Whiskey and Water

by Nina Wright

  “Hello, Whiskey,” Fenton said.

  The guru and the cleaner exchanged nods. MacArthur thanked me for my time and told me he’d let me know the results of his exam as soon as he got them. I wished him luck and turned to Fenton.

  “Is everything all right?”

  I hoped he wasn’t about to make a big deal about the fact that he’d left his wife for me. Sure, that sounds like the kind of story every girl wants to hear. In reality, though, it creates a lot of pressure. I didn’t think I was up to it. This was my busiest real estate season. And everybody at my house was unhappy.

  “Never better,” Fenton said. I liked the way his tanned face creased when he grinned. But why was he grinning?

  “Did you find Norman?” I asked.

  “No. But I left Noonan. And you made it possible.”

  “No I didn’t—”

  “Yes you did. You inspired me. With your brilliant insights into how divorce frees us to follow our destinies.”

  “I said that?” I couldn’t believe I’d said that. “It must have been the Pinot talking—”

  “No, Dear, it was you. May I call you Dear? Just until I come up with another nickname that we both like better.”

  “Actually, I already have a nickname that I like better. Whiskey?”

  “Of course you have a nickname.” he exclaimed. “Let me make myself clear. As I grow close to another human being, I like to choose a term of endearment that becomes mine alone to use. In the meantime, I call the other person Dear.”

  Oh dear.

  “Fenton,” I began.

  “You can call me Dear, too,” he said. “Until we find the name that you will use to show your tenderness for me.”

  “Fenton,” I said again, more firmly. “Aren’t we moving a little fast? I mean, we’re in a business relationship, and we’re friends, but I never asked you to leave Noonan for me.”

  “I didn’t leave Noonan for you. I left her for my future. And for her future, too. She and I were stuck in legally-married-limbo, but neither of us could see that until you opened our eyes. No matter what happens between you and me, Noonan and I will always be grateful that you liberated us. I’m sure she plans to thank you, Dear.”

  By filing charges, I thought.

  Fenton went on, “I believe in seeking karmic balance. So I’d like to take you to dinner and a show. And I suggest that we include your ex in our celebration.”

  “Jeb?”

  “That’s right, Dear. How about we take in his performance at the Holiday Inn?”

  The fact that Jeb had already invited me didn’t seem like evidence of karmic balance. More like a hideous coincidence.

  My cell phone rang. Once again, the calls were coming from inside my house. I asked Fenton’s pardon and flipped open the phone to find Avery on the other end.

  “You’ve got to do something!” she shouted. “This place is a zoo! Deely can’t handle it alone!”

  “You’re there,” I pointed out.

  “Yes, and I have a massive headache! How the hell I’ll get one minute of rest I have no idea—with the dogs howling and the babies wailing! Do something, Whiskey! Or I’m going to lose my mind.”

  I started to remind her that she’d ejected the Animal Lullabies CD, but she hung up.

  “Trouble, Dear?” Fenton asked.

  “Not a lot more than usual,” I said. “I’m going to have to run home.”

  “Would you like me to accompany you? Maybe we’ll spot Norman along the highway. He’s got to be out there somewhere looking for Abra. He may even be making his way to Vestige right now.”

  I sincerely hoped not. There were already three dogs at my house.

  Odette was due to take Fenton back to Druin for Part Two of the tour. He said she had called to say she was trying to work out the arrangements. I wondered what that meant. Had Felicia created more complications? Did Vivika Major want to sell fast or not?

  Fenton promised to pick me up at Vestige around seven, and together we would go hear Jeb sing at the Holiday Inn. I expected an evening of Oldies but not necessarily Goodies. . . .

  Even though I was facing an emergency at home, I found myself driving more slowly than normal. In fact, I took a detour. I told myself that I was hoping to find Norman along one of the back roads. But of course I was really hoping to stall long enough so that the emergency at Vestige would be over by the time I got there.

  And it almost was. Dr. David was closing the rear doors of the Animal Ambulance when I pulled into my driveway.

  “What did Abra do to him?” I said, leaping out of my car.

