by Brooke Moss
Dave erupts in ironic chuckles. So, who’s the prejudiced shithead now?
These worries swirl around in his head as he closes out the register for the night, rolls down the grates, and secures the padlocks. He flicks off the lights and fetches his beagles. He lets them take a leak before herding them into the truck.
Home.
Home is a fine-looking house he designed himself and had built on twenty-four acres with a whirlpool and a man cave complete with pool table and a screened-in porch where he can lounge with his hounds. But it’s also lonely now that Marilyn’s gone and Bobby’s moved out and into an apartment with Roxy.
It’s been lonely for a good long while.
If he didn’t have Fred and Wilma, he isn’t sure how he’d handle the isolation. Maybe all the space in the Poconos between houses is overrated. Maybe city dwellers aren’t as lonely since they have some other row house shoved right up against theirs, cheek to butt cheek. They can hear the grunts of lovemaking, babies crying, kids whining—the soundtrack of other people’s lives right through their walls.
He laughs again. He’s no freaking poet. Before he goes home, he heads to Sal’s. All of this musing on Philly cheesesteaks has him craving one, and Sal’s is the one joint in the Poconos that serves them up right. Maybe he could take Arianna out to Sal’s, if they get that far. Maybe, she’s craving a thick, juicy cheesesteak with fried peppers and onions, melted cheese, all between a pliant melt-in-your-mouth hoagie roll.
Maybe, she’s craving more than a cheesesteak.
He’s seen the way she looks at him when she thinks he doesn’t notice. At his naked chest and shoulders on the beach, the cut of his jaw, at his dark curls, his eyes. His striking blue eyes are his best feature. He’s seen Gail and Merry gaze into them with longing, too.
But Arianna is all he can think of, all he wants, and all he dreams about when he finally falls asleep.
***
Dave has a bounce in his step when he loads the truck with sets and signs for Pooch Palooza on Saturday. Just two more days to the big event! Today, he’s gotten George and his son to hold down the fort at Jensen Auto Body. Bobby’s on-call, so unless all hell breaks loose at the shop, Bobby’s off the hook. It’s a sunny, seventy-five degree day with zero humidity. He’s left Fred and Wilma at home to chill so he can totally focus on his tasks and on Arianna. The dogs are fine with a day of snoozing on the screened-in porch. He’s been taking them here and there and everywhere, and they need a day off just like humans do.
Dave’s packed his bathing suit. Maybe, they’ll have time to swim. He’s even thinking about showing Arianna his little lake cottage, if the mood is right. He hasn’t been over there in months—a year maybe. No doubt it stinks of mildew but it’s a slice of privacy. They may want it.
Arianna is practically all he’s thought of for the last two days. He imagines planting the lightest, most tender kiss on her cheek. He pictures Arianna kissing him back, this time on the lips, and nipping his top lip while she’s at it. These fantasies are dangerous because he’s getting all hot and bothered with no way to quell it.
He forces himself to conjure up more civilized thoughts as he rounds the curve of Lakeview Drive that leads to her rental cottage.
Build the Pooch Palooza booths. Train Bart. Business, Dave, all business!
He pulls into the lake lot and starts hauling parts of the booths out. Arianna will meet him in about fifty minutes. This will give him time to set up first.
On the beach, he meets with his Pooch Palooza partner in crime, Edward Flanagan. Ed’s one of the judges and he runs most of the contests. He’s also built like a Mack Truck so he’s the perfect guy to help Dave set up the booths. They do a fist bump.
“Hey, man, how are you on this fine day?” Dave asks Ed.
Ed is sporting loose khaki shorts and a T-shirt that’s ridden up, revealing a sliver of beer belly. He has a wide, winning face and an addictive laugh that sounds like a lawn mower revving up.
“I’m good, I’m good!” Ed bellows. “Shall we get to it? Did you bring the rest of the booths?”
“I did, fine sir, I did.”
They’ve done this many times, so they’re fast. It’s a matter of fitting together the corners that have notches and indents, jigsaw puzzle style. They construct the booths in two parallel lines, a little ways from the lake and perpendicular to the water’s edge and make sure to allow for wide aisles so people and their dogs can easily walk back and forth between the booths. These ones are mostly for the local vendors of pooch goodies: hand-knitted sweaters, dog toys with plastic ‘crackle’ bottle inserts, chicken and pork chew treats and the like.
