Since I was eighteen, Mom’s signature wasn’t required on my progress reports, but I always brought them home to show her. They were good, and I hoped they solidified her faith in me. Alana and I hung out two or three times a week after school and always on Fridays when Bryce was busy with football. We never went to the hill above the stadium to watch another game—the weather had turned cold and wasn’t ideal. Of course, Alana wouldn’t be caught dead in the stadium itself. That just wasn’t us.
Fritzy and I kept at the mission of turning me into a physical specimen, or at least an approximation of one. We ran, lifted weights in her garage, and played basketball using the middle school court a few blocks from her house. I was a regular at her house. Even the giant, blond, piano-playing younger brother treated me like part of the family in that he ignored me whenever I was around. I wasn’t in love with his music, but I did succeed in learning the difference between Bach and Beethoven. Once, in a half-hearted attempt to bond with Frankie, I told him I’d like to take lessons myself. Mr. Scolari, the piano teacher, frequently banished Fritzy and me from the living room, so we continued to drink eggnog in the kitchen. Well, Fritzy did, and I watched.
Jennifer, the poodle, came to stay for a week. Missy’s mom was traveling on business, so Missy was sent to stay with a friend during that time. Jennifer, naturally, wouldn’t hear of staying anywhere but my house, or so Missy claimed. I charged a sizeable amount for this round-the-clock service, and in return, I looked forward to the pleasure of Jennifer’s full-time company. Missy and her mom arrived at my door one day with all of Jennifer’s accessories—pillow, sweaters, rhinestone-studded leash, food and water dishes, special diet, etc. Jennifer stood beside them, mysteriously transformed overnight to a shocking shade of pink.
“It’s for her birthday,” Missy blurted out, reading the horror in my eyes.
“It’s temporary,” her mom winked at me. “It’ll wash out in the next grooming.”
“Happy birthday, Jennifer,” was the only response that seemed appropriate. In the back of my mind was all the teasing I’d be subjected to over the next week because of my association with the now hot pink Jennifer.
“I don’t want that dog just hanging around the house,” Mom warned. She wasn’t real big on pets, which explains why I never had one of my own. I promised to take Jennifer with me whenever I went out.
>>>
One day after school, I got a call from Fritzy.
“Wheeler, you coming by today? I got two surprises for you.”
She refused to reveal them over the phone, so naturally I had to go even though I hadn’t planned on it. Her eyes opened wide when she caught her first glimpse of pink Jennifer.
“What the hell is that?”
“That,” I mustered all the dignity I could, “is my full-time responsibility for the next week.”
“What’s her name?” she asked, apparently without glancing between Jennifer’s hind legs.
“His name,” I said. “Is Jennifer.”
“What the hell kind of a mean trick is that to play on a dog?” she asked.
“Her owner is a young girl,” I said by way of explanation.
“You just called him a her,” Fritzy said accusingly. “And what difference does it make if the owner’s a girl?”
“She likes Jennifer Aniston, what can I say?”
“And that’s supposed to make it okay?”
“It’s temporary!” Frustration raised the volume of my voice and the giant child opened the door to determine the source of the uproar in his front yard.
“Can we move on?” I begged. “Tell me what the surprises are.”
Fritzy turned her back to me. “Now I don’t feel like telling you,” she sulked.
“Why is this my fault? I didn’t dye him pink.”
She turned around and I could see she had already moved on. “Well you could’ve at least stuck up for him,” she smirked.
“I do every day,” I said. “I call him Jim whenever we’re alone.”
Fritzy laughed, and it reminded me how much I loved to see her cut loose. Yup, we were that close, arguing the way I imagined brothers and sisters would. The giant child retreated into his house, closing the door behind him.
“So the first surprise is that I signed us up for a coed basketball league.” She started to throw the ball to me but then stopped. I’m guessing it was the sight of the rhinestone-studded leash looped around my wrist.
“You think I’m ready for that?”
“Of course you’re ready. It’s a coed league so we’ll be playing together. I’ll have your back.”
A real team playing a real sport. I hadn’t done that since fifth grade. Who would’ve thought I’d be on my way so soon?
“Okay, if you say so. What’s the second surprise?”
“I got you a new client.”
“Dog walking?”
“No. A new real client. For Distress Dial.”
Fortunately, Jennifer didn’t know enough to take offense.
“A lady I met when I was volunteering for the library’s used bookstore. We got to talking, and she told me how she lives by herself, and I suggested your service.”
That was big. A substantial new income stream.
“Did you get her number?”
“Of course. What do you take me for?”
“So . . . can you give it to me?”
“Sure but . . .” she swished the ball into the hoop. “I think we should call on her in person, and I’d better go with you. She told me to come by, and since she already knows me, I could introduce you. It’d be better that way, you know.” Throw. Swish. “Set her at ease. Then you move in for the close.”
“All right. Can we go now?”
“I really should shower first.” Bounce. “Ran just before you got here.” I never would have known.
“You look fine,” I said and meant it.
“No, I don’t.”
“Yes, you do.”
