by Dana Mentink
Bill waved back, and Fiona smiled around the two fingers jammed in her mouth.
“This is quite a crowd,” Bill said, eyes sparkling.
“Lots of people hungry for chocolate.”
He laughed. It was a warm, comforting sound. She must have said the right thing.
“It sounds so opportunistic, but yeah, that’s what I was hoping for. Maybe some of them will stay the night at the inn and pop into the diner and the gift shop. Good for the whole town.”
It was hard not to notice how his eyes sparkled when he talked, his big hands cuddling Fiona to his side. It was one of those times she desperately wished she had the gift of gab, a grasp of the easy social give-and-take that was so natural for some folks. How do they do it? she wondered. Let the conversation flow like the notes in a concerto? The only thing she knew how to talk about without the least hesitation was music, but she did not see how to wedge that topic into the present situation.
As she tried to think of something else to say, another vehicle rolled into a graveled section of the field that provided a makeshift parking lot.
A white van with “Well-Heeled Hound” lettered on the side stopped behind the bus. A woman wearing neat trousers and a button-up canvas shirt with a tiny dog emblem on the pocket stepped out. Her long blond hair was coiled in a neat braid that wound around her head, and she wore sporty glasses with red frames. Every inch of Phyllis Marshall said, “I can handle Jellybean. No sweat.”
Misty exhaled in relief and hastened to extend her hand and introduce herself.
With a firm grip, Phyllis shook Misty’s palm. “Where’s my little gentleman?”
It took Misty a beat to figure out she was referring to Jellybean. “Oh, um, he’s over there.”
Phyllis looked closely at Jellybean. “Wire-haired terrier with a touch of something else?” Phyllis inquired. “Cairn terrier, perhaps?”
Misty thought maybe it was a touch of mule, but she didn’t have the courage to say so.
Lawrence had started the group off on a walk, and they were now milling around the tank. Jellybean thrashed wildly in Lawrence’s arms in an effort to be set free.
“Ah,” Phyllis said, marching toward Jellybean and the crowd.
Misty returned to Bill and Fiona. “I can’t wait to see how she handles Jellybean,” Misty said.
“I can’t wait to see how she handles Lawrence,” Bill replied.
Misty hadn’t thought of that. She hoped the woman was a cinema fan, awed to be in the very presence of the great actor like everyone else appeared to be. Somehow, Phyllis didn’t look to be the type who was easily awed by anything.
They moved closer toward the collected audience. Lawrence was looking down his nose at Phyllis, who had picked her way to the front and must have introduced herself.
“So you’re a dog trainer?” Lawrence sniffed. “Thank you for your interest, but Jellybean doesn’t need training. He just needs supervision.”
Misty didn’t know if Lawrence was lying or if he actually believed his own lines.
Jellybean finally wriggled loose from Lawrence’s grip and hopped to the ground. Phyllis beamed, fished a teensy brown dog treat from her pocket, and held it toward Jellybean. The dog’s nose quivered.
“Sit, Jellybean.”
The dog sat. He was given the treat.
Misty gaped.
“See?” Lawrence said as if he’d been expecting such behavior. “He’s already trained.” The guy really must be a fine actor.
“Good,” Phyllis said calmly. “Down,” she said, bending to hold the treat on the grass, and Jellybean followed her movements, lying on the ground, resting his wedge of a head on dainty paws. His pink tongue snaked out to snag the treat.
“Did you see that?” Misty whispered to Bill.
Bill nodded, hoisting Fiona on his broad shoulders so she could get a better view. “She’s a canine genius.”
Phyllis offered Lawrence a cool smile. “Come, Jellybean.” Out came another dog treat, and after a moment Jellybean sat up, padding directly to Phyllis.
Misty looked closer to be sure no one had replaced Jellybean with a stunt double. Nope, it appeared to be the same feisty terrier who was now behaving like a blue ribbon champion.
“We’ll work on making that a bit faster,” she said, giving Jellybean a pat on the head. “Eventually, he’ll comply without the need for a tangible reward.” She took a blue lead from her seemingly bottomless pockets. “Time to put you on the leash, Jellybean. Sit.”