“Hey, man, did you hear there’s a new vendor who makes smoked ostrich tendon chews?” Ed erupts into his gravelly laugh. “Now, I’ve heard it all!”
“Yeah, farmers cook up all kinds of wild stuff these days. Must be more demand for gourmet items in the city greenmarkets,” Dave replies with a grin.
Next, they mount the signs. As they’re setting up the stage, a few people pull into the parking lot. When Dave sees Merry and Gail walk onto the beach, he has a spike of anxiety. It could get uncomfortable since he only wants to focus on Arianna and doesn’t want to rebuff them. He wasn’t expecting people so darn early, especially these two.
He’s polite, though, it’s not in his nature to be rude. “How are you two doing? Are you coming for a swim or—?”
“Snowball wants a swim.” Gail nods to her Great Pyrenees, a regal white beast, already panting under the heavy fur. The moment the pretty redhead lets Snowball off-leash, she bounds into the cool lake.
Merry gives Dave one of her caring smiles. “I just came to hang out with Gail, but if you need help, I’m happy to pitch in.” She leans down to unleash her dog, Clara, a bouncy gray rescue. Clara runs after Snowball and splashes in.
“Ed and I are pretty much done for now but thanks,” Dave says.
“You on your way back to the shop?” Merry gazes up hopefully at him. “If not, you’re welcome to come swimming with us.” She’s such a friendly, lovely lady that Dave has thought about dating her. When his shrink coaxed him to make a shortlist of women he might approach, she was at the top of the list. Gail was a distant second below Merry.
“Nice offer,” Dave answers, “but I’m meeting someone here in a bit. Helping them with puppy training.” It’s his way of letting Merry down easy.
“Okay. Maybe, next time.” There’s disappointment in her voice. He watches her turn and head toward the lake to join her friend and their dogs. Merry’s in her mid-thirties like he is, and volunteers at the local animal shelter, helps at the church food pantry, and has adopted not only a dog but three cats from the pound just before they were scheduled to be euthanized. With her, all of the ‘right’ boxes are checked. Everything looks good on paper. But, as Dave looks at Merry now, he has to admit for once and for all, she doesn’t make his heart sing. Like Arianna.
Arianna.
So, even if things don’t work out with Arianna the way he hopes, in all good conscience Dave needs to check Merry and Gail off of his Like list. In fact, he’s going to chuck the entire list in a trash bin. A flood of mortification heats his cheeks. It’s in bad taste to even conceive of attractions this way, but he blames it on the therapist who coaxed him to jot down the list in the first place. It always seemed like a cringe-worthy sixth-grade stunt. Maybe Dave will drop his shrink. Though the guy has been helpful in sorting out his nightmares over Marilyn’s death, triggered by the car accidents he encounters and his guilt over moving on.
Another vehicle rumbles into the parking lot. It’s Toby, a wiry stonemason who builds fancy retaining walls for the wealthier folk who have second homes up here. For the Pooch Palooza, he sets up the canine agility course.
Dave breathes a sigh of relief when he sees the two women wave to Toby. Hopefully, this will provide a distraction so I can go about my business with Arianna.
“How’s it going?” Toby asks Dave and Ed. H
e sets down a large plastic hoop, a ramp and some other oversized items.
“I’m good,” Dave answers as Ed fist-bumps with Toby. “All we need now are the folding chairs.”
“Some guys from the fire station are bringing theirs over on the morning of,” Ed explains. “They have scores of them from the bean dinners they put on.”
“Sounds good.” Toby scruffs up his Bloodhound, Hunter’s loose skin between his ears. “You going to win best bay this year too, boy?”
In response, Hunter opens his snout and releases a long, haunting bay.
“Right on cue, baby,” Ed says, followed by a motoring laugh.
