Not That Kind of Girl

by Susan Donovan

  Roxanne felt her eyes get huge just before she burst out laughing. “You’re kidding?”

  “You saw him at the baby shower, right?” Ginger asked. “The man’s put on at least twenty pounds from all the weird crap he’s been eating—peanut butter and mayonnaise sandwiches, Cherry Garcia ice cream with Chex Mix crumbled on top. It’s scary.”

  Roxanne laughed more. “God, I absolutely love that guy. Why aren’t there any straight men as sensitive and loving as Timothy Worrell? Why did he have to be gay?”

  When she felt Bea’s body flinch next to her, Roxanne could have kicked herself. In all the years their little group had been hanging out together, Bea had never once revealed anything about her own sexual preference. Josie, Ginger, and Roxie gabbed away about their sex lives at any and every opportunity, but Bea had always hung back. Nobody had ever pushed her, or ever even asked her directly what was going on. Once, early on in their friendship on a day when Bea wasn’t with them, Ginger, Josie, and Roxanne took the opportunity to wonder aloud about their friend’s big secret. They agreed right then not to make an issue of it, and they never talked about it again.

  Of course, for many years now Roxie had half expected Bea to show up one day with a girl pal on her arm. But it never happened. And, after all this time and after all they’d been through together as friends, Roxie figured if Bea hadn’t let them in on her secret by now, she probably never would. In fact, Roxie often wondered how Bea could have lived for more than fifty years in the world’s most gay-friendly city yet never felt comfortable coming out.

  Bea cleared her throat. “People can’t choose to be gay or straight,” she said quietly.

  “You’re absolutely right,” Roxie said, trying to sound nonchalant, but knowing that, for Bea, that simple statement was a damn-near breakthrough.

  “Besides,” Ginger said, grinning. “There really are straight men just as sweet, thoughtful, and devoted as Teeny.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Roxanne asked. “Where?”

  Ginger jabbed a thumb over her shoulder. “Second car from the corner.”

  Bea and Roxanne whirled around on the Dolores Park walking path and peered past a grove of palm trees. “What the hell is he doing?” Bea asked.

  “Probably the crossword puzzle. He says it helps expand his English vocabulary,” Ginger said, laughing.

  “But he could have come on our walk with us,” Roxanne said. “He doesn’t have to wait in the car like your driver or something.”

  “Oh, no, no, no,” Ginger said, shaking her head. “He told me he’d rather not know what happens on these walks. He said an ignorant man is a happy man.”

  Everyone laughed.

  “Lucio is all right by me,” Bea said, nodding with approval. “So how’s it going with Gallagher?” she asked Roxanne, changing the subject with no grace whatsoever as they resumed walking.

  “I’m surprised it took you so long to ask,” Roxie said. “I’ve been here ten minutes already.”

  Bea shrugged. “I must be losing my touch.”

  “Did you meet with him yesterday?” Ginger asked, squeezing Roxie’s arm tighter. “Did he tell you why he turned you down for lunch that time?”

  Roxanne sighed again, which bothered her. She was beginning to sound like her mother. If sighing had been an Olympic sport, her mother would have so many gold medals around her neck, she’d be unable to remain upright.

  “Yep. We got together,” she answered.

  “Well? What happened?” Bea asked.

  Roxie didn’t want to talk about Eli Gallagher. It hurt her brain just to think about him. She was so confused. She hated every single thing that had happened between them—the connection they felt, the way he’d grabbed her and kissed her at the barn, and the way she’d done the same to him only yesterday. In this very same park.

  What—was she completely insane?

  The confusing part was that for every thing she hated about him, there was something she loved about him. He had canceled his plans and come back to the city for her. Without even being asked, he had gotten Lilith out! Eli Gallagher had actually gone in person to that horrible place, vouched for her and her dog, and gotten Lilith’s release approved. Then he’d said he’d help her free of charge! Of course, she appreciated the offer but had no intention of honoring it. She’d be writing him a check when they were done.

  But the whole situation was making her crazy, and she had no idea how she was supposed to sort it all out.

