Puppy Love

by Nancy Krulik

  Noodles was also working up quite a thirst. His tongue was hanging out of the side of his mouth, and he was panting pretty heavily. Eventually the bulldog took a break from his game of chase and hurried over toward the large, metal water bowls that were set up at the edge of the run for just such an occasion. But before Noodles could reach the water, a larger dog ran over to the water bowl and somehow managed to spill its contents all over the surrounding sand and gravel, leaving a yucky brown mud puddle.

  “Noodles, no!” Alana shouted as she watched the bulldog heading toward the mud. “Come! Let’s go home!”

  But she was too late. Noodles was already rolling around in the mud, joyfully scratching his back in the cool, wet, gravelly mess.

  “Your mom is going to kill me!” Alana exclaimed as she went over to the mud puddle and pulled Noodles out. “If you get any of that mud on her white couch…well, I wouldn’t want to be either one of us.” Noodles looked up and gave Alana one of his goofy smiles. “Oh no you don’t,” Alana scolded him. “You’re not going to get away with this that easily. You’re going home right now. I’m going to have to give you a bath before your mom gets home!”

  Bathing a bulldog was not nearly as easy as it sounded. Sure, Alana had miraculously steered Noodles into the Parkers’ bathroom without getting so much as a drop of mud on the furniture, but getting the big guy into the tub was proving to be more of a problem than she’d planned on. It seemed that while Noodles liked mud, he was not nearly as fond of clean water. Forcing a fifty-pound bulldog into a tub was no easy task. Alana had to crouch down behind Noodles and push on his butt until the unhappy dog finally acquiesced and made the leap into the tub.

  Still, once he was in the water, Noodles was a complete angel. “Good dog,” Alana praised him as he stood perfectly still and let her scrub his belly. “Good boy, Noodles.”

  Noodles looked up at her when he heard his name and gave his body a little shake—completely covering Alana with sudsy water.

  “Thanks a lot,” Alana grumbled. “Now I get to walk through the streets of Manhattan soaking wet.” She looked sternly at Noodles. The bulldog looked back at her, and if Alana wasn’t mistaken, she was sure she heard him laugh. Or at least make some sort of dog sound that resembled a laugh.

  As the dirty water drained out of the tub, Alana grabbed a towel from the bar nearby. Mrs. Parker probably wouldn’t like the fact that Alana was using one of her towels to dry the dog, but it was a lot better than leaving a wet Noodles to have free run of the apartment. He’d only wind up drying himself on the rug and leaving the unpleasant odor of wet dog everywhere. Besides, she would put the towel in the hamper before she left. Then the maid who came three times a week would put it in the laundry. Mrs. Parker would never have to touch the dog-tinged towel, ever.

  As Alana pulled the towel down and began to rub Noodles’s chubby, bulldog body, her eyes fell on something that had been drying on the towel bar—a pair of stretched out, orange and yellow polka-dot, cotton granny panties. “Oh no,” Alana groaned, wincing. The last thing she’d wanted to come face-to-face with was Mrs. Parker’s underwear. Ugh! TMI!

  Mrs. Parker was not a small woman. In fact, she was kind of large and round, with an angry squished-in face. Alana had always thought Noodles was the perfect pet for her, because, physically, Mrs. Parker was pretty much the human version of a bulldog. And the image of her in her bright orange and yellow panties was…well…Alana blinked hard, trying to get it out of her head.

  “Oh, man. You’ve got to stay out of the mud, Noodles,” Alana said as she finally turned the clean, dry bulldog loose into the apartment. “I can’t go through this again.” She looked back over at the stretched out piece of orange and yellow material on the rack and shivered slightly. Some things were better off unseen.

  Four

  “It hurts when you walk out the door. I’m not really sure, if I can take much more….” The lead singer’s voice leaked out onto the sidewalk as Alana and Sammy approached the Knitting Factory on Saturday night.

  “Alana Marks and Sammy Arden,” Alana told the bouncer at the door.

  The bouncer looked down at the guest list. “I’ve got Alana Marks and guest. This guy’s your guest?”

  Alana could feel Sammy bristle at the slight. “Um, yeah,” she told the bouncer. “Sammy’s my guest.”

