Groomer Has It

by Katie Hagen

  Groomer Has it

  Katie Hagen

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 1

  “You look beautiful,” a voice said in the darkness. “I mean, you did. You know, before…”

  My date, Eldon Thompson, the man with all the lines seemed a bit thrown by the absolute lack of light surrounding us, so I tried my best to lighten the mood.

  “I still do. In fact, I look even better now.” I fumbled for my wine glass. “Since we were seated, I’ve lost ten pounds, went blonde, and got my lips plumped.” Finally, my fingers found the base of the glass and carefully I brought it to my lips. “Quite the service they provide here,” I added after a healthy sip.

  “Ha,” Elden responded. “Good one.”

  I tried to refrain from sighing out loud and chose to roll my eyes instead. Not that he could see it.

  “The bread is being placed in the center of the table,” a server’s voice came from my left.

  “Cool. I’m starving!” Eldon exclaimed with the appropriate amount of excitement when one was offered carbs. “Want some?”

  I heard him chewing. I guessed that eating in the dark meant manners be damned? “No, thank you.” I smiled. No carbs for me. “Smells good though.”

  “Mmhmm,” he practically moaned. “They say that eating with the lights out increases all your other senses,” he smacked.

  “I’m sure it does,” I agreed. Like hearing for example.

  To avoid the sloppy symphony of chomping coming from across the table I listened in on the tables surrounding us. Some diners seemed equally as awkward, which I appreciated, but from other tables I heard laughter and the undeniable tones of flirtation. I wondered what sort of debauchery the waiters were privy to from night to night.

  When Eldon invited me on this excursion, to a trendy pop-up restaurant, I’d expected exquisite food, creative atmosphere, and of course, ambiance.

  Then we walked in.

  We were greeted by a man with military-grade night vision goggles sitting on his forehead, had our orders taken, which was basically a choice of chicken or beef, and then were led into the darkest room I’d ever…seen.

  For a split second, it had been exciting, sexy even. Then I realized that Eldon, for all his good looks and charm, was, in all reality, a bumbling, chomping, slurping dud of a man. And besides that, I had wasted a good two hours styling my hair and applying the perfect contour to my face only for him to see me for about ten minutes. If I’d have shown up early, I could have worn sweats. Instead, my waist-slimmer was digging into my ribs and I had no idea what my boobs were doing. For all I knew they could be working their way to the edge of my retaining wall of a shelf-bra. One small move and we might have a flood on our hands.

  After a quick adjustment I turned my attention back to Eldon.

  “So, Jenni said you work with animals?” he asked.

  Pet grooming, my reason for moving to L.A.; the place where dreams are made, and carbs are missed.

  Our mutual friend, Jenni, told me that Eldon worked in ‘the industry’. You couldn’t throw an avocado pit in this town without hitting someone claiming to be the hottest new producer/director/actor/screenwriter/designer whatever. But I’d learned to be wary of claims such as these. Most often, I’d learned, these narcissists were actually glorified errand boys, otherwise known as ‘production assistants.’ They had no power, and no matter how much they claimed they could get you to the top, they were only good for some stale cheese and crackers and a couple beers.

  I always hoped to be introduced to VIP’s and instead was introduced to cheesy independent films or ‘the best film ever made’ that I only ever saw half of because I’d slip out as soon as the guy passed out which they always seemed to do. As lowly as they were, P.A.’s seemed to be a hardworking, and very tired bunch. It was almost sweet.

  This time, I had been assured by my acting class friend, Jenni with an ‘I’, that Eldon was the real thing; an up and coming filmmaker with a true vision. She claimed that the only reason she didn’t date him herself was that she was tied up, so to speak, with a horror film director named, Dirk. Jenni’s lack of taste aside, I had agreed to the date with cautious hope.

  “I do, and I heard that you work with the most dangerous animals of all...actors.”

