Plight

by K. M. Golland

  “Pat your lap a few times and say, ‘Dudley Doo, where are you?’,” Danielle shouted.

  I paused and looked over my shoulder toward the laundry. Dudley Doo? … Are you shitting me?

  Gritting my teeth, I called out, “Dudley d … doo, where are you?”

  “You have to say it louder, Elliot. And with more love in your voice.”

  More love? More fucking love?

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to clean that up and you find him?”

  “No! You’re not cleaning up my dog’s shit.”

  At least she was courteous. “Okay. But he’s not coming when I call him.”

  “Do you have cheese?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “He loves cheese. If you have cheese, he’ll smell it and come.” Lucky Pugly! I love pussy, and when I smell it, I come. Doesn’t mean I get it given to me after I’ve crapped on someone’s shirt.

  Walking to my fridge, I opened the door and pulled out the cheese tray, finding a half-eaten block of Mersey Valley Vintage. He’s not having my good cheese. Fuck him. I surveyed the shelves: T-bone steak — in his dreams. Leftover lasagne — he can kiss my arse. A spotty banana — bingo!

  “Does he like banana?” I called out, grabbing it.

  “Banana? He’s not a monkey, Lots.”

  “Monkeys don’t actually eat bananas,” I mumbled.

  “What?”

  “NOTHING!”

  Rounding the corner into my living room, I scanned the sofa and rug but he wasn’t there. Pugly, where are you? I have this yummy, over-ripened banana for you. Shit! Did I leave my bedroom door open? Hightailing it back down the hallway, I passed the laundry and bathroom, skidding to a halt when a blur of grey and black caught my eye. Was that Pugly … in my shower?

  I backed up a few steps and poked my head into my bathroom, finding Dudley with his leg cocked, a stream of yellow piss hitting the glass screen. What the fuck is wrong with this dog?

  “At least he got something kinda right,” Danielle said, her voice just shy of my ear.

  I turned to face her. “Your dog needs training.”

  “Fine.” She rolled her eyes. “He needs training. I just haven’t had the time to do it.”

  Stepping past me, she turned the shower on and closed the door, locking Pugly inside. “Serves you right, you naughty boy.”

  He jumped up the glass and barked at her.

  “No. You’re not coming out until you’re clean.”

  “And dry,” I added, leaning against the doorframe with my arms crossed.

  She looked over her shoulder. “I don’t suppose you have a hairdryer?”

  I smiled. “No, but I have a better idea.”

  “Elliot!” Danielle’s hand gripped my arm. “Are you sure this is allowed?”

  I turned the key to the gymnasium door and opened it, gesturing she enter before me. She glanced over her shoulder, as if she was about to perform an elaborate jewellery heist, then stepped inside my building’s gym, Pugly craddled in her arms, his baby-like position emphasised by the towel he was swathed in. Honestly, the only thing missing was a bottle.

  He looked ridiculous.

  As I closed the door behind us and locked it, I shrugged. “Not really. But don’t worry, I know a kick arse solicitor.”

  She tippy-toed past me. “Shit! I hope he’s as good as you say he is. We might need him.”

  “He’s the best. Real good looking, too.”

  “Is there something you’re not telling me, Lots? As in you have the hots for cocks?”

  She let out a little snort-laugh as we dodged weight machines and treadmills en route to the change rooms.

  “I’m just going to ignore that comment,” I said with the disdain that it deserved.

  “Whatever. Suit yourself.”

  As I passed the gym balls, one of them wobbled and knocked all three from their holders attached to the wall, giant blue balls bouncing in various directions. Blue balls, how ironic?

  “Shit!” I chased after them.

  “Oh my God,” she laughed. “I can’t believe we’re doing this.”

  “Why not? It’s just like that time when—”

  “When we hid inside the supermarket just before it closed for the night,” she said, continuing to giggle as I rounded up the balls.

  “Yep. That’s the one.” I put them back on their stands, smiling at the memory of Danielle and I crouched behind freezers as we watched my sister lock up after her closing shift. If it weren’t for the fact we’d left our bikes leaning against the store wall, we’d have gotten away with it.

