“Well, hello, little princess!” I heard Goober say. Charmine let out a yip. A moment later, he walked down the hallway with Charmine in his arms, licking his chin as if it had been recently dunked in beef stew. Knowing Goober, the possibility couldn’t be ruled out.
“Isn’t she the cutest?” Goober asked, grinning like a door-to-door salesman just to get my goat. “How could you hate such a loveable little ball of fluffiness?”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said dully.
Goober laughed. “She’s harmless, Val. Being in a strange place probably just scared the crap out of her. But you don’t have to worry about that now. There’s no more crap left in her. It’s all over your bathroom floor.” Goober looked down at the pup. “You did that, didn’t you, girlie!”
Charmine licked Goober’s chin again. From a distance of about ten feet, she looked adorable. Maybe Goober was right. She’d just been scared when she woke up in that stroller all alone in a strange house. Maybe she’d just been acting out her fears while I’d snored away, oblivious in bed. Maybe I’d startled her by screaming in horror at the mess she’d made of my living room. Maybe I’d read her all wrong.
I walked up to Goober and raised a hand to pet Charmine. As soon as my fingers were within striking distance, she snarled and lunged for them. Her sharp little teeth snapped within a hair’s breadth of my thumb. “What the hell!” I screeched.
“Whoa!” Goober said. He yanked Charmine away just in time to save my finger from amputation.
I beat a hasty, three-step retreat. “I don’t get it,” I said, shaking my head. “What’s going on here?”
Charmine growled at me while Goober shrugged. “I’d say she smells fear, all right. I have to say, if this is the general reaction you get from dogs, it’s no wonder you hate ‘em.”
“Geeze, Goober! What am I gonna do?”
“Well, might I suggest you not make a huge investment in rawhide chew toys? And I can see now a career in international pet sitting is definitely out the window.”
“Hardy-har-har.” I sneered. “Dang it, Goober. This is a disaster. Could you do me a favor? Just stay here until Milly comes to pick up Charmine? Just hand Miss Monster there off to Milly and this nightmare will be over.”
“Her name’s Charmine? Aww. How cute!” Goober fawned over the little ball of fur in his arms. “Is that your name, little one?” he cooed. He looked up at me and his smile evaporated, replaced by a mocking, slant-eyed glare. “What’s in it for me, dog hater?”
“Dinner and a beer?”
Goober grinned and sighed. “Ah. Back to working for food again. Well, at least this time I don’t have to make a cardboard sign.”
Chapter Six
Following the ransom protocol I saw in a crummy movie, I made Milly hand over the eighty-five bucks before Goober handed over Charmine. As I stuffed the cash my pocket, I watched Milly go gaga over being reunited with her fluffy ball of fur and fangs.
“Oooooh! Who’s my good girl?” Milly practically drooled as she made googly eyes at the sneaky little pillow shredder. Charmine should have gotten an Oscar for acting adorable.
With my sandals destroyed and my couch in tatters, I figured I’d ended the day about $815 in the hole. I bit my lip and decided to let it slide. At least I’d never have to see that mangy little home-wrecker again.
“Val?”
I blinked. Milly was staring at me. “Huh?” I asked, dazed and confused. I couldn’t possibly have heard what I thought she’d just said.
“I said, I found a sitter,” Milly repeated, “but she can’t start until Thursday. Could you take care of Charmine again tomorrow?”
Oh, crap on a cracked-up crappy cracker! Panic shot through me like a bad oyster. I looked over at Goober. He nodded at me reassuringly. I forced my jaw open enough to mutter, “Sure.”
“You’re a doll!” Milly said. “Want to kiss Charmine goodbye?” She held the pup toward me. Its doggy smile started to morph into a menacing snarl.
“Uh...no, that’s okay,” I said, my eyes locked on Charmine’s sharp little incisors. “I’ll see her again soon enough.”
Milly shrugged. “All right then.” She put Charmine in the stroller and pushed it toward the front door. “Oh, boy!” she said to Charmine in baby talk. “We’re off to go see daddy now! Say goodbye to Aunt Val and Uncle Goober!”
“Bye-bye,” Goober said and smiled at me with one side of his mouth.
