Joint Custody

by Lauren Baratz-Logsted

  “Um, I do OK,” New Man said.

  See? I thought. The guy does OK—same as us!

  “But what about the perks?” Short pressed. “Like . . . a wine cave! Have you ever been to a wine cave? Do you have one? I’ve always wanted to go to one of those.”

  I had no idea what a wine cave was, but given The Woman’s family’s own state of wealth, I saw no reason why Short couldn’t just go to one if it mattered so much to him.

  “Um, no wine caves,” New Man said. “Sorry.”

  “Look,” The Woman said, “it’s not all unicorns and rainbows. There are downsides.”

  “Name one,” Tall put in.

  “Well,” The Woman said, “he does have a stalker.”

  Well, that got everyone’s attention.

  I’d first heard New Man’s stalker mentioned briefly back at Book Club all those weeks ago, but then The Blonde spilled her wine and the world got sidetracked, kind of like when you’re trotting down the sidewalk, thinking you’ll head one way, but then a car zooms by in the other direction and you think: I’ll just go that way now! Attention is hard.

  But now I got the whole story. Apparently, New Man’s stalker—“hardly a perk,” he took pains to point out—had been his fan since the release of his debut novel, the one book that didn’t sell very well until the books that followed all became bestsellers.

  “I’m sure she’s harmless,” New Man said. “Or, at least, I hope she is.”

  “You answer your fan mail,” Tall said, sounding surprised.

  I was still stuck on him getting fan mail. Did The Man get fan mail? I knew he got tons of emails from other authors, asking for one kind of favor or another, but I didn’t think he really got fan mail.

  “Of course, these days,” New Man said, “it’s too much.”

  Too much fan mail?

  “I have to have my secretary read them,” New Man went on. “Then he replies to most of them and just flags the ones for me that he thinks I’d want to see or the ones that require a more personal reply.”

  And now I was stuck on something else: a secretary. Dude had a secretary? We didn’t have one of those!

  “So you’re saying everyone gets some kind of reply?” Tall said.

  “Well, yes,” New Man said. “Years ago, when I was still trying to break into the business, I read an interview with a bestselling author in which she said she didn’t answer any of her fan mail; that she always intended to, but it just seemed too onerous a task. That really bothered me. I thought: ‘You get to live your dream—you get to make your living as an author—and you can’t be bothered to thank the people who gave you that life?’ I can’t tell you how much that bothered me. I further thought, ‘Hey, no one likes writing thank-you notes, so if it’s too much for you, hire someone to do it! You can afford that!’ Anyway, I vowed to myself then, if I ever became as lucky as she was . . .”

  He let it trail off.

  “So, everyone gets a reply,” Tall said.

  “Everyone gets a reply,” New Man said, “even if now I have to pay someone else to write most of the replies because if I did it all myself, there’d be no time left for writing books. But in the beginning, I did do it all myself, and the stalker is a holdover from those early days.”

  “She’s very proprietary,” The Woman said. “She sends him these emails all the time. She tells him the things she likes, but she gets particularly offended when she finds things in his books that she doesn’t like. It’s almost like she feels a sense of ownership over him and his work. She got very upset when he changed the author photo on his website.”

  “I don’t want to make too much of it, though,” New Man said. “It’s not exactly Misery-level stalking, and, I don’t know, I guess I just feel sorry for the poor woman.”

  “That’s . . . generous of you,” Tall said.

  New Man nodded, clearly embarrassed again. Uncomfortable with the attention fixated upon him, he stood, lifting his plate.

  “Can I get anyone else a burger while I’m up?” he offered.

  I perked up at this, woofing and wagging my tail at the offer. So what if the offer was coming from New Man? Paraphrasing Shakespeare: a great burger is a great burger. For wisdom, you can’t beat the Bard.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Same evening . . .

  After dinner and dessert—strawberry shortcake and chocolate cream pie, the latter of which I was not allowed to partake of—The Woman invited me for a walk.

  “How about some quality time, Gatz?” she offered.

  I was kind of surprised she’d leave New Man to Tall’s devices, but I figured she trusted Short to intervene, should it become necessary.

  Thus, we found ourselves far from the madding crowd, perched at the end of the dock, her dangling her toes and me my tail in the cooling water.

  Tired after all the lounging and eating I’d done that day, I slumped over a bit, half asleep in her lap as she craned her neck around to watch the group from afar. New Man had hit it off with all the nieces and nephews, running around trying to catch fireflies and playing games with them like hide-and-seek and SPUD.

  The Woman smiled softly to herself, rubbing the backs of my ears as we heard the sound of rustling footsteps approaching in the grass from the other direction.

  It was Tall.

  “Hey,” Tall said.

  “Hey,” The Woman said.

  “Walk?” Tall offered.

  At the word “walk,” I was all ears, thoughts of tiredness behind me as I leaped to my feet.

  The Woman laughed as she hopped up to join me.