  “No wonder Laura hates me,” she whispered as if someone could hear her. “She must think I’m such a bad influence on you.”

  I held the changeroom door open. “Hiding was my idea.”

  “I know! Everything was your idea.”

  She was right. Everything was my idea. Just like when we were trapped in the storm drain. Playing underground that day had been my suggestion.

  Unable to respond, as the memory stole my movement like it always did, a constant anchor that held me responsible for the terror we’d both experienced, I just stood there instead, trying to smile while continuing to hold the door. She paused for a second as she walked past, but I didn’t raise my eyes to meet hers. I reached out and patted Pugly the baby-dog instead before she continued on to the hand dryer. In that moment, I just couldn’t bring myself to stare into the same eyes that had spilled the most fear I’d ever seen in a person. Eyes that begged me to help them live because they didn’t want to die. Terrified eyes. I’d been in the presence of some terrified guilty and non-guilty clients on the cusp of receiving their sentences, but Danielle’s fear-filled eyes trumped them all, and I just couldn’t bring myself to remember them right now.

  “I don’t think he’s gonna like this,” she said.

  Closing the door, I helped her unravel Pugly from his towel without looking up, my thoughts drifting somewhere between the time we were ten years old and now.

  “Lots?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Please look at me.”

  I raised my eyes to meet hers, concern swirling in their deep brown depths.

  “Don’t,” she said, her soft fingers gently trailing down the side of my face, their touch sending a sensation through my skin that I couldn’t quite make out was hot or cold. “It wasn’t your fault. Why can’t you understand that?”

  I wondered for a moment if the word ‘guilt’ was written in magic marker all over my face that only she could see, because she’d always somehow been able to read me like an unreadable book.

  “You nearly died because of me,” I choked out. “That will always be my fault.”

  “We nearly died because we were kids who did stupid kid-things. It was nobody’s fault.”

  I nodded, but she was wrong. I’d led us into the drain that day, and I’d convinced her it was safe to stay there with me just so we could be alone. It was definitely my fault.

  She sighed and slammed her palm against the dryer button. It roared to life, the noise scaring the bejesus out of Pugly, his barrel-like body tumbling and scrambling in her arms like a crocodile performing a death roll.

  “DUDLEY! Stop! It’s okay. It’s just warm air. Warm, noisy air.”

  “Here.” I grabbed hold of him before he tore a hole in her lace dress. “Let me hold him while you keep him calm.”

  “Somehow, I don’t think he’s gonna be calm during this.”

  “Rub his cheeks.”

  “What?”

  “Like this, watch.”

  Securing him with one arm, I placed my thumb on his wrinkly face and massaged in slow, soothing circles, hoping like fuck his eyes would stop bulging out of his head even more so that what they already did.

  “He looks scared.”

  “Since when do pugs not look scared?”

  “Don’t pick on him. He’s terrified.”

  “No, he’s not. Look …”

  Danielle
tilted her head to the side then smiled. “Wow! Is he going to sleep? How’d you do that?”

  “I have magic hands.”

  I didn’t, or maybe I did. Truth be told, I was more surprised than Danielle that my doggy facial massage had actually worked. I’d come across a video about it on YouTube once so figured I’d give it a try. At the very least, I’d hoped Pugly wouldn’t bite me.

  “No, seriously. How’d you do that?”

  “I told you. I have magic hands.”

  “Elliot,” she warned.

  “Don’t believe me? I’ll put you to sleep later.”

  My response sounded far dirtier than I’d planned, but when I noticed her shuffle from one foot to the other, the dirty connotation wasn’t such a bad thing.

  “We’re not gonna fuck,” she said, her tone matter of fact.

  “I never said anything about fucking.”

  “No, but you implied it.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  The hand dryer switched off, so we both pushed the button at the same time.

  “You insinuated your ‘magic’ hands would be putting me to sleep.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Ha!”

  My God she was cute, especially when she was tipsy.

  Staring at each other for what felt like eternity, I was happy for the moment to become a time loop when both our faces broke into huge smiles.

  “I’ve missed you lots, Lots,” she said, her voice not much louder than a whisper.

