Walking Dick

by Candi Heart

  I paused only a moment to survey the night’s damage in the mirror, and things did not look good. After showering to remove the soapy dog shampoo from my hair, I was too distracted by my troubled thoughts to even comb through it, let alone blow it dry. Now, the remnant of curls clung to the top of my head like some sort of pasta creation gone awry. It was all I could do to pat the mess down before the knocking started again and I was forced to pull open the door.

  I exhaled in silent relief when I realized it wasn’t my neighbor’s girlfriend wielding an axe, but there still wasn’t much to celebrate. “Can I help you?” I asked curiously, gazing out at the strange man on my front porch, a man with one of those hard faces that no one would ever forget, somewhere between that of a mortician’s and a tax collector’s.

  First of all, I’d never seen facial hair like his on any living person; it was the sort of thing that only seemed appropriate for a cartoon villain. His oily, black mustache snaked up the sides of his face before curling ostentatiously into a double-crescent. Strangely enough, the rest of his hair was blond. He was wearing thick glasses, but upon closer examination, I realized they seemed to be rims only, missing their lenses. His thick, woolen overcoat made no sense at all, since it was almost ninety degrees by dawn that day.

  “I sincerely doubt you can,” he said, whipping a clipboard seemingly out of thin air and holding it precariously between us. “Are you Ms. Alana Catson?” he demanded, stressing the “Ms.” as if anyone either unclear or withholding as to their marital status was a person unworthy of trust.

  “Yes.” I pulled my bathrobe tighter around me, wishing I had forced Dick into one of those threatening spiked collars just for the occasion. “And you are?”

  “Carl Preaker,” he said, not bothering to extend his hand. Instead, he reached in his pocket and whipped out a glistening pen, then let it hover dangerously over the clipboard. “I assume you got my letter,” he said, more of a statement than a question.

  My heart sank all the way to the floor as I struggled to save face. “Yes. It was as cryptic as it was brief.”

  His lips curled up like that of a toad closing in on an unsuspecting fly. “I do apologize for bothering you so early on a Monday morning, Ms. Catson, but I do hope we can... settle a few matters. We need to put this mess behind us, once and for all.”

  “Okay,” I muttered, not at all liking the sound of that or the executioner’s tone in which he spoke it. I nervously tucked a lock of hair behind my ears and braced for the worst. “How would you like to—”

  “To start, can you please provide me with the exact date when you will terminate your illegal business operation?”

  His pen was poised for action, but I was too stunned to speak.

  That’s why he’s here? He thinks I’m gonna just give up that easy? My eyes narrowed and my spine stiffened at the same time. Well, sorry to disappoint you, mister!

  “Ms. Catson?”

  “Actually, I have no intention of terminating my business operation,” I said, deliberately leaving out his “illegal” and fixing a scathing glare on him. “I have, however, taken steps to move it to a storefront in the city, as your letter so graciously implied.”

  The clipboard came down, and Preaker stared up at me in surprise. He clearly wasn’t used to backlash from the home-based and small businesses he liked to bully with his letters and pens and clipboards.

  Refusing to go down without a fight, I felt a surge of courage well inside me. “If there is nothing else, Mr. Pricker,” I said, a quickly spoken, clever little insult that I didn’t give him time to react to, “I really have to get on with my day.”

  His foot caught the door just as I tried to close it, and his baffled little face screwed up in astonishment and frustration. He looked like a little boy who dropped his ice cream cone, like the morning treat he’d promised himself slipped suddenly out of his grasp. Unfortunately, it took more than a forceful dismissal to get rid of a guy like Preaker, a man who always had another trick or two up his sleeve. “You have two months to secure a location,” he snapped efficiently, making a dramatic mark on his board. “If you fail to do so, another letter will be sent to this address, an official cease-and-desist from the State of New York.”

  My fist tightened, but rather than feeding him the knuckle sandwich he deserved, I flashed him a sweet smile. “Let me guess. You’ll hand-deliver that letter yourself, right?”

