My Boyfriends' Dogs

by Dandi Daley Mackall

  “Besides, Amber,” Mom said, “lots of perfectly wonderful people are frequently late.”

  I checked my cell. Two text messages, but not from Mitch.

  Mom turned to Amber. “So, Amber, are you still seeing Steve?”

  “Steve’s great,” she answered. “I think we’ll always be really good friends.”

  “But he’s not Travis,” I added.

  Amber’s eyes sparkled when she talked about Travis. “You’ll meet Travis tomorrow tonight. He’s coming to Mitch’s opening.”

  Mom smiled across the booth at me. “Are Mitch and Travis friends?”

  “Not really.” I was reasonably certain that Travis didn’t like Mitch, although he was always polite. Mitch called Travis “the poster boy for the establishment” because he planned to major in business.

  We waited as the restaurant filled. “Let’s go ahead and order,” I suggested.

  “Great!” Mom eyed the menu again. “I’m starved. How about an extra-large meat-lover’s with extra cheese?” She glanced up at us. “Or whatever else you want on it. Sky’s the limit. My treat.”

  “No meat,” Amber said. “Mitch doesn’t eat animals.”

  Mitch finally got there just as our waiter set the big veggie pizza on the table. My boyfriend slid into the booth and kissed me. I couldn’t help peeking at Mom, who looked a little shocked by Mitch or the way he was dressed—T-shirt and tie, shorts and sockless loafers.

  I heard Amber whisper to Mom, “It’s Mitch’s statement on the duality of man.”

  Mom nodded. “Ah.”

  Only then did my boyfriend turn to my mother. “Mrs. Daley.”

  “Hi, Mitch. Good to meet you at last.”

  He narrowed his eyes at her. “You and Bailey could be sisters.” Even though I’d heard that a hundred times, when Mitch said it, it made more sense. I hoped Mom could see that.

  “We’re sure looking forward to seeing your movie tomorrow night,” Mom offered.

  Mitch took a piece of pizza. “Film, not movie. There’s an ocean of difference between the two, and only a handful of sand to tell that difference.”

  “Uh-huh,” Mom commented, helping herself to a slice of pizza.

  “Which theater will it be in?” Amber asked.

  Mitch slammed his water glass so hard the water spilled. “The Rise Theater. Can you believe that? ”

  “What’s wrong with the Rise?” I asked. Amber and I had gone there a couple of times to see old movies or cartoon fests. It was small, but the seats and floors were clean.

  “What’s wrong with it?” Mitch asked. I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen him this fired up. “Do you know what drivel that theater usually shows? And get this. In their second theater tomorrow night, playing the same time Earth will be showing, is some vapid cartoon movie!”

  I glanced at Amber and Mom, ready to kick them under the table if necessary. We loved cartoon movies. It was one of my life details I’d never confessed to my boyfriend.

  Nobody spoke for a while. The pizza place camouflaged our awkward silence with laughter and loud voices from other tables, clanging silverware, and a twenty-four-hour sports station on the big-screen TV.

  “Anyway,” Mom said, smiling at Mitch, who didn’t smile back but did give her his full attention. “I can’t wait to see your mo—your film.”

  No response.

  Amber jumped in. “What’s the weather supposed to be tomorrow? ”

  Grateful for a neutral topic, I tried to keep it going, even though I hadn’t heard any weather reports for days. “I think it’s going to be sunny. Really sunny.”

  “That’s good,” Mom said.

  Mitch stared off into space, so I knew he was thinking deeply. “A day without sunshine . . . A day without sunshine is like . . . ” He wrestled with the thought.

  Mom, who could never stand to see anybody struggle with words or anything else, supplied, “Night? ”

  Still staring at the blank wall, Mitch repeated, “A day without sunshine is like night. Deep.”

  Mitch walked back to the dorm with us, picked up Eve, and went back to his apartment. Mom and Amber and I stayed up late popping popcorn and catching up on things. Amber and I wouldn’t let Mom go back to the hotel room she’d reserved for the night. I gave her my nightgown and my bed, and I took the floor.

  It seemed like I’d just fallen asleep when I heard a tapping. I waited. Then I heard it again.

