My Boyfriends' Dogs

by Dandi Daley Mackall

  “Mark,” I began, removing his hand and scooting back a few inches on the clean plastic seat of his dad’s car. Mark looked so good. True, the boy had lousy taste in movies. But he was loyal and never looked at another girl, as far as I could tell. “We need to have a serious talk about the Madagascar day gecko.” I proceeded to explain to him the concept of a lifelong commitment to one person.

  “Know what else I found out about the gecko?” I’d done a report on geckos for my science class. “Scientists at the University of Akron are working on a superglue based on gecko feet. They’re studying the incredible way geckos can hold on to anything with their feet.”

  Mark said, “Huh?”

  Once again, I explained to my boyfriend the high concept of mating for life. “Sex is a lifelong gift,” I concluded. “It’s because I think sex is so great that I’ve decided to wait until I’m married and mate for life, like the gecko.”

  Mark’s forehead wrinkled. “You mean you’re not gonna have sex with me?”

  “No, Mark,” I answered.

  “No sex?” he repeated.

  I reduced language to primitive gesture and shook my head.

  “Ever?”

  I repeated said gesture.

  “Why didn’t you say so before?” Mark asked, right before he broke up with me.

  Mom drove Amber and me and a van filled with our stuff to Columbia for Mizzou’s “College Now!” orientation. I’d tried to back out of it, of course. But it was too late to get our money refunded. Unlike Amber the Great, I didn’t have a scholarship. What I did have was a summer job at Grady’s Gas and Snack in Columbia, which Mom’s friend Sarah Jean had pulled strings to get me. There was no backing out. I was doomed to take a precollege French class, which I’d signed up for simply because Mark was supposed to be in it and he thought French sounded sexy.

  Amber and Mom were so psyched about this “college experience” and getting a head start that I chose to ride by myself in the backseat, where I stared out the window and brooded and wondered if everyone in summer school would already have boyfriends.

  “I still can’t believe we’re actually on our way to college!” Amber exclaimed, as enthusiastic as she was annoying. She and Mom talked about college all the time. It wore me out. How could I make up my mind where I wanted to go to college? What if I signed up for Mizzou and then got a great boyfriend who was going to KU? People have to think ahead about these things.

  Amber planned to go to Mizzou and become a journalist. That’s why she was here at the great J-school of the Midwest. I, on the other hand, had signed on because I’d wanted to be with my boyfriend, who was now my ex-boyfriend.

  I knew my deep sadness wasn’t all about Mark. I think I missed Went more than Mark, really. In the middle of the year, I’d heard that Went and his dad had moved back to California. Without saying goodbye. Now, staring out the dirt-smudged window, I thought that if Went hadn’t moved away, I just might have overturned my vow about not shopping at my own garage sale. I missed having someone.

  “Amber,” Mom said cheerfully, ignoring the fact that her own daughter was sniffing back tears in the backseat. “I’m so proud of you for getting that scholarship. You’ll be hitting the ground running when you enroll here.”

  “Thanks, Big D. And thanks for the ride, too. You don’t think Bailey and I have too much stuff, do you?”

  “If you do, you can always have a garage sale,” Mom advised.

  Mom stopped at two garage sales and one roadkill funeral before we made it to campus. Mom always stopped and buried roadkill. She was the only person I knew who did, except for Amber and me. We even carried a shovel in our van, and we had a special blessing to say over the makeshift grave. But this time, I sat in the car for the event.

  Mom stopped twice for directions before we found the “high school” dorm. Couples were everywhere—strolling hand in hand, sitting on dorm steps, lounging under trees. A lot of them were obviously college students, although why they would go to summer school was beyond me.

  “Well, we’d better get started moving you two college girls in,” Mom said, winking when she said “college.”

  Our dorm room was on the fourth floor, and we had to take the stairs because the elevator was broken. “Great start,” I muttered, lugging my biggest suitcase up eight flights. “This is brutal.”