  “Okay,” the bouncer said, taking a black marker and drawing lines on Alana’s and Sammy’s right hands. “Modern Art’s playing in the main room. The bar’s to your left. You’ll need ID for alcohol.”

  “Thanks,” Alana said, flashing a smile at the bouncer as they walked into the club. She turned to Sammy. “This is so cool. I’ve never been on a guest list at a club before.”

  “I still haven’t,” Sammy grumbled, with more than a hint of annoyance in his voice.

  “That was weird,” Alana admitted. “I’m positive I told Leo your name. Maybe he just forgot. Anyway, we’re here now. Let’s go into the main room. I can’t wait to hear Modern Art at full volume.”

  “Modern Art,” Sammy repeated the band’s name out loud. “Pretty pretentious name for some college garage band, don’t you think?”

  Alana shrugged. “I kind of like it. Besides, it’s not the name that counts. It’s the sound.”

  “True,” Sammy agreed. “Let’s give ’em a listen.”

  As Alana pushed open the door to the main room, she was hit by the sheer blast of Modern Art at full volume. Sure enough, the band was exactly as Leo had promised—emo, with an obvious Nineties grunge influence.

  The crowd at the Knitting Factory was very downtown. Nearly everyone was dressed in black—the girls in tight leggings with oversized shirts, the guys in black jeans and retro rock-band T-shirts. Everyone seemed to be pierced, and not always in the obvious places. And tattoos were everywhere. Alana was glad she’d followed Stella’s advice and worn a black vest over her long gray shirt and skintight black jeans. She felt as though she really fit in with the ultrahip downtown youth scene.

  Unfortunately, Sammy hadn’t made as successful a choice in his outfit. He stuck out like a sore thumb in his salmon-colored Le Tigre shirt, khakis, and loafers. It was totally a new look for him. Back in high school he’d been a jeans and T-shirt kind of guy. Still, no matter what he was wearing, Alana thought he was most definitely the hottest guy in the room—close-cropped hair and all. And to prove it, she ran her fingers through that short hair and kissed him on the cheek.

  A moment later Leo appeared beside her. Alana jumped with surprise and then grinned. Leo hadn’t changed his look for tonight one bit. He was exactly as he had appeared at the dog run—Yankees cap, ripped jeans, and a worn-out, white and purple NYU T-shirt. Like Sammy, he’d made no effort whatsoever to cultivate a downtown sophisticated look. Yet unlike Sammy, he seemed to fit in at the Knitting Factory perfectly.

  “Alana! I’m so glad you made it!” Leo shouted, straining to be heard over the blaring music. He checked out her attempt at downtown wear. “You look incredible!”

  Alana wrinkled her nose and stared at him. “What?” she shouted. “I can’t hear you!”

  Leo crooked his finger and motioned for Alana and Sammy to follow him back out into the entranceway of the club. As soon as the door closed behind them, they were able to hear one another speak.

  “The band’s awesome, Leo,” Alana told him. “Just like you promised.”

  “I aim to please,” Leo assured her. He held his hand out to Sammy. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Leo.”

  “Sammy,” he replied, shaking Leo’s hand. “I think Alana mentioned you once or twice. You’re a dog walker, right?”

  Leo nodded. “Among other things.”

  “Like producer of this band,” Alana boasted. “And a future Pulitzer prize–winning journalist.”

  “Let’s not go crazy,” Leo told her. He smiled, obviously pleased with Alana’s show of support. “I haven’t even declared a major yet.”

  “So you’re thinking about journ
alism, huh?” Sammy said. “Columbia’s a great school for that.”

  “So I hear,” Leo said. “I’m a sophomore at NYU.”

  “That’s not bad,” Sammy replied. He wrapped his arm tightly around Alana’s waist. “I think ’Lana here might be considering that as a safety school.”

  “Really?” Leo asked. “You didn’t mention that, Alana.”

  Alana shrugged. “NYU is on my list. But it’s no safety school. I don’t think there is such a thing anymore.”

  Leo nodded in agreement. “And man, you’d better be sure when you do choose a school. They’re so expensive.”