  He either didn’t hear my attempt at a joke or ignored it. I heard his hands search the table for his glass before he answered. “Oh yeah, I’ve been in the trenches for a while, but some big things are finally happening. I can’t really tell you what they are yet, but it’s pretty big.”

  I’d heard that before. “I get that. It’s like the secret prince thing.”

  “Umm…”

  “You know, like when a prince pretends to be a normal guy to make sure the girl is really in love with him and not just because he’s a prince?”

  “I’m not a prince,” Eldon chuckled.

  “No.” Duh. “I know that. I just meant…” I tried to find the words. Two glasses of wine in with no bread to soak it up and I was getting a little fuzzy. “You’re totally just being cautious, you know? Making sure you’re not getting taken advantage of. That’s totally fine with me! I totally get it.” Oh crap. How many times did I just say, ‘totally?’

  “Oh!”

  Thank the lord he finally got it.

  “Yeah I don’t want like a gold-digger or anything. I want to make sure you like the goods before you get the glory,” he laughed to himself then banged a fist on the table. I heard a gasp from the table next to us.

  “Totally,” I sighed. I needed food and bad. I could feel my stomach beginning to growl and it wouldn’t be long before the whole restaurant would hear it. I wondered if I could just sneak out. I was sure I passed at least one Korean BBQ place on the way. But what if Eldon was the real thing? What if I missed an opportunity to finally find my other half? Besides, I could like him…eventually.

  “Chicken.”

  “Excuse me?” I stammered.

  “To your right miss. I’m placing the chicken in front of you now.”

  “Oh,” I laughed. ‘Sorry.” My hands reached forward and found the plate then the table beside it while Eldon’s food was served. “Umm. Where’s the silverware?”

  “Too dangerous,” the server was to my left now and I was beginning to feel a little dizzy. “You just eat with your hands,” he announced.

  “Fun,” I lied and smiled in the direction I hoped he was standing in. It was then that I realized how gross eating in the dark would be. No silverware and I couldn’t even see the plate. When I reached forward, I was happy to find that the food was at least portable. I didn’t stick my fingers into any piles of mashed potatoes or anything but picking up a piece of unseen chicken was still disturbing.

  “So, Kit, you’re an actress, right?” Eldon smacked in my direction. He seemed to have forgotten about the whole working with animals thing. Five minutes was a long time to remember someone’s profession. At least he remembered my name.

  Or at least the name I’d told him.

  Kit was the name everyone knew me by, and for good reason. My mother named me after her sister, Katherine, but instead of letting me be Katherine, or Kathy, or Katie, or Kate, my mother had to be true to her bohemian, wackadoodle nature and named me…Kitty Cat Davis.

  I know.

  Understandably, Kit is what I go by and even through the smacking it didn’t sound too terrible rolling off of Eldon’s tongue
.

  I swallowed a bite of chicken something and hoped none of it got on my cheek, down my cleavage, or on to my lap. Finally, I got around to answering his second question about my career path.

  “Yes. I do a little acting and singing. Mostly I model.” All hobbies really, but he didn’t need to know that.

  I heard a distinct laugh covered clumsily by a cough.

  That happened sometimes. I wasn’t what most men would consider the ‘model type’ though most hid their skepticism better. Contrary to popular belief, not all models are tall, or thin, or the type to stand out in a crowd. I was none of those things, but my particular assets and my everyday pretty face made me the perfect candidate for catalogue work and the occasional lingerie add. Yet another reason I didn’t go by Kitty Cat, unless of course I chose to take my career to one of the clubs down by the airport. I stroked my long dark hair nonchalantly and refrained from sighing. “I also groom dogs.”

  “See! I knew it! You’re a comedienne,” he used the female form of comedian which irked me somehow. “You look like you’d be one. Just, you know, hotter.”

  I had no idea how to take that. “No, I really do groom dogs. I’ve been doing it since I was a teenager.”

  Eldon took a second then seemed to recover. “I love dogs! It must be fun to play with them all day.”

  I searched my plate and came across what I hoped was broccoli while I considered his comment and felt my glued-on lashes begin to loosen. Carefully I managed to wipe my hand and press them back on.