  Soon, we were walking, farther away from the group on the lawn. I heard loud laughter coming from the group, and I turned to see that someone had brought a Frisbee out. There’s not much in life more tempting than a Frisbee flying, sailing through the air invitingly, and I longed to run over and join them. But an even bigger part of me wanted to know what The Woman and Tall would talk about, and I tuned back in just in time to hear her say, laughing:

  “That’s not what I said!”

  “It is!” Tall said. “I was fifteen!”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “And we were fighting with my bedroom door.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “You were trying to keep me in, and I was trying to get out.”

  “I recall.”

  “And when my fingers got caught in the doorframe and my pointer finger was cut off—”

  “It was only the tip! They sewed it back on!”

  “And when my pointer finger was cut off, you said to me, ‘Good, I hope it hurts and you’re bleeding.’”

  Whoa, I had no idea The Woman had such a vicious streak in her.

  “I did not say that!” she objected.

  Phew! I didn’t think she would, not really.

  “Oh, you definitely said that,” Tall said, but not like he was mad or anything.

  “OK,” The Woman relented, “maybe I said that. But do you even remember what we were fighting about?”

  “No.”

  Something told me he was lying.

  “Really?”

  “OK, fine, I probably deserved it.”

  See? I would’ve bet anything she’d have had just cause, and I would’ve been right.

  The two erupted in laughter.

  We were still leagues away from the others, the faint sounds of joy and merrymaking catching my ears even from the distance. The Woman must’ve caught it too, because I saw her eyes travel toward the sounds, eventually latching onto New Man, who seemed to be happily in the center of all the little kids. If my eyes didn’t deceive me, they were making a maypole out of him and he was letting them. I had to admit, it looked like fun—the idea of holding a ribbon in my teeth and then running around him until he was wrapped up like a mummy—but I believe in dancing with
the one who brought you, and in this case, that was The Woman.

  But if I saw The Woman locking eyes on New Man, Tall took note of it too.

  “No way this is a working weekend,” Tall said. “You like this guy.”

  This was the second time I’d heard someone say something like this to The Woman. The first time, it was The Redhead during Book Club, when she cornered her in the kitchen. And now Tall was saying the same thing, here.

  Anxiety hit me like a truck.

  No, no, no, no—

  “Come on, no,” The Woman said.

  Phew.

  “Don’t do that,” Tall said.

  “Do what?”

  “That! I know you. You like this guy.”

  “I don’t.”

  “You do!”

  I could tell she wanted to hold her own, and I wanted her to hold it too, but it was like her eyes were magnetized, and I panicked as she shifted her gaze once again to him.

  “You’re looking at him right now!” Tall said, stating the obvious, which was necessary since she didn’t seem to get it. Part of getting over a problem is first admitting you have one.

  “So?” Tall insisted. “Is there something between you two?”

  It was an endless beat of her, nervous and harried, looking at him and him looking at her with a wide-eyed expectancy, and it got real gloomy for me in the gloaming there as I waited in agony to hear what she would say.

  Finally, she opened her mouth and—

  “Gatz! Gatz! Gatz!”

  The nieces and nephews bounded in our direction, demanding that I show them attention, demanding that I allow them to shower me with love.

  It was one thing to remain firm when they were far away. But I was powerless to resist the call to play now that they were all so close.

  And so I allowed myself to be dragged away from the conversation until I could hear Tall and The Woman no more.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Same night . . .

  On our way in for the night, we’d passed a few random family members out on the back porch, whispering over their wine. Short, notably, had been juggling the remains of the strawberry shortcake and chocolate cream pie on his knees, alternating bites of each.

  Who was this “we”? you may ask.

  The “we” was New Man, The Woman, and me, heading inside to hit the hay.

  I trotted beside them down a hall with many closed doors, all of us falling somewhere on the continuum of tired after the full day we’d had. Two of us looked like we’d had a totally lovely evening (them), while one of us was more on the fence about things (me).

  “I loved it,” New Man was saying as I tuned in. “I hope they did too.”

  “Are you kidding me? Those kids somehow manage to get so bored here by the end of the first day, they were thrilled to have you with them.”

  It seemed to me she was exaggerating his role. Sure, they’d loved maypoling him. I mean, I would’ve enjoyed mummifying the guy too. But who was it they screamed “Gatz! Gatz! Gatz!” for whenever they caught sight of him?

  Picture me lowering my eyes as I humbly rest my case.

  Reaching a door at the end of the hall, they at last stopped, and I sat back on my haunches between them, like a nun with a ruler at a middle school dance.

  “Well,” The Woman said, “this is me.”

  “Nice door.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Is that oak?”

  “Mahogany.”

  “Mm.”

  “And you are . . . ?”

  New Man gave a chin nod toward the opposite end of the hall. “Your . . . overly inquisitive brother put me all the way down there.”

  “Right. Of course he did.”

  “Yes. Of course.”

  The two emitted almost identical happy sighs, smiling over me as they looked at each other. I might as well not have even been there.