  “I had no idea just how expensive until I started looking at schools this summer. They sent the tuition costs with the applications. I’ve never seen so many zeros in one number.” Alana sighed. “That’s why my life has gone to the dogs.”

  “Mine too,” Leo said. He held up a fist. “Dog walkers of the world unite!”

  Alana grinned and raised a fist in solidarity. “Dog walking is a great part-time job, don’t you think? I mean, who wouldn’t want to spend afternoons outside playing with dogs? They’re so sweet and loving. It’s amazing how they make me feel terrific no matter what kind of day I’ve been having.”

  “I know what you mean,” Leo agreed. “I think they’re actually a lot more empathetic than people.”

  “Exactly,” Alana agreed. “I—”

  Sammy glanced toward the bar. “You want a drink, Alana?” he asked, interrupting the conversation.

  Alana frowned slightly. They had sort of been leaving him out of the conversation. “That’d be great,” she said, flashing him a bright smile. “Diet Coke if they’ve got it. Thanks.”

  “I’ll get it,” Leo told her. “They give me sodas for free, since I’m working with the band.”

  “That’s okay,” Sammy insisted, stepping to the left to effectively block Leo’s path to the bar. “I can afford to buy my girlfriend a Coke.”

  Leo shrugged. “Whatever you say.” He cocked his head slightly to the left, listening. “I gotta go. They’re about to finish the set. I’ve got to go clear the stage and set up for the next one.”

  As Leo walked away, Sammy shook his head. “Kind of sad,” he muttered.

  “What is?” Alana asked.

  “That kid, Leo. Making such a big deal about being a roadie for some college grunge band.”

  Alana looked at him strangely. “He’s not a roadie. He’s a producer, sort of.”

  “Whatever.” Sammy shrugged. “Bet you’ll be glad when you’ve earned enough money for school and you can stop hanging around with people like him.”

  “What do you mean, ‘people like him’?” Alana asked. She was surprised to hear Sammy say anything like that.

  “You know, people who float through life with no direction,” he explained. “You heard him. He hasn’t even declared a major yet.”

  Alana was really taken aback by his statement. It was so judgmental and completely out of character for Sammy. What is going on here?

  “So what?” Alana defended Leo. “He’s only a sophomore. He’s got time.”

  “If you say so,” Sammy said with a shrug. “I’m just glad I know what I’ll be studying the next four years though.”

  “We’re lucky. We’ve always known what we wanted to do,” Alana told him. “Leo’s got too many interests. He’s got to narrow them down.”

  “Well, I can suggest one interest he can cross off his list,” Sammy told her.

  “Which?” Alana asked him.

  “You,” Sammy said firmly. Then, noticing Alana’s expression, he added, “Don’t tell me you didn’t realize he likes you.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” she insisted. “We’re friends. That’s all.”

  “Trust me, Alana, I can tell when someone is interested in my girlfriend. And he definitely is.”

  Alana frowned. This evening wasn’t going the way she’d planned at all. She’d hoped Sammy would like her friend and be happy to go out and listen to music for a change. But instead, here they were, in the entranceway, arguing about the very person who’d gotten them into the club for free.

  And arguing was the last thing Alana wanted to do tonight. Defending Leo any more would only lead to more bickering. “Come on,” she said, grabbing Sammy’s arm. “I’m here with you tonight. So let’s get that soda and get in there before the set ends!” And with that, she pulled Sammy back into the main room, where the music was so loud, they couldn’t argue even if they wanted to.

  “I’m telling you, Stella, it was bizarre,” Alana said the next morning as she and her best friend wandered in and out of the narrow aisles of the flea market on Columbus Avenue. “He actually seemed jealous of Leo.”

  Stella held a vintage white blouse up to her chest and glanced in the nearby mirror. “You know, it’s possible he’s worried that you’re making a whole life for yourself that doesn’t include him,” she suggested as she studied her reflection. “Up until now he’s seen you at school every day. You had all the same friends—well almost all.”

  Alana frowned. She knew what Stella meant by that. Stella and Sammy had never been close. They were just too different. But for Alana’s sake, they’d always been cordial enough when they were all together. Stella was obviously glad to have Sammy taken out of the equation when the girls went to school events and stuff together. For that matter, Sammy didn’t seem to miss hanging out with Stella, either.

