by C. D. Payne
9:30 P.M. Another pleasant evening in the bosom of my family. Lacey is sulking in her bedchamber. Dad is fuming in his bedroom. Mr. Ferguson is soaking his inflamed toe in front of the TV. I am in my room coping with a sudden attack of Persistent Erection Syndrome. I have administered three treatments to my nagging T.E. and each time it springs back for more. I am attributing this sudden libido inflammation to lingering Apurva enchantment in confluence with the full moon. Or perhaps Mrs. Crampton is putting aphrodisiacs in the chicken stew in hopes of prodding Lacey back into Dad’s bed.
During dinner Dad hit Lacey with a $45-a-month rent increase. He had worked out all the figures on paper based on square footage of occupied floor space and hot water consumption. His girlfriend responded by tossing down her fork and instructing him to do something unpleasant with his calculator, his clipboard, and his modular home.
Just as the shouting was tapering off, the phone rang. Dad took the call and listened with an odd, quizzical expression while the handset squawked nonstop for five minutes. Finally Dad said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Please don’t call here again.” He slammed down the phone and looked at me accusingly. “You know some girl named Sheeni?”
“I think so,” I said noncommittally. “The name sounds familiar.”
“That was her father,” said Dad. “He was yelling about you corrupting her or something. What’s all that about?”
“He’s a nut case, Dad. It’s a real sad story—in and out of institutions, psychotic episodes, wearing women’s clothes. His new medication is working great, but he has bad relapses during full moons.”
“Well, stay away from the whole lot of them,” instructed Dad. “We don’t need any more wackos around here.”
You can say that again.
I realize now there is much to be said for parents who are indifferent to your welfare. Sure, they don’t take much of an interest in you, but they don’t snoop too deeply when the shit hits the fan either.
TUESDAY, October 23 — A strange day and getting stranger. Sheeni called me collect before breakfast:
“Nickie, why didn’t you tell me about Albert?” she asked brightly.
“Oh, you found out about that, huh?” I said, fighting panic. “It wasn’t my fault, Sheeni! I really tried to take good care of that dog.”
“Don’t worry, Nick. It’s all turned out fine anyway.” She seemed remarkably cheerful considering the circumstances.
“So you’re not upset, Sheeni?”
“No, darling. I’m delighted, in fact.”
Had I uncovered a new, unanticipated strain of ghoulish sadism in my love? Or was this simply extreme sarcasm brought on by shock?
Sheeni went on, “When did Albert disappear, Nick?”
An odd euphemism, I thought. “He, uh, disappeared early Sunday morning. But don’t worry, he didn’t suffer.”
“Well, I’m sure he must have suffered a little,” she said happily.
“Well, possibly. We’ll never know for sure.”
“I hope you haven’t gone to the trouble of putting an ad in the newspaper for him.”
“No. We had a simple ceremony. Just the immediate family.” “Nickie, what are you talking about?” “Uh, what are you talking about, Sheeni?”
“Albert, of course. He’s here, Nickie. He turned up on our doorstep last night. The darling dog slept the night on my bed!”
I knocked the phone receiver against the wall. “Bad reception here, Sheeni. What did you say?”
“I said Albert is here. He walked all those miles just to see me. Wasn’t that sweet? Although, come to think of it, if he left there on Sunday, he must have gotten a ride or two along the way. Still, it’s quite miraculous.”
I’ll say it is. “Are you sure it’s Albert, Sheeni?”
“Of course, I know my own dog. Admit it, Nickie, Albert is not there with you.”
“Uh, no. Actually, he’s not.”
“Well, he will be there shortly. The matron says he absolutely must go today. That sad girl Bernice Lynch is allergic to dogs. So I’m putting him on the bus. You may pick him up at the station late tonight.”
“OK, Sheeni. Will do.”
“Nickie, you have to promise me you’ll be nicer to Albert. I can sense he was not really happy living with you.”
“OK, Sheeni. I’ll treat him like a prince.”
“Do that, Nickie. He has very high expectations. As do I.”
“Yes, Sheeni, I know.”
“The shipping is going to be $42, Nickie. I’m sending him express.”
“OK, Sheeni. I’ll send you a check.”
So Albert has a twin in Santa Cruz. Thank God Sheeni found him. What’s a mere $42 for the safe return of our love child? Things are looking up!
5:30 P.M. Well, maybe not. I came home from work to find Lacey and Sheeni’s brother Paul sipping herbal tea together in the dining room.
“Oh, hello, Paul,” I said, surprised.
“Hi, Nick,” he replied. “Sorry your plan didn’t work out.”
“I’m working on a new one.”
“Yes, I know,” he said. “She’s very beautiful.”
“Who’s very beautiful?” asked Lacey.
“Nick’s friend from India,” answered the ever-omniscient Paul.
