Amused at my analogies, and gratified that at least someone would notice if I went missing, I laughed at the thought. Unfortunately, it came out as a growl.
“Don’t growl at me, mutt. I can hurt you without anyone knowing. I have ways.”
He leaned close and I cringed at the wave of rotgut liquor coming out of him. Good lord, cheap whiskey, no deodorant, and a street-vendor wrap for dinner. The mix of smells was enough to make a lesser dog empty his stomach.
I rose, backing up until my hind quarters hit the metal grating. Vinny’s eyes narrowed. The next thing I knew he reached in, dragged me from the cage, took out the kind of plastic bat you’d buy at a toy store for a child, and whacked me in the head. Other than surprise, I didn’t feel a thing. But when I finally came to, I was surprisingly clean—and somehow I had managed to give Vinny a nasty black eye.
*
As much as I shouldn’t admit it, I was rather proud of that black eye. It gave me something of a ruffian swagger, quite a different mien from the one I’d had as a man. As Sandy Portman, I never engaged in any sort of fisticuffs. I didn’t have to. That charm of mine, not to mention my money, went a long way toward getting me what I wanted out of life. But the morning after Emily shoved the bag of cinnamon rolls in my hands and pushed me out the door, I realized she saw me solely as a cog in a corporate machine, no different from her. A novelty, sure, but I found myself dressing down and waving my driver away. More than ever I was reluctant to admit who I was, not because I was concerned she’d suddenly want me for my money, but because I was afraid she wouldn’t want me at all.
After finishing off the cinnamon rolls the next morning, I dialed her cell.
“I’m serious this time, come away with me,” I said when she answered. “We’ll go to Italy or France. You name it.”
She laughed. “I have a better idea. I’ll take you away. Meet me at my apartment in an hour.”
“What should I bring? An overnight bag? A steamer trunk so we can run away forever?”
“Just yourself. In casual clothes.”
“France casual?”
More of her laughter, though it turned out her choice of getaways wasn’t particularly funny.
“We’re going to Coney Island?” I said. “On the subway?”
My tone must have hinted at my lack of enthusiasm.
“How else are we going to get there?” she asked, her tone careful.
Right then I should have told her the truth, but better sense was no competition for self-preservation. I rationalized not telling her by promising myself that I would confess that weekend. It never occurred to me she might learn the truth before Saturday was ever over.
“I can’t think of a better way to get around,” was all I said.
The day was perfect. Warm, not too hot, the amusement park crowded, but not insane. She pulled me from the bumper cars to the Wonder Wheel, the Cyclone roller coaster, and the big slide. At the shooting gallery she won a stuffed animal and presented it to me.
“I can’t take that,” I said aghast.
“Why not?”
“For starters, the man’s supposed to win the prize for the girl.”
She shot me a crooked smile, but I ignored it as I handed over a series of tickets until I managed to win a stuffed animal for her. “There,” I said.
She looked at me as if I had given her a priceless emerald sculpture rather than a cheap green toy made in some slave-labor factory in China.
Amazingly, it was one of the best days of my life—right up until we ran into an acquaintance that was at the park with his kids.
“Sandy Portman,” Barrett Higby said, slapping me on the back. “How are you? You’re looking well. Though I’m surprised to see you at Coney Island. I certainly wouldn’t be here if the offspring hadn’t insisted. Said I had to bring them out to see how the other half lives—the half without money. Some new push these kids have gotten in their heads to be real.”
One look at Emily’s creased brow told me this wasn’t going to go well.
The minute Barrett started to introduce himself to my date, I said it was great to see him, took Emily’s arm, and headed for a food stand that promised coffee.
“What does that guy mean, regular family?” she asked.
There was a bite to her tone and I knew that the time had come for the truth. I half hoped the crowd of people at the food stand would distract her from fully absorbing the news.
The clerk asked what we wanted. “Two coffees,” I said, then added to Emily, “I have money.”
She glared at me. “Forget it. I’ll pay for my own.”