I waved a weak goodbye and shut the door behind Milly and her demented Pomeranian. As soon as the door clicked behind me, my whole body nearly melted with relief. Then I thought about tomorrow and it knotted up again.
“Goober!” I said, wild-eyed. “What have I done?”
Goober snorted. “A favor for a friend, Val. It’s not the apocalypse, you know.”
I sighed. “Geeze. Are you sure? Look around!”
Goober surveyed my decimated living room, then patted me on the back. “You’ll survive. So where’s my beer?”
“Right.” I forced a smile and padded toward the kitchen. “One beer coming up.”
Goober followed me and plopped down on a barstool at the counter. I fished around in the fridge and pulled out a Fosters. “Enjoy it. It’s the last one.”
“What? Out of beer?” Goober cried. “Now that’s the apocalypse.”
I started to laugh, but it caught in my throat and hitched into a crying gasp. I turned my back to Goober to hide my face. As a ploy, I opened the freezer door and fumbled around for my bottle of Tanqueray. But my ruse didn’t fool Goober.
“What’s wrong, Val?”
I turned around and unscrewed the cap on the emerald-green bottle of gin. “Don’t tell Tom.”
Goober’s bushy left eyebrow hitched up at the center. “Tell him what?”
“That I hate dogs!” I screeched. I started to reach for a glass, then thought, what the hell. I tipped the bottle of gin over my mouth and poured a shot straight into my open maw.
“Whoa!” Goober laughed. “And I thought I was hard core.”
I frowned and wiped my chin. “I’m sorry. It’s just that...you know how people feel about people who hate dogs.”
“Whatever do you mean?” Goober teased and took a slug of beer. “Please. Enlighten me.”
“You know exactly what I’m talking about. People think you’re some kind of heartless psycho if you don’t like dogs. I mean, dog haters are ranked two notches below serial killers!”
“I think that may be an exaggeration,” Goober deadpanned. His head tilted to the right and his eyebrows met in the middle of his forehead. His mouth twisted to one side of his face. “Not much of one, but still....”
The front door opened. “I’m home!” Tom called out.
I slammed the cap on the bottle of gin and crammed it back in the freezer. “We’re in here!” I called back. I shot a desperate look at Goober. “Not a word! I’m begging you!”
Goober grinned under his moustache. “Aww. You’re so cute when you beg.”
“WHAT HAPPENED TO THE couch?” Tom asked.
“Well, that’s a funny story,” Goober said, his words muffled by a mouthful of pizza.
I’d bought Goober’s silence with beer and an extra-large pepperoni from Fat Jack’s Pizza. While Tom changed out of his police uniform and showered, I’d made the call and had the pizza delivered, along with an emergency six-pack of beer.
“Yeah, a really funny story,” I said. I smiled at Goober with every feature on my face except my eyes. They were too busy pleading.
“Oh yeah?” Tom asked. He looked over at me for an explanation.
I had nothing. So I stared harder at Goober. “You tell him, why don’t you?”
“Well, you see, I was entertaining Val and Charmine with my knife-twirling act. You know, from my circus days.”
I cringed. Oh, crap!
“Oh yeah,” Tom said and leaned back on the couch. “Back when you performed down on Beach Drive. What did you call yourself?”
“Le fart-head,” I said.
Goober scrunched his face in indignation. “If you’re referring to my performance as a fartiste, I was modeling my flatulist act after my famous ancestor, Le Petomane. It’s French.”
“It stinks,” I sneered.
Goober’s eyebrows formed one hairy pyramid in the center of his forehead. “Not as much as something else that’s going on here.”
That shut me up.
“What do you mean?” Tom asked.
“Well, Charmine had a little accident,” I blurted. “I had to clean it up.”
“Oh,” Tom said, not totally convinced. “I told you to get some baggies.”
“Yes, well, you were right. I should have listened,” I said too agreeably.
The unusualness of my subservient manner made Tom even more suspicious. He turned and studied me with his cop-trained, investigative eyes. “Well, other than that, how was your day with the little pooch, Val?”
“Really good,” I lied.