  Mom and Amber grunted and groaned as we carried up everything we could conceivably carry, but they didn’t complain. Finally, Mom peered into the back of the van at the TV, a trunk of Amber’s books, and two unmarked boxes of bricks. At least that’s what it looked like when Mom tried to lift one. “That’s it for sweating the small stuff,” Mom announced, swiping at the sweat pouring down her neck. “Nothing but the big-ticket items left.”

  “Bailey and I can take it from here, Big D,” Amber volunteered. “Bailey, grab that side of the TV, and I’ll get this one.”

  We managed to wrestle the thing out of the van, but no way could I walk with it. I was already sweating right through my antiperspirant. “I can’t hold on any longer,” I warned.

  Suddenly, just like in the movies, a tall, dark, handsome stranger came jogging up to us. And I mean tall. “You ladies look like you could use a hand.” The guy took the TV out of our struggling arms and carried it like it was a pillow. “Where to?”

  “Seriously? Thanks!” I gave Hercules our dorm room number, and we trotted along behind him to the stairwell.

  “I’m Steve,” he said, aiming this news flash at Amber.

  Amber smiled, but she didn’t introduce herself.

  “Thanks for the help, Steve,” I said, giving my friend a little nudge. “I’m Bailey, and this is Amber.”

  “I’m in for the basketball training camp,” Steve informed Amber. “How about you, Amber? ”

  “Journalism,” she answered.

  “Cool. I’ve heard good things about that program. You planning to come here in the fall and major in journalism?”

  “One more year,” said my friend-of-few-words.

  Ask him about his plans! I wanted to scream it up to her, but she and Steve must have been in way better shape than I was. They’d moved half a flight ahead of me, and Steve was carrying a television.

  “For now, I guess I’ll be majoring in basketball,” Steve went on without any encouragement from Amber.

  “Can you do that?” she asked.

  He laughed. “Not forever, I guess. I thought about taking a journalism or creative writing class this summer, but basketball takes up too much of my time.”

  “You could always quit basketball,” Amber suggested.

  He laughed again. I, on the other hand, was pretty sure Amber wasn’t joking.

  Steve helped us carry up the rest of the junk from the van while Mom waited in the dorm room and started unpacking boxes. “Hey, thanks a million for the help, Steve,” Mom called over to the doorway when we were done. “Don’t know how we would have made it without you.”

  I seconded Mom’s motion. “Seriously, thanks a lot.”

  Steve nodded at Mom and me. Then he turned a big smile on Amber. “I’ve got to run to practice. But there’s a social, a dance thing, in the Union tomorrow night if you want to go.” He was adorable, all flushed-face shy. “Anyway, I could come by here for you. Like at seven?”

  Amber shrugged. “Sure.”

  Steve’s smile broadened. “Cool!” He jogged backward, not willing to take his eyes off Amber. “I’ll see you then. Before then maybe. I’ll call you. Or see you. Or both.”

  Amber waved. She was grinning, too, now. “Okay.”

  The second Steve was out of sight, Mom hustled Amber inside the room with us. She whisper-counted to ten. And then she and I went crazy. “Amber’s got a date! Steve loves Amber!” Mom and I sang various versions of this ditty until Amber managed to strategically place her hands over our mouths.

  “Stop it!” she pleaded. “He’ll hear you.” But she looked as excited as I felt. Our Miss Amber had a real live colleg
e date with an extremely cute, almost-college jock.

  Mom stayed for a while and helped us figure out where to put our lamps and clothes and stuffed animals. “I have to get going,” she said finally. She grabbed both of us in a group hug, and we hugged her back as if we’d never see each other again.

  Turned out Steve wasn’t the only guy who wanted to date Amber. My Amber-prophecy about guys getting over themselves and appreciating all that Amber had to offer was coming to pass. And she wasn’t even officially in college. Not just the basketball players either. I faithfully e-mailed Mom details about Amber’s many suitors.

  In return, Mom sent Amber and me cutesy cards in the mail. She phoned every day and e-mailed. But she said she wanted us to get some mail that didn’t demand we buy magazines at a giant student discount. I, personally, believed she had other reasons for writing. Her first card to Amber read:

  Tall guys, small guys,

  You attract all guys!