  “Who’s that? ” Amber whispered.

  My brain finally deduced someone was knocking at the door. I got up to answer it.

  “It’s the middle of the night, Bailey,” Amber complained, rolling over.

  I kept the chain on the lock, but opened the door to see who it was.

  Mitch stood there in baggy sweats, his hair disheveled, and Eve by his side. When the dog saw me, she scratched to get in.

  I unlocked the door and slipped out into the hall so I wouldn’t wake Mom. “Mitch, what are you doing here? ” I whispered.

  Mitch gazed into my eyes, his expression flat. “Why is life so long? ” he asked, as if the fate of all humanity depended on the answer, and that answer had to come right then and there.

  I sent Mitch back home to get some sleep. I knew he was worried about his film, no matter what he said. Maybe he had finally let me see through his defenses and into his soul.

  Or maybe not.

  6

  On Saturday Mom, Amber, and I got up early and hit Columbia’s garage sales. It felt like old times.

  “There’s one!” Amber shouted, spying our first sale of the day.

  We came away with six vintage Mizzou drinking glasses, a more-than-slightly-used gold sweatshirt with a Mizzou Tiger still intact, and a black-and-gold tie, which Mom decided would be the perfect gift for the aspiring grip after his film debut.

  In between garages I tried to call Mitch, but he didn’t pick up.

  “Still not answering?” Amber asked, catching me dialing again when we got back to the dorm.

  “His cell’s turned off. He’s probably doing last-minute edits or meeting with the film team. I left him a text message that we’d meet him at the theater if he doesn’t get in touch before then.” I forced a smile and tried to act like it didn’t matter that he was cutting me out of his big day. But it did. I was his girlfriend. If he was upset or nervous, I should have been there for him.

  We played three-handed poker back in our room, but the time dragged.

  “Bailey,” Mom said, laying down her full house to beat my lousy two pair, “why don’t you go over to Mitch’s and make sure he’s okay? ”

  I’d wanted to go all day. I just wanted Mitch to call and ask me to come. But that was stupid. I was his girlfriend. He needed me, whether he called to tell me so or not. I stood up. “Thanks, Mom. I’ll do it.”

  It took about twenty minutes to walk to Mitch’s apartment, which was more like a tiny room over Berkeley’s Bakery in an older residential area of Columbia. Most of the buildings on the block had been torn down, leaving empty lots littered with glass and debris. Mitch seemed happy there—as happy as Mitch ever got anyway. But I worried about Eve. She was a big dog and needed a lot of exercise, and there wasn’t any room to run around the bakery.

  I climbed the back stairs and knocked. Eve barked from inside. “It’s just me, girl,” I called.

  Eve hiked up the barking volume and scratched at the door.

  “Mitch? ” I called.

  Nobody answered, except Eve.

  I opened the door, which Mitch never locked on the principle that he didn’t own anything. Eve bounded out, overjoyed at the freedom. She ran right past me down the fire escape and to the little patch of stones at the foot of the stairs. There, she did her business.

  Mitch obviously wasn’t home, so I closed the door and walked back to the dorm, taking Eve with me. I couldn’t leave her. Mitch might not come back until the film was over.

  When I got back to the dorm, Amber and Mom weren’t there. Amber had left me a no
te saying they were going out for ice cream and I should join them. Instead, I took advantage of the alone time and called all my friends and classmates and favorite customers to remind them to come to Mitch’s film showing.

  By the time Amber and Mom strolled in, we had to rush to get ready for the big night. Mom and Amber both wore black dresses with sparkly jewelry. I’d learned my lesson. I wore tight jeans and a funky tunic top with a leather choker and slingback, one-inch heels.

  “Bailey, are you wearing that? ” Mom asked. Then, as if she’d remembered her mantra about this being my world and whatever I said went, she said, “Sorry. You look great, honey. I’m sure you know exactly the right thing to wear to a film opening.”

  She was being so sweet. For a second, I felt like crying. In a weird way, I think I was homesick. Here I’d gone all these weeks without being homesick—except maybe for Adam. And now that Mom was with me, I missed her? It didn’t make sense.

