Stepdog

by Nicole Galland

  It couldn’t have been Jay! No way! Don’t be paranoid, I told myself. I’d played with the dog a bit before getting on the road, I’d been slowed down by the Great Smoky Mountains Parkway, and of course there was a faster way to get to Chattanooga, but he could never have eaten up my four-hour lead that quickly . . .

  Could he?

  No way. No. Mad to even think it.

  The GPS guided me to the hotel in the exurb sprawl. I pulled into a parking spot and turned off the ignition. A motion-sensitive light lit up outside, backlighting the windshield smear of dead bugs. I let Cody out on her leash to pee, then made her get back in the car so she wouldn’t be underfoot in the lobby. “Hang on, girl,” I instructed, “let me get us checked in.”

  I left the window open a crack, locked the car remotely, and went into the hotel. It was one of those beige, bland chain hotels, no personality whatsoever. The bloke behind the counter was humming along with the piped-in Muzak crap of Kenny G (his sound track). It was quiet, at least. I was so grateful to be out of the car and done driving for the day. I was dying for a nice cold ale, ol’ hair of the dog to get rid of this brutal hangover. But I firmly decided, no, I just needed plenty of water, a shower, and a good night’s sleep.

  “How’s it going,” I said. “Checking in. O’Connor, one night.”

  Without making eye contact with me, the clerk looked into a computer screen, clicked a few things, read something. His face and expression never changed.

  “That’s the double suite?” he asked officiously.

  “Ye—what? No.”

  “It looks like an upgraded reservation. Do you need a second key?”

  “What? I need a first key,” I said, “I just got here.”

  “Oh,” he said, confused but eyes never leaving the screen. “It looks like the rest of your party has already arrived.”

  Chapter 24

  There was a brief pause made out of pure lead. Then I was able to speak.

  “Rest of my party? I’m traveling alone.”

  “Someone has already checked into that room.”

  “Under what name? Rory O’Connor?”

  “Under O’Connor, yes, sir.” Finally his eyes glanced up at mine. “Is there a problem?”

  “What did he look like? Was he tall? Bald?”

  “Sorry, sir, I wasn’t on the desk yet.”

  I couldn’t think straight.

  “Ok, thanks, I’ll be right back, just getting the dog,” I said in a stupid voice, and went out to the car.

  I couldn’t see Cody through the windows. She’d been taken. He’d taken her! Shite!

  Frantically I opened the door with the electronic key and hollered, “Cody!” into the car. The motion-detector light was at too high an angle to light the backseat, but I suddenly felt her breath against my cheek and almost collapsed with relief. “Fucking hell,” I said. “Okay, Cody, okay, good girl.” I patted her head and sank my weight back down into the driver’s seat.

  She, of course, wanted to get out. “Sorry, girl, no, it’s not safe,” I said, pushing her back. “I’m taking you someplace else.”

  How could he possibly have gotten here before me? I’d had a four-hour lead on him, and Great Smokies Parkway notwithstanding, I drive like a maniac. And anyhow, how could he have known to come to this hotel? And more than anything, of course: What was he up to? What the fuck was he thinking? What, was he planning to tail me across the continent? Really?

  I reached for my phone and called Sara to tell her I’d arrived safely. “You know,” I continued, trying to sound casual, “we’re really making good time here and I’m not tired. What’s the next big city we could stay in?”

  “Sweetie, we’ve already paid for the Chattanooga hotel and you need to rest.” When I began to protest, she insisted: “You might not think you’re tired, but it’s been a hell of a few days; as soon as you let yourself relax you’ll see how much your body needs sleep.”

  “He’s here,” I blurted out. “I need to keep going because he’s here. He followed me. And somehow he caught up to me.”

  “What?” she gasped.

  “He’s following me, Sara. Isn’t that mad? He’s here, in the hotel. He somehow got into my room.”

  “Wow,” she said softly. “I guess I should have expected that, but . . . well, anyhow, I didn’t.”

  “So I can’t stay here,” I pressed. “Obviously.”

  “Well . . . I guess you could go on to Nashville,” she said. “I think that’s two hours, maybe two and a half. I’m at my computer, I’ll check.”

  “And that’s due west?”

