New York Echoes 2

by Warren Adler

  “Doesn’t matter to Harry,” he snickered.

  “He has a very strong libido,” Shirley said, winking.

  He did not like to get up that early and was always grouchy when he returned. In fact, he was also grouchy when he took Harry out at night, confessing that it was scary duty and he could get mugged.

  “Don’t be silly. Giuliani fixed all that. The park is as safe at night as it is during the day.”

  “Then you do it.” He paused and shrugged half-jokingly. “Afraid of getting raped?”

  She always smirked at the comment. They had been married ten years, the second for both of them. They were in their early fifties and each had grown children from earlier marriages who lived in other parts of the country. On occasion the children visited, but Bud and Shirley rarely left the city to visit them. Shirley hated leaving Harry in a kennel, a condition that impacted on foreign travel as well. Bud, who worked as a salesman for a jewelry company, traveled four times a year for a couple of weeks to visit his clients.

  Since he carried valuable merchandise, very expensive gold and diamond jewelry, Bud, by New York permit, carried a pistol for protection.

  “I hate those things,” Shirley told him whenever he inadvertently displayed it after a trip and slipped it into the table drawer beside his bed.

  “So do I,” he shrugged. He had once been robbed at gunpoint. “Just a precaution.”

  At the beginning of their marriage Shirley had accompanied Bud on these trips. But when they acquired Harry she preferred to stay home and not subject the dog to the vicissitudes of car travel. Besides, Harry would occasionally get nauseous during the long drives and she objected to his being caged when they stopped at motels.

  Bud, although he barely tolerated the loneliness of these road trips as he grew older, did not openly protest. His first wife had divorced him because of his absences.

  All in all, profiting from the problems inherent in their earlier marriages, they had negotiated the coping mechanisms that made them a reasonably contented couple. The hardest issue to compromise was Harry and Shirley’s overweening affection for him. Shirley loved animals and in the early days of their marriage, Bud put pleasing his new wife as his number one priority. He had never expected her to be so overwhelmingly devoted and protective. It wasn’t that he particularly disliked Harry. Indeed, he went out of his way to compliment Harry’s good looks and intelligence.

  “He’s smart as a whip,” Bud would say whenever Harry quickly obeyed a command.

  “Brilliant,” Shirley would agree, obviously loving any complimentary comments about Harry.

  Harry was a white standard poodle. They had named him Harry after an old song that they had remembered. “I’m just wild about Harry,” which she often hummed while running the wire brush through Harry’s white coat. Coming from championship bloodlines, he was regularly groomed by expensive groomers.

  When Bud was not on the road, Harry slept at the foot of their bed. But when Bud went away on his business trips, Shirley let him sleep with her, loving the feel of his furry body next to her bare flesh. Sleeping with Harry made her feel safe and protected when she was alone.

  Once, when Bud was traveling and Harry was about four, she discovered that Harry’s affectionate doggy lickings were so insistently pleasurable that his ministrations actually induced an intense orgasm. She had also discovered that during the process she had actually reached for Harry’s underparts and stroked them, desisting when she realized that she had somehow crossed a forbidden line. Not that. Never that, she told herself. Besides, she had heard stories that such couplings could be dangerous and it was possible, someone had told her, to get attached in that way, requiring outside help to tranquilize the dog. She knew she would never be able to bear the terrible shame of such a discovery.

  But she felt no guilt at having her beautiful doggie offer his delicious tongue caresses. To be sure, there was some residual shame in the practice, which happened when Bud was at work and she was alone with Harry. It became a kind of ritual in her life and she assumed that this was one of those unspoken secret taboos that occurred frequently between other females and their beloved canines, but was always far too embarrassing to share with others.

  Without her realizing it at first, her relationship with Harry had consequences in terms of her sex life with Bud. Once, they had been truly compatible in that regard. She had loved to have Bud make love to her, but, increasingly, she found less and less satisfaction in the process and she found herself making more and more excuses to keep that part of their domestic life to a minimum. Mostly, she feigned health reasons.

  “I’m just not myself, Bud,” she told him as she searched her mind for excuses. Headaches, nausea, a cold coming on, a sore throat and a host of women’s ailments.

  “You should see a doctor, Shirley,” he advised.

  “I will, Bud. I promise.”

  Of course, she knew she could not keep him at bay forever and on occasion would submit, although the activity left her cold, totally without feeling. But then, for that, she had Harry. He had never failed her.

  There were other little moments of friction, mostly about leaving Harry in a kennel. Once when Bud’s son, now living in San Francisco, invited them to Thanksgiving dinner, Shirley refused to go on the grounds of being unable to bear leaving Harry in a kennel.

  “Well then, let’s put him on a plane,” Bud suggested.

  “In the baggage compartment?”

  “Why not? Others do it.”

  “Not for my Harry. No way. Besides, it’s so far,” she argued.

  “He’s only a dog, Shirley,” Bud protested. “Then hire a dog sitter. There must be plenty around who would like to live in a Fifth Avenue apartment and take care of a dog.”