  “Do to who?” the vet asked.

  “You mean there’s more than one victim?”

  “There are no victims, Whiskey. Only casualties,” Dr. David said.

  That did not reassure me. When I pressed him for details, he said that Abra had not physically attacked Velcro. However, she had chased him through the house, howling and snarling. And, as he ran, the shitzapoo had lived up to his name.

  I winced. “You mean, he had accidents all over Vestige?”

  “Only indoors,” Dr. David said. “The chaos was confined to the first and second floors. But there was other damage.”

  Of course there was. Even though he was her boyfriend, Deely would not have called the vet and his ambulance just to help her clean up.

  “While he was running, Velcro suffered severe patella luxation. I’ve had to immobilize him.”

  Dr. David’s speech impediment failed to soften his bad news. I don’t care how you pronounce it. Patella luxation is no laughing matter.

  “You mean, he’s in doggie traction?” I asked.

  “Not exactly. I splinted his legs and gave him a tranquilizer. Deely’s going to keep him secluded and medicated for twenty-four hours, at which point, I’ll decide whether he needs surgery.”

  I was tempted to ask whether the good doctor had left any tranquilizers for me. Then I realized that if Velcro was medicated, he was probably quiet. No need for lullabies when you got good drugs.

  “Avery is another issue altogether,” Dr. David sighed. “Technically, of course, she’s human, and that’s beyond my expertise. But I would say she needs a therapist.”

  “She has a therapist! She sees Noonan twice a week—“

  Then I saw the problem. The new problem. I stopped Dr. David before he could tell me what I already knew about Noonan leaving town. I did let him talk a little, though. He told me that Avery got hysterical about the dogs. But he knew it couldn’t really have been about the dogs because she kept on screaming long after they were caged.

  “In layman’s terms, I believe she had a quasi-psychotic break—probably caused by Nash Grant’s rejection, her sense of maternal inadequacy, and, of course, her resentment of you.”

  “For a veterinarian, you know a lot about psychology,” I observed.

  He shrugged. “Behind every mad dog is a crazy human.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  When I opened the front door of Vestige, I was greeted by Jeb’s a cappella version of “Golden Slumbers.” Apparently Dr. David had supplied a new Animal Lullabies CD.

  “Deely!” I called out. “Are the lullabies necessary now that we have drugs?”

  Deely did not appear, and, oddly, the music grew louder.

  “Hello?” I tried again. “Can’t you turn that off?”

  “Sure, but I’d rather turn you on.” The singer was right there in front of me, live and in person.

  “How did you get here?” I said. “I didn’t see your Van Wagon.”

  “It’s on the guest parking pad. Dr. David’s Animal Ambulance must have blocked your view.”

  I had a clear view of Jeb, however, and it was surprisingly pleasant. He looked good. Really good. Way better than I felt comfortable with. When he moved in for the kiss, I bolted for the window; Jeb’s decrepit vehicle was where he’d said it was.

  “You’re still driving that thing?” I was determined to stay negative till my pulse rate settl
ed. Jeb’s sudden presence was tingling parts of my anatomy he hadn’t been allowed near for years.

  “I won’t be driving the Van Wagon much longer,” he said. “Thanks to Animal Lullabies, I got a Beamer on order.”

  “Congratulations. You’ve finally found your musical style, and it’s crooning for canines.”

  “It’s crooning for rich people who feel guilty about ignoring their canines. My voice works for kids, too. I was just singing Leah and Leo to sleep. Wanna see what my voice does for you?”

  Jeb had come up close behind me—so close I could feel his breath on my neck. Exes never forget which buttons to push. I knew what Jeb wanted. What bothered me was that I wanted it, too. At least my body was telling me I did. Even though I’d just inspired another man to leave his wife.

  “Fenton Flagg and I will be in your audience tonight,” I blurted. “We’re coming for the karma.”

  “I’ll play all your old favorites,” Jeb said.

  I wheeled on him. “Don’t you dare try that!”