  I stopped massaging Pugly’s cheek and slid my hand into hers. “I’ve missed you, too.”

  “Good. I’m still not fucking you, though.”

  Before I could argue our case, my magic wore off and Pugly sprung back to life and out of my arms. “Jesus! Are you sure he is not part grasshopper?”

  It made sense; the ugly fuck didn’t have much of a tail.

  “Shit! Dudley, come back!” Danielle lunged, stopping him from jumping into the urinal, which was fortunate for both him and us, except while executing her Olympic medal worthy stretch, she ripped her dress, rolled her ankle, and fell to the floor with a thud.

  “Fuck all the shits. Damn it! OwOwOw.”

  I took Pugly from her and secured him by hooking my finger under his collar, holding him at arm’s length like a seasoned dog-catcher. “Are you okay?”

  She nodded and wrapped both hands around her ankle, rocking back and forth, tears welling in her eyes. “Yeah.”

  “Stop lying.”

  She nodded again, and a tear fell down her cheek.

  “Fuck, don’t cry. It’s okay. I’ve got you.” Lifting Pugly, I placed him in her arms then lifted her into mine. “Let’s get you back to the apartment so I can take a better look at it.”

  “Okay. I wholeheartedly agree that he needs train— Owwwww!”

  “Sorry,” I said, wincing as I tightened the bandage I was strapping to her foot. “Is that tight enough?”

  “Yes. Any tighter and the friggin’ thing will fall off.”

  I rubbed it, gently. “And, yeah, he does need training. Sooner rather than later.”

  “Did you move all of your clothing to higher ground before you put him back in the laundry?”

  “Yes. Don’t worry about it. I’m more concerned about this ankle. You do realise you can’t drive, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You’re more than welcome to stay here.”

  “It’s fine. I’ll get a taxi home.”

  “Danielle!” I said, sternly. “I have a spare room. You can crash here.”

  “What about Dudley?”

  “He can sleep outside.”

  “Outside?” Her eyebrows near hit the roof. “As in … on the balcony?”

  “Yep.”

  She frowned the kind of frown you’d give the Grinch at Christmas.

  “I’m kidding,” I laughed. “He can sleep with you, or in the laundry. Whatever suits you best.” What the fuck am I saying?

  Clearly, I was saying anything to get her to stay. I didn’t want her to leave. Not now, not ever. Sure, our first date had been unorthodox, but that didn’t matter. I’d really enjoyed spending the evening with her.

  “I don’t know, Lots. Dudley and I have caused you so much grief already.” Dudley, yes. You, not so much.

  “You’re not driving home or catching a taxi.” I fastened the bandage with a clip. “If you really don’t want to stay, that’s fine. I’ll drive you home and catch a taxi back here instead.”

  “No! I can’t ask you to do that.” She shuffled backward, sitting straighter on the couch, her leg resting on my lap, my hand resting on her leg. “If you’re really sure it’s okay, then I’ll stay. Dudley can sleep in the laundry. He’s been bad and needs to be punished.”

  I tried not to laugh at her pathetic attempt at discipline. I also tried not to jump on the couch and impersonate Tom Cruise.

  Gently rubbing her foot again, I reassured her. “I’m sure.”

  She smiled then playfully punched my arm. “Okay. It will be just like that one time you were allowed to sleepover. Please tell me you still have Batman pyjamas.”

  Heat rushed to the surface of my entire fucking head.

  “Oh my God!” she shrieked. “You do, don’t you?”

  “I do not.”

  “Yes, you do! You’re lying. I can tell.”

  I lied. “I’m not.”

  “I thought we said no more lying, Elliot,” she huffed, mimicking my voice.

  “We did.”

  I remained impassive, so she pouted then sighed. “Too bad. I was gonna ask if I could sleep in them.”

  Check-Fucking-Mate. She’d successfully and quite easily outwitted me.

  “I have Batman boxer shorts,” I admitted. “You can sleep in them.”

  “Fine. Do you have a matching t-shirt?”

  I did, but I’d prefer she not wear it. “No. You don’t need it. Trust me, it’s better to sleep topless. I do it all the time.”