  A wicked grin decorated his creepy expression. “Yes, and it will be my pleasure.”

  For a second, a staring contest ensued, a duel of wills, neither of us daring to blink first.

  When a low growl rumbled threateningly in Dick’s chest, Preaker took a step back. “Until we meet again, Ms. Catson.”

  “Mr. Pricker,” I said, then slammed the door on him and instantly collapsed against it in panic.

  Two months? How the hell am I going to come up with a storefront down-payment in two months? Sixty freaking days! It’s... impossible, I thought, sobbing.

  Then an idea struck me, one so crazy I thought it just might work. Without another thought, I pulled on my shoes, snatched my purse from the table, and headed straight down the front walkway, fully prepared to take the bank by storm.

  It wasn’t until I’d already pulled out of the driveway that I realized I was still in my robe.

  “WHAT DO YOU MEAN, I don’t qualify?”

  On the other side of the desk, the teller, a poker-faced man I’d never met before, offered his best impression of a sympathetic smile. “It’s rather self-explanatory,” he said. “Based on the information you’ve provided, Ms. Catson, this bank is unable to loan you the funds you require.”

  My face blanched as I looked down at the stack of papers and forms in front of me, the ones that had given me writer’s cramp just moments earlier. After my near-miss with the bathrobe, I’d decided to take a long, meditative shower to calm down. Then I carefully compiled a list of tax documents from the internet, gathered them all up, sketched out a basic proposal for the direction I wanted my business to go, and dressed in my most professional garb—only to be stopped by a man with a mustard stain on his shirt. “Well, what else do you need?” I asked desperately, trying to keep the strain out of my voice. I knew bankers fed on emotions, like sharks after blood in the water, so I had to maintain a careful calmness as I spoke. “If I’m missing something, I can go get it from home and be back here in a jiffy. Another year’s worth of records? Basic employment forms? Receipts from—”

  “I’m afraid it is not a lack of paperwork that is the problem.” The man leaned forward with a patronizing air of condescension, the same air he’d adopted the second I had said “dog-walker,” moving so close to me that I could now see that his shirt stain was in the exact shape of Idaho. “This bank simply doesn’t allocate funds to such... high-risk businesses.”

  “High-risk?” I repeated, incredulous, trying my best to follow along.

  At that point, the man’s professional patience cracked a bit, as he folded his hands atop the desk. “With all due respect, Ms. Catson, you walk dogs. It is simply not a stable business.”

  “Tell that to my many clients,” I argued.

  “Ms. Catson, while you might have a steady list of clients now, there’s no telling what might happen in the future. Perhaps you now earn enough to pay four employees, but our records show that at least two of them must have secondary jobs to supplement their income.”

  My mind scrambled as I saw my last chance slipping away. “That’s just... Wait! Are you talking about Nate’s secret shopper gig? That’s not even a real job, and he doesn’t do it for the money. He just loves to get discounts on clothes, and—”

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Catson. I simply can’t help you,” the banker said, closing my file with a definitive snap.

  I slid down an inch lower in my seat. How is this happening? A few days ago, everything was fine. I had a great job that I love, and aside from my occasional backslides into ice cream, I was on pace to lose all the w
eight I want. I even had high hopes for expanding my business into something real, with its own storefront in town, a great idea anyone has yet to disprove.

  “Thank you—” My voice gave out, and I had to clear my throat shakily before I could start again. “Thank you for your time.” Then, without another word, I gathered my stack of papers and walked robotically out of the bank, my face pale white and my hands trembling.

  Instead of stopping at my car, I made a beeline for the bakery across the street, in need of food to save the day, no matter what my nutritional guide said. I was already denied a loan, I thought, and nobody’s going to deny me the carbs I want!

  Chapter 21

  BY THE TIME I GOT HOME, my shock and awe had given way to full-fledged depression. Halfway through my second giant pretzel, I kicked the car door open with a lethargy and resignation that spoke to hours and hours of Netflix-binging on the horizon.