  “It’s actually a little north, but it’s the next city on Highway 40, which is how you’ll go, all the way out here.”

  “And what’s the city after Nashville?”

  “Memphis, but that’s a real schlep. Tennessee is a very long state.”

  “I’m up for it,” I said.

  “That’s more than twelve hours in the car in one day, and after your drive yesterday, I’m sorry, but that’s too much. You’ll fall asleep at the wheel and I’ll lose both of you.”

  “I did more than that yesterday,” I argued. “I can do it again. And if I can do it twice, she can do it once.”

  “It will really stress both of you, and there’s no need to—”

  “As long as I have the energy to drive, it’s to our advantage for me to get as far ahead of him as possible.”

  After a moment, she sighed. “Memphis is too far. You’re wired up, and I get that, but trust me, you’re not thinking clearly. I’ll find a Nashville hotel and text you the address.”

  “All right,” I said, feeling irritable and edgy.

  Before I went back onto the highway, I went to fill up the tank, and to scrub—literally scrub, with the scrubby side of a dish sponge Sara had thought to pack for this specific purpose—the bugs off the windshield. While I was stopped, I cantankerously typed in Tennessee—Memphis as the next destination on the GPS. Then I started driving.

  I didn’t know my American geography the way someone traveling cross-country surely ought to. But I knew that Chattanooga, Nashville, and Memphis are all in Tennessee, and so when I saw a sign saying, “Welcome! We’re Glad Georgia’s on Your Mind,” I realized something was wrong.

  “Again?! Two GPS fuckups in one day? Fuck fuckfuckfuckfuck FUCK! SHITE!” I shouted, pounding my hand on the dashboard over and over again. Cody jumped.

  The fucking GPS assured me I was heading toward Memphis, so I just kept driving into the night. What else could I do? In almost no time at all, the road turned and we reentered Tennessee, which briefly deluded me into thinking I was on the right track after all—until I found myself crossing into Alabama. Ala-fucking-bama! Gobshite fuck bollocks! Jesus fucking Christ! Three GPS accidents in one day? Cody looked frightened of me. I was losing the plot.

  I took a deep breath and tried to calm down a little. Okay. Alabama. I knew a few things about Alabama. I knew Hank Williams. I knew Neil Young and Lynyrd Skynyrd’s dueling songs about the state. I knew that Mobile, Alabama, was on the Gulf Coast. Which proved being in Alabama was a mistake, no matter what that useless piece-of-crap shite technology had to say about it. “Look,” I said to Cody, staring at me in fright from the passenger seat. “Rory fucked up again. Good man, Rory. That’s the way.” The thought of having to call Sara made my stomach sour. But at the same time I was stuck, totally lost. With a heavy, resigned sigh, I reached for my phone.

  “Hi, love, I was just about to text you the Nashville hotel,” she said.

  “I’m going to cut to the chase here,” I said. “I’m in Alabama.”

  A pause.

  “You’re what?”

  “I just wanted to get the fuck out of there, Sara, and I ended up in Alabama.”

  “Umm . . .” she began, which was enough to make me so defensive I could hear my blood pressure rising. “Nashville is north. Alabama is south. How could you possibly end up in Alabama if you were headed for Nashville? Tha
t would require some kind of . . . non-Euclidean geography.” Then she laughed a little, nervously. I remembered fuck-all about geometry, but I suppose that was intended to be funny. She was trying to avoid an argument. All right, then, so would I. First I took another big breath and let it out slowly.

  “I didn’t put Nashville in the GPS,” I confessed. “I put Memphis.”

  “Rory!” Sara said, the humor gone. “We agreed you’d go to Nashville.”

  “You’re the only one who agreed to that, and anyhow, going to Memphis is supposed to take me through Nashville.”

  “Well, obviously it’s not doing that,” she huffed. Huffy wasn’t generally her thing. I wanted the old Diana Spencer–with–a–kindergartner back. It had been ages since I’d seen that side of her. I wondered if I was coming across as especially inept in light of that bollocks of an ex-lover’s crafty efficiency. Look at me, failing better and better all the time. Beckett would be proud of his countryman.