Even I knew that not fully absorbing was something altogether different from not understanding at all. With no help for it, I said it straight out. “Emily, I’m wealthy.”
First more confusion, before her brows slammed together just as the clerk handed us our coffees. “What do you mean, you’re wealthy?”
“I’m rich. My family is rich. I’m Sandy Portman,” I added with emphasis. “As in the Portmans of Regal Bay.”
“I thought the principals were the Regal family.”
“Well, yes, they were, are. My father’s mother was a Regal. Silas Regal is my great-uncle.”
“You aren’t struggling to make your way at the firm?”
“Struggling?” I might have shrugged. “Doesn’t everyone struggle now and again? And let me just add, it’s harder than you’d think to work your way up the ladder when you’re related to the boss. Nepotism is such an ugly word, and quite frankly, can work against you as easily as not.”
Emily poured sugar into her paper cup, more than seemed reasonable, before setting the sugar dispenser down with a little bang. “You lied to me.”
I doubted she would appreciate the difference between an out-and-out lie and the obfuscation of truth by omission.
We rode home on the train in stony silence, she refusing my offer of calling the car service. Since the cat was out of the bag, I would have preferred to wait for a driver to hie us back to the city, but no way was Emily going anywhere near a hired anything, and I couldn’t let her take the subway by herself. Whether she believed it or not, I was still the guy who was old-fashioned enough to spend a small fortune on tickets to win her a stuffed animal—a stuffed animal, I might add, that she crammed into the trash bin on our way out of the park.
For a week, she didn’t take my calls. Good, I told myself, ignoring the desperation I felt returning, that strange hungry need Emily had put to rest for something more in life. I went out every night, drank and ate and did all the things I used to do, determined to forget Emily Barlow.
Only that was the thing. I couldn’t.
For the first time in my life I gave in and sent a woman flowers with a card saying I was sorry. She sent them back. Frustrated, I did something I never would have thought I could do. I showed up at the Trigate building and waited outside like some pathetic stalker, taking her hands, bowing my head to hide what I knew were genuine tears. I told her that I missed her. She didn’t relent, but she wavered.
For the next week I showed up at work every day, making my case. I was sweet and vulnerable. Surprisingly, I was sincere.
Five days into my quest, she stared at me for what felt like forever, then closed her eyes. When she opened them again I swear she wanted to reach out. But something held her back. She turned and walked away.
I told myself to leave, to move on, but I had seen that look.
The next day I showed up one last time, this time at her apartment. I didn’t bring flowers or candy or any of the things that I knew wouldn’t mean anything to her. She arrived at the front of her building, her arms loaded with groceries, and I held up a book.
She stared at the carefully preserved hardcover, the title in German. “An original 1812 edition of Kinder-und Haus-Märchen,” she said so softly I barely heard.
“More currently known as Grimm’s Fairy Tales.”
“You noticed my collection.”
“I’
ve noticed a lot of things.”
Her shoulders slumped, like something deep inside her was trying to give in. She pressed her eyes closed, then started to open the front door. When the groceries began to fall I grabbed them, along with the keys.
I followed her into the elevator and she didn’t stop me. But I hadn’t taken more than two steps into her apartment when she whirled back. “You lied!”
Her anger came at me in waves, all that careful control ripped away.
My first instinct was to make some glib remark. But I ignored instinct and went with something that I realized was from my gut.
“I’m an ass, a big idiotic ass that has the sense of a gnat. But a well-meaning gnat, I swear.”
“Well-meaning?” she shot back.
“Face it, as Sandy Portman of the Vandermeer Regal Portman family, you, the daughter of the militant feminist, wouldn’t have given me the time of day.”
For a second I thought she was going to give in. “Don’t turn this around and make me some sort of reverse snob,” she snapped instead.
I must have looked as surprised as I felt. I hadn’t been trying to manipulate anything. I wanted her back, I needed her back, needed that heady mix of peace and excitement she made me feel.
