Gone With the Woof

by Laurien Berenson

  Before Sam and I had married and moved to a bigger house, Alice and I had lived on the same street and had talked daily. But now, with schedules that always seemed to be taking us in different directions, we definitely had some catching up to do.

  “I saved you a spot.” Alice scooted over and patted the hard metal bench beside her. “Sit down, woman. It’s been entirely too long. How’s my big boy doing?”

  She held her arms open wide, and I passed Kevin over. Alice gave him a loud smacking kiss on each cheek, which made the toddler giggle with delight. He reached up and grabbed at her necklace.

  “Shiny,” he said happily.

  “Watch he doesn’t choke you,” I mentioned as I shrugged out of my parka, balled it up, and stuffed it under the seat. “The notion of cause and effect doesn’t mean much to him when he sees something he wants.”

  “Oh, please.” Alice deftly disentangled the chubby fingers at her throat. Then she reached into her pocket and pulled out a Matchbox car. “I’m an old hand at this.”

  Instantly diverted, Kevin scrambled down out of her lap. Dropping to his hands and knees, he began to zoom the car along the ribbed lower tier. A more fastidious mother might have picked him back up. Not me. I was just happy he’d found a way to keep himself entertained.

  “Where’s Carly?” I asked. Joey’s younger sister was nine and a budding ballerina.

  “One guess.”

  “Dance class.”

  Alice nodded. “That child would rather dance than eat. I have to pick her up at Silvermine when the game ends. There’s a recital in April, by the way. I have tickets for you and Sam.”

  “We’ll be there,” I promised.

  Down on the court, a shrill whistle sounded. The game was about to begin. Davey, his maroon and gold uniform hanging loosely on his lanky frame, was running in place near midcourt. When the second-string players had taken the bench, he’d remained. That was new.

  “Hey, look,” said Alice. “You made the starting lineup.”

  “Don’t read too much into it,” I told her. “The flu’s been going around. I bet a third of the team is home sick. As soon as everyone’s healthy again, he’ll be back on the bench with Joey.”

  The home team scored two baskets in quick succession. The opposing team answered with three of their own. Davey had a rebound and an assist. When a foul was called, followed by a time-out, I turned back to Alice.

  “How’s work going?”

  After nearly a decade as a stay-at-home mom, Alice had dusted off her rusty skills and put her paralegal training back to use two years earlier. Her husband, Joe, was a partner in a Greenwich law firm, and Alice had taken a job there part-time. Her reentry into the workforce had initially been somewhat rocky, but eventually, things had settled into a satisfying, if hectic, routine.

  “Oh, you know.”

  “Busy?”

  Alice rolled her eyes in reply.

  “Instead of you always being the one doing the running around, why don’t you let Joe pick up Carly a couple days a week?”

  “Are you kidding? I can’t even get him to pick up the dry cleaning, and he drives right by the store on his way home.”

  Several other women sitting around us nodded sympathetically. We’d all been there.

  The other team’s player missed the free throw. Davey’s team rebounded and moved the ball down court. Davey scored with an easy layup. I jumped to my feet and cheered loudly. Not to be outdone, Kevin threw in a shriek.

  Trotting back into position, my son managed to look both embarrassed and pleased at the same time.

  “You look like you’ve lost some weight,” I mentioned as the play resumed.

  Alice beamed. “Four pounds since New Year’s. It was my resolution. Again. But this time I’m actually sticking to it.”

  “Good for you. New diet?”

  “No, the usual. No sugar, no white flour, more vegetables than a rabbit. I’m bored silly, but I can button my jeans, so life is good. What’s new with you?”

  Between watching the play on the court and keeping an eye on Kevin, it took me a while to get her caught up.

  “That’s what I like best about you,” Alice said at the end.

  “What?”

  “Your life is better than reality TV.”

  “Thanks a lot.”

  “No, seriously. It’s been what? Two weeks since we last spoke? Here’s my life. Four pounds and a new orthodontist. Your life? Hit-and-run, hoarding, and illicit love affairs. Now, that’s exciting.”