  Dodging the cushion she swung at my head, I caught it on the return swing. “If I remember correctly, we played Truth or Dare the night I slept over.”

  Danielle tapped her chin. “Hmm … yes, we did. Why?” she said with a smile. “Do you wanna play?”

  “Well … it is tradition.”

  “So is wearing Batman PJ’s.”

  “But if you’re wearing them, how can I wear them?”

  “Easy. I won’t wear them.”

  “What will you wear?”

  “My underwear.”

  Just the thought of Danielle in her bra and panties made my cock swell.

  I fidgeted.

  “Lies.”

  She shook her head. “Truth.”

  “Fine. I’ll wear my Batman boxers for you.”

  She clapped, excitedly. “Yay! Just like old times.”

  Part of me shared her notion, but another part of me didn’t. Sure, I wanted to rehash old times, especially the fun ones, but I also wanted new times. Fun times. Sex times.

  “Okay. Go get your PJ’s on while I take off my dress.”

  Shit! She’s fucking serious.

  “You’re joking, right?”

  She shook her head.

  Jumping up like a teenager who was ready for his first handjob, I ran my fingers through my hair before turning full circle, a little lost as to where I was headed.

  “Wait! Can you unhook me first, please?” Danielle lifted her hair from her neck and leaned forward, baring her shoulders to me.

  “Sure.” I sat on the arm of the sofa and reached for the back of her dress, carefully unhooking the clasp and gently guiding the zip down, my hands shaking as more and more of her skin was exposed.

  She flinched just slightly and closed her eyes, swaying toward me, as if she was unable to stop herself. Fuck, I was torn, not knowing whether to peel the lace and satin from her and carry her to my room, or to get up and walk away in the hope that, soon enough, I’d know for certain that taking things further was what she real
ly wanted, because, right now, I had no fucking idea. And I couldn’t risk showing her my true feelings if it meant she would run away.

  Been there, done that.

  And I wasn’t going to do it again.

  His touch was unlike anything I’d ever felt. Hot. Cold. Tortuous. Exquisite. It sent my nerve endings waltzing across the surface of my skin, their message a cha-cha-cha to my brain.

  “Is that enough?” he asked, his tone deep and gravelly.

  The delicious sound fuelled every sensation I was feeling, but it was the cracked trepidation in his voice that provided a friendly reminder of where I was and what I should and shouldn’t be doing. And allowing his hands to remain on my back any longer was definitely something I shouldn’t be doing.

  I held my dress up at the front and shuffled back along the sofa. “Yes, thank you.”

  Elliot stood up and ran his hand through his hair. “Are you going to be okay? I mean … will your foot hamper the removal of your dress? I mean … do you need help getting out of it?”

  I couldn’t help but laugh at his awkwardness. “I’ll be fine, Lots.”

  “Right. Of course you will. Okay, I’ll be back.”

  He hurried off, and a wave of guilt hit me. Danielle, what are you doing? I was sending mixed signals. I knew I was. One second, I was “We’re not fucking, Elliot”, and next I was “Can you unzip me, Elliot?”

  Ugh! I’d never known a man to have the ability to change my mind as often and as easily as he could. And fuck all the shits, his hands were magic. It’s his goddamn fault.

  By the time he’d returned, wearing a pair of Batman boxer shorts, I hadn’t moved. I was still seated on the sofa with the front of my dress bunched in my hands and secured to my chest.

  “You did need help,” he sighed, reaching out to, what I assumed, assist me with the undressing process.

  I held my hand out. “No! Keep those magic hands away from me.”

  “What?” He laughed, but it was one of those ‘you’re crazy’ laughs.

  “I mean it. Your hands really are magic. They nearly tricked me into wanting to get naked. I wasn’t planning on getting naked, Elliot, just semi-naked … as in Spanx naked.”

  He stepped back, his hand finding his chin, which was when I nearly gave birth to my ovaries. OhmyfuckingGod! Elliot was the near naked one, not me; standing there in all his trim, toned, muscular glory. My jaw dropped and I gulped, clenched, squirmed, blinked … had a freakin’ cardiac arrest.