  She supposed it didn’t matter. The only reason Eli was giving her the time of day was because of Lilith. If she didn’t need his help so badly, she never would have seen the man again.

  Roxie checked her cell phone for the time. Bottom line: Eli Gallagher would be coming to her house in less than six hours.

  “All that stuff is water under the bridge,” Roxanne assured her friends. “Eli and I are working on a plan to get Lilith rehabilitated in time for her vicious dog hearing in twelve days. We have a lot of work to do. We don’t discuss anything personal.”

  Bea snorted.

  “What?” Roxanne demanded.

  “Nothing,” Bea said.

  “So what’s his plan?” Ginger asked.

  Roxanne sighed again. Oh, God, she needed to stop that. “Well, he’s coming over this afternoon. He’s got some forms for me to fill out and he wants to meet Lilith.”

  “That sounds nice,” Ginger said.

  “Yeah. He said the idea was to gently introduce Lilith to the concept of a nonthreatening pack leader, you know, show her what the rules are and reinforce them until she calms down and seems stable. Once she’s comfortable with the concept, I will take over as pack leader. Eli’s going to teach me how to do that.”

  Both women suddenly stopped walking, which brought Roxie to a halt, as well. They stared at her. They both looked extremely puzzled.

  “Did I say something weird? You’re looking at me like I just sprouted a third boob or something.”

  “No, no,” Bea stammered. “It’s not that.”

  “It’s just …” Ginger’s eyes flashed toward Bea. “Well …”

  “What?” Roxie asked.

  “Uh,” Bea said, her eyes big. “Did you just say that Eli planned to stay until Lilith is calm and stable?”

  Roxanne flexed her neck until it cracked. “Well, yeah. Eli said that’s the whole point of this. It’s his standard approach.”

  “So how long will that take, do you think?” Ginger asked, her voice a little high. “Is he going to move in with you?”

  “Excuse me?” Roxanne blinked at her friends. “Are you nuts?”

  “Well, it’s just that …” Ginger shrugged. “You know. Something like that could take a while.”

  “Funny,” she said.

  Bea snorted. “We’re not joking, Rox. The man’s gonna pull up to your house in a flippin’ U-Haul. Just you watch.”

  * * *

  “Here’s how it’s going to work,” Raymond said, explaining to his new assistant the ins and outs of the vicious dog hearing in less than two weeks. Sure, his plate was full of motions and plea agreements, pre-trial conferences, sentencing hearings, appeals, and general client hand-holding—in other words, billable hours—but nothing on his calendar promised to be as personally satisfying as this piddly little hearing.

  Bitch Bloom was going down.

  As Raymond talked, he admired the skintight blue suit his assistant had chosen to wear to the office that day. Not that there was anything inappropriate about her choice. That’s what he loved about the current women’s fashions—you could have half your tits on display, your skirt as tight as a tourniquet, and be prancing around in heels so high that your ass was sticking out screaming “Come and get it!” and you’d look just like the women who graced the pages of Vogue or even, thank the gods, women who practiced in a court of law. They were all dressed like hookers.

  Goddamn, this was a good time to be alive.

  “City code discourages the use of legal representation
for either the complainant or the defendant,” he said, staring at her legs as she sat on the couch and took notes.

  The girl cocked her head in confusion. “But in this case, the complainant is a lawyer, while the dog owner is not. That seems a little unfair.”

  “Exactly,” he said, wagging his eyebrows. “Now, the hearing is not considered a legal proceeding, per se, so there’s no judge. There will be a hearing officer or magistrate instead, and that person is often an investigating officer from the dog bite unit.”

  His assistant crinkled her pretty brow, pen poised in midair. “Yeah. I wondered about that,” she said. “It seems the SFPD’s dog bite division investigates the case and then gets to rule on the merits of their own evidence.”

  Raymond tipped his head back and roared. “You’re sharp, Randy. I like sharp girls.”

  “Dusty,” she said.

  “I see you’ve been doing your research.”

  “Yes, sir. I have.”