  Amber has her pick of winter, spring, and summer, fall guys.

  My first note said:

  When a dog gets pregnant, then their babies we can sell.

  When a girl gets pregnant, then she’s on her way to . . .

  (Just kidding! God loves babies. He just wants girls to wait until they’re married so everybody can live happily ever after.) Love, Mom

  Poor Mom. If she’d only known. She didn’t have a thing to worry about. Bailey Daley was coming up empty in the boyfriend department. Two weeks into summer school, and I hadn’t had anything that even slightly resembled a date. A couple of guys flirted with me in the cafeteria and in my French class, but they flirted with other girls, too. And I refused to put on blinders. Not this time. I’d learned my lesson with Went.

  But I still wanted a boyfriend.

  “You’re obsessing over this boyfriend thing,” Amber told me one night as we lay in our beds in the dark and tried to get to sleep. Somebody on our floor had rap blaring from speakers the size of North and South Dakota.

  “You think? Well, guess what. I’m done obsessing about having a boyfriend.”

  “You are?” asked my obviously skeptical friend.

  “Yep. From now on, no obsession. Only action.”

  Amber groaned. “I already don’t like the sound of this.”

  I ignored my abundantly-dating roommate’s careless comment. “I’ve had a lot of time to think about this. I’m about to launch a new Bailey Boyfriend Plan.” I explained my plan’s main objectives: to land a boyfriend who only had eyes for me, and who had eyes for more than my body and what his body might do to mine. “I admit this hasn’t been a huge problem lately, but one must be prepared,” I continued. “After all, I am seventeen, with extraordinarily large breasts, a fantastic bod, and hair to die for. I am seventeen, with extraordinarily large breasts, a fantastic bod, and—”

  My mantra was interrupted by a pillow to the head. I picked up my own pillow and skillfully defended myself. When we stopped pounding each other and laughing ourselves breathless, we fell back into our beds. After a couple of minutes of silence—if you didn’t count the blaring rap in the background—Amber said, “Bailey, there’s more to life than having a boyfriend.”

  “There is more,” I agreed. “I’d just like to experience it all with a boyfriend.”

  2

  Although my job at Grady’s drastically cut into my boyfriend-hunting plans, by the second week at Grady’s Gas and Snack of Columbia, I loved my job. Sarah Jean would have been proud.

  Saturday we were crazy busy. Wanda, my manager, made me work the cash register. Once I got the hang of it, I liked it. I even started humming to myself between customers. Then before I knew it, I was singing.

  “Girl, I like that song,” Wanda said, shouldering me from the register so she could ring up her customer.

  “Sorry. I didn’t realize I was singing it out loud.” I couldn’t have named the song if I’d been on trial for it. I felt like I’d been caught singing in the shower, which was about the only other place I sang since the unfortunate event at the Millet Movies.

  Wanda turned to me and stared hard. She outweighed me by a hundred pounds and was still beautiful. Her brown skin glowed, and her eyes sparkled like she knew wonderful secrets about everybody but just couldn’t tell us yet. “You have a nice voice, girlfriend. Sing it out next time!”

  Wanda was my boss, so I obeyed. Each day I grew a little braver, and by the end of the following week, I’d become the singing Grady girl. Depending on the age and mood of the customer, or the type of purchase, or maybe the weather, I had a refrain for everybody who came in. Thanks to my mom’s unusual musical tastes, I knew songs and lyrics from every era.

  Gas-only customers usually got a Beach Boys number (Mom would have been proud), like “I Get Around.” Truckers loved country, but sometimes at night you would have been surprised how long they stuck around for blues or jazz. I didn’t work off stereotypes for my customers—I tried to get a feel for the person.