  Jeb knew exactly what he was doing. The last time he’d played all my old favorites was in the middle of our divorce. I’d ended up crawling back into bed with him for a week and almost canceling the whole break-up. Fortunately, I’d come to my senses and moved far away. We got the divorce, and eventually I married Leo.

  “I think tonight I’ll start with ‘It’s All Been Done,’” Jeb said, his eyes twinkling, “and then play ‘The Old Apartment.’ As I recall, my Barenaked Ladies covers always made you hot. . . .”

  “You cannot sing Barenaked Ladies! I absolutely forbid it!”

  “Why? Remember what used to happen when you’d hear my cover of ‘Call and Answer’? That was our cue for make-up sex.”

  And then he started singing. Damn if I didn’t get that tingle again. I stuck my fingers in my ears, squeezed my eyes shut, and trilled, “La-la-la-la” to drown him out. The next thing I knew, someone was tugging on my shirt. I was pretty sure it wasn’t Jeb because he would have caressed rather than tugged. So I opened one eye.

  Chester was grinning up at me. I could only assume that he found me amusing.

  “Do you need something?” I said.

  He giggled. There was a slight chance that I appeared ridiculous.

  “I don’t need anything,” Chester said, “but Deely does. She wants to talk to you about Velcro and Abra.” He pointed upstairs, which I assumed meant that the nanny was on the second floor in Abra’s room. Yes, my felonious hound had her own quarters. It was preferable to letting her share mine.

  “Did you have any luck translating Abra?” I asked Chester.

  “Not yet. She’s still upset that Velcro’s here. Maybe later she’ll feel like talking about Norman.”

  Once again I questioned the appropriateness of drafting an eight-year-old as intermediary between adult humans and my wanton dog. I cast a sidelong glance at Jeb.

  “Why are you here?”

  “Chester called me. Didn’t you, bud?”

  “Yup,” Chester said. “I heard Jeb was in town, and I thought it would be good if he came by and surprised you.”

  Since when did I need the assistance of a middle-grade matchmaker?

  To Jeb, I said, “Well. I am officially surprised. And now you can go.”

  “Not so fast. We haven’t even talked about my taking over that lease for the summer—you know, the one the professor from Florida walked out on. What was his name? I think you kind of liked him, for about five minutes. . . . “

  “His name was Nash Grant.” Chester said, unnecessarily. “He liked Avery a lot better than he liked Whiskey.”

  I was already flying toward the staircase, ready to take it three steps at a time. Better Deely and my dog than this conversation.

  “That’s right, Chester. I remember now,” Jeb said, sounding like a bad actor. “Hey, Whiskey! How about I make a pot of coffee? When you come back down, we can talk. Won’t that be fun?”

  I found Deely sitting on Abra’s queen-size bed, the dozing Affie’s head in her lap. She informed me that the twins were asleep in the nursery, Avery was asleep in her room, and Velcro was resting comfortably in the guest room. Apparently my home was a sanctuary for everyone but the homeowner.

  “I’ve made a startling observation about Velcro and Abra,” Deely said. “Prince Harry has a calming effect on them both. He’s a natural mediator, ma’am. With time, Dr. David and I believe he could foster the tone for a tranquil dog-filled home.”

  I shuddered. No way in hell three dogs were better than two, even if one was a mediator. I reminded Deely that Prince Harry was still the Pee Master. He did not yet have his flow under control. As proof, I vividly described him peeing all over my deck two days earlier. My story was stronger when I chose to omit the minor detail that he’d just been rescued from a riptide. Unfortunately, Deely knew the truth and offered it in his defense.

  “He really is doing better, ma’am, except when he’s allowed to almost drown. Dr. David and I firmly believe that Prince Harry can be the link between Abra and Velcro.”

  “But why do we have to link them?” I pleaded. “Why can’t we keep them apart? What’s so bad about letting me pretend I only have one dog at a time?”

  Still asleep, Abra farted. The smell was so foul I couldn’t believe she didn’t wake herself up.

  “How can she look so angelic and make a stink like that?” I said, switching on the ceiling fan.

