My Boyfriends' Dogs

by Dandi Daley Mackall

  “So where are the daggers tacking up posters of Dracula? ” I asked.

  “Shut up!” she called from the bathroom. “And get in here.” Her bathroom was as big as my bedroom. “I’m scared, Bailey. I’m not even sure Moe’s alive.”

  The two newts, slimy, shiny black lizards, were sprawled on rocks at opposite ends of the aquarium. They weren’t moving. “Which is which? ”

  “Don’t be so bête. Curly’s female, and Moe’s male. I thought they’d get together by now and have a baby, and I’d call him Larry. Then I’d have all three stooges.”

  “I don’t think they do it that way, you know? One lays eggs, and the other fertilizes. I don’t think they ever touch each other.”

  “No sex? ” she asked. “No wonder they’re so sad.”

  I glanced at Roni and wondered if she’d already had sex.

  She caught me studying her. “No, I haven’t,” she said.

  “What? ” I asked, as if she hadn’t read my mind.

  “You and Eric haven’t either, right? ”

  “How did you know? Did he tell you? ”

  “Are you kidding? ” She laughed.

  “So, do you think it’s weird that we haven’t? ”

  “No!”

  “Well, do you think that it’s weird we don’t even talk about it? ”

  “Eric? It would be weird if you did. Not a great talker, my brother.”

  “Are you kidding? Eric can talk to anybody about anything. There’s a reason he’s captain of the debate team.”

  “That’s because they don’t talk about anything past layer three.” She reached into the aquarium and stroked Moe with her fingertip. The newt moved. “Look! He’s okay.”

  “Wait a minute. Explain ‘layer three.’”

  Relief spread over Roni’s face. She really cared for the slimy creatures. “What? Oh. Layer three. Like, out of ten. It’s my personal onion theory. See, it’s like we’ve all got layers on layers, going deep inside, to layer ten, that place where we’re spiritual and private. But we don’t show those deep layers. Strangs, for example, can live their whole lives on the top couple of layers. We don’t like to dig into others or ourselves.”

  I thought about the way Eric had cut off my conversation about old boyfriends. And the couple of times I’d mentioned God, he’d changed the subject pretty fast.

  “Peeling onions can make you cry,” Roni said. “Did you ever see Eric cry? ”

  I shook my head. And Eric had never seen me cry either. Amber, Mom, and I had seen each other cry—cried together—more times than I could remember. I don’t think I’d ever seen Eric sad. But so what? What was so wrong with not crying?

  “Come here, you.” Roni lifted Curly out and eyed her. “I love you, Curly.”

  “That’s because Curly doesn’t have layers two to ten,” I teased, trying to convince myself that the onion theory was just another of Roni’s quirks. “So Curly never cries. See? Made to order for a Strang.”

  Roni didn’t laugh. She set Curly down again. “No judgments until you’ve walked a mile in my shoes, Bailey,” she said softly. “So far, you’ve only walked a few hundred yards.”

  Roni’s onion theory might have had some truth to it. Maybe Eric and I were staying on those top layers of the onion, but they were fun and wonderful layers. I loved working at the club. Eric dropped by all the time. Jeannette too. They both helped out when I worked on retirement parties, debutante balls, and spring galas. Even our own senior prom got shifted from the Tri-County gymnasium to the Riverbend Country Club, thanks to Eric’s mother. Tickets would cost more, but most of the kids seemed fine with it.

  Not Amber, though. “I mean it,” she complained at lunch when she heard the news about the prom changing locales. “The only good thing about a stupid prom is being able to transform a gym into something cool. Now that’s gone!”

  “Come on,” I reasoned. “No way could you turn the gym into anything as cool as the club will be.”

  “The club,” she muttered. “Eric’s mother is behind this, isn’t she? ”

  I shrugged. Eleanor Strang had used her influence at the club and on the school board to pull this off. She’d bragged about it to Eric and me. More than Amber needed to know.

  “I can’t wait to write my editorial in the Rag. I might throw in something about a link between prom buffets and salmonella,” she muttered.

