Talk to the Paw

by Melinda Metz

  “Not as far as I know,” Ruby said. “But Helen, unlike you and the rest of us, can actually go toe to toe with Marie and occasionally win.”

  “Ah.”

  “I need to head out. I don’t want to fall behind on my holiday baking,” Ruby announced.

  “Yeah, it’s getting on toward the end of September. Time’s a wastin’,” Jamie teased.

  “I expect details tomorrow! Or later tonight. Come over if you want.” Ruby started for the door.

  Jamie caught her by the elbow. “How about if you come to dinner, too? I promise I’ll help you with holiday baking. I’ll bake a million cookies if you come. Marie won’t mind. I’m sure she’s made enough food for a dozen people.”

  “At least. Probably Al will be sent out to deliver leftovers later,” Ruby agreed. “But I’m not going over there uninvited. Marie would just order me to go home.”

  She was probably right. Jamie had already learned that Marie never had a problem saying what she thought, politeness be damned.

  “Think positive,” Ruby told her. “Whoever it is might be great. And a guy doesn’t have to derail your Year of Me. You could just use him for sex.”

  * * *

  Think positive, like Ruby said, Jamie reminded herself as she knocked on the Defranciscos’ door a few hours later. Marie answered. She shook her head as she ushered Jamie inside. “Well, you wore a skirt. But plaid doesn’t go with stripes. You look a little like a hobo.”

  Boho, Jamie wanted to correct her. She loved the funky outfit Ruby had created for her, but there was no point in getting into that with Marie. Instead, she handed Marie the bouquet of flowers she’d chosen as a hostess present. This time she got an approving nod. “Al, get a vase,” Marie called.

  Al appeared from down the hall, took the flowers with a grunt, and disappeared into the kitchen. Marie gestured to the sofa in the—empty!—living room, and, relieved, Jamie sat down. The relief only lasted for another few seconds, then the doorbell rang.

  “Our tax man broke his wrist. He’s been living on canned food, so I invited him over for dinner when I ran into him at the grocery earlier today,” Marie told Jamie, then she went to get the door.

  Earlier today. Right, Jamie thought. That was why yesterday Marie, via Al, had told Jamie to wear a dress when she came over. She wondered how well Marie knew the tax man, and what, if anything, made her think he and Jamie would be a good match. Maybe she thought at Jamie’s advanced age of thirty-four, all that was needed was a pulse.

  But the man Marie led into the living room had more than a heartbeat. He was what Jamie’s mother would have called “nice looking.” Average build. Average height. Had put some effort into his appearance, wearing a sports coat and tie with pressed khakis. She wondered if Marie had told him how to dress, too. Jamie noted that he didn’t seem surprised to see her there.

  “This is Jamie Snyder. She just moved in next door. She’s from Pennsylvania. She teaches high school history,” Marie said.

  “Actually, I’m not currently teaching, but I have had all my shots,” Jamie joked. Marie frowned at her, but the man smiled. He had one of those smiles that transformed him, turning his face from your basic nice to really attractive.

  “This is Scott Reid. He’s been Al’s and my tax adviser for eight years, since his father retired,” Marie continued.

  “Nice to meet you,” Scott told Jamie, then turned to Marie. “I brought you this. Thanks for inviting me.” He handed her a box of See’s candy.

  Nice manners, Jamie noted. But she shouldn’t have expected less from someone Marie-approved.

  Marie set the candy on the coffee table. “I’m going to help Al with the cocktails,” she announced, then left Jamie alone with Scott.

  “How’d you break your arm? Or are you tired of answering that?”

  “Not tired, but kind of embarrassed,” Scott said. “I fell off my boogieboard.”

  “That’s not embarrassing,” Jamie told him. “Everybody falls off sometimes. I just took a surfing lesson and I fell off a ton of times, sometimes before I even tried to pop up.”

  “Surfing? You know we’re supposed to be mortal enemies, right?” Scott asked.

  “How come?”

  “Surfers like to think surfing’s the sport of kings and that you have to earn the right to join the lineup,” Scott explained. “Which, I can sort of see. It takes a lot of practice to ride standing up, and then some boogieboarder comes along and is getting a tube almost on the first time out—while lying down on basically a sponge.”