“I didn’t mean it that way, Emily. I just wanted you to see me.” My voice had risen, the desperation coming through my always-careful façade. “I just wanted to be the guy I saw in your eyes before you knew I had money.”
Her jaw was tight as she stared at me. But this time when she started to move away, I dropped the groceries on the floor and caught her arm.
“I’m sorry for lying, Emily. I swear I am.”
“Damn you,” she whispered.
I turned her to me and she pounded my chest, not hard, more a testament to being torn between frustration and the desire to give in.
“Damn you,” she repeated.
When I pulled her close, pressing her body to mine, she cursed me one last time before we fell together to the floor, kicking lettuce and bread and bags aside. I had the fleeting thought that she was doing more than forgiving me. Somehow she was saving me.
*
Had I known more about dogs, or dog clinics, or anything dog related, what happened next in my newfound existence as Einstein wouldn’t have surprised me. As much as I’d like to say I was indifferent to being clean, I really adored it. For all Vinny’s faults, he cleaned me up pretty good and for a second I felt badly for whatever I’d done to him. My wiry fur had softened, and I smelled halfway decent.
However, all thoughts of cleanliness disappeared when hours passed and Emily didn’t make an appearance. She didn’t show up that night either, or even the next day. Fortunately Blue was there, and she gave me my due. When she opened my cage door, I couldn’t resist the need to strut out like a drum major in a marching band.
“You’re so handsome.” She laughed. “Whoever adopts you is going to be totally lucky.”
I went stiff.
Sure, I had seen the Adopt-A-Pet programs on the local news, but I had given them no thought. If I had wanted a dog, I would have gone out and found a purebred something that cost a great deal of money. A moot point, however, since a dog never would have fit into my world. Dog hair, dog walking, and a secret love of hand wipes didn’t go together. Though that was hardly my concern now. Adoption was.
Where the hell was Emily? Surely she would adopt me. She would take me home. My wife loved dogs. For God’s sake, she loved Einstein.
“No, no, no!” I moaned.
My heart rate shot up and I started the wretched drooling thing. On my clean fur!
The next day I was moved up front to a long cinder block room filled with bright fluorescent lights and a long line of cages. Here they had a German shepherd, a few other dogs and cats, a guinea pig, even a rabbit at the end of the line. As it turned out, it was Wednesday, a big day for adoptions.
My scruffy neighbors posed for each person who entered the room looking for an animal to love. My mind raced. If I was adopted, would that make this insane situation real? Permanent?
I whimpered and moaned, foaming at the mouth like Old Yeller.
The rabbit went surprisingly fast, the cats snapped up in a matter of hours. Even the guinea pig found a home. At the end of the day only the shepherd and I were left. I was relieved. The shepherd was not. He sank down into his cage, muzzle on his paws, and stared off at nothing.
By the end of the week, “Shep” and I were still there. I’d had a close call when a young family showed up. But after a quick—and I thought, inspired—baring of canine teeth, the middle-class gaggle of four fled. Afterward, Nurse shook her head at me and conferred with the vet about something I couldn’t make out. All I cared about was that I had averted disaster.
Emily still hadn’t shown up, and only Blue seemed to notice that something was wrong with me.
“Hey, Einstein,” she said, trying to calm me as I whimpered and drooled. “You miss Emily, don’t you?”
My head went up, my ears perking forward.
“Yeah,” she said, “I totally get it. You miss her. I called her, left messages telling her what was going on. But listen, she’s got a plate load to deal with right now. Dead husband, and all. Shrew of a motherin-law. On top of everything, I don’t think she could take watching someone walk out of here with you. So she sort of went cold turkey. Nurse told me she resigned as a volunteer and isn’t coming back.”
Oh my God!
I was inconsolable the rest of the day. Shep tried to cheer me up, but he wasn’t much better off than I was.