  “Will you give my boyfriend a break? Anyway, he’s got a point about salmonella. Did you know that in St. Louis last year—? ”

  Amber didn’t want to hear it. “I’m boycotting the prom if it’s at a country club,” she vowed.

  “Amber, you are not.”

  “No? Well, you just wait and see.”

  The rest of our senior year flew by.

  Amber kept her word about boycotting the prom. She’d already invited Travis, but two weeks before the prom, she half uninvited him. Instead, they made big plans to watch TV and dog-sit for Mom and me on prom night. Eric’s mom had roped my mom into helping chaperone the prom. Like Jeannette, Mrs. Strang was convinced that Eric and I would be on prom court, and she couldn’t imagine Mom not wanting to be there to see it. She’d even given Mom a dress, a Strang original (though not a “Unique”), to complement her own. Problem was, our school colors were orange and black. And Mrs. Strang’s chaperone dress was black.

  “I look like an undergrown pumpkin in this dress,” Mom complained when she tried it on for Amber and me. Adam and Eve barked at her. Shirley, who’d spent the night, hid under the couch.

  “It’s nice, Big D,” Amber said, obviously fighting off hysterical laughter.

  Mom swatted at the poufy skirt as if she could close it like an umbrella. “Do you know that the woman actually had the nerve to tell me she’d picked this one especially for me because she thought I could wear the thing again? ”

  Amber’s floodgate of laughter broke. “Sure, Big D. Like to Candyland.”

  “Stop it, Amber,” I said. But I was laughing, too. The dress really was hideous.

  “Plus,” Amber continued, “you never know when they’ll have tryouts for Gone With the Wind.”

  Mom threw couch pillows at us. But she was a good sport and promised to wear the Strang dress to the prom.

  The week before prom couldn’t have gone better if I’d scripted it myself. When the student body voted on the prom court, not only did Eric and I make it, but so did Jeannette and Glen, her date and one of Eric’s best buddies. I knew I was just there because everybody loved Eric. But it still felt great, almost like I was living somebody else’s life.

  Prom morning was picture-perfect, with the sun shining in a clear blue sky. Amber promised to come over later and help me get ready. I’d had my hair appointment at Mrs. Strang’s favorite salon lined up for two months.

  Mom was studying the classifieds for garage sales when I came out to the kitchen. “Morning,” she said. “I can’t believe this is your senior prom, Bailey.”

  “Know what you mean.” I let Adam and Eve and Shirley outside and watched them in the yard. Shirley loved staying with us. I strongly suspected that on Shirley-sleepover nights, Mom tried to teach the little Shih Tzu to bark. Once I’d caught Mom on hands and knees outside, barking into puzzled Shirley’s little face. Shirley romped around with the other dogs, but she still didn’t bark.

  “Are you going over to Amber’s? ”

  “I have prom court rehearsal this morning, remember? ” Mrs. Strang had insisted that all five couples rehearse the promenade and the “Royal Waltz,” even though it would only be danced by the king and queen. Eric and I had stopped our waltz lessons around number seven, but I knew the basics.

  “That’s right.” Mom sighed. “Eleanor wanted me to be there. Tell her . . . tell her I didn’t have anything to wear to rehearsal.”

  “Mom,” I scolded.

  “Hey, I’m sacrificing my dignity and wearing a pumpkin to the ball for you, my dear daughter. A tiny white lie is the least you can do for me.”<
br />
  Rehearsal was worse than I thought. Jeannette was sweet as ever, but the other girls snapped at each other. “Jeannette!” Cara Weyland shouted, storming up behind her. “You’re standing on my spot. Michael and I are supposed to be there.”

  “Sorry,” Jeannette said, retreating to the rear with Eric and me.

  “What’s with Cara? ” I didn’t know her very well. She was a cheerleader, and her parents didn’t belong to the country club.

  “I think the competition’s getting to everybody.” Jeannette smiled at me. “Like they don’t know there’s no competition here.”

  Eric put his arm around my shoulder. “Jeannette, you don’t know that. You and Glen have as good a chance as anybody.”

  Jeannette narrowed her eyes at him. “Anybody but you guys.”

