Chihuahua Karma

by Rice, Debby

  “Good girl. Oh, don’t be sad.” Charmaine scooped me up and rocked me in her arms.

  Lucille returned with the furs covering her head like a tent.

  “Lucille, don’t drag my coat on the floor. It’s going to get full of dust.”

  “Sorry, I was just trying to keep Larry from seeing me.”

  “What’s going on out there?”

  “Well, the metal things in the foyer are gone. And there’s more gambling stuff in the salon.”

  “What did the salon look like?”

  “I was afraid to go in.”

  “Damn, Lucille, you should have tried. You are so timid sometimes.”

  “But you told me not to let them see me.”

  “God, I’m so afraid they’re going to ruin all my designs. Was anyone around?”

  “No, they must be at lunch. I heard Brandon talking with Zoya in the kitchen.”

  “All right, it’s perfect timing. Let’s get out of here.” Charmaine pulled the white rabbit jacket over my head, stuffed my feet through the little holes and into the booties, strapped on the insipid white tam and settled me into the Prada satchel. She put on the heavy fur coat. The hood fell over her face. Lucille was dressed completely in black bunting. A cashmere balaclava covered everything but her eyes, and a puffy down coat and UGG boots obscured her body. Together they looked like a very-upscale swat team or a strange furry monk and his midget acolyte.

  “My, my,” said Darien when he saw us. “Could it be the lovely ladies from the 40th floor doing some last-minute Christmas shopping? Any reason why you all are incogneeetooo?”

  “It’s a secret mission,” said Lucille.

  “Don’t tell anyone you saw us,” added Charmaine.

  “Now, what do you all think they teach us in Doorman 101?” said Darien. He covered his eyes, then his ears, then his mouth with his hands. “That’s right: See nothing, hear nothing, say nothing. That, pretty ladies, is the doorman’s code of conduct.”

  “Can you get us a cab?”

  I wondered when “please” and “thank you” were deleted from Charmaine’s vocabulary.

  “I’ll sure try. It’s some bad weather out here.”

  The street was covered in snow, and the wind was blowing fiercely. Darien disappeared into the whiteout, coattails flapping. His whistle sounded farther and farther away. There was almost no traffic. Then, miraculously, a taxi pulled up to the curb, its lights making friendly pools of yellow in the snow. Darien got out.

  “Ladies,” he grasped the door with both hands to keep the wind from banging it shut, “you sure you want to go out in this mess?”

  “It’s really not that bad. Look you got us a taxi right away,” said Charmaine

  “Now, you all be careful comin’ home. You want my cell phone in case you run into trouble?”

  “Don’t worry, Darien. We’ll be fine. Remember, don’t tell anyone you saw us.”

  “Bye, bye, Miss Sugar. You stay warm now.”

  Charmaine gathered the voluminous coat around herself and got in the cab. Lucille followed.

  “We’re going to Marshall Field’s.”

  “Where’s that?” said the driver. He was wearing a white turban so tall that it grazed the roof of the taxi.

  “I mean Macy’s.”

  “Okay.”

  “We’re going to see Santa.” Why Charmaine provided this extra bit of information to so obvious a nonbeliever was a mystery.

  The turban bobbed. “Visiting Santa is like shaking hands with Satan. Christmas does not exist in your Bible. It is an entirely made-up holiday. No cause for celebration. Praise be to Allah!”

  “He sounds like Zoya,” said Lucille.

  “Shush, I shouldn’t have mentioned it,” said Charmaine. “It’s just that I’m so excited.”

  The street was slick as a mirror. The taxi skidded and slipped, buffeted by the wind. Our chauffer, clasped in the bosom of Allah, drove without fear.

  Chapter 24

  I am the Past, Present, and Future existing all at once before me.”

  William Blake

  The big store was like a surprise party waiting for the guest of honor. The crystal chandeliers blazed. Each massive fixture was outlined in cascading red-satin streamers. Cristoff’s trees, encrusted with sequins and trimmed with sparkling white baubles, lined the escalator. Enormous gold-and-silver snowflake mobiles rotated slowly overhead, diffusing the addictive scent of new merchandise. Drowsy-faced shopgirls, dressed in black and wearing Santa hats leaned on their counters, shuffling their feet to the rap version of Winter Wonderland. Their last-minute customers were nowhere to be seen. We had Macy’s to ourselves.