“No, I don’t. But if you’re really in a hurry I guess we can go now. Let’s take my truck and put the dog in the back.”
“No, Fritzy. Jennifer would definitely not be okay with being in the back of a truck.”
“Why not?” It was as though I’d just said eggnog was bad for your health (which it was, by the way). “Dogs love the wind in their face.”
“We’ll take my car. She—he—can sit in the back.” Missy was getting to me.
“Have it your way.” Throw. Swish. “Just one more thing. I was thinking since I was the one who got the business and all . . .” Bounce. “Maybe I should get a finder’s fee or something?” She looked at me with enough uncertainty I knew she felt a little awkward in asking. But just a little. “I mean, I really had to sell to her. You would have been proud of me.” Bounce. Throw. Swish.
“What did you have in mind?”
“I dunno. What were you thinking?”
“I wasn’t thinking. You’re the one who brought it up.”
“Okay, well then let’s say two months of whatever you charge her.”
“Two months?”
“You asked what I was thinking, and I asked what you were thinking. I gave you the chance to say it, but you wanted me to say it first, so that’s what I was thinking.”
“How about two weeks?”
“A month, and I’ll cover for you if you ever legitimately need coverage for her.”
“Deal.” I stuck out my hand and Fritzy crushed it enthusiastically.
“You know what, Wheeler? I think we’d be good business partners. Maybe after we graduate from college we can start a business together.”
“I don’t want to go into business,” I said. “I want to be a graphic novelist.”
“Yeah, but maybe until you get famous. Or I could be your agent or something.”
“Yeah, maybe. But first things first. Let’s go.”
I knew I hadn’t struck a great deal, but I needed the money. Mom happily accepted my rent money each month so she wasn’t going to back down on that. I barely had enough left over for gas and maybe a little bit of fun.
>>>
Liza Dupont was a sweet old lady, and she did insist that we call her “Liza.” She was happy to see Fritzy. Happy that Fritzy remembered to come by and introduce my services to her. She was crazy for Jennifer, wondering how I’d ever gotten her to be that lovely shade of pink.
She seemed so unsteady and walked so slowly with the assistance of a cane, I wondered how she ever made it to the library in the first place. I was surprised to learn she still had her driver’s license even though she said she didn’t feel all that comfortable driving anymore.
“What can you do for me?” she asked after I quoted my price.
“Well, we provide coverage twenty-four-seven for any event that might fall just below the level of an emergency,” I rattled off the usual. And, as usual, it failed to impress.
Fritzy, seeing her finder’s fee disappear before her eyes, piped in. “You won’t regret it, Liza. My neighbor uses Distress Dial, and Hudson’s always over there for one thing or another.”
She didn’t mention I was usually over there to see her, and I sometimes knocked on Pirkle’s door just to say Hi, and make him feel like he was getting his money’s worth. He usually didn’t invite me in, but there had been another strange late-night call recently that I, again, attributed to butt-dialing. Another call where I tried talking to him but got no response and just heard vague mumblings and background noises. I’d gone over the next day and told him to not carry the phone in his back pocket or lie down on top of it, but he just looked at me strangely like he didn’t know what I was talking about.
“I’ll tell you what, kids,” Liza said. “It’s a joy just seeing your beautiful young faces today. There are days that go by, and I mean many days, where I don’t see a soul except maybe the mailman, and that’s only if I time things just right.”
Fritzy and I beamed. I suppose we were trying to live up to the beautiful young faces that Liza saw.
“My biggest fear,” she went on, “is that I could die in this house and nobody would even know for days or weeks. I never had children of my own. My husband’s been gone for twenty years and my sister’s children are all the way across the country. They’re good about calling, but sometimes a few weeks go by in between calls.”
Our smiles disappeared. The idea of dying alone in a house and not being detected for days or weeks . . . well, that was about as dark a concept as either of us could imagine.
“So what can you do for me?” she asked again to our now serious faces.
“You could call anytime you ever feel sick?” Fritzy asked hopefully.
“People my age don’t always feel sick before we go,” Liza gently informed her. “Often we go without warning.”
“I think I have an idea,” I said. “How about you call me every day at a certain time? Say six o’clock in the evening. Then, if I don’t hear from you by about six fifteen, I’ll call you. If you don’t pick up the phone, I can come by and check on you. Does that sound like something that would work?”
Fritzy looked at me, and I could see she was proud of me. I puffed a little higher in my seat. I felt a little older than my age. A daily routine was more than I wanted for a Distress Dial client, but how hard could it be just to answer the phone once a day?
The corners of Liza’s eyes crinkled, and a smile spread slowly across her face. For a few seconds I was worried she’d bust out laughing at the absurdity of my suggestion.
“You know what,” she said in her crackling little voice, “that’s not a half-bad idea. In fact, I think I like it very much.”
We sealed the deal with ice cream that Liza insisted on serving. When we finally left and got in the car, Fritzy high-fived me.
“Way to think on your feet, Wheeler,” she said.
I pulled out my phone and set a daily alarm for six fifteen.
