And with that, I give my new friend a saucy wink and follow the PA out to the corridor, doing my best not to wobble like a Weeble.
Chapter 2
(Willa)
Cicero and I are introduced to Daybreak on the Bay viewers by co-hosts Mark Lindsay and Janice Klein, who fawn over my little furball, saying how cute, lovable, and full of personality he is – all compliments he feels are his due. He shows off a bit, impressing Mark and Janice with a few tricks (shaking hands, twirling around on his back legs, and hunting down his favorite squeaky toy, which I hid in a potted plant on the set earlier), then he plops down on the floor and begins to maul the plastic hamburger, forcing a high-pitched squeal from it every couple of seconds. This makes answering the co-hosts’ questions quite difficult, so I substitute a less obnoxious giraffe plushie in hopes that dismembering it will keep Cicero busy, and quiet, for a while.
“So, Willa, why don’t you tell us about your unique ability,” Mark prompts in his smooth broadcaster’s voice.
“Yes, we are dying to know more.” Clasping her French manicured hands together in her lap, Janice leans forward in her chair and fixes what she probably thinks is a penetrating stare on me. “When did you first realize you could communicate with animals?”
This is a story I never get tired of telling as it was a pivotal moment in my life, the moment when I discovered I had a purpose. So many people spend their whole lives wondering why they’re here, if there’s a plan for them, what makes them special. Luckily for me, I was given the answers to all those existential questions while I was still playing with my Cabbage Patch doll and collecting scratch n’ sniff stickers.
“Well, Janice, it all started when I was seven. Late one night, I was awakened from a deep sleep by a strong sensation of pain, along with fear and confusion – emotions that I somehow knew were coming from a stray dog who was limping past our house with a wounded paw. I dragged my sister, mother, and grandmother out of bed and made them all go out in the dark with me to hunt this injured animal down. We found her across the street, hiding underneath our neighbor’s front stairs. I coaxed her out, and we took her to an animal hospital for treatment. When she was better, we brought her home with us and she became the family pet. I always knew what Millie was thinking and feeling, and connecting with her opened up the communication pathways between me and other animals. Soon, I was able to do the same with any dog or cat I came into contact with.”
“Ha!” Mark slaps his knee jovially. “You’re like Doctor Doolittle!”
“Without the medical degree,” I say, with a smile.
“What about birds, Willa? Can you talk to birds?” Janice’s eyes are boring even more intently into mine now. She seems to be taking this interview very seriously. I think she might have Daybreak on the Bay confused with 60 Minutes.
“No, I’m afraid not.”
“Fish? Butterflies? Lizards?”
Is she going to ask me about every member of the animal kingdom?
“Why would she want to converse with a lizard?” Mark rolls his eyes at his co-host. Clearly, there’s no love lost between these two, which makes me kind of sad because I always thought they were such a great onscreen team. Ooooo, maybe they were romantically involved, and they’re in the midst of a bad breakup. I do remember reading that Mark got a divorce last year.
“It’s a valid question,” she retorts huffily. “You’re the one who brought up Dr. Doolittle, and he was able to speak to all animals, not just domesticated ones.”
“He was a fictional character who could do anything his creator wanted him to. His ability wasn’t based in fact.”
“And hers is?” she scoffs, jerking a thumb in my direction.
I should probably protest since Janice is calling my gift into question, but I’m not sure what the protocol is for getting in the middle of an on-air squabble between my hosts. If I were to agree with Mark, it might make Janice even more hostile toward both of us. The poor woman is obviously not happy doing these puff pieces for the early morning crowd here at Daybreak and that’s why she’s trying to turn my harmless, little interview into some hard-hitting exposé. I feel bad for her. It must be so frustrating to be stuck in a job that doesn’t challenge or fulfill you.
“Since you’re such a skeptic, Janice, why don’t we put this unique skill of Willa’s to the test?”
“I’m game!” I declare perkily. Here’s my chance to prove to all the people watching that I’m not a fraud. I might even be able to turn Janice around while I’m at it.
“Great! Let’s bring out a couple of special guests.” Mark gestures off-camera, and two PAs walk out, each leading a dog on a leash. They hand the pooches off to Mark and Janice then disappear backstage again.