  I looked away fast, before she could see my face. “We better get going. I told Mitch we’d get there early and hold a seat for him.”

  Travis drove Amber, Mom, and me to the theater. A group of kids in cartoon character shirts hopped out of a van and ran into the theater like they were late for their own birthday party. A couple of middle-aged men I knew from Grady’s trudged in like they were going to a funeral. It was pretty easy to tell which group was going to which movie.

  The lobby was long and narrow, with a table of cartoon-movie souvenirs on one end and packaged candy bars and cookies on the other.

  “Bailey, look,” Amber called from the souvenir table.

  Mom and I walked over to check it out. “It’s a Goofy,” Mom said, fingering the tiny ceramic dog. I’d started collecting Goofy after he’d sat with me on the park bench at Six Flags. I had stuffed animals and statues, some of them picked up in garage sales by my ever-vigilant mother.

  “He’s adorable.” I examined Goofy’s floppy ears to make sure they weren’t chipped.

  “Bailey!” Mitch called from the theater entrance and waved for me to join him.

  “Just a minute!” I called back.

  “I need you now.”

  Reluctantly, I handed Goofy back to the salesgirl. “Take good care of Goofy. I’ll come back for him.”

  By the time I made it to Mitch, he was in the middle of an intense conversation with an older man. I couldn’t believe it. Mitch looked fantastic in khaki pants, oxford shirt, and a corduroy sports jacket. No socks, but great loafers.

  I eased under his arm for a hug. “You look amazing,” I whispered in his ear. “You should have told me it was okay to dress up.”

  “Clothes mean nothing,” Mitch said, taking in mine. I was the worst-dressed person there.

  I stood by Mitch and greeted the people filtering in, all of them dressed a hundred times better than I was. On the other hand, some of these people had never seen me in anything but a Grady’s orange-capped uniform, so I might have looked pretty good.

  Mom pulled me aside on her way to our seats. “They’re pretty cute together,” she whispered, nodding to Amber and Travis. “Is he a good guy? ”

  “So far, so good.” I liked that my mom was so protective of my friend.

  Travis came over and shook Mitch’s hand and wished him luck. I waited for Mitch to make some comment about the non-existence of luck, but thankfully, he kept his scorn of Lady Luck to himself.

  I stuck around and made nice with theatergoers for about as long as I could stand. Then I took Mitch aside. “I’m going to find our seats. Are you coming? ”

  “I’ll be there,” he answered. He leaned in and whispered, “I have to check on Stan, our pitiful excuse of a film prof.”

  “I thought you liked him. You said he’d directed several plays and Sundance documentaries, right? ”

  “The man couldn’t direct traffic,” Mitch said. “Go ahead. I’ll join you later.”

  Our seats were in the eighth row, as ordered by Mitch. I stopped and chatted with friends and customers as I made my way to our seats. Outside in the lobby, you could hear kids screaming and laughing.

  “Must be the cartoon moviegoers,” Mom observed as I climbed over her. She’d held a seat next to her for me, with a seat next to me for Mitch, who would end up dead center of the eighth row, the perfect viewing perspective, according to my boyfriend.

  Mitch didn’t take his seat until the last minute.

  “I thought you weren’t going to make it,” I whispered as he climbed over Travis, Amber, Mom, and me and plopped into his seat.

  “Shh-hh,” he said, staring at the blank screen.

  Mitch didn’t mean to be rude—I knew that. I understood him. He was focused on his creation. Sometimes he had to shut out the world. And me.

  Mom reached over and looped her arm through mine, like we’d done a million times at movies.

  The theater darkened, and a scene appeared on the screen in black-and-white—a man’s boots stuck in mud that went as far as you could see. Then the title flashed on the screen: EARTH. And the show began.

  The audience watched in silence as earthy scenes replaced more earthy scenes. The camera angled up from the man’s feet until his face appeared in shadows. This unnamed man was the main character of Earth, and we followed him back and forth through mud, snow, desert, and dust. Three other people had roles in the film. I’d seen the film once before, and I still had no idea who the characters were. They had lines, but they never spoke to each other. It was more like they didn’t realize anybody else was there.