We were both quiet on the way home. I guess we were thinking the same thing. It was Fritzy who finally put it into words when I pulled up in front of her house.
“You know what? We gotta find a way to get her out of the house more. That’s not much of a life she’s living.” She pushed Jennifer’s pink muzzle away from the back of her neck where Jennifer had taken a lick of the free salt left over from Fritzy’s run.
“Yeah. I was just thinking the same thing. Or maybe we could take her for a drive every once in a while.”
“Okay, let’s talk later.” Fritzy got out of the car and walked around to my side, leaning on the roof of the car with one hand. Her face lowered to my level. “You’re a good guy,” she said. “I’m glad we’re friends.”
I watched her long, thick braid swing like a pendulum across her strong back as she walked towards the front door. It’s funny how girls don’t smell bad, I thought. Not even after a sweaty workout.
Jennifer was a big hit . . .
. . . during his visit. It began with Alana who couldn’t get enough of Jennifer and found the mere idea of him to be “irresistible.”
“Really, Hudson, he’s iconic, don’t you think? I mean . . . he’s so noble in stature and so perfectly sculpted he’s almost hedge-like. And the hot pink in contrast to those qualities. It’s like a sociological statement about our culture, like we focus on the flashy external stuff and ignore the real beauty behind it. But also, the flashy is beautiful in its own way. I think we should draw him.”
And we did. More than once.
Jennifer was a natural model. It was as if he knew what was expected of him and understood that people’s talents were being mobilized in order to memorialize him and everything he stood for, whatever that was.
Alana also decided that Jennifer should star in my graphic novel. A character that changed from white to pink, like Clark Kent to Superman. I still hadn’t shared the storyline of my new novel with her, but it was doubtful there’d be a place in the Arctic Circle for a pink poodle. And I wasn’t exactly thrilled about other people’s ideas creeping into my work.
Alana wanted to come over every day to see Jennifer, whose color I could tell was already fading a little each day. There were pink smudges on the sheets when I came home from school to find Jennifer sprawled across my bed.
One day, Alana asked Penelope and Gus to stop by after school to see Jennifer for themselves.
“Oh my God, the cutest thing ever. You know what I mean?” Penelope turned to Gus who nodded enthusiastically.
“I mean . . .Wow, so awesome. Right? Ha ha ha. Can you believe it?” she said, squealing loudly.
Jennifer, sensing the moment was his, quickly adopted a show dog stance with front and hind legs slightly angled but solidly planted. Head held nobly high and proud.
“So sweet,” Gus took up where Penelope left off, his irony escaping her. “Hud, the two of you look so adorable together.”
“For real, right?” Penelope gushed. “Pose for a picture.”
I didn’t.
When they were gone, Alana was upset they’d missed the whole point of Jennifer. The subtle statement he made just by being himself and being that color. She also noticed the lightening of his color, but felt it was better that way. Nothing of beauty can stay the same forever, she said. Or it wouldn’t be truly beautiful because beauty was fleeting by nature.
Me? I thought Alana grew more beautiful every day.
>>>
My last day with Jennifer didn’t pass without excitement, although more for him than me. I was home, trying to get a little work done before collecting the dogs for a walk. Jennifer, who always looked forward to hanging out with the group, knew the time was drawing near, so he stood guard by his leash, whining occasionally in case I forgot about
The Boys (and Lady). My home phone rang. The land line.
“Hudson?” Mrs. Dickinson always sounded a little nervous when she called, like she expected to be punished for using the service she was paying for.
“Hi, Mrs. Dickinson. What can I do for you?” I tried to kill the sigh in my voice.
“I’m sorry. I know you’ve told me I’m supposed to use the special phone you gave me, and I’m not supposed to call this number, but the darn thing isn’t working again.” I heard a loud beep in the background.
“I can take a look when I pick up Lady.” A simple battery charge was sure to be the problem.
“That would be fine, and I’d appreciate it. But I’m calling for another reason, something urgent.”
I sat up straight in my bed and Jennifer, sensing the shift in my posture, sprung to his feet and wagged his tail expectantly.
“What’s the problem?” The beeping in the background continued.
“My smoke alarm is going off, and I think it’s the battery. I was wondering if you could come over and take a look. Lady’s just beside herself,” she clucked.
It seemed like outside forces conspired to get the dogs walked earlier than planned, so I decided to collect Buster and take him with us. I’d change the smoke alarm battery, leave with Lady, and swing by to pick up Duke. Jennifer was already standing at the sliding glass door that opened onto our backyard where Buster came through the loose board of the fence. That Jennifer was one smart dog.
>>>
“Oh dear, I don’t have the right kind.” Mrs. Dickinson was riffling through a shoebox full of batteries while I perched at the top of her ladder. “It’s the square one, right?”
“The one that looks like this.” I passed down the 9-volt, and she inspected it carefully.
“No, I don’t have one of those. I’ll buy one the next time I go to the market. Would you be able to put it in for me when you come for Lady?”
Going Places Page 8