“As our viewers at home know, Janice and I are both dog owners. This,” Mark bends down to pick up a tricolor beagle, “is my little angel, Sasha.” He shoves the bewildered dog toward the camera so that the audience at home can get a look at her precious face.
“Hello, Sasha.” I smile and give her a wave.
“Now, Willa, this is the first time you’re meeting Sasha, correct?” Mark holds her up in front of my face.
“Yes, it is.”
“And even though the show offered to give you photos and bios on both of our dogs ahead of time, you declined.”
“That’s right, Mark. I prefer to do my pet readings cold if at all possible. That way I don’t have any preconceived notions about the animal, and I’m not unduly influenced by anyone else’s impressions of him or her.”
Turning to look over his shoulder at his co-host, Mark queries, “Janice, do you confirm that no information regarding Fritz has been fed to Willa prior to this live meeting of the minds?”
“Yeah, whatever.” Sitting in her chair with her aptly named mini-schnauzer perched on her knee, Janice is looking fed up with the whole thing.
“All right, then, let’s see what Sasha’s got on her mind today.” I gently take her paw in my hand and stare deeply into the dog’s soulful, brown eyes for a few seconds.
“Sasha loves you very much,” I tell Mark because I always like to start out with something positive. Besides, it’s true. Sasha thinks Mark is a wonderful daddy, and she’s very happy to be in his care. Not that she doesn’t have some very decided opinions on everything from his choice of living room furniture (the new couch is too high for her to jump on, which is very vexing because she really wants to get up there and dig her nails into that soft leather), to his herky-jerky dance moves (the last time he rocked out to a tune on his iPod, she thought he was having a seizure; hard not to laugh when this mental image goes flitting through my head). “And she’s thankful that you changed back to your old cologne because the smell of the one your girlfriend gave you on your last birthday was quite unpleasant.”
Janice guffaws. “She enjoys the smell of other dog’s butts, but thinks your cologne reeks. Ha! I couldn’t agree more, Sasha.” Pursing her lips with revulsion, Janice waves a hand in the air as if she’s trying to get rid of some noxious odor.
“I’m not wearing it anymore,” Mark grumbles.
As I don’t want the two of them to start sniping at each other again, I quickly move on. “Also, Sasha feels very guilty about chewing up one of your new loafers, but it tasted so good she couldn’t help herself.”
“What?” The color drains from Mark’s face. “Not the Berluti loafers!”
“Are the Berlutis a dark reddish color and have a long, pointy toe?” I ask, trying to describe the picture that was in Sasha’s head.
Mark nods, looking like he’s going to cry. “Those shoes cost $1900, and I’ve only worn them once. How could you, Sasha?”
“As I said, she feels terrible and knows what she did was wrong, so don’t be too hard on her. You’ll find the loafer under the bed in your guest room. Maybe it can be mended. You’re a good girl for confessing, Sasha.” I scratch her under the chin, and she nuzzles my hand gratefully.
Mark returns to his chair
to mourn the loss of his pricey footwear, and I move over to where Fritz and Janice are sitting. Uh oh. I was so focused on Sasha that I was blocking out Fritz, but now that I’m homing in on the little guy, I can feel anger, frustration, and resentment radiating off him. This dog is seriously hot under the collar! Guess I won’t be starting off by saying something positive on Fritz’s behalf. Taking the bearded dog’s face in my hands, I peer into the dark eyes that are buried beneath his bushy brows. It doesn’t take me long to get to the root of his problem. “Yes, I understand. You have every right to be upset,” I empathize.
“What does he have to be upset about?” Janice is instantly on red alert, rushing to defend herself. “I spoil this dog rotten.”
Answering Janice’s question will probably make her even less of a fan of my ability than she already is, but I have a responsibility to speak for Fritz. So, here goes nothing . . . “You blamed him for getting into the garbage and dragging it all over the driveway and street when it was that prissy bi–, ahem, excuse me . . . I’m sure what Fritz meant to say,” I give him an admonishing look, “was that the trash-eating culprit is the poodle who lives next door. And he does not appreciate you taking away play time and his sausage treats when he did nothing wrong.”