  Raymond enjoyed this girl. He bet her boob would feel great cupped in his hand. And he looked forward to finding out how she tasted. He bet she tasted like saltwater taffy. And his plan was to get the little taffy-tasting smarty-pants all worked up. He’d drive her absolutely crazy with his tongue. Then he’d pile-drive her.

  “Once the magistrate rules in my favor, I can proceed with the tort complaint,” Raymond said, admiring her cleavage.

  She nodded, her eyes cast downward.

  Raymond sat down next to Ricky on the leather sofa of his office suite. He stared across the room, pretending to be lost in thought, while he pressed his leg up against her knee. She moved away.

  This was no problem. He loved a good chase. It made going in for the kill that much sweeter.

  Raymond nodded pensively. “I don’t know if I mentioned this, but, in a way, this case is personal.” He kept his eyes focused off in the distance and sighed, as if he were deeply troubled by the situation. “Unfortunately, the vicious dog in question belongs to a woman I was once romantically involved with. She was unstable. She even stalked me and attacked me in a public setting. It’s a very sad story, really, but the last straw was when she sicced her pit bull on me. I do hope she finds the help she needs.”

  “I know all about her,” she said.

  Raymond’s head swiveled around. “You do?”

  “Sure,” she said, smiling. “When you asked me to prepare for the hearing, I researched the vicious and dangerous dog laws as described in Section 42-A of the San Francisco Health Code. Plus I obtained the police report, the vicious dog complaint you filed from your laptop in the emergency room, the order for impounding the dog, your request for—and the approval of—an expedited hearing, and a copy of Animal Control’s signed release form. Then I researched Roxanne Bloom’s background.”

  Raymond must not have heard her right. A release? What fucking release? He took a second to calm himself before he turned toward her. “Excellent work,” he said, smiling in approval while the blood pounded in his brain.

  How the hell had Bloom gotten her little bitch dog out of there so fast? The creature was supposed to be impounded until the hearing date! It was a matter of public safety!

  He watched Ricky nod her pretty head. “So, I gather this is the very same woman you’ve been preparing to sue for defamation of character?”

  “The same,” he said.

  They were quiet for a moment. Then she cleared her throat. “You did know that the dog had been released, right?”

  “Oh, sure. Of course.”

  “I spoke to the desk supervisor at Animal Control, and it seems there were special circumstances.”

  Raymond’s lip began to twitch. It took every fiber of his being and every shred of his concentration to stop it from becoming a full-out seizure. “Yes. I found that development quite interesting, myself. I seem to have forgotten—what exactly were those circumstances, again?”

  The slow smile that spread over Ricky’s face made Raymond want to choke the living shit out of her. He watched her calmly riffle through the papers on her lap.

  “The special circumstances were not even circumstances,” she said. “They were a person. A man named Eli Gallagher.”

  “Who the fu—” Raymond caught himself. He pulled at the tie knotted loosely at his injured throat. “Of course. Now I recall. He’s an attorney, right?”

  “No,” Ricky said. Or was it Randy. Oh, fuck! What was this chick’s name? “He’s a dog whisperer from Utah.”

  Raymond just gave up. There was no way he’d ever be able to fake his way through the remainder of this inane conversation. So he roared with laughter. He slapped his knee. Roxie was a complete lunatic! What next? Dog psychics? Eventually, he calmed down.

  “Now, I admit that’s something I didn’t know, Randy.”

  “Dusty.”

  “Did the desk clerk say why in the name of God she let some New Age dufus take the dog from the pound?”

  “Oh, he didn’t remove the dog from the premises, sir. Ms. Bloom did. Mr. Gallagher only visited Animal Control in advance and negotiated the dog’s release, putting in writing that he will be responsible for the dog’s actions while it is enrolled in rehabilitative training.”

  Raymond blinked. “But …” This simply could not be. If Roxanne showed up at the hearing with a well-behaved dog, the whole complaint could get thrown out. That development could diminish the merits of his personal injury case. His defamation case might even be weakened. The dog would live.

  And Roxie would be vindicated.

  “Also, Ms. Bloom’s statement to police indicates she has a legitimate defense for her dog’s actions,” his assistant said.