  I was so far gone in my own downward spiral that I didn’t even notice Matt until he tapped me on the shoulder and said, “Hey...”

  I whirled around with a start, one hand clutching my chest as the other held desperately on to my giant pretzel. From the look on his face, I could tell that whatever he intended to say was now silenced by my obvious aura of defeat. Before he could even ask, I held up my crumpled folder. “I took your suggestion and went to the bank.” My throat tightened, and I pulled in a steadying breath.

  “And?” he said, arching a brow.

  “And they denied me. Apparently, we lowly dog-walkers aren’t exactly a sound investment.” I forced a tight laugh, but it wasn’t fooling anybody.

  “Oh, Alana.” His face fell with genuine sympathy as he looked me up and down. “I’m so sorry. I feel terrible for getting your hopes up.”

  “No apologies are necessary,” I said quickly, waving his words away. “I know you were only trying to help. Truth be told, you’re the only person in my life right now who really is. It’s just...” I pushed back my hair and let out a sigh. “That Preaker guy came to my house this morning, and—”

  “He came to your house?” Matt interrupted sharply.

  I nodded obliviously, staring down at my hands. “Needless to say, he’s just as friendly in person as he was in his note. If I don’t come up with the money for a down-payment in the next two months, he’ll make it his personal mission to see that I never walk another dog again.”

  A faint frown clouded Matt’s eyes as he stared back at me. The wheels were clearly turning, but neither of us said a word.

  In the end, I was forced to break the unnatural silence. “Is there something you need?”

  “I was just, uh...” He held up a leash in his hand, and for the first time, I noticed that he’d brought Sadie with him, either the perfect cover or a perfectly valid excuse, if not a little of both. “The two of us were just heading out for an afternoon walk, and Sadie wants to know if you and Dick would like to join us.”

  Sadie wanted to know? Cute.

  I stifled a smile and dropped my gaze, but despite the charming nature of the request, I was confused by the timing of it. It seemed quite odd, considering it was just one day after his girlfriend had caught us wrestling in the pool, me practically topless. It was even odder because I’d overheard them arguing about that. I could only assume that somewhere in that argument, Matt had assured her it was totally platonic, which I had to agree that it basically was.

  “Are you sure you want to?” I asked tentatively. “I mean... today?”

  The silent message was clear, but Matt was determined to ignore it. “Absolutely,” he said briskly, reaching down to give Sadie a quick pat. “It’s a beautiful day, and while we’re out, we can brainstorm ways for you to raise that money.”

  Yep, definitely going for the platonic angle.

  I smiled in spite of myself; his enthusiasm was catching. Still, while a walk sounded like just the thing I needed to raise my spirits, I had no faith in the brainstorming. The battle had been fought and lost, and I didn’t see any point in dragging the matter out any longer.

  As if Matt could somehow read my mind, a sudden surge of passion sparked through his eyes. He took me suddenly by the shoulders, bending down so I was forced to look him in the eye. “You cannot give up on this, Alana,” he said fiercely, seeing hope where I was too demoralized to see it for myself. “The first step is knowing what you want. The second is to reach out and take it. No questions, no excuses, no prisoners. Just take it.”

  I blinked up at him, as surprised by the sudden outburst as he was himself. That same fire flickered deep in his eyes, and for a second, he looked dangerously close to following his own advice. Then, just as quickly as it had come, it passed. He dropped his arms, and that smoldering passion was replaced with a casual smile.

  “I’ll wait out here while you get Dick,” he said firmly, taking control before I had the chance to back out or succumb to the endless buffet of reruns I’d been subconsciously planning.

  Realizing that he wasn’t going to take no for an answer, I threw up my hands and smiled. “Fine. You win. Just give me a second to find his leash.”

  “Okay.”

  “You know, I should pay you a consulting fee.”

  “Nah, we’ll call it even. You are a professional dog-walker helping me walk my dog, right?”