Janice’s eyes are as big as a Great Dane’s water bowl. She blinks at me, too shocked to respond for a moment. “How did you know about my garbage being torn open yesterday?”
I point at Fritz. “He’s quite indignant about what he perceives to be a gross miscarriage of justice.”
“Oh, Fritz, Mommy is so sorry!” Janice gives the dog a warm embrace. “Will you forgive me?” She peppers the top of his head with kisses. “I promise I’ll give you extra belly rubs tonight, and we’ll have steak for dinner.”
All Fritz got out of that apology was “belly rubs,” but that’s enough to endear her to him once again. So, he wags his tail and licks Janice on the cheek, making her giggle. Another rift in a dog/human relationship repaired. Hooray! I love my job!
Getting a signal from one of the guys standing off to the side of the cameras (a director?), Mark says, “It’s time for us to go to commercial and I need to call my cobbler, so we want to thank Willa Tobin for dropping by Daybreak today. If you’re interested in her psychic services for your furry friend, please call the number on your screen. Mention Sasha or Fritz by name and get a discount on your first session!”
“And stay tuned because when we return, we’ll be talking to local rose expert Brody Wyatt, who’s got some great tips on how to keep your budding beauties looking their best this summer. Say ‘good-bye,’ Fritz.” Janice helps him wave a paw at the camera.
I exchange farewells with the co-hosts and their pets before a PA hurries me and Cicero off-stage. Hard to believe we were out there for almost seven minutes according to my watch. Time flies when you’re on live TV! I hope I came across as being competent and sincere. I’ll have to call my sister, Sloane, to see what she thought. I’m being ushered back to the green room so that I can collect my things and I’ll admit I’m hoping to cross paths with Brody, because I’d like to wish him well on his interview and see if his views on my profession have changed at all since he witnessed my display of pet mind melding. Not that his opinion of me really matters. I mean, I barely know the guy and I’ll probably never lay eyes on him again outside this studio, but– Oh, shoot! The green room is empty, and I didn’t see him in any of the corridors we passed through on the way here, so he must already be standing in the wings of the stage, waiting to be introduced. I feel strangely disappointed. Cicero is gazing up at me with his head titled questioningly to the side and I know he’s wondering, “Hey, what happened to the nice guy who gave me those peanut butter biscuits?”
“Don’t worry, Cicero.” I pick him up and feed him one of the apple bacon chews from my purse. “If it was meant to be, we’ll meet up with him again. We’ll just have to wait and see what fate has in store.”
Chapter 3
(Sloane)
Beating the sunrise by at least ten minutes, I purposefully stroll into the atrium of the postmodern high-rise where I work in FiDi (that’s San Francisco’s Financial District). I wave at Leon, the security guard who patrols the lobby at 135 Main from 6:00 A.M. to 3:00 P.M. every day, and he gives me a solemn nod as I cross over to the bank of elevators that will convey me up to the ninth floor where my office is located. I press the UP button and am instantly rewarded with a ding. The mechanical door slides open, inviting me in. I think it’s going to be a solo ride, but at the last second a bleary-eyed young man in a rumpled, ill-fitting suit (Did he borrow that? Lose weight? What?) scoots in and punches 7 on the control panel. Now I’m going to have to wait while the elevator stops on his floor and lets him off. So annoying.
“Hi, Sloane,” random guy greets me.
Great, he knows my name. I have no idea who this man is. He looks like every other nondescript tax accountant who toils in a cubicle on the seventh floor. I rarely interact with anyone in that department, except at company events like the yearly picnic or one of the Giants’ games I’m forced to attend in order to stay on the partners’ radar. Maybe I was paired up with this guy in a three-legged race or something.
“Hey, how’s it going?” I return unenthusiastically, hoping he’ll realize that it’s a rhetorical question.