“Oh, I know her,” said Lacey. “She is lovely.”
“Not as lovely as you,” said Paul, sipping his tea.
Lacey smiled and looked over at me. “Nick, Paul brought us a surprise. Go look in the living room.”
I peered through the doorway. A small black ugly dog looked up from a bone he was chewing on the couch. I had met that gaze of canine contempt before. Albert had returned.
“It’s your dog, Nick!” said Lacey. “He didn’t die.”
“But, but I buried him,” I protested.
“Well, he must just have been stunned or something,” she said. “Then he revived and dug his way out.”
From three feet down?
“Uh, Paul, did you by any chance find him near the bus station?” I asked.
“No, Nick. He was sitting on our back porch this morning. Mom pitched a fit when she saw him. So I brought him back.” He smiled at Lacey. “And I’m glad I did too.”
Lacey returned his smile. “Nick, Paul has his own jazz combo. I’m going to go hear him play Friday night. Would you like to come?”
I gave the desired reply. “No, I have plans that night, Lacey. You’ll have to go by yourself.”
“OK,” she said happily. “Where’s your father, Nick?”
“He stopped at the hospital to get his stitches yanked out.”
“Good,” she said. “I hope they do it without anesthetics. Paul, could I offer you anything? More tea?”
“Of course,” he replied, flashing me a lascivious wink.
7:30 P.M. Dwayne was overjoyed to see his exhumed rental dog. Nevertheless, he immediately demanded a refund of all paid-in purgatory fees.
“Sorry,” I said, “I already mailed your money to God.”
“How do I get it back?” he demanded.
“Pray,” I replied.
9:30 P.M. We just received a disturbing call. It was Greyhound Package Express telling us to come down and pick up our dog.
10:15 P.M. We’re back. Albert II has just been introduced to Albert I. They don’t seem to like each other. I don’t blame them. Everyone is confused. Dad is coping with the muddle by yelling profanities at me. Why couldn’t Sheeni have liked cats? Or better yet, rabbits? When you have a surplus of them, you can always eat one.
WEDNESDAY, October 24 — The phone rang again before breakfast.
“Nickie, this is your mother.”
“Oh. Hi, Mom. What’s up? Are you getting a divorce yet?”
“Don’t be smart. Lance and I are very happy. I called about your dog.”
“What about him?” I asked ominously.
“He’s here. He showed up yesterday. I can’t keep him. Lance hates dogs.”
�
�It’s not my dog, Mom. My dog is right here.”
Dogs I and II were on opposite sides of the kitchen growling at each other.
“Don’t be silly, Nickie. I know that dog. He was perfectly friendly. He walked right in and went to sleep in his old bed in Jerry’s Chevy. I’m sending him back to you.”
“Don’t send him, Mom!” I implored. “We have too many already.”
“Nickie, you’re not talking sense. I already sent Lance down to the bus station with him. You can pick him up this afternoon.”
“Great! Thanks a pantsful, Mom.”
“Don’t speak to me like that, young man. I’m still your mother. That reminds me, I want you to send me a sample of your fingerprints.”
“Why?” I demanded. It did not seem like a particularly motherly request to me.
“Lance needs them for his burglary investigation. He’s found lots of prints, but he wants yours so he can eliminate them. Don’t worry, Nick. He’s already fingerprinted me.”
“Sounds like the honeymoon is over, Mom,” I said.
“Watch your smart mouth!”
I’ve heard that line before.
More bad news. At lunch, Fuzzy and Vijay nixed my canine adoption proposal.
“But it’d be cool,” I pointed out. “We’d all have matching pets.”
“Mom won’t let me have one,” said Fuzzy. “She’s afraid it’d give me fleas. Besides, I don’t want a little rat dog. I want something cool like a Doberman.”
“My parents are philosophically opposed to animals kept as pets,” said Vijay. “Or so they insist. Actually I think it’s just their Brahman prejudice against unclean beasts. Why don’t you put an advertisement in the newspaper to give away your surplus dogs?”
“I’d rather find homes for them with people I know,” I replied. “That way, if mine croaks again, I’ll still have two in reserve for backup. I need this dog. My relationship with Sheeni depends on it.”
“Is that so?” murmured Vijay pensively.
“Nick, how do you explain all these dogs showing up?” asked Fuzzy. “I mean, isn’t it kind of weird?”
“Frank, how do you explain the late Elvis Presley shopping for underwear in all those Kmarts?” I replied.
“Some matters will always remain beyond the explication of human reason,” observed Vijay. “Speaking of which, Nick, my sister wants you to meet her at the library after you get off work.”
“Did she tell you about our plan?” I asked.
“Yes,” said Vijay. “She has enlisted me as your life insurance policy. I am to act as chaperon on your passionate dates. That way, if Father should happen to hear of your activities, he will assume that you were with me.”