  “We don’t know what she ate while she was on the road with Norman,” Deely said, which reminded me that the man I used to go on the road with was waiting in my kitchen. I needed to wrap up this silliness.

  “Anything else I should know?”

  “Only that Avery is stressed out, ma’am.”

  “How can she be stressed out? I pay for everything. Plus she told me last night she has a rich new boyfriend.”

  “I don’t know about that, ma’am. But she is stressed out.”

  “Yeah, well, that makes two of us.”

  “Three, if you count Velcro, ma’am.”

  I took one more look at my snoozing Afghan hound, who twitched erotically. I wondered if she was having a sex dream.

  Chester and Jeb were playing checkers at the kitchen table. Prince Harry was under the table, chewing one of my brand new shoes, an expensive loafer made of soft leather. As calmly as possible I pointed that out to Chester.

  “Sorry, Whiskey,” he said. “Avery gave it to him. She said you didn’t need it anymore.”

  When I tried to pry the shoe from Prince Harry’s mouth, he mistook my gesture for play and bit down harder, furiously shaking his shiny head.

  “You might as well let him have it now,” Chester sighed. “He’s already chewed most of the toe off.”

  And so he had. Jeb reached down and pulled me up from the floor, where I was kneeling. And cursing.

  “You’re out of coffee,” Jeb said, “but you did have a couple beers in the fridge. I took the liberty of popping one open for you. And one for me, too.”

  I blinked at him, seeing red. Literally seeing red because he had handed me a Killian’s. I handed it back.

  “Some of us have real jobs,” I said with ominous calm.

  “And some of us play for a living,” Jeb said. “I like what I do. How about you, Whiskey? Having fun yet?”

  “I am.” Chester interjected. “As soon as I win this game, I’m going to teach Jeb how to play chess.”

  “Jeb already knows how to play chess,” I said. “Don’t let him hustle you.”

  “More likely he’ll hustle me,” Jeb said. “Chester’s going to teach me speed chess. Says he learned it from a street punk in Chicago.”

  Chester nodded. “During one of Cassina’s concerts. I won twenty bucks from the guy. He said I was a natural.”

  We all had our special talents. Avery, for example, had the gift of pissing me off. And I felt that deserved acknowledgment. So I rummaged through the foyer closet until I found the perfect medium for my message: her fa
vorite Ugg boots. I selected one and carried it to the kitchen, where I generously smeared it with peanut butter, inside and out. Happily, I still had a good supply of that. When I offered it to Prince Harry—who preferred it to my mangled shoe—Jeb disapproved.

  “Think about your karma,” he said.

  “I did. And now I’m thinking about Avery’s karma. Believe me, she has it coming.”

  Before I could scoot out the door, the phone rang. Not my cell phone, which I had conveniently left in my car next to my briefcase. My home phone. Chester seized the receiver and answered it like a paid service.

  “Whiskey Mattimoe’s residence. Chester Casanova speaking.”

  It still jarred me to hear his last name; I had learned it only a few months ago. Inspired by Cher and Madonna, Cassina never used a surname, and Chester rarely did. I watched as my small assistant pondered what the caller was telling him. Finally, he said, “Just a moment, please.” Then he hit the mute button on the phone base and told me, “Jenx wants to know why you’re not answering your cell phone. Did you forget to charge it again?”

  “No, I didn’t forget to—”

  I snatched the receiver from Chester’s hand and gruffly explained that I had left it in my car as folks often do when they think they’re just running inside for a moment and don’t realize that people and animals are waiting to ambush them and eat up half their day, not to mention their new shoe. Suddenly I realized Chester was still pressing MUTE. When I paused, he said, “You might want to talk a little nicer to the chief of police. She’s on your side.”

  I swallowed and smiled. Then he released the button.

  “Hey, Jenx. What’s up?”

  The chief wanted to know if I’d learned anything new about the cleaner.

  “I think he’s legit,” I told her, not wanting to get specific in front of Chester. The kid didn’t need to worry about his driver unless we were sure there was something to worry about. “He seems to know what he should know, if you know what I mean.”