“I’m a little hungover,” he admits, with a sheepish smile which does nothing to endear him to me. “My friend, Jeremy, was celebrating his thirtieth last night, so we were bar-hopping on Polk until the wee hours. I thought I could handle my liquor, but those Buster Browns at Hi-Lo really pack a pu–”
UGH, make it stop! I hate small talk. It’s a waste of my time and considerable IQ. I don’t care about this idiot’s sophomoric social pursuits, and I can’t believe he thinks it’s acceptable to stumble into work at a top-tier firm like Ashby, Terhune, and McAllister wearing a suit that looks like it belongs in a thrift store, smelling like he used bourbon instead of cologne. What kind of ship are they running on seven? Someone really needs to check into their hiring practices. Are they recruiting from Berkeley now?
My phone beeps, signaling that I have a new text message. “Excuse me,” I mumble to my companion, who’s still rambling on about all the different cocktails he imbibed the night before. At least, I think “Hanky Panky” is an alcoholic beverage. If not, this conversation got very inappropriate while I wasn’t paying attention. I pull my cell out of my purse and check the text.
“Ready, Tiger?” it says.
Tiger is my team leader Josh’s nickname for me. Little-known fact: Back in the day when the Romans used to pit wild animals against men and other beasts for kicks on a Saturday night, the tiger was the most fearsome opponent to face in the arena. Tigers kicked everyone’s butts, even lions. They were fierce, cunning, and relentless, battling for hours until they found an adversary’s weakness, then going in for the kill. Although I’m not usually called upon to rip out people’s throats in my line of work as a forensic accountant, I am just as masterful at stalking my prey (businessmen and women with dirty, little financial secrets) as a five houndred pound striped cat, and I can go for the jugular with equal gusto when need be.
“Always. It’s gonna be a blood bath! :) :) :)” I type back just as the elevator door opens on the seventh floor.
“Have a good day, Sloane,” nameless guy says as he exits.
“Yeah, you too,” I mutter, my eyes never leaving my phone’s display screen.
Another beep. “Only you could put blood bath and smiley faces in same text.”
With a chuckle, I reply, “What can I say? I love my job. I’d marry it if I could.”
“And break the heart of every guy in San Francisco?”
“Not every guy, just the straight ones and a little disappointment will do them good.”
“Poor saps won’t know what hit ‘em! :) Huddle in my office in five. We’ll discuss game plan for meeting. Bring Parker and Simmons.”
Having been th
e star quarterback at Stanford (my alma mater) back in the late ‘90s, Josh often peppers his conversations with football lingo. It seemed odd when I first started working with him four years ago, but I’ve grown accustomed to this quirk of his and no longer have to Google terms like “Hail Mary” and “scrimmage” in order to understand what he’s saying.
“Will do.”
I’m off the elevator now and heading for the break room to fuel up with some coffee. I’ll probably have to make the stuff myself since it’s so early and the receptionist isn’t in ye– Yes! I resist the temptation to do a fist pump when I smell the delicious aroma of a Guatemalan medium roast from Four Barrel (Best coffee in town!) wafting down the corridor. Entering the break room, I make a beeline for the Krups machine and fill my coffee mug, which reads “Numbers Don’t Lie, People Do,” three-fourths of the way up, leaving room for three packets of sugar and a dollop of creamer (the regular kind, none of that vanilla caramel nonsense).
I drop my purse and briefcase in my office, which is the appropriate size considering my position (Senior Associate). I expect to be moved to a larger one when I’m promoted to Manager – a joyous event that should transpire any day now as I’ve been unofficially filling that position ever since Rick Lassiter, Josh’s second-in-command, left ATM last month. Collecting the files I’ll need for my eight o’clock meeting, I head off to corral Parker and Simmons, who are both Junior Associates which places them a significant notch beneath me on the company totem pole.
Simmons is bright, hard-working, and has the same ambitious gleam in his eye that I see every time I look in the mirror, so I like having him as a team member. On the other hand, I can barely tolerate Parker. He constantly asks questions he should already have the answers to, and wouldn’t know how to take initiative if it donned a see-through babydoll and jumped in his lap. Josh has been trying for the better part of a year to whip Parker into shape (Parker only has this job because he’s the brother of one of Josh’s college football buddies – yes, nepotism is alive and well in the accounting world), but it’s a lost cause, in my opinion. I just hope Parker keeps his mouth shut during the meeting this morning. I don’t want him ruining my big moment.
Twin Piques Page 2