  I knew Eric expected us to win as much as his mother did. I’d be lying if the thought of being prom queen to Eric’s prom king didn’t make me light-headed. But the whole campaigning thing wasn’t something I’d thrown myself into. Eric had, though. And so had all his buddies, which had made me feel bad for Jeannette. They were her friends, too. And Glen’s.

  I watched Jeannette walk gracefully back to her date. “Do you think Jeannette likes Glen? ” I asked Eric.

  Eric frowned down at me. “Of course she likes him.”

  I grinned up at my perfect, but dense boyfriend. “I mean likes him, as in romance? ”

  Eric swung his head around and stared at Jeannette as if I’d just clued him in that she was on fire. Then, seeing no flames, he relaxed. “No way. Jeannette and Glen? ” He shot them one more look, longer this time. “Don’t be crazy.”

  “What’s crazy about Jeannette and Glen together? ” I couldn’t explain it, but I felt the old jealousy creeping back in. Why should Eric care if Glen and Jeannette were more than friends?

  Before Eric could explain, his mother clapped her hands and called us to attention. “Now, some of you have been to debutante affairs on this very dance floor. I expect more of you in the promenade. After all, prom has its root in promenade.”

  She made us walk from the stage down the steps and across the length of the room on the arms of our escorts two times before switching to the “Royal Waltz.” A few kids from the junior class watched us as they set up tables and decorations.

  I was losing confidence with every step. “Eric,” I whispered, “I think I forgot how to waltz.”

  He put his hand firmly on my back and raised his arm to waltz position. “Relax. Just follow my lead.”

  Mrs. Strang had booked the club’s favorite orchestra for our prom and made them agree to give us an hour during rehearsals. I knew most of them, especially Billy, the sax player. They started with a familiar waltz tune, but I couldn’t remember the name. I couldn’t remember anything. I felt Eric’s mother watching me, hating every step I took, as Eric tried to move me around the floor.

  “Stop! Everybody stop!” Mrs. Strang shouted. “Flow, people. Don’t stomp. One, two, three. Glen, raise your arm. Don’t expect Jeannette to lead. Again.”

  We stopped and started for an agonizing half hour. Finally, Mrs. Strang lost it. “All right! Eric and Jeannette, come out here and show them how to waltz.”

  They tried to object, but they were no match for Eleanor Strang. The music started, and Eric and Jeannette took the stance. Then they danced. They flowed together as if they didn’t have to think about it. They were part of the music. I don’t think I’d understood the waltz until that moment.

  And I understood something else. When they swept past me, Jeannette had the most joyful, and painful, expression on her face. And in her eyes—I recognized it because it was the same way I looked at Eric—in her eyes was love.

  14

  When Jeannette and Eric’s waltz ended, we applauded. Even the musicians stood up and clapped for them. After that, Mrs. Strang made each of the couples practice individually, without music.

  But how could I waltz with Eric after that? “Eric, I’m too tired to waltz.”

  “We can use the practice,” he said.

  We’d inched close to the musicians, and I could tell Billy the sax player was eavesdropping. The rest of the guys were slumped in their seats awaiting orders from Eric’s mother. Mrs. Strang shouted something over to them.

  “What did she say? ” asked the trumpet player.

  “She wants us to play again.” The drummer didn’t seem too pleased.

  I grinned at Billy. “Do you know Three Dog Night’s Jeremiah bullfrog song? ”

  “The what? ” Eric asked. “Bailey—”

  But Billy was on my side. “‘Joy to the World,’ key of C!” he shouted.

  The others came to life.

  “Funny, Bailey,” Eric said. He turned to Billy and the band. “Forget it, guys.” Eric sounded as forceful as his mother.

  The musicians laid down their instruments.

  Eric put his hands on my shoulders and grinned down at me. “What am I going to do with you, Bailey Daley? Man, you can be so goofy sometimes.” Then he kissed my forehead. “Now, let’s waltz.”

  We waltzed to beautiful music, but Eric’s words circled in my mind, echoed in my ears: You can be so goofy.

  Those words didn’t go away all afternoon. They hung like a swarm of gnats, following me to Eleanor’s exclusive hair salon, where the girl knew exactly how to fix my hair up.

