thank God. I’m so glad you’re home. No, nothing’s wrong. No, I’m not slurring my words. Well, I’m just a little upset. I was wondering, could I come home for a while?” Charmaine was twisting her hair into a knot around her hand.

  “Well, yes, I was doing very well here. But things have changed a bit. No, I couldn’t really. I told you before. We are not getting married. Mommy, I’m only 25. I want to spend a little time around you and Daddy. You’re going to Disney World next week? Oh that’s wonderful. Could I join you there? No, I haven’t been drinking. Well, maybe I’ll see if I can get an airline reservation. No, I won’t be bringing Larry. I know you want to meet him. Yes, I’ll let you know. Bye, bye, Mommy. I miss you so much. Yes, I’ll say hello to Larry.”

  “You’re so lucky you have a mom,” said Lucille.

  “Yes, I guess I am.” Charmaine yawned and poured the last bit of wine from the bottle. She leaned back and closed her eyes.

  “Okay, Charmaine,” watch this said Lucille pointing to the TV. “It’s Mommy’s dive.”

  Charmaine did not answer. She was snoring.

  “Oh, she’s asleep. That’s good. Sugar, come sit with me. I’ll rewind so you can see. This is really fantastic.” Lucille picked me up and put me in her lap, facing the TV. My head was resting on her knee.

  “She’s so mean, but I don’t care if she won’t let me stay here. I have some secrets to tell you,” she whispered. “You’re coming with me. You’re my best friend, and I can’t leave you.” She stroked my back. “I’ve been studying up on Bulgaria. I think we might like it there. Listen to this.” Lucille stopped the movie, picked up her laptop and read me what was on the screen:

  History has allotted Bulgaria a difficult and dramatic face.

  “Doesn’t ‘difficult and dramatic’ sound interesting?”

  Much has perished, but even more has remained—a rich spiritual world which will show you with the colors, rhythms and melodious songs of living Bulgarian folklore, the unfading beauty of Bulgarian arts and crafts, the gaiety and vivacity of Bulgarian festivals and customs, the piquant taste of Bulgarian cuisine and the delicate fragrance of Bulgarian wines.

  “Colors and melodious songs—I’m so excited—well maybe not excited but curious. I’m going to specialize in rhythmic gymnastics. Coach Gheorghi saw my tape. He says I have potential. There’s a spot for me on the national team. I’m going to live at a special school for gifted girls. There are lots of Bulgarians who have never even seen a girl who looks like me. They don’t even know what a Filipina is. Most of them have very white skin. I know you’re afraid,” she said, scratching my ears. “But don’t worry. We’ll be fine. He’s sending me an eTicket.”

  I closed my eyes and buried my head in her lap.

  “I friended a Bulgarian girl on Facebook. She speaks English. Guess how you say ‘dog’ in Bulgarian—Kuche. I sent her your picture. You’re my tiny kuchey, kuchey. Isn’t that cute? It almost sounds like ‘cute.’”

  I kept my head down. She picked me up, squeezed me and gave me a kiss on the snout. Her face was hot, and in the back of her eyes I saw fear.

  Chapter 22

  “Our life is made by the death of others.” Leonardo da Vinci

  We woke inside a snow globe. The skyline was obscured by clouds. Outside the milky windows, miniature galaxies formed and dissolved. The city’s usual low-grade roar was absorbed in heaps of new snow. Lucille and I snuggled in the warm bed, listening to silence and the sweep of the wind.

  “Oh, God, my head.” Charmaine was sprawled on the couch where she had fallen asleep. Her kimono had come open. One outstretched arm was resting in the empty pizza box. The wine bottle had fallen onto the floor beside her. The scene looked like a Playboy photo shoot gone wrong.

  “Oh no! Look at what’s happening outside! This storm will ruin my party. Oh, my head hurts so much. Lucille, get me a glass of orange juice and some aspirin right away, or I’m going to die. What time is it?” Charmaine curled into a ball and rocked back and forth.

  Lucille rolled over and looked at the clock. “It’s 7:30.” She threw back the covers, put on her terry robe and stuffed me into the pocket. Then she slid on her slippers. We headed to the kitchen.