  I heard a few muffled clicks and taps as she sorted out what I’d done wrong. “All right,” she said shortly. “You need to drive west across all of northern Alabama and all of northern Mississippi, and then you’ll reenter Tennessee at its southwestern corner, and that’s where Memphis is. Please don’t forget to feed the dog.”

  And she hung up. So much for the sweetness of early afternoon. At least I could now be confident that prick was no longer on my tail.

  “I’m still lookin’ out for you,” I said grumpily to Cody. “Lot of thanks I get.”

  She carefully rolled over on the front seat for a tarty-dog pose, craning her neck to check out my response. She looked ridiculous.

  It was hard to see much, now that it was dark, but I’d say if New England were a size-eight shoe, this part of the country was a size 8.5 wide. There was a general broadening—of roads, of car lots, of meridians, of housing estates, of fields—and between long stretches of undeveloped land, clatters of gas stations, convenience stores, towing facilities, storage facilities. I drove for dozens, then scores, then hundreds of silent miles, trying not to think about either Jay or Sara. The smell in the car was gank. My early sense of exultation was completely eradicated. I was spooked. So spooked, I simply had to keep myself from thinking.

  My phone rang.

  “Hi, Rory,” said Alto as I picked up. “Just checking in one more time before bed to see how you’re doing.”

  His sound track had definitely changed. No more Janis Ian, now it was Pharrell Williams.

  “Squire Alto!” I said, with forced heartiness. “We’re on the road, me and Cody. Tennessee. Although tonight it’s Mississippi and Alabama.” (That all sounded so exotic.)

  “That’s great,” he said. “Everyone’s delighted you got her back.”

  “Actually, you know . . . it might be a bit dodgy still,” I said. “Don’t tell Lena that. Do me a favor, just give me a bell tomorrow or the next day.”

  “Will do,” said Alto.

  Although there wasn’t a thing he could have done, it was a good feeling knowing he was looking out for me. Sweet kid.

  My phone dinged with a text from Sara, which I read because the road was so straight and empty. Sorry for tone. Memphis hotel address attached, reservation made. Oklahoma City rez for next night, too. I want to rendezvous at Grand Canyon. Love you xx.

  Instantly my mood improved. See? All I wanted was Sara’s love.

  IT WAS A warm night, and at least there was enough Bible talk radio for me to practice my southern accents. Maybe I’d get to use them in the series.

  The series. Ha!

  I had a television series. I felt utterly unplugged from that side of myself. I couldn’t even remember, now, what it felt like to be onstage. To reassure myself that I really was an actor, I started quoting, in a southern accent, the “Commodity” speech from King John. That’s a great speech, by the way, it works really well with a southern accent. Too bad the play is such crap.

  Cody tilted her head and stared adoringly at the back of my right ear. Then she poked her nose at it.

  “I promise I will feed you in Memphis,” I said.

  She poked her nose down the back of my shirt. To be safe, I pulled over onto the shoulder of the road and let her out to pee. It was so warm here. There were no cars in sight, not a sound or a light, and that steadied me a little. Maybe that beige clerk in the beige uniform in the beige hotel in Chattanooga had goofed off on the paperwork. Not that I now thought for one moment that prick was on his way back to Boston, never to pursue the dog again. Fat fucking chance. I knew now he meant business. But it occurred to me that I was overreacting a little to the possibility of actual at-hand danger. I took a deep swampy breath and looked into the darkness.

  WE FINALLY REENTERED Tennessee sometime after midnight, and then it was pretty quick before we were in Memphis, and met another beige clerk in a beige lobby in a beige hotel—and who was piping through the beige speakers? Kenny G. There was no restaurant or room service. I had eaten almost nothing since the chicken cutlet sandwich, and I was weak with hunger, but nothing was around unless I wanted to eat the dog food.

  “Of course she packed plenty for you,” I said grumpily, once I was settled in the room and dispensing some into Cody’s travel bowl. “I, of course, have to fend for myself.”

  I peeled my reeking clothes inelegantly off me and keeled over onto the bed, shattered, absolutely knackered, staring straight up at the ceiling. This was not going to procure me a meal. Nothing was going to procure me a meal. There would be no meal. I should just get a good night’s sleep.

