Lost and Found

by Rick R. Reed

  But he’d never found her ugly, at least not on the outside. Yet in the short time he’d been together with her master, she’d never warmed to him. She would leave the room when he came over. If he offered her a treat from his hand, no matter what it was, she would haughtily do the head-turning thing, disdainful, that she’d perfected.

  She was much like her master—eccentrically beautiful but prickly. And not at all lovable. Her only exception to her prickly demeanor came with Hamburger. Even though, at first she’d stared at him as if he were some alien creature, she quickly warmed to his charms.

  So many parallels here….

  “Can you take care of her while I’m gone? I will pay you $100,000 per day.” Phineas smiled, and his eyes flashed.

  Mac started as he heard a tap on his bedroom door. He bolted upright, into darkness and out of his odd dream.

  “It’s Dee, hon. I just wanted to see if you’re okay. You’ve been asleep for more than five hours. Sorry if that was your plan, but it’s not like you.”

  Mac padded to the door and opened it a crack. He was clad only in a pair of boxers. The last thing he could remember, he was on his bed reading King’s Mr. Mercedes, and the next, well, here he was. Night had encroached on day, and Mac felt disoriented. He rubbed his eyes. “I’m okay,” he said groggily to Dee.

  “Are you sure? I thought you said something about going out tonight.”

  “I was.” He yawned and stretched. “But I think I’ll just stay home. I’m more tired than I realized.”

  “I can make you up a plate if you’re hungry. I got some potato salad and Black Forest ham from QFC. Won’t take a minute.”

  “That would be great, Dee. You don’t have to wait on me, though. I’ll come down.” He closed the door before she could argue with him.

  Sitting at the kitchen table a few minutes later, dressed in shorts and a tank, Mac sipped beer and picked at the cold cuts and salad. “Thanks for waking me up.”

  Dee sat down at the table with a glass of iced tea. “Are you being sarcastic, young man?”

  “No! Not at all.” Mac chuckled. “I was having a bad dream. It was so real. And you pulled me right out of it. So thank you.”

  Mac finished his beer and food and took the plate over to the sink to rinse it before putting it in the dishwasher. The dream had lingered in his head all the while he ate, and he wondered why. And then it came to him. He turned to Dee. “I think having that dream was telling me something.”

  “Most dreams are.”

  He told her about Phineas and Luz out on the porch and the favor Phineas had asked of him even though he hadn’t seen him in months.

  “Well, that does sound real. Except for the $100,000 a day part! I’d do it for that, even if it meant keeping company with the hound from hell!” Dee chuckled. “That man was nothing but a user. I’m sorry, Mac, but I’m glad you got away from him. And that dog! She could have been one of those so-ugly-she’s-cute types of critters, but she had this attitude.” Dee let loose a short burst of laughter. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  Mac nodded. “Dogs can reflect their homes and their owners.”

  “Well, I hope you said no to him, even in the dream.”

  “I would have, if you hadn’t come along.”

  “I wouldn’t have let you keep that little monster in my house.”

  “It was just a dream, Dee. But the thing it made me realize is how wonderful Barley is. And that it’s stupid to think that shutting him out of my life completely is going to make things any better. It’s like having a friend who moves away. You don’t stop liking them because they’re not as close. You don’t refuse to see them because it would hurt too much. That’s just silly.”

  “I see both sides of the argument, Mac. It’s not silly, sometimes, to make peace with letting someone, even a dog, gently go. For your own heart. For your own sanity. But I can see too that you want a reason to not let Barley go. And maybe that weird dream just supplied you with it. By seeing a contrast, you appreciated Barley even more, valued him more, and you don’t want to lose that. Isn’t that right?”

  “That’s exactly right.”

  Dee smiled, and Mac could almost see the wheels turning in her head. “So, would it also make sense, since we’re talking about how the dream showed you the value of a dog by giving you an example of a bad dog—”

  Mac cut her off. “I know what you’re gonna say.”