  Stella shook her head and put the shirt back in the five-dollar bargain bin at the flea-market stand. “He’s just all weirded out that you have friends he’s never met before,” she told Alana. “He’ll get used to it.”

  Alana sighed. She wasn’t so sure about that. After all, she hadn’t completely gotten used to the fact that Sammy had new friends that she didn’t know. Friends who were influencing the way he dressed and thought. Friends who were girls. Girls without curfews. She blinked her eyes tightly, as though trying to banish the chain of negative thoughts from her head.

  “Do you think this is me?” Stella asked, holding up a gauzy pink top with macramé trim.

  “Totally,” Alana said. “It would look great with your faded Levi’s.”

  “That’s what I was thinking,” Stella agreed. She flipped her long red curls over her shoulder and reached into her huge pocketbook for a five-dollar bill.

  “You need a bag?” the man who owned the flea-market stand asked her.

  Alana grimaced. This wasn’t going to be pretty.

  “No, I don’t need a bag,” Stella told him. “Do you know how long it will take the plastic from those bags to break down? Hundreds of years. And when they do, they leak all kinds of chemicals into the soil and the water. Poisonous chemicals! And that’s only the ones that break down. How about all the bags that get into the ocean and kill off fish and dolphins?” She pointed to the pile of plastic bags on the pavement. “Those are weapons of mass destruction!” Stella declared.

  Alana had to choke back a laugh. The owner of the clothing stand looked positively petrified. The people in the nearby stands didn’t look too comfortable either. One of them threw her coat over her pile of plastic bags in an effort to conceal her “weapons” from Stella’s eyes.

  “I’ll just put the shirt in my bag,” Stella continued, tucking the shirt into her giant pocketbook. “A cloth bag, not leather. No animals had to die for this to be made.”

  As Stella stormed off, Alana glanced back and gave the owner of the clothing stand a weak smile. She felt kind of bad for him. He’d been just standing there minding his own business, and—boom—he’d been attacked by Stella, the guerrilla environmentalist. It had to have been scary for him.

  “You think he learned anything?” Stella asked Alana a few moments later.

  “Sure,” Alana told her. “I’m sure he’ll switch to paper bags from now on.”

  Stella’s hazel eyes glared at her. “Paper? He can’t use paper! Do you know how many rain-forest trees are cut down each year so we can
have paper bags?” She turned back toward the clothing stand.

  But Alana grabbed her arm before she could head back for another attack. “I think he’s learned enough for one day,” she told Stella. “Let’s go get some ice cream.”

  “Cold Stone vanilla with Heath bars mixed in?”

  Alana nodded. “Absolutely.”

  “Sounds perfect,” Stella agreed.

  Alana grinned. Nothing like Cold Stone ice cream to chill Stella out. That was one problem solved. Now, if only her worries about Sammy could be fixed so easily.

  Five

  It was impossible for Alana to get Sammy out of her head. All through the school day she was checking her cell phone, hoping for a message from him. No dice. She comforted herself by reminding herself that he had three classes on Monday. Still, how long could it take to just text her a quick “<3 ya”? If Sammy were still at Lincoln High, she could have at least caught a glimpse of his soft brown eyes and gotten some reassurance that everything was all right. Of course, if he were still at Lincoln, none of this would be happening. Alana couldn’t help but notice that the thirty-block distance between Lincoln High and Columbia University was seeming farther and farther every day.

  When the school day ended, Alana was actually glad that she had a whole afternoon of dog walking ahead of her. Mrs. Stanhope had paid her extra to give Nicolette a good workout in the park, which meant that Alana could go for a run around the reservoir with the poodle beside her. It was the perfect afternoon activity. “Nothing like a good endorphin surge to make a girl feel better,” she murmured as she laced up her running shoes and headed over to the Stanhope apartment.

  The Stanhopes lived in the Beresford apartment building on Central Park West. It was one of those massive, old, prewar buildings that boasted gorgeous views of Central Park and plenty of celebrity residents. Not that Alana had ever seen any of them.