She held the treat in front of Jellybean’s nose. The enticing aroma brought him right to a textbook sit. Whatever these dog treats were made from, Misty figured it had to be like doggy catnip or something. She wondered if it would work on some of her wiggly students as well.
Smiling, Phyllis held the treat a bit away from Jellybean while she bent over to clip the leash to his collar. With a blur of motion, Jellybean snapped the treat from her hand and zoomed away a few paces out of reach.
“Uh-oh,” Bill said.
A slight frown crossed Phyllis’s face. She cast a withering look at Lawrence. “He does need basic training.”
Lawrence sniffed. “He is merely pointing out that he can’t be bought with paltry dog treats.”
Phyllis ignored him, turning again to Jellybean, who was crouched low in the front and high in the rear, tail wagging. The tourists were now watching the proceedings with rapt attention. Phyllis bent again, keeping the treat tighter between her fingertips.
“Jellybean, come.”
This time the dog sprang forward so unexpectedly, Phyllis toppled over on her bottom. Jellybean scarfed the fallen treat and skittered a few paces away, tail whirling in happy circles.
“Bad dog,” Phyllis hissed.
To Misty’s horror, Lawrence started laughing.
“I believe he’s bested you, Dog Trainer Phyllis,” he chortled. Misty hurried to offer Phyllis a hand up, but the woman waved her off and got to her feet.
The confused audience looked from Lawrence to Phyllis as the two stared at each other.
She fingered another treat. “Come, Jellybean.”
The dog came close, and Misty thought she saw a nasty gleam in the terrier’s eye.
“Uh…” Misty started.
Phyllis bent, leash in one palm and treat in the other.
“Maybe…” Misty tried.
“Come,” Phyllis repeated.
This time Jellybean came and sat as requested, allowing Phyllis to clip on the leash.
Misty blinked in disbelief at Jellybean, suddenly an angel in a fur coat, as he came closer, ears cocked and button nose quivering.
By this time the director had arrived on scene, baseball cap firmly in place. “Check that out,” he said, beaming. “That’s exactly what we need for the animal. Some good, no-nonsense training.” He hastened to Phyllis. “Can you take him to your dog compound for some boot camp? He needs massive rehearsal.”
Lawrence glared at the director. “As I have already explained, I don’t work on a set without Jellybean.”
Phyllis stood with the leash in hand, her attention on Wilson. “I will be happy to come during the shoot hours. You’ll see amazing progress by the end of the week.”
Misty stared at Jellybean. It was almost as if she could see him considering, gauging the optimal timing, waiting for the perfect cue. He turned his bright black eyes on Misty and smiled. No, she must have imagined that. Dogs didn’t really smile, did they?
“Mr. Tucker, shall we discuss my fee?” Phyllis said.
And then the dog put his plan into action. Exploding into motion, he ran between Phyllis’s legs and circled back, tangling the leash around both ankles. When the leash pulled taut, she stumbled and lost her grip, dropping some doggy treats on the ground. Jellybean zoomed in, scarfed the treats, and rocketed away.
Now free with the leash trailing behind him, Jellybean dashed toward the tank, scrambled up the turret, and disappeared into the metal bowels.
A colle
ctive gasp rose from the crowd, many of whom were videoing the proceedings on their cell phones.
“Look at that,” one man guffawed. “The dog is prepared to battle it out.”
But no one was laughing harder than Lawrence.
Bill gaped. He didn’t know much about movies and even less about dog training, but he was absolutely certain that laughing at a woman—any woman—in front of a crowd or not was generally a very bad idea.
Lawrence had tears of mirth running down his face.
Phyllis had something akin to steam shooting out of her ears, or so Bill imagined.
From her position on his shoulders, Fiona must have felt the tension too, because she reached down and cupped his cheeks. He patted her chubby fingers to reassure her.
Misty’s complexion had gone from a mild pink to a dead white. Bill understood. Phyllis, Misty’s ticket out of town, stood with her hands fisted on her hips. Another bad sign in the world of women.