  “Sometimes I could do with a little less excitement,” I said. “And just so you know, where Edward March is concerned, we’re talking lust, not love.”

  “Even better.” Alice grinned. Then she straightened in her seat and looked at me. “Wait a minute. Edward March, as in March Homes?”

  “That’s right. He founded the company. Until two weeks ago, his son, Andrew, was running it.”

  “Oh, boy.”

  Alice doesn’t swear. With two young kids in the house, she’s determined to set a good example. So even this mild pronouncement got my attention.

  “What?”

  She covered her mouth with her hands. “Nothing.”

  I almost laughed. “You know that isn’t going to work. What’s the problem?”

  “Attorney-client privilege.”

  “You’re not an attorney,” I pointed out.

  “Oh, right.” She considered for a minute. “And now that I think about it, they’re not our client. The plaintiff was. Anyway, you probably read about most of this stuff in the newspapers.”

  Now she really had my attention. “What stuff?”

  “You know, March Homes, and all the litigation they’ve been involved in recently.”

  Chapter 13

  “Really?” I said. How very interesting.

  A cheer erupted around us when our team scored again. I checked quickly to make sure that Davey hadn’t been responsible, and saw that he was busy congratulating another player. Our coach called a time-out. It looked like Joey was going to be sent in.

  “What kind of litigation?” I asked.

  “Our case was brought by a home buyer,” Alice said in a low voice. “The house was new construction. We claimed that promises about quality had been made and not kept, that the builder had cut corners to save money.”

  With both boys playing, Alice and I kept our eyes on the court. Even Kevin climbed up and stood on the seat beside me to watch. I looped an arm around his waist.

  “Did you win?” I asked.

  “We settled. I can’t tell you the amount. I will say, though, that our client was very pleased by the outcome.”

  Joey had the ball and was dribbling down the court. Another, much larger player swooped in, elbowed him aside, and stole the ball.

  “That’s a foul!” Alice cried, jumping to her feet.

  The referee agreed. We watched as Joey took his time and lined up his free throw carefully. And then missed the hoop.

  “Oh, well.” Alice sat back down. “At least he got to try.”

  “Was there just the one lawsuit?” I asked. “Or more than that?”

  “Just one at Plummer, Wilkes. But I know there were others that March Homes had been involved in recently, because I did some of the research for the case. Try Google. I bet you can bring up all sorts of things.”

  Good idea. I don’t know why it hadn’t occurred to me sooner. Except that when asked by Detective Wygod, March had assured him that the company hadn’t been having any problems. And I’d believed him.

  Suddenly, Alice looked worried. “You don’t suppose that’s related to what happened, do you?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  Davey was now out of the game, sitting on the bench, drinking Gatorade. He’d scored only two points, but I knew he’d be pleased with how he’d played. He turned around, looked up into the stands, and waved at his brother. Kevin’s face lit up with a wide grin. He shifted over to stand on my lap and waved back.
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  “I guess they’re far enough apart in age that you don’t have to worry about sibling rivalry,” Alice said, watching the exchange with a smile.

  “There was just a little jealousy at the beginning. It was an adjustment for Davey to come to grips with the idea that he wasn’t the center of the universe anymore. But he’s always wanted a little brother. And he and Kev are great together. So I know he realizes that he gained a lot more than he gave up.”

  “I hope you know how lucky you are.”

  Every day, I thought.

  “Kim Kardashian, eat your heart out,” I said aloud.

  Davey went on to score two more baskets in the second half, and his team ended up winning the game handily. To celebrate, we stopped on the way home and picked up pizza for dinner. Davey spent the rest of the car ride teaching Kevin how to pump his fist in the air.

  The two of them went barreling into the house together, Davey still humming with excitement over his team’s success. He dropped his backpack and gym bag on the floor and grabbed Kevin’s hands. Spinning and whooping, my two children performed an impromptu victory dance in the front hall.