  A couple of years ago, they had tried such an arrangement, but, on their return, Harry looked grungy and unwell and Shirley vowed she would never let that happen again. There were other incidents as well. Shirley refused to go to an important dinner with Bud’s boss because Harry was sick with one of the many dog ailments, real or imagined, that sent Shirley off to the vet.

  “Do you realize how much Harry is costing at the vet?” Bud complained.

  “Harry’s well-being is very important,” Shirley declared.

  “His medical costs are more than both of ours combined.”

  “And well worth it.”

  “Those damned vets are robbers. They take advantage of your devotion.”

  “Harry is an important part of our lives.”

  “Maybe too important,” Bud muttered.

  “There is no substitute for the non-judgmental love of a dog.”

  It was a frequent and time-honored homily which Shirley uttered often.

  As Bud’s complaints escalated, this was always her first line of defense. The fact was that maintaining Harry was a costly enterprise, but when he referred to the expense, Shirley countered with anger and recrimination.

  “All you think about these days is money,” Shirley told him.

  “Business stinks.”

  “Then we’ll cut down,” Shirley said, noting that the matter was getting out of hand. What she meant was that she was willing to cut down on anything but Harry’s maintenance. Bud grew more and more persistent.

  “Why does Harry need an exclusive dog walker? I see dog walkers schlepping sometimes eight dogs at a time. And is there any need of Harry going every week to a groomer? Those are extras that we can do without.”

  “You hate him, Bud. That’s what this is all about.”

  “I don’t hate him. I only hate what he costs.”

  “He has needs. Besides, he’s beautiful and loves to be well groomed.”

  “How do you know that? Does he talk?”

  “He communicates in his own fashion.”

  As time went on, the discussions on the subject of Harry
became more heated. Bud developed a cough that was persistent and resisted all medications.

  “The doctor thinks it’s an allergy,” he told Shirley. “It could be something that has to do with Harry.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Lots of people are allergic to dogs.”

  “Cats mostly.”

  Nevertheless Bud did go to an allergist. To his disappointment, the doctor found no allergies.

  “I was hoping it was because of my dog,” Bud told the allergist.

  “Thank God,” Shirley said when he reported the allergist’s findings.

  “Who would have had to leave?” Bud asked, making it sound like a joke. He was finding that, more and more, the dog was taking over Shirley’s life.

  “I believe you’re jealous, Bud,” Shirley told him during a particularly heated argument.

  Bud flushed with anger. The implication had a telling effect on him.

  “You seem to care more about him than you do about me.”

  It was true, she noted to herself. Harry’s companionship, his non-judgmental affection, his sensual ministrations had, by then, become an essential part of her existence. She was, in fact, leading a double life, secretive, clandestine and, she admitted to herself, deliciously sensual and exciting and perfectly safe. It was not as if she was having a real affair.

  She continued to rise early to take Harry to the park, where he could frolic in freedom and play with his four-legged friends during the period when the park allowed such activities in the early mornings in certain specified areas. She loved watching his sleek graceful body as he moved with aristocratic bearing among what she considered inferior specimens in the pecking order of canine beauty. In the course of these outings, she began to note that Harry was beginning to show a particular partiality to a female chocolate lab who he was perpetually trying to mount without much success.

  At first it struck her as amusing, but when the exclusiveness of the friendship became more noticeable, she spoke to the owner, a dour man with a gray beard who rarely fraternized with the dog owners. His dog’s name was Milly.

  “I hope she’s been spayed?” Shirley inquired pleasantly one morning.

  “You think I want her to have a lot of bastard puppies,” the man grunted, turning away.

  But despite the lab’s being neutered, Harry continued to run after her with predatory intent. Soon it became apparent that Harry was not interested in socializing with any other dog but Milly. At times, Shirley had to literally pull him away by releashing and scolding him. It did little good. As soon as he was unleashed he ran toward Milly, who, despite her reluctance to Harry’s sexual desires, seemed to enjoy the process.

  Finally, in a fit of pique, Shirley addressed Milly’s owner.

  “Your dog is annoying my Harry,” she told him.

  “Looks to me as if it’s the other way around.”

  “She’s deliberately baiting him,” Shirley protested.

  “She’s a woman,” the bearded man said, smiling, showing a line of browning teeth.

  No matter how hard she tried to rebuke Harry for his interest in Milly, Harry would persist. It began to take away all the joy of the morning. As she grew more and more agitated, she tried to explain the situation to Bud.

  “It’s unhealthy. He should be socializing with the other dogs as well.”

  “Hell, he’s got a crush on the lab. What’s wrong with that? Besides, you say she’s been neutered.”

  “Not as far as Harry is concerned.”

  “So where’s the harm?”

  “She’s so beneath him,” Shirley mumbled, as if to herself.

  Bud dismissed her complaint with amusement.

  “What are you, a dog dating service?” He chuckled and patted her cheek. She resented his indifference.

  “I don’t know what he sees in her.”

  For a few days, she kept Harry away from that area of the park. But every time she took him in another direction, he strained at the leash and she needed all her strength to keep him from leading her toward his favorite destination. When alone with Harry, she would whisper into his ear as he ministered to her.

  “You mustn’t go near that terrible Milly. She’s bad medicine.”