Just then, Dave spots Arianna from the corner of his eye. He turns her way. She’s strolling down the lake path with Bart, almost to the beach. His heart does a hard flip and he actually salivates. She’s piping-hot in a bright pink sundress and wide-brimmed straw hat. Her dark hair is blowing softly around her face. No Tinsley today. Maybe if all goes well, they might sneak away to his lake cottage. His heart raps so fast it hurts.
“Be still,” he mutters.
“You say something?” Ed asks.
“Not really.”
Ed and Toby spin around to see what Dave’s looking at. Ed utters a “Hoo hah!” at which Dave frowns. “Oh, I see,” says Ed good-naturedly.
“Yeah, kind of interested,” Dave admits. He didn’t intend to let on so soon. But instinct has its own agenda. It’s led him to stake out his honey…
If she’ll have him.
Arianna unclips Bart’s leash and the pup comes running to him as if Dave’s known Bart for forever. He scoops Bart up and bounces him. “Hi, Rascal, ready for training?” In response, Bart licks Dave’s face. Dave looks at Arianna with a smile.
Something about this woman.
She’s close enough for him to catch the heady scent of her sweet-vanilla-orange perfume. It takes everything to resist kissing her because they aren’t to that step, and he doesn’t want to seem over-aggressive. Yet, it’s as if he’s already kissed her a million times, as if they’ve known each other for years. It’s the strangest feeling. Does she feel it too? He sees heat, a melting of resistance, excitement playing in the luster of her mahogany eyes. Instead of kissing her, he places Bart gently on the sand and gives her a welcoming hug. The inconsistency between his chummy moves and his yearning heart is killing him though.
She returns the hug and leans into it. This revs him up—every vibrating cell. And then, they release each other. Like a fever dream lifting.
“Ready for another training session?” he asks Bart in a teacherly style.
Bart yaps and chases around Dave’s feet, driving up clouds of sand.
Arianna says, “This little dude was born for tasks.”
“Beagles are like that. Arianna, let me see your moves,” Dave says, and is instantly embarrassed by the sexual sound of this. Arianna just laughs it off and gets right into demonstrating how hard she’s worked with Bart. This time, Bart knows exactly what to do. No leaving the ball halfway to Arianna, no weaving around in the sand. He dashes straight for the ball, retrieves it eagerly when Arianna calls Fetch, and is panting for more. She awards him with little chicken flavored treats.
“Impressive,” Dave says. “Shall we train him for a simple agility course?”
“Yes! He loves this stuff.”
Toby has just finished setting up the course behind the stage: a plastic tunnel, an open hoop, a pole to leap over, and a high ramp to traverse.
After a half a dozen tries, Bart successfully runs over the ramp and even through the tunnel. Then the pup seems overwhelmed and tired. He stops to sniff at one end of the tunnel, at the sand and finally, ferreting out a pinecone, he plops down and chews on it.
Dave is gathering the nerve to invite Arianna over to his beach bungalow, and trying to figure out how to make it sound innocent when Merry and Gail emerge from the lake and approach with their dogs. He sees Arianna eying them in their bathing suits and them eying her in her hot pink dress. He may as well get this introduction over with, because he already senses the tension looming. No matter his feelings for Arianna, she’s not his girlfriend. Hasn’t even kissed any of them. So, no catfights are immanent, and he still gets to be the good guy.
“Arianna, meet Merry and Gail, two of the biggest local dog-lovers you’ll ever meet.” He nods to their dogs, dripping lake water. “Snowball here has won swimming contests, and Clara is an ace in the agility test, right Clara?” He gives her a pat.
Merry and Gail say a rather guarded hello to Arianna and eke out smiles.
“I’m up from Philadelphia for a much-needed vacation,” Arianna explains. With this, Merry uncrosses her arms and Gail’s smile broadens. No doubt they feel the competition will be gone in no time. “Dave is helping me train my puppy, Bart.”
“Cute beagle,” Gail admits.
“Dave’s the best,” Merry says. Is that a territorial gleam in her eye?
“Yeah, he’s a darn good trainer,” Arianna agrees. “Bart was all over the place until a couple of days ago. It was impossible to play ball in the dog park with him. He had no concept of fetch.”
Merry nods. “Beagles aren’t born with the instinct. Except for chasing rabbits, right, Dave?” she looks up at him with puppy dog eyes.
