He was not only impossibly cute, but we seemed to have some strange connection. I knew this wasn’t right. I knew I shouldn’t be doing this. I hesitated. But finally gave in to my desires. I was out of the tube, yanking my clothes back on in a tiny hospital cubicle while I picked up my phone and hunted down the number.
I called as soon as I exited the USCLA medical building, walking on concrete paths that wound around the brick buildings and green grassy landscapes.
“Patsy’s Pet Store and Exotic Creatures Emporium. My name’s Patsy. How can I help you?”
“Hey, Patsy,” I said. “I saw your Kitten Adoption sign in the window about two weeks ago. There was a longhaired, black kitten that was up for adoption. I’m sure he’s already found a great home. But I had to call and check on him. Just in case.”
“Oh. You’re talking about Napoleon,” she said.
“Huh?”
“The bossy, black, long-haired, male fuzzball who thinks he’s the ruler of an empire?”
“That totally sounds like him.” I smiled. “He’s obviously been taken.”
“No,” Patsy said. “You do know that black and tuxedo cats have a tougher time being adopted than other kitties?”
“No.” I shook my head. “Why?”
“Old-fashioned superstitions… Juan!” Patsy hollered. “Do not let Mr. Tweets out of his cage! He acts all nice and sweet, but he’ll fly off on a moment’s notice and try to attack the lovebirds. Keep his cage door shut!”
“Yikes,” I said. “Sounds like you’ve got a lot going on. Does that mean Napoleon’s still at your store?”
“Sorry for the bird drama,” Patsy said. “In regards to the kitten you’re calling about? No one wanted Napoleon. Store policy. We sent him to West L.A. Animal Shelter a couple of days ago.”
“But, but….” my palms broke into a sweat. “Is that a kill shelter?”
“Sorry, yes.” She screamed, “Juan! Mr. Tweets just attacked my hair! You let him out—”
I hung up the phone and hit one number.
“Bonita! What’s up? Need a ride? I’ve got plans with the guys this afternoon. I promised. I can’t break it. I can do sometime tomorrow afternoon. Or the day after? Where do you want to go? What do you want to do? More research?”
My heart sunk. For some reason I thought Alejandro and I were cool, on the same page. Like—he’d always be there for me. Because, so far he had. But no one can always be there for someone else. That’s a fairytale. And my life definitely wasn’t a fairytale. “Can’t wait. It’s urgent,” I said.
“How urgent?” he asked.
“Walking out my door and headed to the bus, urgent,” I grabbed my purse, keys, strode out my door and slammed it shut.
“Shit. I—” Alex said.
“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “I’ll handle it.”
“I’ll call you—”
“Thanks.” I hung up. Things needed to get done. Things that couldn’t wait for one guy, or one hospital. One research study. One alternative healer.
Sometimes you couldn’t wait, because the only way things would get done? Would be if you did them yourself.
* * *
I was back on the Big Blue Bus that headed toward Venice. I’d researched where the West L.A. Shelter was—Pico Avenue, approximately where Ocean Park Boulevard dead-ended a few blocks from it. I checked my phone. Four thirty p.m. This time I had to get there before closing time—5 p.m. Because this time the price for punctuality wasn’t a charge on a credit card. This time the stakes were life or death.
My phone buzzed and I glanced down. It was Alex and I picked up. “What?”
“I’m in my Jeep. I’m driving. I’ll pick you up. Where are we going?”
“Where am I going?”
“Okay. Where are you going?”
“West L.A. Animal Shelter.”
“Why?” he asked.
“I can’t really talk right now.” I hesitated, my index finger poised over the disconnect button.
“Don’t hang up! I know where it is. I’m like a mile from there.”
“I’ve got to get there before five p.m. Or they’ll kill my cat.”
“I didn’t know you had a cat?”
“I didn’t, either.”
“What’s it look like?” Alex asked.
“He’s black, fuzzy, round, about ten weeks old. His name is Napoleon. He thinks he’s the king of the universe.”
“I like him already, Bonita. Must drive fast. Hanging up now.”
Chapter Ten
The bus stuttered to a stop a couple blocks away from the shelter. I’d relinquished my seat ahead of time, made my way to the front of the bus and clung to one of the poles near the exit door. But six people didn’t care as they pushed and squirmed past me. I checked my phone. 4:53 p.m.
The bus driver opened the doors. But the pushy people suddenly became the slow-to-exit people and I didn’t have the benefit of time.
“Excuse me! I have an emergency!” I shoved my way past several large men and elbowed a few surly teens as I tripped down the bus’s stairs. “Sorry!”
I ran down the few blocks to the shelter. My heart was pounding as I reached the front door. Yanked on it. But it was already locked.
I looked down at the hours printed on the door.
“Open Monday through Friday 11 a.m. to 5 p.m. Sat. 11 a.m. to 4 p.m.”
I grabbed my phone. The time read 4:57 p.m. I pressed my face against the glass door. Saw a reception desk. But no one was behind it. I heard barking and howling coming from the dog section of the shelter. I pounded on the door. “It’s not five p.m. You cannot close your doors before you state that you will close your doors! That’s just plain wrong!” I hollered. “Help!” I slammed my fist on the door over and over again.
A petite woman around thirty years of age, with multi-colored hair, wearing beat-up scrubs and earbuds exited the side of the building and whistled along to a song.
“Hey!” I yelled to her and waved my hands in the air.
She pulled the buds out of her ears. “Can I help you?”
“Yes! I’m here to rescue a kitten before he’s euthanized. I got here on time, but the front doors are already locked and frankly this is freaking me out, because you shouldn’t lose your life if help arrives in time. And you shouldn’t have to die if help arrives at the last minute or is perhaps just a little bit late.”