  While I waited at home for Amber to help me get ready, I could still hear Eric’s Man, you can be so goofy.I tried on my Strang Unique prom dress. It fit perfectly. I stood in front of the long mirror and studied myself in that elegant dress, my hair piled on top of my head in subtle curls, the way Eric liked it best.

  “I am eighteen years old with a perfect bod and hair to die for, and I can be so goofy.

  “I am eighteen years old with a perfect bod and hair to die for, and I can be so goofy.

  “I am eighteen years old with a perfect bod and hair to die for, and I can be so goofy.”

  I turned off the light and sat on my bed in semidarkness until I heard voices from downstairs, filtering up like static. Amber and Travis had arrived. The dogs—at least Adam and Eve—were barking at them.

  You can be so goofy, Eric had said.

  And inside I was whispering, “Can I?”

  Amber thundered up the stairs, burst into my room, and turned on the light. “You look great! Okay. To be honest, that dress isn’t you. You’ve totally lost your funk. But still—wow! Why are you sitting in the dark? ”

  I shrugged.

  She shut the door and sat beside me. For a minute she didn’t speak, but she didn’t need to. It felt like a deep layer of my onion was talking to a deep layer of hers, only without words. We both teared up a little. “I’ll never understand them,” she said quietly.

  I knew she meant guys. “Or us,” I added.

  “So true.” She lowered her voice. “Guess who called me last night.” I didn’t guess, so she told me. “Steve. Remember him from summer school? ”

  I did remember the tall basketball player who’d fallen for Amber the minute he saw her. But they’d lost touch during the year. “What did he want? ”

  “He says he’s never gotten over me. That’s why he stopped calling. He thought he could get me out of his head, but he can’t. Bailey, he says he loves me.”

  “Wow. What about Travis? ”

  “Nah, I don’t think he loves Travis. Not his type.”

  “Funny. How do you feel about Steve? ”

  Amber plopped back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. “We talked for two hours. And I’m telling you . . . when he started in on how he’d never meet anyone like me again, I felt like telling him I wanted to see him again.”

  “So why didn’t you? ”

  “Your mother. You know what she always says about going back to an ex-boyfriend.”

  I knew, all right. I’d heard it a million times. “It’s like buying your own garage sale rejects.”

  “No. Not that one. I was thinking
about the cow thing. About how hanging on to an ex-boyfriend is like chewing your cud until somebody drops a fresh bale of hay in front of you. Or something like that. She’s your mother.”

  “Ah, Mom. The woman does have a way with words.”

  “Yeah. And she’s probably right about ex-boyfriends anyway. Do you ever think about any of yours? ”

  “Sometimes,” I admitted. “Went.”

  “Your first.”

  “And Mitch.”

  “Oh, Bailey! Not moody Mitch.”

  We talked about old times for a while. Then she said, “Well, you finally did it.”

  “Did what? ”

  “Landed the perfect boyfriend.”

  I pictured Eric, his smile, his great bod, the way everyone admired him and admired me when I was with him. Eric Strang’s girlfriend.

  Amber bounced up off the bed. “Where’s that list? ”

  “What list? ”

  “You know!” She ran to my desk. “The ‘Perfect Boyfriend’ list.”

  I laughed. “I forgot all about that.” I joined her and rummaged through a stack of old papers. Finally, I found it in my top dresser drawer. I unfolded the paper and read to Amber: “THE PERFECT BOYFRIEND will be:

  “A gecko.”

  “Check,” Amber said. “I’ve never heard of Eric Strang even looking at another girl. And I am a newspaper reporter, don’t forget.”

  I went on with the list. “College bound and focused. Handsome. Thinks I’m hot.” Amber nodded, and I agreed. “Normal. Polite. Respects me. Considerate. Rich. Great dancer.” I frowned over at Amber. “Does waltzing count? ” She nodded, and I forged ahead.

  “Has to believe in God.”

  “Strangs go to church, right?” Amber asked. “That big one in Riverbend? ”

  I nodded. I was sure Eric did believe in God. He just wasn’t comfortable talking about God. Too inner-onion.

  “Is that it? ” Amber asked.

  I finished the list. “Real. No mistaken identity.” I grinned.