  “Just let me get it out!” Dee put up a hand. “Maybe the dream was also showing you the value of a good man by showing you a horrible one.”

  “I don’t know about that. But I am going to go text Flynn right now and set up our next meeting.”

  “I think that’s a splendid idea. Except why don’t you just call him up? On the phone?” Dee scratched her head.

  “People don’t do that anymore, Dee.”

  Mac started from the room, and Dee called after him, “Well, make sure you bring that pup in to see me next time he’s over here.”

  “Yes, Dee.”

  Mac took the stairs two at a time. He couldn’t wait to see Barley again.

  Chapter 10

  FLYNN MISSED the opening night of a show downtown at the 5th Avenue just so he could accommodate Mac on this unseasonably cool Tuesday night. He’d been surprised when Mac texted him late on Sunday, asking if he and the dog would be free Tuesday for an excursion over to the dog park in Woodland Park, adjacent to Green Lake.

  He found parking on Green Lake Way, just a few steps away from Mac’s house. He checked his reflection in the rearview mirror before getting out of the car. With the limited view, he thought he looked okay. He’d changed clothes three times before leaving the house, confusing poor Barley. Usually the act of getting dressed was enough to send him running for the front door, thinking he was lucky enough to be going somewhere. It didn’t matter where, just somewhere was a thrill and a half, a crazy delight beyond measure.

  But Flynn wanted to look good for Mac. He’d finally decided on a pair of black jeans and a black T-shirt with a cartoon likeness of Jessica Lange from her “witches” season of American Horror Story. He figured Flynn, with his love of horror, might appreciate it. Besides, all the black, along with his hair and eyelashes, just made the pale blue of his eyes really pop in contrast. Flynn’s eyes, if he did say so himself, were his best feature.

  He’d told Clara about the date before he’d hopped in the shower.

  “A date?” Clara asked. “Is it really?”

  “Well, he just asked me to bring Barley over so we could go to the dog park.”

  “Then the date is really with Barley.”

  Flynn hated his best friend just a little bit at that moment. He quickly banished the ill will he felt toward her into the darker, more instinctual recesses of his mind, where he hoped it would remain. “Well, I’m sure he wants to see me too.”

  “Oh, I don’t know if I’d be so sure. Did he say that?”

  Flynn laughed, but there was no mirth in it. “What’s with you? Why do you want to rain on my parade?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. And please don’t invoke Barbra—it’s such a gay cliché. Okay, okay, so you’re going out on a ‘date’ with your ginger man.” Clara made the very prospect sound silly. As though she were humoring Flynn….

  And Flynn knew he’d feel silly if he responded in the affirmative. So he skirted the issue of a date and just said, “We’re just going to the dog park. No biggie.”

  “Right. Exactly.” Clara went silent.

  And then it hit Flynn. My God, you’re jealous. Flynn, since he’d known Clara, had dated a bit here and there, and he’d even made her privy to a few of his Grindr hookups, the ones that involved meeting someplace like a coffee shop first, anyway. He selectively left out the hookups where he just got together with someone for nasty sex with no names exchanged. She wouldn’t have understood those. She probably wouldn’t have approved either. And deep down, even Flynn didn’t approve. There was al
ways the taste of self-loathing at the back of his throat after the encounter, along with, possibly, come.

  But she’d never displayed any jealousy before. Was she picking up on the fact that something about Mac Bowersox was different from most of the men he’d met and sometimes mated with? Flynn was full of all sorts of romantic notions and always had been. He wondered if there was a certain glow about him when he spoke of Mac.

  And if there was, or even if there was just a newfound excitement in his voice, perhaps dear Clara saw it as a threat. Since he’d known her, she’d never had a boyfriend or even a date that ever went anywhere, really, despite being a very attractive woman. After all, men came and went, both literally and figuratively, Flynn had always put Clara first in his life, at least in the recent past, and she’d done the same. Flynn could immediately recall many, many weekends spent together, watching old movies on TV, picnicking at Gas Works Park, hitting the Frye Art Museum, seeing a movie at the Sundance Theater, and bemoaning over and over again how they should be looking for suitable mates rather than “wasting” their time with each other. The “wasting” part was always said jokingly, but Flynn knew there was always an element of truth in any humor. Always.