  For our older customers, I’d sing something from the forties with lots of heart and memory. One grouchy old man, who had the face he deserved, was about to storm out of Grady’s one morning, swearing that the doughnuts weren’t fresh. But when I started singing “I’ll be seeing you in all the old familiar places”—I’m not sure what the name of that song is, but I know the lyrics—he stood in the doorway as if frozen. He stayed that way through the whole song, three verses. And when I stopped singing, he turned around with tears streaming down his face, and he thanked me.

  Groups of high school or college guys got purchase-appropriate rock. Hand-holding couples earned “I Want to Hold Your Hand.” It was fun. And could Wanda dance! Her favorite songs were blow-the-roof-off gospel. Sometimes, with the old spirituals, Wanda would join me singing. She couldn’t help herself, even though customers usually headed for their cars at that point. Like I said, Wanda was a great dancer. I would have worked at Grady’s for nothing just to hang with Wanda.

  It was usually light when I walked back to the dorm after work. But one Friday night I volunteered to stay late and close so Wanda could keep her big date. When I left and walked up Broadway, the stars were already out. I hadn’t gone far when I got the feeling someone was following me.

  Bailey Daley, you are imagining things, I told myself. But I didn’t believe me. My heart sped up, and my legs moved faster. I definitely heard footsteps behind me. I shouldn’t have been out alone that late. I should have called campus security to walk me home. I could have asked Amber and Steve to come get me.

  I ducked up a side street and fumbled for my phone, hoping I’d lose whoever was following me. Heart pounding, I pressed my back against the brick wall until I heard the footsteps pass. Suddenly, I remembered Went that first day when I’d snatched him out of the jaws of Carly and she’d come looking for both of us. We’d hidden by the bank, pressed against a wall just like this.

  My thoughts spiraled backward. Went. My first real love. I fell so hard, and I hadn’t fallen that hard since. I could still see him, tanned, smiling, so at ease in every situation. I remembered how excited I’d been on that drive to Six Flags, how passionate Went and I were at his mother’s empty apartment. I hadn’t felt that way since Went. What if I never did again?

  The pain came back, too—not as sharp, but there, like a shadow. I closed my eyes, and I was back on that wooden park bench, crying my eyes out, with kind Goofy sitting silently next to me, his furry arm around my shoulder.

  At least I’d gotten Adam out of the deal.

  All at once, something rushed out at me.

  “Help!” I cried, not sure whether to run or stand there and pray myself invisible.

  A big dog came bounding out of nowhere. It galloped straight at me, then lunged. Its giant paws landed on my shoulders. I opened my eyes and stared into the face of a king-sized Dalmatian. “Easy, boy,” I said. “Or girl. Sorry. Too dark to tell.” The dog licked my face. “You’re just a sweetheart, aren’t you?” It felt so good to be wit
h a dog again. Only a dog could greet me so wholeheartedly.

  I managed to get the dog’s paws off me so I could check around for its owner. “Show me where you live, big guy.” We moved on down the side street until I could read the big sign over the brick-arched entry: FIRE STATION II.

  “Dotty!” A man came running out of the firehouse as if it were on fire. He looked left, then right, until he spotted us. “Dotty! There you are.” He jogged up and grabbed the dog by her collar. “Sit!” he commanded. Dotty sat. “Bad dog,” he scolded.

  “Dotty’s okay,” I said, scratching the dog’s ears. “She’s beautiful.”

  “I can’t believe she ran off like that. That’s never happened before.” The man looked a lot older than my mom. He was short, stocky, balding, and cursed with the longest chin I’d ever seen on a human. He wore an armpit-stained white T-shirt with tan pants and suspenders that made him look like a fireman.

  “Is Dotty a real firehouse dog?” I asked.

  He patted his dog’s spotted back. “She’s more of a mascot, aren’t you, Dotty ol’ girl?” He frowned over at me. “Still can’t believe she went for you like that.” Dotty stretched her neck toward me, but kept sitting.

  I reached over and scratched her. “I do love dogs. I miss mine.”

  “You a Mizzou student?” he asked.

  “Only for the summer.” We introduced ourselves, and Larry and Dotty walked me back to the dorm, even though I told them I’d be okay.