Dread drifts through him. Merry’s gaze of adoration is so obvious. Arianna must see it. He’s desperate to gain control over the situation, but unsure of how, when Ed comes over and invites them to partake in a carton of beer under the shade of the stage.
“My own brand of tailgate party,” Ed quips. “And hey, afterward, anyone who wants can take a spin on my motorboat.”
“I’m good for beer but no boat ride,” Dave says emphatically. He sees Arianna frown at what must be the sudden haunted look in his eyes and how everyone gets quiet and pensive. But she doesn’t ask him about it. Ed should know better than to ask him to go boating. Dave hasn’t been out on a damn boat since his wife died and he never intends to.
Dogs and people trot over to the open-air stage. Ed has set up a few folding chairs there, and he invites the ladies to sit first. Ed, Toby and Dave sit on the stairs and the dogs start a wrestling mosh pit, center stage.
Arianna gets out her smartphone and nods to the dogs. “You guys don’t mind if I take photos of them, do you?”
“Of course not,” says Merry.
“What will you use them for?” asks Gail with a frown.
“For fun, and also for practice. I’m starting a pet portrait business soon.”
Gail arches her brows. “Really? How much will a professional shot run? I’ll bet it’s expensive.”
Arianna laughs. “I haven’t quite figured out all of the price points. Besides, I’ll probably run specials and sales in the beginning, to attract customers and all.”
“Don’t undercut yourself too much,” Toby advises. “Business is business.”
“I think it’s a cool idea,” Dave says. “Who wouldn’t want to immortalize their furry friend in great photos if they could.”
“If you could,” says Gail, “and most people can’t. Most people are just trying to pay for their groceries and taxes around here.” Arianna stares at Gail but says nothing.
Dave chooses to ignore her snappy comment, too. He lifts his beer bottle. “Arianna, a toast to the success of your future pet portrait business.”
“Hear, hear!” bellows Ed, “I’ll drink to that.” Ed lifts his head and rounds his mouth in spout formation. He guzzles a good half of the beer in the bottle. Dave suspects Ed would make a toast to just about anything if it involved chugging beer.
“Hell, take as many as you want of Hunter,” says Toby. “See if you can transform my wrinkled boy into a handsome devil.” He gives Hunter’s loose muzzle folds an affectionate tug. Then Toby launches into a side conversation with Ed about local stonemasons. Dave phases out. He built his cabin long ago, so he’s done obsessing over construction materials. He turns back to the ladies.
Begrudgingly, Gail agrees. “I guess take one or two of Snowball since everyone else is okay with it. Let’s see what you come up with.”
Dave is put off by Gail’s controlling, wary nature. He didn’t see it coming. He’s mainly seen Gail with Snowball, romping on the beach, and for that, her mood is upbeat.
Arianna gets up and starts to snap away, dancing from dog to dog in an energetic photo session. She doesn’t let Gail’s attitude stop her. If she’s bothered by it, she’s certainly letting it fly right off her. Dave is touched by Arianna’s sunny enthusiasm.
They go through more conversation and another round of beer. Arianna takes dozens of photos and then meanders from person to person, showing them.
Even Gail lets out a surprised, “Huh! You’ve captured Snowball’s regal quality. It’s hard to pin down.”
“I know what you mean, it’s an ethereal thing,” Arianna says. “Hey, we could try one with Snowball wearing a crown of leaves or something.”
Gail scrunches her nose into a disapproving cringe. “Putting a dog into a human box really rubs me the wrong way. It’s a city kind of thing.”
Arianna shrugs. “It’s just a thought. Brainstorming. Each to their own.”
Gail’s mouth opens, apparently ready to argue about it when Arianna gets up and moves on to Merry. She shows Merry the ones she’s taken of Clara.
“So touching!” Merry exclaims. It looks to Dave like she’s tearing up. “You’ve captured Clara’s spark; the warmth and charm that’s in her but was buried underneath her tough surface armor. She was badly abused before she got to the Rescue Center.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Arianna touches Merry’s shoulder. “But you’ve obviously done a fantastic job with Clara.”