  Zoya was sitting at the granite counter on a leather and wrought-iron stool that looked like a relic from the Spanish Inquisition. Her plastic-encased leg rested on another stool. In front of her was a steaming cup of coffee. In one hand she held a croissant that was dripping melted butter and in the other a copy of Star. Some habits even the Witnesses are powerless to change. She was so absorbed in reading that she did not notice either Lucille or the pool of grease that was accumulating and would probably leave a nasty stain on the expensive stone counter.

  “Charmaine doesn’t feel well. She wants some orange juice and aspirin right away.”

  Zoya’s head snapped up. “Don’t scare me like that, Luci.” She put the paper down and hid the cover. “Why I not surprised? Well, you know where the juice is.”

  There was a sucking noise as Lucille opened the door to the fridge, which was disguised as wood paneling. Inside was a supermarket display of juices and flavored waters. Lucille filled a crystal goblet with crushed ice and poured the orange juice.

  “You tell Ms. Charmaine that she need to get out of bed right now.”

  “She’s not in bed. She slept on the couch in my room.”

  “I no care if she sleeping in bathtub. Mr. CJ and Mr. Cristoff have a big fight yesterday before they leave. There’s trouble going on. Mr. CJ say he going to do some bad things to Mr. Cristoff. Luci, you have that dog with you?” Zoya’s eyebrows came together in a V. “How many times I tell you not to bring dog into kitchen?”

  “I’m sorry, Zoya. I just forgot. She’s in my pocket. She won’t get fur on anything.” Lucille got the bottle of aspirin out of the cabinet and put it into her other pocket. We hurried back to her bedroom to give Charmaine the bad news. On the way, I noticed that the door to Larry and Charmaine’s bedroom was wide open and the bed was empty. In spite of his substance abuse, Larry was an early riser.

  Lucille put the juice and the aspirin on the coffee table. Charmaine was still in a fetal position. Her arms were wrapped around her head.

  “Here’s your juice. Is there anything else I can do?”

  “Yes, put Sugar down next to me. She always makes me feel better.”

  Lucille took me out of her pocket and put me in the curve of Charmaine’s body. She felt warm and slightly damp.

  “Zoya said to tell you that something happened with CJ and Cristoff, and she thinks there might be a little problem when they get here,” said Lucille, being careful to convey a sense of urgency without triggering unnecessary hysterics.

  “Oh, God. Oh, God. I’m so sick. That’s all I need.” Charmaine sat up, ran her hands through her hair and gulped down half a glass of orange juice. “Okay, I’ll just take a shower. Then maybe I’ll be okay. Lucille, throw on some clothes and go wait for them. Come and get me right away if anything gets out of hand.”

  “What should I do if they start to fight?”

  “I just told you what to do. Do nothing. Just come and get me.” Charmaine got up and staggered out to take a shower, knocking me off the couch and onto the floor.
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  “Sugar, are you all right?” Lucille picked me up and put me back on the couch. She pulled on her sweatpants and a sweater and fixed her hair in a ponytail.

  “Hello? Hello? Is anybody home?” It was Brandon calling from the foyer.

  “I’ll be right there!” Lucille yelled back. She grabbed me, and we hurried to the salon, where an aesthetic battle was raging. Lady Luck and the Snow Queen were fighting for turf. Baroque-looking gaming tables buttressed with leather padding were surrounded by Giacometti-esque sculptures sprayed white and decked with silver icicles and glass baubles. Six-foot standing chandeliers tiered with candles in more shades of white than an Eskimo could name were interspaced throughout the room. A row of massive silver receptacles reminiscent of spittoons were lined up along the windows. At the hub of these disparate decorations, the aluminum tree rose like a spidery Eiffel Tower to command its position of power among the host of competing attractions.

  “Hi, Lucille, this storm is incredible. I spun off the road. It’s impossible to see.” Brandon was standing in a pool of water that had dripped off his parka and boots. “Oh, look what a mess I made. The staff from Merry Maids should be here to clean this up in a little bit. Where is Charmaine? I really must talk with her. We need to get some things straight.”

  “She’s on her way,” said Lucille.

  “Cristoff’s furious. Mr. Wheel of Fortune is not following the diagram, and now there isn’t enough room for all the candelabras and cauldrons. They’re stacked up in the foyer. It’s a mess, really. Hi, Miss Sugar. How are you doing today, sweetie? I brought you a treat.” Brandon reached into his coat pocket and pulled out one of Chi Couture’s signature lard-frosted biscuits.