On Monday evening Vinny came in and opened the shepherd’s cage. The proud dog scuttled backward, his giant paws churning up the towel and cushion flooring, his deep whimpering a plea. Not that this deterred Vinny. He reached in with some sort of stick and lasso, capturing Shep around the neck, yanking him out.
“Hey, where are you going?” I called out.
This wasn’t part of any schedule I had been able to discern. But neither Vinny nor Shep bothered to enlighten me.
By the end of Vinny’s shift, Shep hadn’t returned. The next evening when Blue returned and saw the empty cage, she seemed surprised.
“Damn,” she said.
Fear brought out the worst in me; it always had. I was barely nice to Blue, alternating growls with whimpers.
She looked at me. “You really have to get your act together. I know you never would have bitten that little girl, but you can’t expect anyone else to know that. And you know what happens if we can’t find a place for you, or worse, if they think you’re a biter, right?”
I felt my strange, shaky heart skip a beat.
“You get put down.”
Put down? As in put to sleep? Forever? Was that what happened to Shep?
The thoughts rose through me like stair steps leading back to panic followed quickly by something else. I barely knew the dog, but still. Shep was dead.
My throat tightened and for a moment I had to look away. “Shep,” I whimpered and panted even more.
“Einstein. Don’t freak out on me. You’ve got to calm down.”
I didn’t listen. Those embers of fear and anger flared to life. I started to howl again, though not intentionally. It just happened. Despair surged, crashing over me.
“Old man!” This time I shouted, the howling bark echoing against the cinder blocks and cement.
The swinging door burst open. “What’s going on in here?”
It was Nurse with Vinny on her heels.
“He’s upset,” Blue said, “because of Otto. We know the animals sense when others have been put down.”
Nurse looked resigned to the reality of it. Vinny shrugged then stepped forward. At the expression on his face and the sight of the stick-lasso thing leaning against the wall, I realized with a start that my time had come. I began to whimper again. Vinny didn’t bother with the lasso; he reached for me with one of his meaty hands. This bastard who had been so horrible when he bathed
me was going to kill me.
Blue turned away. Nurse frowned. Vinny gave me a look that said I was in for a bit of retribution before I met my maker.
“Old man!” I cried again, scrambling in the cage, backing away, the terry cloth towels bunching underneath my paws. “Oh, God, no. Please,” I howled.
And just when Vinny grabbed me by the fur on my neck, a strange surge of heat and electricity shot through me. The room seemed to shift, and I swear even Vinny felt it. Confusion wrinkled his brow; his grip loosened and he glanced over his shoulder.
Yes, yes, I thought. The old man was going to step in and fix this.
But just as suddenly, the energy shifted even more, seemed to grow static—then disappeared altogether as if the old man had thought better of saving me.
Misery spiked. “Old man! You can’t do this!”
Vinny shook himself, then jerked me from the cage. I cried and fought to get away, yelping when he yanked me off the floor and carried me dangling like a sack. My feet scrambled in the air, but my cries were cut off along with my breath because of his strangling grip. Then suddenly I heard the bang, like a shot echoing against all the metal and cinder blocks.
“What’s going on here?”
Vinny jerked, swinging me around with him. Surprise as much as pain made me yelp, followed quickly by relief when I saw my wife standing in the doorway, her eyes wide. Then her brows slammed together. “Put him down.”
“Emily!” I tried to bark. But Vinny hadn’t given up. He swung me up into his arms.
“I said, put him down.”
The man grumbled and glared at me.
Nurse glanced from me to my wife. “Emily, you know this is how it works. Einstein had his chance. No one wants him.”
The words surprised me. Never in my life had no one wanted me.
A strange sort of disconnect raced down my spine. I refused to examine what the words made me feel, refused to put a name to the pressure I felt behind Einstein’s eyes. My little dog’s body trembled as I looked at Emily. “Please want me.” It was yet another pathetic and embarrassing bout of begging. This from a man who had never been fond of sloppy displays of emotion. But I couldn’t help it. “You have to want me.”
Emily and Einstein Page 5