  “The board I used was actually kind of spongy. My instructor said it was more forgiving of balance mistakes. And yet, I still fell, so it wasn’t completely forgiving. It was great, though. I loved it,” Jamie said.

  Marie returned, followed by Al, who carried a tray of martini glasses filled with a golden liquid. “What are those? Pear martinis?” Jamie asked.

  “Heathen. Those are sidecars,” Scott joked. “You even sugared the rim,” he said as Al handed him one of the drinks. Al gave a pleased grunt.

  Jamie took a sip of hers. “Mmm. I feel like I’m at one of Gatsby’s parties.”

  “It definitely would have been served on East Egg,” Scott agreed.

  Maybe Ruby had called it. Scott did seem to have at least the potential for being great. He knew surfing and literature and he had a good smile. She didn’t want anything serious right now. She definitely didn’t want a relationship. But maybe she could use him for sex—and a little conversation, maybe a few trips to the beach—during her Year of Me. Nothing serious. Nothing that would distract her from her goals.

  * * *

  “You had fun,” Ruby said when she opened the door to Jamie several hours later.

  “I did,” Jamie admitted.

  “Was it the great-nephew?” Ruby asked as they headed to the kitchen. Ruby was one of those people whose kitchen was their living room.

  “Nope. Al and Marie’s tax guy.” She handed Ruby a large paper bag. “Leftovers. I told Al I’d do delivery duty.”

  “Did you get cocktails? I’m sure you did. Al is Mr. Mixologist. Once I got grasshoppers complete with chocolate shavings, and once French 75s with a perfect long lemon spiral. The man believes in presentation.”

  “Sidecars for us. I didn’t recognize them. I now know my cocktail education is woeful,” Jamie said.

  “But why are we talking about the drinks? You had fun. That means the accountant had to have been at least decent company.” Ruby opened the bag, took a sniff, and smiled. “Marie’s chicken Kiev?”

  “You got it. And this cake called the Tunnel of Fudge.”

  “Bundt pan, right?” Jamie nodded. “But why are we talking about the food? Give me the details on the man.” Ruby rolled the top of the bag closed.

  “I think he might actually be great. Smart, lots of interests, good manners, excellent smile,” Jamie answered.

  “I told you to stay positive!” Ruby exclaimed. “Did you exchange numbers?”

  “We did.” Jamie felt a grin spreading across her face and tried to dial it back to a regular smile. “But I’m not going to get all crazy. I have more important things on my agenda than romance.”

  “Are you telling me that or yourself?” Ruby asked. She opened the bag again and took out a Tupperware container. “I already ate, but I have to have some. Do you care?”

  “Of course not,” Jamie told her.

  “He doesn’t have to get in the way of you figuring out your life. He can be just a fun addition. Like surfing.” Ruby leaned back in her chair and managed to snag a fork out of a drawer without standing up.

  “Well, we’ll see if he calls,” Jamie said.

  “He’ll call,” Ruby assured her.

  “Oh my gosh. Just when you said that, my cell vibrated.” Jamie pulled her phone out of her pocket.

  “I still can’t believe I’m friends with someone who says ‘oh my gosh’ unironically,” Ruby said.

  “It’s a text from him,” Jamie a
nnounced.

  “He’s not playing the game where he acts like he’s not too interested. Good for him.” Ruby took a bite of chicken.

  Jamie read the text. Read it again. Read it again. Read it one more time.

  “So? What does it say?” Ruby asked. She took another bite of chicken as Jamie handed her the cell. She couldn’t bring herself to read the text aloud.

  Ruby read the message, choked, grabbed a napkin, and spit the chicken out. “Marie would—I don’t even know what Marie would do if she read this.”

  “She’s not going to. I’m getting rid of it right now.” Jamie took the cell back. Deleted the message. But she didn’t think she’d be able to delete it from her mind: Not up to all my usual moves with my cast and don’t want you to miss any pleasure. Have a hot friend who could join us? I’m free later tonight.

  * * *

  Mac wasn’t sure how to interpret Jamie’s smell that night. He opened his mouth and breathed in so he could pick up extra information, but he still wasn’t sure. So he wasn’t sure what kind of gift to get her.