  Mom yawned. When I glanced at her, she tried to hide it. Somebody in front of us had fallen asleep after the first five minutes. A few people sneaked out the back. But most of the audience paid polite attention.

  I wished I understood the film better. From time to time I sneaked peeks at Mitch. The light from the screen fell on his cheek, and his eyes were wide with pride and awe. He looked beautiful, wholly enthralled.

  The final scenes of the film were going to be the hardest on the audience. That’s when the four characters finally got together and spat out hateful words. The last exchange went like this:

  MAN I: “I’ve listened to music from the East, and I can

  tell you there is no God.”

  MAN 2: “Then there is no God.”

  GIRL I: “I told you so. I hate all of you.”

  GIRL 2: “I can die, then.”

  The actors disappeared, and the film credits rolled. Next to me, my mother squirmed. She muttered something to herself. Amber and Travis were whispering. Mitch was on the edge of his seat, watching the credits. I knew he was waiting to see his name roll by. Around us, people were getting up. Leaving.

  I stood up. “Hey, everybody! Hang on a minute!”

  “It’s over,” said a man, who made it sound like he’d just endured oral surgery.

  “No! It’s not! Look at the screen. Please? ” I begged.

  Most people stopped. I knew so many of them. They were my customers. They’d come to this depressing movie because I’d begged them to. I’d told them how much it would mean to my boyfriend and me if they’d show up and fill the theater. They’d paid to be here. “Seriously, everybody, thanks for coming. Hang on for one more minute.” I loved them for stopping their mass exit, for looking at the screen, for wiping the frowns off their faces and smiling back at me. “You guys are the greatest!”

  “There it is,” Mitch said, his voice excited. “Right after the chief grips.”

  And then it came, Mitch’s full name—Jonathan Randall Mitchell. And beside his name: “Assistant Grip.”

  “That’s my boyfriend!” I shouted. I realized that at some point I’d climbed up on my theater seat. I wobbled, and Mom grabbed my legs to steady me.

  Mom shouted, “Yippee! Whoo-hoo!”

  Amber and Travis started the applause. Then people followed their lead—the apple man from Grady’s, a girl in my French class, two guys Amber used to date. They clapped, and they kept clapping until every credit ro
lled by and the screen went blank.

  “You guys rock!” I shouted.

  “Now can we go?” begged Mr. Murtaugh, Wanda’s father. He’d come because Wanda was holding down Grady’s without me.

  People trudged out of the theater. Only the remnants of the film class and our little group hung around.

  “Congratulations, Mitch,” I said, so grateful that my friends had pulled together for him. “I think they liked it, or appreciated it anyway.”

  Mitch frowned at me. “Do you think I care if spectators like my work? ”

  But I’d seen it. I’d seen how much he wanted to see the credit, his name on the screen. I’d seen the pride that filled him when people cheered. He did care. “So I got all those people to applaud for nothing? ”

  Mitch took my chin in his fingers and kissed me. Gazing into my eyes, he said, “Bailey, art is for art’s sake.”

  Next to me, still in her seat, Mom breathed so heavily that I knew she was about to let it go. “Mitch,” Mom began, her voice tight, controlled, “don’t you care about the people who came to support you? ”

  “Why should I?” Mitch asked. “Nobody cares, really cares, about anybody.”

  Mom muttered something under her breath. The only part I could make out went something like, “Oh yeah? Try missing a car payment and see if anybody cares.”

  Mitch didn’t know Mom, or he would have stopped right there, quit while he was sort of ahead. “Didn’t you understand what was going on in that last scene? ” he asked her.

  “The God scene?” Mom scooted up in her seat and faced Mitch, talking in front of me. “What exactly was that about, Mitch? ”

  I didn’t want them to fight. I wanted them to like each other. “Mom, it was just a film. Mitch didn’t write it. He doesn’t believe that stuff.”

  “But I do,” Mitch insisted. “In twenty-first-century America, God no longer exists any more than—”

  Now it was my turn to object. “Mitch, I’ve heard you go on and on about God and the Big Universe and even hell. So now you’re saying you don’t believe in God? ”

  “Of course not.” He looked surprised, or amused, that I might not understand.