  New Man started to step forward, so I leaned into The Woman with my furry forehead, using my snout to nudge her farther back toward the door to her room.

  The two blushed awkwardly, but whatever. At least he wasn’t moving toward her anymore.

  “Well, good night, then,” The Woman said.

  “Good night, then,” New Man echoed back.

  Eventually, they managed to tear their gaze from each other, New Man heading off to take that long walk down the hall, while The Woman turned the knob on her door. I watched her watch him go, but he didn’t see her watching, since his back was turned. Then, as she pushed the door open, I saw him look back over his shoulder at her. But just like he hadn’t seen her looking, she didn’t see him looking either. So no one saw anything.

  Except me.

  I saw it all.

  Thankfully, the door was soon safely shut behind us, separating us from all the dangers that threatened from beyond. If I could’ve done so without drawing attention to myself, I would’ve leaped up and down until I secured the lock.

  OK, so maybe that would have been going too far.

  The Woman performed her nighttime ritual in the en suite bathroom, while I curled up at the bottom of her massive childhood bed, awaiting her return.

  She soon rejoined me and, with a loving “Good night, Gatz,” accompanied by some final presleep petting, fell fast asleep, dreaming whatever she dreamed about.

  Me, I was still wide awake, chewing on my tail.

  For the first time since we’d driven out of the city, it occurred to me to guiltily wonder: What was The Man doing? In my mind, I pictured . . .

  The Man’s apartment, living room, nighttime. Trying to write and struggling. Eating an entire pizza by himself while watching The X-Files. Trying to write some more, struggling some more. Pacing around with his thoughts, knocking back a few Buds. More X-Files. More struggling non-writing. Cleaning out an already clean fridge, sadly empty with the exception of a few more Buds, a jar of mayonnaise, and a few turkey scraps.

  Certainly, he wouldn’t attempt to go out; he wouldn’t even try anything social without me.

  Cracking open one of those remaining Buds, lying on the couch, crying over a black-and-white romance movie.

  Yup, that sounded about right.

  I curled further down in the bed, wistfully looking at the empty space next to The Woman. Gosh, how I wished The Man were right there, filling that space. And I knew that, whatever he was doing back home, he wished for that too.

  My chin slumped onto my paws, my snout disappearing beneath the sheets.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  The next day . . .

  The next day passed in much the same fashion as the one that had gone before: more enjoying the perfect weather, more lounging by the pool and walking down to the beach, more quality time spent with family, more amazing food, more me being adored.

  More of New Man and The Woman editing.

  So imagine my surprise when, latish in the afternoon as I was doing laps in the pool, New Man and The Woman disappeared briefly into the house, only to return with . . .

  “What are you doing with your suitcases!” The Woman’s Mother cried. “We’re doing the fireworks tonight!”

  I suppose I should comment, albeit belatedly at this juncture, on how odd it was that The Woman’s British family celebrated the Fourth with such fervor or even celebrated it at all, given what the holiday was supposed to commemorate. But I guess when some people move to a different country, they just go all in.

  “We want to beat the traffic,” The Woman said.

  Wait. What? We were supposed to have another night and day here. Sure, if I stayed too long, I’d start to miss the variety of takeout delivery places the Naked City had to offer. But I was willing to make the sacrifice of eating filet mignon burgers for another twenty-four hours.

  But, apparently, it wasn’t up to me.

/>   What fresh hell was this Universe I was now living in, where Gatz’s opinion wasn’t solicited at every turn?

  I leaped out of the pool, shaking my water-soaked fur all over New Man so he’d know exactly how I felt about this change of plans.

  “But it’s only Sunday!” her mother objected.

  Exactly.

  “Right,” The Woman said, “and if we wait until tomorrow, the roads will be a madhouse.”

  Gee, for an editor, she wasn’t making a lick of linguistic sense. How could the roads (outdoors) be a madhouse (indoors)? I mean, am I wrong here?

  “Work early Tuesday morning,” The Woman went on. “You know how it is.”

  No, I really did not. And I don’t think anyone else did either, except maybe New Man, who stood beside her in tacit agreement to her plan of action.

  Oh well.

  There was nothing for it, nothing to be done as there were rounds of kisses and hugs all around, New Man shaking hands or politely bestowing cheek kisses where appropriate as he thanked everyone profusely for their graciousness in opening their lovely home to him.

  Then I was hopping into the back seat, suitcases beside me. And while I’d been unsettled by our early departure, I soon forgot all about that, no longer questioning the abrupt change of plans, once I realized that this meant time for me to ride in an open vehicle, bumping down the suburban road and then zooming along the highway, the wind dancing through my fur.

  At one point, I was sacked out in the back with my tail over my eyes, listening to The Woman and New Man speak in hushed voices up front.

  “I couldn’t wait to get out of there,” The Woman said.

  “I know,” New Man said.

  Why? I loved that place!

  Sometimes, I have to marvel at the idiocy of humans. Little kids who quickly grow bored of wide-open spaces and room to play, and these two adults right here . . .