“Chaperon?” asked François. “Is that really necessary?”
“Well, what is the point of contriving Sheeni’s return,” asked Vijay, “if you won’t be around to see her?”
He had a point there.
Since Dad theoretically has regained the use of both hands, Mr. Preston sent him home to pack his suitcase. Tomorrow Progressive Plywood’s star assistant editor leaves on assignment to inspect the waferboard mills of Oregon. Dad is to review the health of the industry and report on new processes and developments. I’ll be amazed if he can even find the Oregon border. Best of all, Dad’s extensive itinerary will require his absence from home for one entire, glorious week. Except for assorted dogs and Mr. Ferguson, the eager François will be alone with Lacey for six sensuous nights. He can hardly wait.
After work François found the beautiful Apurva just packing up to leave the library. Since the reading room was crowded with spectators, he greeted his love with a kiss. His boldness took her by surprise, but she recovered in time to respond with no small degree of feigned passion. To François’s lips, the ersatz variety tasted just as sweet.
“Shall I carry your books, darling?” he asked.
“What a gentleman,” she said, handing him the weighty pile.
Not entirely motivated by chivalry, François shifted his burden low in the front to conceal a monstrous T.E.
“Would you like to walk to the bus station with me?” I asked.
“Are you expecting visitors?” she asked.
“It’s a visitor all right. But I wasn’t expecting him.”
As we strolled slowly toward the bus station, I explained the sudden and curious multiplicity of canines.
“Have you dug up Albert’s grave?” she asked.
“No, and I’m not sure I want to.”
“Oh, but, Nick, you must. We’ll dig it up one week from today.”
“Why in one week?” I asked.
“It’s Halloween,” she replied. “We must have something terrifying planned for Halloween.”
“We could make love without a condom,” suggested François.
Apurva laughed. “Nick, you are so amusing. Why doesn’t Trent make me laugh like you do?
“Trent is a serious fellow,” I replied. “For him, maneuvering you into bed is an earnest business of intellectual titillation, progressing to strategic fondling, leading to tactical disrobing, culminating in successful organ targeting. Wit has no role in his mission.”
“Alas, Nick, your curious theory is belied by the facts,” she said. “But perhaps I should hold my tongue.”
“Why?” I asked. “There’s no one here except the great love of your life.”
“Well, Nick, my love, how do you explain that on the two occasions when Trent and I were alone together, it was he who resisted my advances?”
“Easy,” I replied, “the guy’s brain-damaged.”
“Not to imply that my behavior was brazen. But, Nick, am I that unattractive?”
“Apurva, you’re beautiful!” replied François. “So, you and Trent haven’t, haven’t …”
“No. Just a few chaste kisses. Then he transferred to Santa Cruz. You can imagine my despair. I suppose you and Sheeni have been extraordinarily intimate.”
“Not as intimate I’d like,” I confessed.
“Frankly, Nick, that surprises me—given the reputation of the parties involved. Vijay led me to believe you were quite an experienced man of the world.”
“I’m working on it,” replied François defensively.
“Nick, I think it’s very charming. I like you even more now that we’ve had this chat.”
François leered seductively.
“Yes,” Apurva went on, “I feel a warm, sisterly affection towards you.”
When we reached the dingy bus station, Albert III was tethered to a cigarette vending machine in a corner. He curled his ugly lips into a sneer when he saw me, but permitted Apurva to scratch his ears.
“What a delightful dog!” she exclaimed.
“Why not adopt him?” I suggested. “I’ve got lots.”
“My parents don’t like pets. They think they’re a lower-caste, I mean lower-class affectation. Of course, if I were to demonstrate a passionate enthusiasm for a dog, Father might assume I’d lost interest in boys. Under that circumstance, he might let me keep him.”
“It’s worth a try,” I said.
We agreed that Apurva would take Albert III home with her for a trial run.
“Shall we have a date Friday night?” she suggested. “The drama class is doing that Noel Coward play.”
“Great idea!” I said. “We can sit in front of Trent’s swim team buddies and neck.”
“One of them is certain to call Trent with the news,” agreed Apurva. “And he’ll tell Sheeni,” I said.
Apurva frowned. “You don’t suppose they’ll just drop us and get back together again themselves?”
“Not a chance. They love us too much.”
“How can you be so sure, Nick?”
“Pure logic: you’re fabulously beautiful and I’m terribly amusing. We’re irresistible.”
“Well,” said Apurva coyly, “you certainly are.”
For that, François gave her a goodbye kiss. Eschewing brotherliness, he employed his tongue.
She didn’t seem to mind.
8:10 P.M. Dwayne just barged into my room without knocking. Hastily, I fastened my pants.
“I brung the dogs back, Nick. We had a nice walk. Oh, whatcha doin’?”