  “Suggie, are you all right in there? Lucille come on. Why are you walking so slowly?”

  “It’s so beautiful here. I was looking at the decorations,” she craned her neck and pirouetted to get a more panoramic view.

  “Well, come on. We don’t want to miss Santa,” said Charmaine.

  “I don’t think we’re going to miss him. It doesn’t seem like there’s anyone here.”

  “That’s just my point. They might send him home early.”

  We rode the escalator. Each floor rose to meet us like a new country: Women’s Sportswear, Juniors, Coats and Suits, Furniture and, finally, Santa’s Village—a wondrous ghost town of plastic elves and candy canes, its twisting lanes defined by brass stanchions linked with velvet ropes. Charmaine and Lucille hurried through the empty maze. Enthroned at the center, in a resplendent red suit trimmed in fake fur, was a tired-looking Santa. His cheeks were hollow and gray, his eyes rheumy. He appeared shrunken inside the billowy padding. He was drinking coffee from a dirty Styrofoam container. His hand shook, and his curly white beard was flecked with brown stains.

  “All right, Lucille, you can go first,” said Charmaine.

  “What should I do?”

  Santa was silent, offering no advice.

  “Hop up on his lap and tell him what you want for Christmas.”

  “I don’t think I want to.”

  “Honestly, Lucille, you are exasperating. He is the entire reason we just came out in a blizzard.”

  “All right.” Lucille looked skeptical. She reluctantly climbed onto Santa’s knee.

  “Ho, ho, ho. Merry Christmas.” Santa’s greeting was halting. “With that thing on your head, I can’t tell if you’re a little boy or girl.” He had a Brooklyn accent. Were imported Santas a rebranding strategy to make us forget that Macy’s had usurped Chicago’s beloved icon?

  “Oh, sorry,” said Lucille. Her hair fell down her back as she pulled off the balaclava.

  A positive gender identification made Santa more comfortable.

  “Well, little girl, what would you like for Christmas?” There was a distinct effort to inject joviality into the question.

  Lucille assessed the situation. She took a deep breath, looked into Santa’s face and said, “I want to stay with Charmaine and Larry.”

  Santa looked puzzled. He took a sip of coffee and worked his jaw like he was chewing on a cookie.

  “Lucille, Santa does not want to hear about that. It’s rude to talk about your problems with strangers,” said Charmaine.

  “Well,” Lucille slide off Santa’s knee. “That’s all I really want. So, if he doesn’t want to hear it, there’s nothing left to say.”

  “Come on, Suggie. Our turn,” said Charmaine. She pulled me out of the bag.

  “Hello, Santa.” She sat down and wound her arm around his neck.

  “I don’t usually visit with the parents,” said Santa.

  “Well, I’m not a parent, and I’m so thrilled to meet you.”

  “That’s a cute little dog. It is a dog—isn’t it?” said Santa, stalling for time. “I’m not sure they allow dogs in the store.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course Sugar is allowed. She’s my pride and joy. You can pet her if you like.”

  Santa’s enormous glove covered my head. I favored him with my most adorable p
uppy stare. I gazed into his face, and then I blinked several times to make sure I was not hallucinating. We needed to call 911 immediately. Santa was having a stroke. As I watched, his eyes went blank and his jaw slackened. His mouth hung open, exposing a thick, coffee-coated tongue. His head was cocked at an odd angle.

  In emergencies, my body forgets its limitations. My muscle memory becomes human. I had already jumped off Charmaine’s lap and landed hard on tile floor before I realized that there was nothing I could do.

  Charmaine and Lucille were also powerless to help. They too had been transformed into zombies. Charmaine’s chin rested on her chest, and Lucille was slumped into a puffy black heap on the floor. I was alarmed to see something that looked like a luminous blue jellyfish hovering over her head. It was stretching and bending as if to wrap itself around her.

  The store was frozen. Shoppers and sales clerks were immobilized. Gravity shifted into overdrive. My head turned to brick; there were 10-pound weights strapped to my paws, and a sack of cement was on my back. It didn’t take long for the source of the problem to reveal himself.