  Raymond studied the girl carefully. Was it his imagination, or did the little slut have a twinge of glee in her eye?

  “She claims you broke down her door, physically and verbally assaulted her, and threatened to kill her. She claims her dog was merely protecting her property and trying to keep her from additional bodily harm. Oh! I almost forgot!” She reached down to the bottom of the pile.

  “She’s pressed charges against you. Assault and battery, breaking and entering, and destruction of private property.”

  Raymond’s upper lip began to spasm like a herring on dry land. There would be no stopping it.

  * * *

  Gloria knew her daughter was overreacting. Whenever Rachel came to the house it was such a production—reviewing her prescriptions, going over her scheduled doctor’s appointments, examining the contents of her refrigerator. You would think Gloria was a helpless toddler, the way her eldest daughter carried on about her.

  “Mother. Why do you have a box of Velveeta in here?” Rachel pulled open the meat and cheese tray and popped up from her crouch in front of the refrigerator.

  “Because that’s where it goes,” Gloria said, raising her hands to the heavens. “It says it right there on the clear plastic drawer—meats and cheeses!”

  Rachel held the cardboard carton aloft and turned it to and fro, studying it. “This is not cheese, Mother. It’s not even food. It’s nothing but a log of Day-Glo chemical goo.”

  Not this again, Gloria thought. Her vegan daughter was a zealot. She came over here and preached and chided until Gloria agreed to remove from the premises whatever food item Rachel found most offensive. It was hard to believe the girl used to love nothing more than her mother’s homemade brisket or a good veal chop. She used to be the first to belly-up to the table, as a matter of fact.

  “It is so cheese,” Gloria said, collapsing into one of the kitchen chairs, suddenly a little out of breath. “Read … the label. It’s says ‘cheese’ … right … on there.”

  Rachel didn’t seem to care about the box of cheese anymore. She tossed it onto the counter. She was suddenly kneeling in front of Gloria, her face creased with worry.

  “Are you feeling all right, Mama?” Rachel grabbed Gloria’s wrist and started checking her pulse against the second hand of her watch.

  Gloria didn’t know
what had gotten into Rachel. She was acting so strange. Why did she keep changing the subject to ask if she was feeling well? What had they been talking about, anyway?

  “I’m taking you to the hospital.”

  “No,” Gloria said. “Why do you do this to me every week, Rachel? You sashay in here and tell me how to live and what to eat and then you look at me like I’m dying. I’m nearly eight-five years old! Of course I’m dying! And if I want to eat Velveeta in my last few days on earth then I’ll eat Velveeta! If I tell you I feel fine, then I feel fine!”

  Her daughter ignored her. She’d already grabbed her car keys. “Hold on to my arm, bubeleh.”

  Oh, why did she have to be like this? Out of Gloria’s four grown children, Rachel was the only one who didn’t trust her to live her own life. Why did she have to be so bossy?

  You raise your children, praying to God at least one of them will grow up to be a doctor or a lawyer, and then what happens? Your daughter the lawyer thinks she can manage all your affairs, including your health and what you put in the meat and cheese tray of your refrigerator!

  “Mother?”

  Gloria reached out in front of her, wondering why someone had dimmed the lights. Her legs gave out from under her.

  Chapter 7

  Roxanne was nervous, which was the one exact thing she wasn’t supposed to be. Eli had made that very clear. He’d called a couple of hours before to go over the ground rules for his arrival and tell her that he’d e-mailed her the questionnaire he gave all clients. She’d since printed out a hard copy and started filling it out.

  Apparently, the only information the man didn’t want was her cholesterol level!

  What in God’s name would her childhood have to do with Lilith’s aggression? Why did he want to know about her hobbies? Whether there were seasonal changes in her energy level? Or how many people she’d dated since she brought Lilith to live with her? Why had he included a bunch of questions that were obviously right out of some psychology textbook? (How do you see yourself? A. Equally worthwhile and deserving as others. B. Less worthwhile and deserving. C. More worthwhile and deserving.) Did he think she was a sociopath or something?