  Just that day I’d groomed two tangled poodles, washed and brushed out an energetic golden-doodle that had strict orders not to be turned into a poodle (as if I could), groomed a scottie and two westies that all tried to eat my face, and managed not to maim a bug-eyed shih-tzu that turned into the Tasmanian Devil every time I went near her face with my scissors. All perfect angels, or so I’d been told by their silicone padded and lip injected owners.

  Oh, the life if an L.A. pet groomer.

  “Oh, tons of fun,” I lied.

  Actually, I liked being a groomer. It was just something about people assuming it was a ‘fun’ job where you just played around with sweet little puppies all day that ruffled my feathers. My Aunt Kitty, who had passed away about a month before, taught me to groom. It was a job that was as hard as it was rewarding, and I was lucky to know the craft. I had no idea how I would have survived in L.A. without it, but I wished that just once I could come home from work without feeling tired, sore, hairy, and smelling like a wet dog.

  “Do you have any dogs?” I asked.

  “Oh no, not yet. You know how it is here with rentals. It’s hard to find a place that lets you have pets.”

  Red flag. “Oh, so you rent?”

  “Oh yeah. I could probably get my own place, but I like the company.” Sure you do.

  “So, you live in a…” I pressed while subtly checking my front teeth for stray broccoli.

  “Share house. I’ve got three roommates. But don’t worry, there’s tons of privacy. We have a system.”

  “Neat.” Ok, so he was gross and obviously presumptuous. But maybe he was still on the verge of something big. Most people in L.A. lived in share houses. No big deal. I was just lucky enough to have grooming to support me so I could afford a little apartment in Calabasas by myself. My left eyelashes flapped, and I once again pressed them into submission, silently cursing my drug store eyelash glue.

  By the time the desert came, my stomach was beginning to twist. I attributed it to by company.

  Eldon had already told me about his family, middle class middle America, and his roommates: a stripper, a server, and male model named, Thom, whom Eldon seemed to despise. He’d made at least three lude comments, and in all this time he hadn’t asked another question about me. He did, however, try several times to search the table for my hand which I listened to with great joy and my hands on my lap.

  When the dessert, which was a sampling of bland cookies that I cursed myself for even bothering to try were gone, he must have tried again. This time, as his hand scanned the table for mine, I heard the sickening clang of a wine glass being tipped over.

  Before I could stop it, the wine flood began pouring off the table edge and onto my lap. I shrieked and shoved my chair backward where it collided with a server’s legs, simultaneously propelling me forward and chest first into the wine waterfall.

  I heard snickering as someone handed me a towel which I used to soak up my filled, and barely staying contained cleavage and the broad expanse of my lap.

  “I’m so sorry! I hope I didn’t get you wet!” Eldon inquired.

  “Nope. I’m good,” I said while patting myself dry and felt one set of lashes disconnect from my eye entirely and fall to the floor. I just want to go home.

  I awoke the next morning to the ring of my phone and instant regret.

  After all was said and done, I’d let Eldon kiss me. It was one of those sloppy and too-deep kisses that had me pulling back as soon as it began. To make matters worse I had a message on my phone telling me that a client hadn’t been pleased with my doodle haircut and I had somehow, without my knowledge, flicked my magic wand and turned it into a poodle after all.

  Then I threw up.

  Turns out that eating in the dark is not only awkward but also prevents you from noticing when the chicken is just a tad undercooked.

  I managed to lift my arm enough to grab my phone from its spot on the sparse bedside table, spouting a mantra of ‘not Eldon, not Eldon’, peered at it with my one lashed eye, and smiled.

  “Kit?” My stepfather, Tom Gundy’s voice trickled through like molasses. I could hear his moustache sweeping across the receiver as he chewed his breakfast.

  I let myself fall back into my pillows and turned the phone to speaker. “Uh huh,” I groaned.