  “Feliz Navidad, chula. Hey, I don’t like you sitting on some other guy’s lap. You come up here with me.”

  Under the spell of Don Paco’s animus, Santa had become St. Nicholas’ evil twin.

  “Jo, jo, jo. How you think I look in this suit? Better than that old pendejo.” His eyes twinkled with lust. He smiled slyly, grabbed me by the fur around my neck and set me down on the knee that was not occupied by the slumbering Charmaine. And just like that, I was Cherry Paget again. I marveled at the miracle of legs and arms. I wiggled my toes. Their dexterity was fascinating. My own skin felt more luxurious than Charmaine’s sable. I was so happy that I wanted to hug someone, which caused me to remember the psychotic sorcerer who had wrought this miraculous transformation.

  “What’s that blue thing next to Lucille? Is it dangerous?”

  “Ay, mi amorcita, can’t you say a nice ‘hello’ to your old amigo? We’re compadres, remember? La azulita is reason I’m here. We got work to do.”

  I took a deep breath and recited, “How wonderful to see you Don Paco. Merry Christmas.”

  “That’s more like it.” He stroked my thigh. “You looking real good,” he said breathing harder.

  “Hey Compadre,” I said in my cheeriest voice. “Remember what we said about my concentration.” Very slowly, I reached down and gently loosened his two sausage fingers from their grip around my leg.

  “Okay, okay. I know. Got to work on my priorities if I ever gonna lose Trudy and the zombies. You see that blue cloud. That her mami.” He pointed at the strange apparition that was floating next to Lucille. “She a very slow learner, that lady. Look at her trying to touch that little girl. That strictly against the rules. Sometimes she gets it right, but then she try to do something fancy like that and gets it so ass-backward. All that blue stuff. Not necessary. Hey, Veronica, you got it wroooooong. You the most stubborn lady I ever met,” he shouted. “Why you not do like I told you?”

  The blue goo bulged and buckled like a balloon with someone trapped inside. The spectacle was a tragic horror show. Veronica was battling the blob for a chance to touch her daughter.

  “She never gonna make it that way.”

  “Maybe you should talk to her more nicely,” I said. “All that yelling probably makes her confused. Work on your anger issues.”

  “That’s why I got you. The female touch. You got to ‘reach out.’ All Trudy’s clients telling me that these days. ‘Don Paco—reach out to my husband, reach out to my grandma, reach out to my sister, reach out to my dog (no offense intended, chula). I spend all day reaching here and reaching there. Now it’s your turn. Somebody else can see how hard I work for a change.” He sputtered into my face, and his breath smelled of garlic, alcohol and some other putrid thing that must have come from the grave. “Hey, don’t you pull away from me. I was gonna tell you something important, but maybe you don’t want to hear.”

  “Of course I want to. There’s nothing I want more than to see you cross over, and I know you want only the best for me too, right handsome?”

  “That’s more like it. You know, your girlfriend’s pretty cute. I could go for her instead of you.” He winked at the slumbering Charmaine.

  “Well, I wouldn’t want you to do that at all. She’ll never like you as much as I do,” I said. “You were going to tell me about reaching out. Where am I supposed to reach? Am I reaching out to Veronica? What do I say?”

  “You got to convince her that you going to take care of her little girl. Get her to cross over. Then I cross over. Then we work on your case.”

  “I do want to help Lucille. I want that more than anything, but tell me how a Chihuahua takes care of a child. Are we going to turn Lucille into a puppy?” I was getting dangerously frustrated.

  “You got to trust me.”

  “Well, so far you’re all talk. I haven’t heard any ideas.”

  “Don’t go getting huffy with me. We gonna find you a vessel.”

  Should I trust the devil? The answer is yes if he’s the only game in town. “It sounds like you’re going to reach into a closet and pull out any scruffy old vessel.”

  “So now you’re getting picky?” he said, stroking my knee.

  I removed his hand. “Well put yourself in my place. I’m a girl. Of course I want a decent vessel.”

  “Listen chula, right now you’re a dog, and Chihuahuas can’t be choosy. You getting very whiny. Your DP not gonna open until you straighten out this mess. So you better pay attention.”