  And so Flynn released her from her worries, at least for the time being. He had no reason, other than his own optimism and hunger for love, to think that Mac would be or could be anything more than a friend. At best. At worst, he was simply interested in Flynn to get to his dog. So why make Clara feel she was being thrown over? The kindest thing would be to ask her to come along.

  But Flynn wasn’t that kind.

  But he was kind enough to say, “Right. You’re right. We’ll just give Barley a social outing together. Let him burn off some energy. Who knows? Maybe I’ll get over there and Mac will want to just take Barley by himself. You know, for a little one-on-one quality time.”

  “Maybe you should offer that.”

  “I will,” Flynn said softly, knowing he wouldn’t. “I better get going. I’m already going to be late.”

  “Have fun,” Clara said, and Flynn wondered if there was something halfhearted in her wish. “Call me when you get home, okay? Don’t forget. I’ll be up late.”

  Was it fair of Flynn to wonder if she was trying to make sure, as his mother once had, that he got in at a decent hour?

  You’re making too much of things, Flynn told himself. And maybe that’s got very little to do with Clara and everything to do with your hopes for Mac. What do you see in him anyway? Flynn could already compile a long list, beginning with the fact that he loved Barley and had cared for him as his own when he’d found him last winter. Most other people probably would have dropped him off at the pound. There was something elemental and down-to-earth about Mac that Flynn admired. And let’s not get started on his looks and how he just about checked every box for the perfect man in Flynn’s book. “I’ll call you, sweetie. It shouldn’t be too late,” he said, which he hoped made her smile. “Love you! Bye!”

  FLYNN GOT out of the car and then went to release Barley, who was so excited to be somewhere, anywhere, he virtually leaped from the tiny backseat. “Barley!” Flynn scolded as the dog did a quick sniff and then took off down the sidewalk, sans leash. “Sit!”

  The dog did as he was told, and Flynn got him suited up in his black harness and leash.

  “Now act normal. He’s just a man.”

  Flynn couldn’t keep the grin off his face as they headed toward Mac’s front porch, about a half block away. “We’re both excited, aren’t we, little guy?”

  FLYNN UNLEASHED Barley and let him run up the front path and steps to Mac on the porch. Mac dropped to his knees to accept the dog’s excited kisses, laughing. He made a halfhearted effort to push him away.

  Joy and despair competed paradoxically—and in equal measure—within Flynn to see the reception. It was cute, to be sure, a dude with his dog. And if Flynn had no stake in this game, it would have ended there. But that was just the rub too. Barley wasn’t Mac’s dog, not really. So why did Flynn still feel as though he’d stolen him away from his bliss? Why did guilt lurk in the darker recesses of his mind? Sure, Barley had gotten more accustomed to the routine at home—he no longer stood waiting at the door for Mac to rescue him, nor did he search empty rooms looking for Mac. But this reaction right here made it clear to Flynn that Barley had a preference—and it wasn’t for Flynn.

  He could only hope the situation would change over time. Another twinge stabbed at Flynn as he thought of the long hours Barley spent by himself in his tiny studio apartment while he was at work downtown. He’d hired a dog walker to come by every day, but she only spent a half hour at most with Barley. The rest of the time, Flynn imagined him staring out the window at Stone Way from the back of his couch, sleeping, and wondering where Mac was.

  At least when he lived here, Barley had had Dee to keep him company when Mac went off to work.

  Stop it! You’re gonna ruin this for yourself.

  Finally, like a ray of sunlight, Mac looked up from Barley and smiled at him. He got up from the wooden surface of the porch and wiped his hands on his jeans.

  “Thank you so much.”