  But the deprivation of keeping Harry away from his morning ritual in the park was having a noticeable effect on the dog. It was Bud who noticed it first.

  “He looks, well, hangdog. And he’s losing weight.”

  “I’ll have to take him to the vet,” Shirley told him. Of course, she knew the cause of his weight loss. She noticed something else as well. He was getting less affectionate.

  She found herself losing sleep, unable to concentrate, paying less and less attention to Bud, who was becoming increasingly annoyed with her general lack of interest, especially in him. She was taking less care of herself, paying less attention to her own grooming and neglecting the most routine household chores.

  “Is something wrong?” Bud asked. It became a persistent refrain.

  “I’m fine. Just a bit under the weather.”

  “You seem depressed, Shirley,” Bud told her. He advised her to see a shrink.

  “Don’t be silly,” she assured him. She had enough self-awareness to understand the cause of her troubles. How could she possibly explain this to a psychiatrist?

  Finally, noting the effect this forced deprivation was having on Harry, she took him once again to the dog run in the park. Harry made a beeline for Milly and they began to frolic in the usual way. She had never seen Harry more visibly excited. She grew angry at the sight and again accosted Milly’s owner.

  “You see the effect on him,” she cried. “This must stop.”

  “What must stop?” the bearded man asked, his attitude as reactive as hers.

  “Your dog is having a bad effect on mine.”

  “Doesn’t look that way to me. Hell, she gives him a boner.”

  “I demand that you keep her away from him.”

  The bearded man shook his head and walked away from her. She followed.

  “I don’t want you to bring her here any more. Do I make myself clear?”

  She was becoming increasingly agitated. She poked a finger close to the bearded man’s face.

  “I’m warning you,” she said with obvious menace.

  “Who the hell do you think you are?” the bearded man said, shaking his head. “You don’t own this place. It belongs to all of us. You don’t like it, keep your fancy mutt out of here.”

  “Your dog is a whoring bitch,” she cried, raising her voice. Other dog owners turned around to stare. The bearded man looked at them, pointed to her with his thumb, then pointed to his forehead and made a twirling motion.

  “And you’re off your rocker, lady.”

  Furious and angry, she re-leashed Harry and dragged him away, snarling and resisting the pull on his leash. That day Bud was on the road and she was alone. In the apartment Harry was surly and disobedient and she tried everything she knew to calm him down. He would not touch any of the snacks she gave him and left his food untouched.

  Later that night when she got into bed, she tried coaxing him up to join her. Instead he lay on the floor in front of the bed, his head in his paws.

  “Please Harry,” she whimpered. “Don’t be like that. You know I love you. Please come to me. How can you do this? Haven’t I been everything to you? What has she ever done for you?”

  But no amount of sweet talk moved him and she cried herself to sleep.

  When Bud got home three days later, he found ominous changes in the general atmosphere. Harry was confined to a cage in the middle of the living room and Shirley seemed angry and distracted. Her complexion was pasty and her hair unkempt. She looked like she hadn’t slept for days.

  “He’s being punished,” Shirley said, throwing the dog a menacing gl
ance.

  “For what?”

  “He knows why,” Shirley muttered.

  “So you put him in prison,” Bud said, trying to lighten the mood. It didn’t help and he became worried that the dog was overwhelming her life and greatly impinging on his own. Worse, she seemed to direct all her attention to the dog, addressing him, mumbling epithets, threatening him with dire consequences and talking to him in increasingly angry tones. She did release him to take him outside, but always returned in short order.

  “Let me take him,” Bud protested. She was adamant.

  “No way.”

  As soon as she returned from taking Harry for a brief walk, she would return and place him in his cage. He was no longer being regularly groomed and looked shabby and unkempt. He was not permitted in the bedroom but was kept in his cage whenever he returned to the apartment. Nor did Shirley rise early to take him to the park.

  He wasn’t quite certain how to handle the situation, but he feared that her obsession with Harry was having a dire effect on her mental health and, most of all, their marriage.

  “This has got to stop, Shirley,” he told her. “We have got to get rid of that dog. He’s making you nuts.”

  “Oh no.” She turned to Harry, who looked forlorn in his cage. “I’ll show him who’s boss. When I’m through he’ll never go near that bitch again.”

  “You mean this is all about that other dog in the park?”

  Bud was totally confused. It seemed such a trivial matter. He shook his head in despair.

  It was becoming increasingly apparent to him that she was having some sort of mental crisis. He tried his best to be gentle and understanding, but nothing he did could direct her attention away from her fixation with Harry. Still, he postponed giving her an ultimatum, hoping that she might understand that her obsession with Harry was becoming too serious to ignore.

  “You’ve got to get help, Shirley,” he persisted.

  “Stop making me out to be some kind of loony. Harry has got to learn how to conduct himself around here.”

  “But what has he actually done to make you so angry?”

  “Believe me, he knows.”

  After he was home for a week, she seemed to be beginning to relent in her program of punishment for Harry. Perhaps, Bud thought, things might be getting back to normal. Maybe, Bud reasoned, he was over-reacting. He had been on the verge of tossing his marriage, but suddenly she had turned reasonable.