  The Poodles, who’d come running to greet us, were happy to join in the celebration. Dogs and children spun together, then landed in a jumbled heap. Judging by the giggles emanating from the pile, no one seemed to have gotten hurt too badly.

  “That looks like a win to me,” said Sam, strolling into the hall to join us. He leaned down and rescued Kevin as the group began to disentangle itself.

  “Thirty to twenty-four!” Davey crowed. “I scored three baskets and had two assists.”

  Prompted by his brother, Kevin lifted his chubby arms over his head and pumped both fists. A couple of high fives between Sam and Davey followed. The Poodles jumped up and hopped around on their hind legs just to add to the excitement. Any minute now they’d all start to dance again.

  Meanwhile, I was still standing there with my arms full of pizza.

  “A little help?” I said.

  Sam put Kevin down, and the boys ran ahead to the kitchen. Maybe they’d set the table, I thought hopefully. Then I took a step and tripped over Davey’s gym bag, still on the floor where he’d dropped it. Yeah, the table thing didn’t seem likely.

  Sam reached over and took the two wide boxes from me. “There’s something I want to run past you,” he said.

  I pulled off my parka and hung it in the closet. “Shoot.”

  “Not now. We can talk later, after the kids are asleep.”

  Preceded by the Poodles, Sam turned and started toward the kitchen. I stood there and stared at his departing back. Seriously? He really meant to leave me hanging like that?

  I slammed the closet door shut and scrambled to catch up. “It’s nothing bad, I hope.”

  “Oh, no.” He flashed me a quick smile. “Everything’s fine.”

  Well, that told me exactly . . . nada. Geez, a woman would have blurted out the news—whatever it was—as soon as I’d come through the door. But since Sam was still walking away, I guessed I was just going to have to wait.

  Davey and Kevin hadn’t set the table, but they had managed to take off their jackets and hang them up. And they’d washed their hands. As any mother will tell you, the little victories are important, too.

  Over dinner, Davey treated Sam to a blow-by-blow description of the basketball game. Every shot was cheered in hindsight, even those that had missed. Every foul was minutely dissected; even every dribble was accounted for. I helped Kevin with his pizza, ate three big pieces of my own, and wondered what Sam wanted to talk to me about.

  It wasn’t until much later that evening that I found out. He actually made me wait until the kids were in bed. By then, the suspense was just about killing me.

  “What?” I said as soon as we heard Davey’s door close upstairs.

  Sam walked into the living room and turned on the TV. As I followed along behind, he began looking for the remote. Kevin has a tendency to make off with it when no one’s looking. He likes all the shiny buttons.

  “Hmmm?” Sam looked up. He was checking under a couch cushion.

  “What did you want to talk to me about?”

  Down on the floor, head beneath the couch now, Sam said something I couldn’t quite catch. It sounded like he mumbled, “Tar.”

  I glanced around. Eve had remained upstairs with Kevin, but the other four Poodles had come with us into the room. Faith and Casey had hopped up onto the couch. Raven was curled up in a chair. Only Tar was up. He was standing beside the coffee table, convinced that if Sam was on the floor, that must mean it was playtime.

  A smarter dog would have taken his cue from the bitches. They’d all watched Sam search for the remote before. Chances were, a couple of them probably even knew where it was. At the very least, they knew that Sam wasn’t planning a game that involved them.

  The bitches were already snoozing. Not Tar. The big dog was ever hopeful.

  I walked over to the sideboard, opened a drawer, and pulled out the spare. “What about Tar?” I asked.

  When Sam looked up a second time, I handed it to him.

  “Great. Thanks.” He took a seat. “Do you remember when we bred Tar to Peter Kirkwood’s bitch, Marian, last spring?”

  “Sure,” I replied. Sam had started offering Tar at stud a couple of years earlier, but he was very picky about the bitches he accepted, so the dog hadn’t yet sired many litters. “She was gorgeous.”