  “Right,” I said with a laugh. I twisted my key in the lock and was halfway inside before Matt called out once more.

  “And Alana?”

  I turned around in the frame, gazing back at him. “Yeah?”

  His eyes danced with mischief as he held out his hand. “On second thought, I’ll take that consulting fee.”

  “Oh,” I said. “How much?”

  “How about the rest of that pretzel?”

  I smiled widely, looking down at the remaining doughy twist in my hand. “Wow. You drive a hard bargain, mister!”

  Chapter 22

  I WOKE UP THE NEXT morning feeling revived, refreshed, and ready to start a brand new day, completely different from the way I felt when I dragged myself out of bed the day before. For that, I could only give credit to one person: Matt.

  The man knew no limits. It was as if he honestly didn’t understand the concept of giving up, like he was somehow unfamiliar with the words, something unusual for a writer. No matter how dispirited I was or how gloomy my outlook seemed, he was determined to change it.

  During our dog-walking into town, he flat-out refused to let me get a word in edgewise. Instead, he prattled on and on about anything and everything that popped into his beautiful little head. It was a full-on stream of consciousness, to an almost cartoonish extent, an exposé of everything I ever wanted to know about Matt. He went on and on about addictive television shows he purposely avoided, arthouse movies he’d been dying to see, and his favorite foods and countries. He disclosed his routine, the first thing he did whenever he walked into a new hotel room; coincidentally, he always went right back out into the hall and located the ice-maker, something I found inexplicably adorable. He shared his dreams, hopes, and desires, as well as a recurring nightmare he had about being chased around his house by a parrot.

  No detail was too small, no story or anecdote too insignificant to be overlooked. By the time we made it to the local Starbucks, where those pretentious types who were nothing like him occupied the tables, he was starting to get hoarse.

  He ordered his coffee, then turned and asked, “And what will you have?”

  I silently debated whether to follow the rules and order a calorie-free hot tea or to go for my comfort food, Frappuccino.

  As if he could read my mind again while I nervously pretended to peruse the menu, Matt just scoffed and ordered the largest possible Frapp. We ordered some bottles of water for the dogs as well and poured them into paper cups, then lounged in silence at the outdoor tables as both Sadie and Dick drank their fill.

  “Hey, I’m sorry Steph saw us playing around like that,” I said. “I hope she wasn’t mad.”

  “Don’t
worry. She’s over it now,” he said with a shrug.

  “That’s good.”

  “You know what? I love having fun, and I can’t remember a time when I’ve had so much of it.”

  “Really? You don’t have fun with your girlfriend?” I asked, assuming I already knew the answer to that.

  “She’s a buzzkill, too uptight and serious all the time. I guess it’s taken me too long to learn that our personalities don’t quite gel. They say opposites attract, but we’ve been clashing, big time. I’m beginning to think I should have left her in California. It pains me to say that, but... It’s just that I want to laugh, have fun, enjoy my life. I need a free-spirited kind of gal, somebody fun and easygoing, somebody who makes me laugh, somebody like... you.”

  I blushed. “Just give her some time to adjust. Moving here was a big decision.”

  “I know.”

  “I’m sure you’ll work it out.”

  He nodded.

  I peered at him, growing more unbearably smitten with each passing second. I will not be the cause of their breakup, I vowed to myself once again. This is between them. If things end with her, it won’t be my fault. Mostly, I wanted him to be happy, even if that meant making it work with Steph.

  Rather than talking about my favorite board games or prattling on about the weather, I chose to focus on more relevant issues instead. After several pointed prompts from Matt, I began to reexamine the logistical issues of my business in an entirely new light, not as a problem to be feared but as an opportunity to be seized. In the panic that came automatically after I received the note, not to mention Preaker’s uninvited appearance at my front door, I had lost sight of my original vision, my dreams: to have an actual business, to move it out of my house and into a real space in town, and to focus not only on my existing clients but also on future expansion.