The guy Bill knew to be the director stepped forward. “Mr. Tucker, this is inappropriate and disrespectful. This lady has come to help train your incorrigible beast.”
Lawrence turned cold eyes on Wilson. “Sir, I do not appreciate such slander.”
“Time to call a spade a spade, Tucker.”
Lawrence considered and then waved his hand airily. “Fine. Go ahead and fish him out of the tank for Dog Trainer Phyllis.”
“He’s your mutt,” Wilson snapped. “You do it.”
“I don’t like your tone, Director,” Lawrence said. “I told you I did not require a dog trainer.”
“Yes, you do. Unless you’ve forgotten, your dog just commandeered a Sherman tank!” the director thundered.
“Well, kudos to him,” Lawrence shouted back. “He didn’t ask to be harassed by some dog warden.”
The director’s mouth tightened. “Mr. Tucker,” he said through gritted teeth, “these people—all of these lovely visitors, who will someday be paying to see this movie—are not here to witness you have a temper tantrum.”
The tour director, Tom, nodded vigorously.
“Oh, don’t stop on our account,” a heavyset man said, hoisting a camera loaded with lenses. “This is a whole lot more fun than some canned speech.”
Bill had to agree until he caught a glimpse of Misty’s stricken face.
He put a hand on her shoulder.
She turned wide eyes on him. “This is all my fault,” she mouthed.
“Don’t beat yourself up about it,” Bill whispered. “Jellybean and Lawrence both need some training,”
A hollow bark echoed from inside the tank. The crowd hooted with laughter.
“Your dog is incorrigible,” Phyllis said. “But at least dogs can be trained.”
Lawrence shot a look at Phyllis. “He outflanked his opponent. It was a worthy effort from a creature who is not going to be tamed by paltry dog kibbles or whatever those treats are you keep plying him with, so you can leave and return to your doggy prison yard.”
Phyllis stiffened with rage.
Tom the tour guide’s mouth dropped open. “Uh, ladies and gentlemen,” he said to the crowd, “perhaps we’d better delay our visit to Albatross until a later time.”
“No need for them to leave,” Phyllis snapped. “I’m going.”
“You do that,” Lawrence said.
“Wait,” Misty tried. “I’m so sorry, Phyllis. This is just a bad time. Maybe we can try again later.”
Jellybean barked again from inside the tank.
“I will not work for a man like that,” Phyllis spat, disdain dripping from her words as she spun on her heel and stalked away.
“You see?” Lawrence said. “She doesn’t want to stay. Misty, you will have to take care of Jellybean.”
Misty finally got her mouth working. “No, I don’t. I’m leaving.”
Wilson’s face was still flushed with anger. “Tucker, you’ve got to go catch up with that dog trainer,” he said, pointing a finger at Lawrence, “because your monster pet is not going to live in my Sherman tank.”
“Don’t worry,” Lawrence said, eyes narrowed. “Jellybean will come out of your precious tank when he’s good and ready, and then we are both leaving.”
“No, you aren’t. You can’t walk off this set.”
Lawrence pulled himself up to his full height and delivered what could have been a line straight from one of his movies. “I can, Director Wilson, and I will.” Lawrence stalked to his trailer, plowed inside, and slammed the door.
Wilson slapped his hat against his thigh. An assistant ran up, and Wilson shouldered him aside, stalking to his own trailer and slamming the door.
After a moment of confusion, Tom made flapping motions with his hands as his tour group broke into a frenzy of conversation.
“Please return to the bus,” Tom said in a high-pitched voice, but no one seemed to be listening to him.
Misty stood frozen to the spot. Bill was not sure what he could do. He wondered how a dog no bigger than a loaf of bread had accomplished so much damage in a matter of moments. His bigger problem was that the whole batch of potential customers was about to pile back onto the bus and leave town without purchasing so much as one measly Jellybean Jumble.
“We’ve got plenty of great stores in town,” he called out to Tom. “And an amazing chocolate shop. You don’t want to miss that.”
Tom glowered at him. “There’s nothing amazing about this hick town,” he sneered.