  I turned the lights off, got into bed, and drifted off.

  Or nearly did. I hadn’t brought Cody’s bed into the hotel—not having it for one night wasn’t going to kill her. The problem was, her choosing a spot. So she sat right by the head of my bed and stared at me. I could feel it even in the dark. I could hear her dog sounds. Then she brought her nose so close to my face that I could feel her breath, and when I opened my eyes, she moved in even closer and touched her nose very gently to mine.

  “Leave me alone, Cody,” I said.

  “Leave me alone, Cody” is apparently canine for “Don’t leave me alone, Cody.” She knew she had my attention. I heard her tail in the dark brushing across the floor as it wagged. She brought her nose to mine again.

  “This is Sara’s fault,” I informed her. “You’re a good dog but this behavior is not acceptable, Cody, and it’s entirely Sara’s fault.”

  Fifteen seconds later I realized that no, it was my fault. She wanted water and I’d not given her any.

  I got up. Filled her travel dish with water from the sink, and placed it on the floor by the bathroom door. As I got back in bed, I heard more than saw her pounce on the bowl. She drank and drank and drank and drank. I thought that would be the end of it and now she’d go to sleep. But no. She was so revived after drinking and seemed to want to let me know, wanted to thank me. And started bumping noses and staring at my face so hard I could feel it even with my eyes closed. She rested her head heavily on the side of the bed. “Go to sleep,” I said, “I’m knackered.” No change. I could still feel her presence. All right, Jesus. Lamp on. She was startled by that. I hit the corner of the bed. “Come on, Cody. Up here. On the bed.”

  She looked disbelievingly between my face and the side of the bed where my hand was. I hit it again. She yawned uncertainly.

  “I mean it,” I said, sharply. “Just get the fuck up here.”

  Again, the eyes going back and forth between my face and my hand. Finally, after I was practically banging out a drum roll on the bedding, she leapt gracefully onto the bed, tail high and wagging happily, like she was anticipating the greatest slumber party ever. The movement reminded me, so much, of the night we’d met last August. Ah, well, I’d held out for eight months before giving in. “It’s just for tonight, d’y’hear?” I said. “I’m bringing your bed in tomorrow, so make the most of it, little bitch.”

  She did. As soon as the light was off, befor
e I had even gotten myself fully prone in bed again, Cody had rolled over into tarty-dog pose.

  But only for a moment. Then she needed to stretch out on her side as far as possible, so that from the air she would resemble the silhouette of a graceful dog bounding over an unseen hurdle.

  But only for a moment. Then she needed to stretch out on her other side and do the same thing, as if evenly sunning herself.

  But only for a moment. Then she needed to fluff up the pillows I was not using, and push her body down on top of them so that her hind feet were pushing against my shoulders.

  But only for a moment. Then she needed to sleep at the foot of the bed.

  But only for a moment. Then she needed to sleep in tarty-dog pose in the middle of the bed.

  “Cody, for fuck’s sake!” I snapped.

  This went on for at least an hour. That includes the period during which I yelled at her and made her get off the bed, but she wouldn’t stop bumping my nose, so I put her in the bathroom but then she whined oh-so-softly until it was driving me mental and I couldn’t take it any longer, so I let her out and threw pillows onto the floor for her to sleep on. She ignored them and lay on the carpet. Until she wanted to get on the bed again.

  I turned off my alarm, and decided I was going to sleep in, so that finally, once on this cursed trip, I could start the day’s drive feeling something close to human. I’d only to get to Oklahoma City, after all, and even though that lanky parasitical prick knew I hadn’t stopped in Chattanooga, he had no idea I’d pushed on all the way to Memphis.

  I hoped.

  Chapter 25

  I woke with my belly stuck to my back with the hunger. I looked up frowning in the dim light. Cody was hovering over me, staring at me, nose to nose. In what appeared to be the far distance, I saw her tail slowly, tentatively wagging.

  “Right,” I said. “Right. And we’re off.”

  I took her out for her morning pee, fed her, left her in the room to see about finally getting some grub for myself. This required driving. Memphis—at least this part—was not my kind of town. There is something wrong when you are elated to find an International House of Pancakes as your best chance for a healthy feed.