  “Absolutely.” Sam nodded. “It was a great mating for both of them. At the time Peter offered me pick puppy in lieu of a stud fee, if I wanted one.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “Yeah, I guess I probably never mentioned it. I was tempted, but things were crazy around here then. Kevin had just turned one, and he wasn’t sleeping through the night yet. You were still trying to decide whether or not you wanted to go back to work at Howard Academy. And I seem to recall that you were even trying to make your own baby food.”

  “Oh, yeah.” I grimaced. “That was a short-lived experiment.”

  Those hectic, sleep-deprived days were just a fuzzy memory now. Thank goodness things had calmed down since then.

  “So even though I loved the idea of having a puppy from that breeding,” Sam continued, “it just didn’t seem like the right time. Marian had the litter last July, and Peter and Sandy kept the best boy.”

  “I haven’t seen Sandy at any shows in a while,” I said. “How is she?”

  “Not too happy, apparently. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Peter called me earlier. He and Sandy are getting a divorce.”

  “That’s too bad.”

  “And they’re trying to divide up their dogs.”

  “That doesn’t always go well. I hope for their sakes, and the dogs’, that they’re keeping things amicable.”

  “They are. Or at least they’re trying to. And apparently, Peter and Sandy both agreed that with things so unsettled between them, neither one had the time or the money to devote to giving a really good puppy the show campaign he deserves.”

  “Interesting,” I said. I was pretty sure I could guess where this was going.

  “Augie’s six months old now, and they’ve offered to sell him to me—”

  “Augie?” I broke in with a laugh. “As in Augie Doggie?”

  “I guess,” Sam said. He looked confused.

  Maybe he didn’t watch cartoons, I thought.

  “Anyway, Augie’s in hair—at least as much as a six-month-old puppy can be. Peter has him entered in White Plains this weekend to get him out for some experience. I started to decline the offer, but then I stopped and thought about it. Our lives seem much more stable now. And since I retired Tar, I miss having something to show. So I figured I might as well ask. How would you feel about adding another Poodle to the mix?”

  “We have plenty of room,” I said, considering. “And nothing else in hair. And even though we didn’t breed him, being by Tar, he’s still a member of the family.”r />
  “That’s what I thought.”

  “Have you seen him?”

  “Not since he was eight weeks old. He was stunning then.”

  “Augie Doggie,” I said, laughing again. “I hope he’s as cute as his name. I think we’d better go to the show and find out.”

  The Saw Mill Kennel Club Show was a mere half hour away. That was right next door by dog show standards, as exhibitors routinely travel hundreds of miles in search of good judges and comfortable venues. Held at the Westchester County Center, Saw Mill apparently had both, because when we arrived mid-morning Saturday, the building was already packed.

  Indoor locations almost always require some forbearance on the part of the exhibitors, especially for those with big dogs. And when set in a metropolitan area, as this show was, just navigating through the crowds of spectators with a carefully coiffed dog can prove a challenge.

  Sam parked by the side of the building, and he, Kevin, and I ducked in the exhibitors’ entrance. It was just the three of us as Davey was spending the day with Joey Brickman. Both boys had social studies projects due at the end of the month. Joey’s was on the Naval Submarine Base in Groton, and Alice had planned an outing to the Submarine Force Museum and a tour of the USS Nautilus. Davey had been talking about the trip all week.

  Dog shows are old hat where my son’s concerned. He’s been to so many that the excitement has worn pretty thin. But a submarine tour? That was his idea of an adventure.

  “Standards aren’t on until noon,” said Sam, consulting a judging schedule.

  Even so, most Poodle exhibitors would have already arrived. We paused at the edge of the grooming area, debating which way to head first. Even there, at the perimeter of the rings, the crowds were so thick that Kevin was pressed close to my leg. I gripped his hand tightly.

  “Want up!” he cried.

  I could hardly blame him. From where he stood, all he could see was a sea of strangers’ legs. Sam reached down and scooped the toddler up, then swung him onto his shoulders. Kevin clung like a monkey and pumped his fist in the air. Now that he’d learned that trick from his brother, it was his new all-purpose gesture.