Hick town? Bill was about to give Tom a piece of his mind. Misty was jogging after Phyllis, calling for her to wait.
Phyllis sailed on.
At that moment, Jellybean popped his head out of the hatch and barked, looking for all the world like a soldier who had just vanquished the enemy.
Six
Phyllis didn’t actually refuse Misty’s plea. She simply got into her car, shut the door, and motored off.
Breathing hard, Misty tried to think rationally. So the Phyllis thing hadn’t worked out. That didn’t mean Misty had to stay. She’d never signed a doggy care contract. Her music tutoring obligation was met. She could leave in good conscience.
But her conscience was doing the rhumba. Lawrence had just quit the movie because she’d forced a confrontation by bringing Phyllis along. How was she going to fix that? She had to do something fast before the tourists made for the bus. As she regarded the swarming visitors, her stomach clenched. The last thing she wanted to do was rejoin that milling crowd of people, but there was no other way. Mumbling a prayer that God would help her fix the disaster she’d just created, she jogged back just in time to find Tom corralling his tourists.
“Change of plans,” he said. “We’re going to head up the coast to Half Moon Bay. There’s some great shopping there.”
“Oh, don’t do that,” she said. “I’m sure Mr. Tucker will come out in a minute. You won’t want your group to miss him or their visit to Albatross. It’s so quaint.”
Tom’s brows knitted together in a frown, his voice low. “Listen, lady. The only reason I stopped at this Podunk town was to see a movie star. No star, no stay.” He straightened. “All right, everyone. Back to the bus,” he chirped.
Misty looked quickly, hoping Bill hadn’t overheard the Podunk town comment, but he was standing amid a sea of tourists, Fiona still on his shoulders. She thought about the chocolate violins and the balloons decorating the front window of the chocolate shop. All that work and expense for nothing. She wanted to leap behind the wheel of the bus and drive them all back to town whether they wanted to go or not, but her feet were rooted to the spot.
There was only one option. She had to convince Lawrence to quit his pouting and greet his public before they all left. “Give me a minute. I’m sure I can persuade him to come out.”
Hurrying to his trailer door, she knocked.
“Mr.…I mean Lawrence, you have to open the door. Your fans are waiting to see you.”
Nothing.
She pounded harder. “Please, Lawrence. I�
�m sorry I brought Phyllis here, but there are people counting on you.”
Still no sound of movement. Anger simmered in her veins. If she, Misty Agnelli, could face this mob of uncertainty, surely a seasoned actor could pull himself together enough to do a meet and greet. What happened to that “time to let it shine” philosophy?
She was about to pound for the third time when she felt a hand on her back. She whirled to see the tiny lady in a pink hat, only now she got a good look at the age-spotted face underneath the brim.
“Nana?” she managed.
Her grandmother beamed. “Well, look at you here, Misty Agnelli. My sweet granddaughter running things on a film set.”
Conflicting emotions zigzagged through her insides as she wrapped Nana Bett, slippery in her pink raincoat, in a tight hug. “What are you doing here?”
“Didn’t you see me waving earlier? I’m on the tour to see Lawrence Tucker.” Her expression grew reverent as she put a hand to the trailer door. “Imagine being this close to him.”
“Did you see what just happened, Nana? He had a fight with the director, and he quit the film.”
She clamped on her pink hat to keep the breeze from taking it. “Oh, that was merely some drama served up for our benefit. He wouldn’t really quit. Cinema is his life.”
“But his dog…”
She laughed merrily. “I saw that. An absolute hoot. I haven’t laughed so hard in years.” Her eyes sparkled, and Misty noticed a healthy flush on her cheeks. “So,” she said, voice dropping conspiratorially. “What’s it like to be his assistant?” She gave Misty’s chin a pinch. “I’m so proud of you—being here with all these people around. I know it must be tricky, but you’re obviously doing great.”
No one had a better picture of Misty’s difficulties than her nana, but this time the woman was way off.
“Actually…”
“This is the very thing I’ve been praying would happen, Misty,” she said, squeezing Misty’s hand. “God’s given you that little push to step out into the world. And here you are.”