Tom smiled oddly. “I see,” was all he said.
AS GOOBER MADE HIS exit, I promised him more pizza and beer where that came from if he returned tomorrow. I left Tom in the living room and got ready for bed. After such a horrific day, I was craving some time to myself. But that just wasn’t going to happen. When I got done in the bathroom, I headed to bed to read a little. Alone. But Tom had beaten me to the punch. When I walked in the bedroom, he was already nestled into the bed covers, reading a book.
I snatched Love’s Lusty Love out of his hand.
“That’s my novel!” I groused.
“Excuse me,” Tom said, and showed me his open palms. “I didn’t know it was off limits.”
“Well...it’s not.” I put the novel on the nightstand and climbed into bed beside him. “It’s just that, you know, I could really use –”
“What?” Tom asked, and smiled softly at me. “A kiss? A backrub?”
I sighed. Those really did sound like viable alternatives. “Do I have to choose just one?”
“Nope.” Tom kissed me, then gently rolled me over on my tummy. “You really enjoyed that little doggie today, didn’t you?”
My body stiffened. “Sure. It was nice. The company, you know. But I’d hate to leave a dog like that alone all day. It’s not fair.”
Tom dug his thumbs into my shoulder blades. “Ugh,” I groaned. It hurt so good.
“You’re kind of tense tonight,” he said as his hands moved to the base of my neck. The gentle pressure had me melting under his touch. “But what if you weren’t gone all day?”
“What do you mean?” I managed between moans.
Tom kneaded my back. “What if you stayed home and worked? You’re always talking about going back to writing again. You could quit your job with Milly at the accounting firm and stay home and write.”
I flipped over to face Tom. “What’s brought this on?”
Tom shrugged. “I dunno. I was just thinking.”
“It’s a nice idea. But who’d pay the bills?”
Tom kissed me on the nose. “Well, if we got rid of my place, we’d cut our expenses in half. We could definitely make it on my salary until your career got on its feet.”
My brain started firing randomly like a nuclear reactor gone critical. Dang! I could go back to writing! But I’d be dependent on Tom. I could do something interesting again! But Tom would be living here. I’d be free from pantyhose forever! But I’d lose my personal freedom. I’d have a financial safety net....
Then a wicked sound like a needle scratching over a spinning vinyl record stopped my brain in its rutted tracks. Hold on there just a minute, Val! Are you really gonna fall for that horse hockey for a fourth time? What kind of fool are you?
I blinked hard and my mind came screeching back to my current plane of existence. I’d been so far away traversing the dead past and the imagined future that it was almost a surprise to find Tom lying there in bed beside me, smiling softly, his sea-green eyes twinkling at me.
“You’re actually thinking about it,” he said. His smile deepened until his dimples kicked in.
“Yes, I actually am.” And thank goodness you can’t read my thoughts.
Chapter Seven
Five minutes after Tom left for work, the doorbell rang. I sighed with relief. Milly would be here in around ten minutes, so Goober was right on time.
I flung open the door. “Hey Goo –.” I lowered my gaze about a foot. “Winky. What are you doing here?”
“Nice to see you, too, Val,” Winky said, and ambled inside.
“I...uh...was expecting Goober.”
“Yeah. He couldn’t make it. Sends his gondolances.”
“Condolences,” I corrected as I shut the door.
“Condolences?” Winky scratched his ginger buzz-cut. “You sure about that?”
“Yep. Pretty sure.”
“Huh.” Winky cocked his freckled head. “I always wondered what some I-talian boat had to do with –”
“Winky!” I grumbled, cutting him off. “Why isn’t Goober here?”
“Well, I figured you knowed already. Today’s the all-day marathon of Gilligan’s Island on TNT. You can’t expect Goober to miss out on that.”
“What? Why not?”
Winky shrugged and scratched the smiling beer mug on the faded t-shirt stretched tight across his belly. “Goober’s uncle played that one part that one time. You know, the one where that one fella did, oh, what was it now?”
“Ugh! Forget it!”
“I thought you’d be glad to see me, seein’s how you’re a-feared of dogs and all.”
“Goober told you?” I heard a sound outside and peeked out the window. “Dang it! Milly’s here already. Hide!”