  He felt restless, though. He wasn’t ready to go to sleep. He’d patrol the neighborhood. He knew there were others out there who needed help.

  And the bonehead needed another lesson in humility.

  CHAPTER 9

  “Okay, this one sounds good,” Lucy said. “She says she’s addicted to stupid online quizzes. I love that. It’s so annoying when people are all ‘I like learning about new cultures and rereading Proust’. Not that she seems shallow. She said one of her fave movies is Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. And she didn’t give a list of things she doesn’t want in a guy. Or a list of a billion things she thinks the guy has to have.”

  “Did she not hear that I need time to recover from the pregnant lady who confused me with her boyfriend? I did mention she had a boyfriend, right?” David asked Adam. The three of them were out on Adam and Lucy’s deck with the baby monitor on. Lucy was worried that their youngest, three-year-old Maya, would have a nightmare and they wouldn’t hear her, even though when she had one of her nightmares she screamed loud enough to wake the dead.

  “That was days ago,” Lucy said, still scrolling through profiles. “If we let you wait too long, we’ll never get you out on another date.”

  “There are times when you make me feel like your third child,” David said.

  “Our big, somewhat dim child,” Adam said. “That’s exactly how we feel about you.”

  “And we want you to be happy,” Lucy added. “Here’s another good one. She says she’s eaten foie gras ice cream at a molecular gastronomy restaurant. She likes to try new things because it can start up new neural pathways. But that her absolute favorite food is McDonald’s French fries. She sounds smart, and adventurous, and down to earth.”

  “Let’s see the picture.” Adam held out his hand for the phone.

  Lucy didn’t give it to him. “The picture shouldn’t matter. Is what you love about me the way I look?” she asked her husband.

  “Is there actually a right way to answer that?” David asked.

  “Of course.” Adam looked at Lucy. “I love everything about you.”

  “Ah.” David took a swallow of his Corona.

  “And anyway, she’s really pretty. I just don’t think that should be the most important thing.” She turned the cell toward Adam, and he leaned forward. “She is male approved,” he told David.

  “So, what should I say to her from him?” Lucy asked Adam.

  “I can come up with my own responses,” David protested.

  “Okay, so what do you want to say to her?” Lucy asked David.

  “I mean I could come up with my own response if I wanted to, but I don’t want to,” David said, suddenly feeling very tired. They’d spent at least an hour going over profiles.

  “What didn’t you like? I’ll find someone else,” Lucy told him.

  David ran his fingers through his hair. The only way to end this was to go out with someone. Anyone. And he probably shouldn’t base his opinion of Internet dating on one bizarre encounter. And the woman’s profile was decent. And he really didn’t want to be alone for the rest of his life. “Give me the phone.”

  Lucy handed it over with a little squeal of delight. David read the profile, looked at the pics, then sent a short message that said he was hoping to improve his neural pathways by trying Internet dating and creating new cupcakes, none of which included meat products.

  “If you decide to get together, maybe you should take her to the Silent Movie Theatre,” Lucy suggested. “That would make a memorable first date.”

  “Memorable for the level of boredom,” Adam said. “You know I love movies, but those faces they made.” He pursed his lips and batted his eyelashes in an extreme version of someone in love. “Movies need real dialogue.”

  “Says the writer,” David pointed out.

  “Come on, even Clarissa wouldn’t go with you,” Adam shot back.

  For a moment, the only sound was Maya breathing over the baby monitor. David caught Lucy shooting Adam an I-can’t-believe-you-said-that look. “I’m not taking anyone to the Silent Movie Theatre,” David said, breaking the silence. “What if she loves it there, but we hate each other? Then I might keep running into her whenever I go. I don’t want to have to start avoiding one of my favorite places in LA.”

  “Way to be positive.” Adam slapped him on the shoulder. “You’ve had one bad date, but that doesn’t mean they’re all going to suck.”

  Adam was right. If he ended up getting together with this woman, it had to go better than his last meet-up. Didn’t it?

  * * *

  Jamie took a seat in the small theater on the Los Angeles Community College campus. The next Groundlings improv class didn’t start for a few months, but she’d found a drama class at the community college that was just starting up, so she decided to go for it. New things! Woo!