  “How will I know when my Dimensional Pathway is opened? Is that when I’ll get my new vessel?”

  “You got to figure that out yourself. Every soul is different. But the DP don’t open without the vessel.”

  Only someone in my absurd and desperate situation could find a grain of hope in Don Paco’s lecherous mumblings. This bit of information was a double-edged sword. I felt instantly elated. The idea of my humanity was transcendent. On the other hand, the likelihood that I might miss such an elusive opportunity was more than I could bear.

  “So, you still haven’t told me how to reach her,” I said, looking at the Lucille sleeping under her blue canopy.

  “How don’t matter, only why. Like I told you last time, she got to see your heart. Otherwise maybe she think you just trying to lose the vessel, and you don’t care about la niña.” Don Paco raised an eyebrow and chuckled, and I realized that Veronica was not the only skeptic. I would need to convince him too.

  “I won’t lie. I want to be Cherry again. I used to think I wanted that more than anything. But if the only way I could save Lucille was to give up Cherry, I would.” The moment I said these words, I knew they were true. And I was frightened thinking of what I might be asked to sacrifice, but I realized I had taken an oath. There was no going back now. “Okay, so what do I say to her? Get specific.”

  “Don’t you listen? Words not gonna work. You got to feel. Make a beautiful picture that she will understand. Now hurry. I don’t have all day. Trudy got clients. She gonna call me any minute.”

  “All right, don’t rush me. You know how hard it is to concentrate.” I was panicked, terrified that I was going to blow Lucille’s and my only chance at freedom. I looked at her small slumped figure, and I closed my eyes.

  “I busy. Can’t come now, Trudy!” Don Paco shouted, glaring up at the ceiling as if expecting a glob of ectoplasm or some other spiritual aberration to fall on his head.

  “You can’t go now. I’m just getting started,” I pleaded. I threw my arms around him in a desperate attempt to keep him from leaving.

  “All right, all right. I’m on my way!” he yelled at the ceiling. “This job got no dignity with her. She treat me like her spirit gofer. I got to jump when she call. She like to pretend that we a team, but she a big spoiled escuincle who got to have her way all the time. Pretty soon I’m not gonna be your slave no more. You never gonna find another SG like …”
Halfway through this rant, Don Paco began to fade back into Santa. Santa’s eyes snapped shut then open again with doll-like precision. For a moment his face was blank as a corpse, then his features slowly reanimated. He stared at me and Charmaine, completely befuddled as to how his knees had become so occupied. Charmaine groaned, and Lucille sat up and rubbed her eyes. There was a collective yawn like a giant creature waking, and the store came to life again.

  “What happened? Santa, did you do something to me? I feel like I blanked out, and my head is killing me. I was just getting ready to tell you what I want for Christmas.”

  “Lady, I have no idea what’s going on. I thought I had a stroke.”

  “I don’t feel very well,” said Lucille. “But I had a really nice dream about Mommy.”

  “Sugar, are you okay? You look all right. If one precious hair on your little head is harmed, Macy’s is going to have hell to pay. This visit to Santa wasn’t at all what I expected.”

  What could I say? Don Paco was gone. And, with him, the lightness of humanity had vanished. The iron helmet of dogdom was once again clamped securely on my head. I had no idea when I would have another opportunity to reach Veronica. All I could do was be patient and wait.

  “Lady, I’m sorry, but would you mind getting off my knee. You’re kind of heavy.”

  “Excuse me? I weigh 115 pounds, and that’s not heavy at all, especially for someone who is 5 feet 9. What kind of Santa tells you you’re fat? If I felt better, I would complain to Customer Service about you. Come on, Lucille. Obviously we’re dealing with an incompetent Santa. Let’s get out of here.”

  “I don’t think you’re fat. My knees just aren’t as strong as they used to be. Ten years ago, a 200 pounder could bounce around on my lap. Have a heart. It’s Christmas. I’ve been unemployed for six months.”

  “Well, I can certainly see why.” Charmaine stuffed me in her bag and strode out of Santa’s Village. Lucille, looking dazed, trailed in the wake of Charmaine’s sable coat.