  The joy at being reunited was plain on Mac’s face. And Flynn thought, very reasonably, that as the supplier of that joy, he just might be able to get Mac hooked and then keep him coming back for more.

  Kind of like a drug dealer. Flynn pictured one of those cheesy tabloid-style paperback book covers in his head. Love Dealer. With the tagline: “He was Mr. Feel Good. But instead of dope, he dealt love….”

  Flynn shook his head to clear it of the image. He started up the walk toward Mac, who looked very good indeed in faded, torn jeans and an olive-green T-shirt that seemed to intensify not only the red of his hair and beard, but also brought out the shimmering emerald of his eyes. Flynn caught and held Mac’s gaze for long seconds, knowing he was sending a more eloquent message than words could ever achieve.

  Mac smiled and was the one to look away first.

  “So, uh, dog park?”

  “Dog park. Let this puppy roam free.”

  “My car’s right this way.” Flynn turned to start back toward the car, wishing he could take Mac’s hand. And then an idea popped into his head, one he immediately judged as trying to make this outing more like a date, but so what?

  “Hey… how would you feel about a spontaneous change in plans?”

  Flynn pressed the remote to unlock the doors on his car. Barley lifted a leg to pee on its side, and Mac erupted in laughter.

  “Sorry,” Mac said. “What did you have in mind?”

  “Oh, I thought it might be fun to go over to Volunteer Park instead. I haven’t been in a long time, and I honestly don’t know if I’ve ever taken Barley there. And the views are gorgeous.”

  Mac shrugged. “Fine with me. The point really isn’t where we go, but to be with Barley, right?”

  Flynn frowned, which he hid by leaning down to open the door and load Barley into the backseat. “Right.”

  Both men got into the car. Mac fastened his seat belt and said, “I’ve been wondering about something.”

  “Okay.” Flynn started the car and then checked his mirror and over his shoulder before pulling out into traffic.

  “Well, it’s about our arrangement for kinda sharing Barley.”

  “Yeah?” Why did Flynn have a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach? He didn’t really know what Mac was about to say. Why worry about a thing before it even happens? Before you know what it is? Flynn sighed inwardly; his mother had taught him well.

  “I just would kind of like to know if, um, you were ever planning on giving me some quality alone time with Barley.”

  Flynn’s spirits sank. This, he knew, was what his subconscious feared.

  Mac went on, “I’d kind of like that, I mean, if it’s not asking too much. Maybe I could take him out to the dog park to socialize him a bit, or even just have him over to hang out in the backyard with Dee.” He looked at Flynn. �
�She misses him a lot.”

  Flynn tried not to sound terse when he replied, “Sure. I don’t see a problem with that. I have an opening night this coming Friday. Why don’t I bring Barley over after work, and he can have a sleepover?”

  Flynn wasn’t sure he liked the excitement in Mac’s voice when he exclaimed, “That would be awesome! I would absolutely love that.” Flynn felt especially sad because he was really the one who wanted a sleepover with Mac.

  Flynn changed the subject. “So you like Volunteer Park?”

  “Yeah, the views from up there are really something. Love that big doughnut sculpture they have. It’s cool.”

  Mac fell silent, and the two of them said little more until they got to the park.

  THEY WERE standing in front of that very sculpture—a big and imposing black granite doughnut—when Flynn asked if he could take a picture of Mac, perhaps looking through the doughnut’s hole.

  Mac laughed. “Why would you want a picture of me?”

  And Flynn felt a little stupid for asking, but he wanted the photo enough that it overrode any embarrassment. “So I can beat off to it later,” Flynn said.

  Mac’s mouth dropped open.

  “Kidding,” Flynn said, even though he wasn’t so sure he was. “Just want to get a bunch of pics, you know, to remember our outing tonight. I also want to get one of Barley by the reservoir and one of the Space Needle through the doughnut, and of course the sunset is going to be spectacular with the Olympics and all, so I want that too.” He grinned at Mac. “You’re just part of the collage, so don’t flatter yourself.” He smiled to show he was joking.