  Except her stomach wasn’t quite sure about the idea of attempting to act. In front of people. Stomach, you weren’t sure about surfing, either, she told it.

  It didn’t seem like she was the only nervous one. The woman a few rows ahead of her was nibbling on her thumbnail, and the seventy-ish man a few seats down was frantically tapping one heel against the floor. Jamie smiled at him. “What made you decide to take this class?”

  He gave a little start, then smiled back. “I actually moved out here to be an actor.”

  “How long ago?” Jamie asked, trying to hide her surprise. “I just moved out to LA myself.”

  The man laughed. “About fifty-two years ago,” he answered. “Back when I had a full head of hair and thought I had a face made for the movies.”

  “What happened?” Jamie asked.

  “I went on a lot of auditions. I even got an agent. A lot of people said they loved me. It took me a while to realize that’s pretty much what every casting director says to every agent.” He laughed again. “I got a commercial. Well, an infomercial. Usually it came on from four to five a.m. I have the videotape to prove it. Eventually I realized that my Hollywood dreams weren’t going to come true. I got a job as a pharmacist.” As he spoke, his words came out faster and faster, until they’d almost matched the pace of his tapping heel. “Fortunately, I’d listened to my parents when they said I needed some kind of backup degree. But now that I’m retired, I figured I’d take a class, just for fun. And to get a little time out of the house in order to keep my wife from divorcing me. I’m halfway thinking maybe I should have taken the watercolor painting class instead, but it’s not as though anyone’s going to care if I’m no good.” He finally had to stop to pull in a breath.

  “It’s everybody’s first class,” Jamie said. “I think we’re all pretty nervous. I know I am.”

  He reached over and shook her hand. “Clifton,” he told her.

  “Jamie. Good to meet you.”

  The door opened and a short woman with long light brown hair came in. “Welcome to Introduction to Acting,” she c
alled. “I’m excited to see you all here. Why don’t we dive right in? Let’s all introduce ourselves and say why we’re here. I’ll go first. I’m Ann Purcell. I’m here to share my enthusiasm for acting. I’m one of the founding members of LA’s Journey Theater Ensemble, where I’ve both acted and directed. That’s me. Okay, who’s next?”

  Jamie decided she’d rather go first than sit there agonizing, and so she told everyone she was taking the class because she wanted to do something she’d never tried before. The nail-biting woman said she was a TV writer and thought an acting class would help her pitch projects in a more engaging way. Clifton told the group pretty much what he’d told Jamie—speaking even faster. His infomercial was the closest anyone in the class had gotten to acting professionally.

  “Great, everyone. Just great,” Ann said when they were done. “I love the way you all have such a spirt of adventure. We’re going to start out with an improv exercise that I’ve found really effective in bringing up emotion. I think you’ll be surprised how deep you can go with the right starting point. Jamie, would you like to kick us off again?”

  “Uh, sure,” Jamie said, ignoring her stomach’s protest.

  “Great. Come on up here.”

  Jamie joined Ann on the small stage. The class hadn’t seemed that big when she introduced herself, but suddenly standing on the stage, it felt like hundreds of people were looking at her. “Okay, what you’re going to do is pretend you’re at a cemetery and you’re visiting a grave. It’ll be easier if you use your own life as a starting place for now. You can talk or not talk. Just imagine yourself there—and go!” Ann backed into the wings, leaving Jamie alone.

  Of course, the first grave she thought of was her mother’s. She pretended to put some flowers down on top of it, then stared at the wooden floor, waiting for something to come to her. “Hi, Mom,” she said, and found that her voice was shaking, not just with nerves, but with emotion. Just saying “Mom” aloud made her eyes sting and the inside of her nose prickle. She hadn’t been expecting that.

  “So here I am in LA! Surprise! Thanks to you. The inheritance. I’m taking a year off to . . . sort of figure things out. To figure out what I want to do with myself. I know you’d say I can do anything I set my mind to, but we both know that’s not exactly true. But guess what? I went surfing. And I loved it. So, I’m looking for other things that I never thought about doing before. Like this. An acting class. So, thanks. Thanks, Mom.”