“Huh? What for? You ‘shamed a’ me or somethin’?”
I looked Winky up and down. Despite the fact that he was barefoot, dressed like he fell out of a dumpster and smelled like garlic mothballs, surprisingly, I wasn’t ashamed of him. I just didn’t trust his big mouth. “No...it’s not that....”
Milly rapped on the door. “Just don’t say anything stupid, okay?”
Winky nodded and twisted the key in an imaginary lock on his pooched-out lips.
I shook my head and opened the door. Milly came barging in with that blasted stroller like it was BOGO day at Walmart. I took a wary glance inside the stroller. To my inestimable relief, Charmine was fast asleep, just as she had been yesterday.
“Isn’t she so cute?” Milly whispered. “Silly girl. The car ride puts her right to sleep.” She took her eyes off precious Charmine long enough to notice Winky standing nearby. “Oh...hey, Winky. I didn’t see your van outside.”
“Mornin’ Milly.” Winky nodded and took a step toward the stroller. “Winnie dropped me off on her way to work.” He looked down at Charmine. “So this here’s the little monst –”
“Winky’s going to help me around the house,” I blurted. I shot Winky a hard look. “Aren’t you, Winky?”
“Huh? Oh. Yeah. Her plumbin’s all stopped up. Speakin’ of plumbin’, can I use yore –?”
“Yes!” I said. “Just go do your business. But hurry!”
“What’s the hurry?” Milly asked.
“I just...uh...want him to be here when Charmine wakes up....uh...she’s so cute when she wakes up from her little nappy poo,” I said in baby talk and immediately loathed myself for it.
Milly eyed me, surprised. “I almost thought you didn’t like Charmine.” She elbowed me and grinned. “Turns out you’re an old softie like me.”
I plastered on a fake smile. “Old softie, that’s me.”
“I like me a softie,” Winky said. “’Specially on the toilet.”
Milly and I exchanged “I-don’t-want-to-know” glances.
“I thought you were going to the bathroom,” I hissed at Winky.
“All right, already! I’m on it,” he said. He made a goofy face, lifted his elbows, kicked out a knee and exited the scene like a cartoon character.
> “He is so weird,” Milly said as she watched him exit, stage left. “Well, I’ve got to get to work. I’ll just kiss Charmine –”
I yanked Milly by the arm. “No! Don’t! You might...wake her up.”
Milly grinned. “You are an old softie. Okay. See you after work. You two – you three – have a fun day!”
I eased the door closed behind Milly, tiptoed around the stroller and padded down the hallway. Winky was in the john belting out a Willy Nelson tune. “Be quiet and do your business!” I shushed.
Winky called back. “Which is it, Val? You want me to be quiet or do my business?”
I tried, unsuccessfully, not to roll my eyes. “Just do your business. And hurry up!”
While Winky was in the bathroom finishing On the Road Again and who knows what else, I watched Charmine from a safe distance, my stomach gnawing with dread. When she whined in her sleep, an electric bolt of panic shot through me. I need protection from that mangy little throat ripper! A thought struck me. I ran out to the garage and grabbed the laundry basket. I snuck up on tip-toes and carefully positioned the basket over the top of the stroller like a plastic cage....
“He he he he he he!” A sound like a deranged woodpecker startled me out of my skin. I jump six inches off the ground and whipped around to face Winky. He was red faced from laughing at me.
“Gaul-dang it, Val! You really are a-feared of dogs.”
“I am not!” I protested too loudly. Charmine yawned and cracked open an eye. I slammed the basket over the stroller and jumped back a foot. “Get her out! Now!” I screeched.
“Geezy Pete, Val. Just where in tarnation you ‘spect me to go?”
“Outside! Take her outside. Now!”
I scrambled to the glass sliding doors that led to the backyard and yanked one side open. “This way. Come on!”
“Yes, ma’am.” Winky said and pushed the stroller across the living room like the proud, redneck inventor of the first upturned laundry basket on wheels. To my dismay, he stopped at the door’s threshold and said, “Can I at least get us some water first?”
Doggone Disaster Page 4