  “Rough night, huh?” Tom chuckled. Tom wasn’t the least bit scandalized. He had his own reputation around our hometown as a rabble-rouser, as he put it. That was before my mom caught his eye. My mother had a way of taking up a lot of free time just by existing.

  Now, he mostly spent his days working at the mechanic shop he owned with his twin brother, Turn, short for Turnip. Their parents had a unique sense of humor about the small and squished up twin that they hadn’t known existed until he plopped out like an overripe turnip.

  The evenings Tom spent watching survival shows and managing my mother’s ‘moods.’ I figured he was a bit of a survivalist himself.

  “Well Kitty Cat, I got something to tell ya’.” Tom was probably the only person that I let call me by my birth name.

  “Did Mom disappear again because you know she’s probably just on some last second retreat somewhere learning how to breathe or making dreamcatchers out of afterbirth or something. She’ll come back; she always does.”

  Tom caught my tone and cleared his throat. He knew that I had been dealing with my mother’s erratic behaviors for long before he came into the picture and had every right to be disapproving; but to Tom Gundy, Leona ‘Lulu’ Davis-Gundy was a goddess and he vowed to never hear a disparaging remark about her, even from her children. “No, no. She’s just out back painting…nude.” Ugh, gross.

  “Yeah. Well actually, I called about your Aunt Kitty.”

  “Oh.”

  Aunt Kitty’s untimely passing had been haunting me for weeks. One minute she was this larger than life, blonde haired, lipstick wearing powerhouse on heels and the next she was gone. Cancer. She hadn’t told a soul. She didn’t want anyone to worry. She hadn’t even had a funeral. We were forbidden.

  Aunt Kitty was everything.

  Before Tom came around to add a little structure to the mess that was the Davis family, back when it was just LuLu, my sister Carlie, and I, Kitty made sure were clothed and fed. And when Lulu would disappear on one of her spiritual whims, Kitty made sure we were housed too. She was always there, rubbing my back until I fell asleep on nights when I worried that my mom would never come back home and making me ho
t chocolate in the morning.

  My childhood wasn’t all that traumatizing, I reminded myself. It was probably just the hangover filtering out the good times.

  “Well you know your aunt wasn’t the most organized woman.”

  I laughed and felt my head pound. “That she wasn’t.” The woman had more clutter around her house than I’d be able to collect in a lifetime.

  “Right. Well it took us a bit to come up with her will. By the time she told us she was sick she was just too far gone. To be honest, we weren’t even sure it existed and then one day, smack! There it was!” I heard him take a drink of coffee. Mmm, coffee. I let my mind consider a sugar-free vanilla americano.

  “Where was it?” I asked sleepily.

  “The strangest place. It was on a bookshelf in between a bunch of National Geographic magazines and a family photo album.”

  “Between the wild and the wonderful you’ll find a will,” I laughed. Aunt Kitty had a very unique way of organizing things. Somehow, I understood; most of the time. “You should have called me. I probably could have figured it out.”

  “Well you know, you’ve been busy.”

  I rubbed my hand across my make-up caked forehead to dull the throbbing…and the guilt. I hadn’t been the best daughter, or sister, or anything really for quite some time. In L.A. your dreams can come true, but you have to sacrifice a lot to get there. The thought that maybe I’d sacrificed too much passed through my empty bedroom like an echo through Laurel Canyon.

  “Yeah…I know.”

  Tom gulped down more coffee and through the line I heard him light a cigarette. I’d thought he’d quit months ago.

  “Anyway, we finally got the darned thing read by the lawyer.”

  My sister, Carlie’s voice sprang through the line. “Is that the boss?”

  Even though it was clear she was yelling from across the room, Carlie’s voice came through crystal clear. Her tone said even more, but the words were confusing.

  “What is she talking about? Boss?”

  “Oh, you know Carlie.” Tom’s voice lowered considerably, and I moved the phone closer to my face to hear. “I think she was just hoping to snag Kitty’s apartment but the whole thing’s kind of a package deal.”