“I agree,” she said. “The early door-locking thing? That’s Mr. Littleton’s doing. He volunteers here. Has for years. Which is great. But whenever he’s in charge he closes the front door five minutes early. I think he has a small penis and this is his way of showing that he is important, like the ruler of his universe or something. I’m not supposed to do this, but what the hell.” She motioned to me with a small wave of her hand. “Come with me.”
* * *
“My name’s Sadie.” I heard a cacophony of barking as she unlocked and opened the door to the shelter’s side entrance next to the dog wing.
“I’m Sophie. Nice to meet you and thanks.” My heart was pounding as I tried to catch my breath.
“Back at ya.”
We walked past dogs of all descriptions: mongrels, old dogs, puppies, small ones, huge ones. “They’re all up for adoption?” I asked.
“Some,” she said. “Others are scheduled for euthanasia.” She bit her lip.
“How do you deal with this? Because I couldn’t.”
“I deal because I know I can help rescue a lot of lives. The other part? I don’t deal with it all that well.”
We walked past a pen that held a skinny, but at the same time bloated, Rottweiler mama who lay on her side, looking exhausted while five squirming puppies sucked on her engorged nipples. “What’s going to happen to them?” I asked.
Sadie sighed. “We’re pretty confident we can adopt out all the puppies. If we’re lucky, perhaps the adoption gods will smile on us and someone will still want the mama after she’s spayed.”
Moment
s later we were in the pound’s cat wing standing in front of a small wire cage located two tiers up from the ground. A paper sign stuck in a little slot in the cage read, “Napoleon. Feline. Mix-Breed. Longhaired. Color: Black. FIV Neg. FeLV Neg. Age: Ten weeks. Status: Relinquished. Reason: Did not sell at pet store.”
There were two little bowls. One had some dry food at the bottom. The second some water. There was a tiny box with a sprinkling of cat sand. But there was no black, fuzzy kitten with a badass attitude. “Where is he?” I asked.
Sadie shrugged and looked at her feet.
“No,” I said. “There’s no way this kitten is being killed.”
“I don’t know,” Sadie said. “Maybe he was adopted out?”
“Oh, screw that.” I stomped my foot. “Take me to the room where they do the euthanasia.”
“I can’t,” Sadie said.
“You have to. Now.”
“I can’t, Sophie. I’m sorry. I’d lose my job. I’d never be able to help another animal here, ever again. I know this totally sucks. But you cared. You cared enough about another being that you totally went out of your way to help. If there’s such a thing as karma, I think you scored major points.”
I started crying. Just a little. I couldn’t help it. I plopped down cross-legged on the floor in front of Napoleon’s stupid empty abandoned cage, wiped tears away as they slipped from the corners of my eyes. I wondered why I was so freaking selfish about my journey here in Los Angeles that I couldn’t, actually I wouldn’t, let someone else’s journey make a dent in my plans. Especially that of an innocent. I was a selfish, coldhearted person and now Napoleon was dead because of me.
“It’s okay,” Sadie said. “Seriously. I swear I cry about two times a week here, too.” She tugged on my arm. “But I need to get you out of here before I lose my job.”
I got up and followed her down the corridors that smelled of harsh cleaners, animal pee and poop, all the while more disgusted with myself than any of the odors.
I made it back to the bus. Found a seat in the back and hunched over nauseous. Then we hit rush hour traffic. Two hours later I exited my stop and walked home, sniffling the whole way.
I rounded the lemon trees and saw the rose bushes with their thorns. Alex was sitting on my front stoop, his arms stretched in front of him while he actively warded off Gidget who kept lunging toward him.
Cole stood a couple feet away. “Gidget, my darling,” he said. “Come to papa.”
Gidget turned, bared her teeth and growled at him.
“You need to put your dog on a leash.” Alejandro kept his arms extended, keeping the dog at bay.
Cole glared at him like he’d said, “I pronounce that you’re a witch and I will now burn you at the stake. And your little dog too.”
“I think…” Cole leaned down and grabbed Gidget. He tucked her under his arm, pulled his shoulders back as he stood up tall and sucked in his stomach. “…that because you are gorgeous, Alejandro, and most likely popular, you believe people will listen to your every word like you are a savvy politician, a charismatic self-help author, or a Kardashian.”
Alex frowned. “You did not just compare me to a Kardashian.”
Cole sniffed. “Because you are charming with your cookies and flowers, you most likely believe your every suggestion will be obeyed. But I am here to tell you that you don’t really understand what it’s like to love an animal. A pet. You probably don’t even know what it’s like to love anyone. Probably not even another human being.”
“Cole!” I exclaimed. “Stop being a douche! Alejandro’s my friend. You’re my neighbor and my friend. And frankly, even though Gidget only growls at me, I believe we’re pals. I’m here until the end of summer. Could you all just play nice until I leave? Someone needs to apologize to someone else. And that suggestion is meant for all of you.”
“Not me, not Gidget, not tonight.” Cole disappeared back inside his apartment and slammed the door.
That left Alex. Sitting on my front doorstep. Awkwardly shifting from side to side. “Look,” he said.
“Thanks for trying,” I said. “Today was a tough day. I need to be alone.”
“I disagree.”
And that’s when I heard it. A single tiny, “Eep.”
“Oh my good God,” I said. “No freaking way.”
“Mew. Eep. Mehhh…” The sounds emanated from behind Alejandro.
“You rescued Napoleon, didn’t you?”
He smiled. “Yes.
I couldn’t help myself as I jumped up into the air, crouched back down and high-fived Alejandro.
He edged to the side of the concrete step revealing a cardboard cat carrier that featured round air holes carved in its sides. A tiny pink nose stuck out of one opening. It was Napoleon, his nostrils widening and narrowing as he sniffed the air.
“The head guy was closing the place early, Bonita, and I had to make a decision. So I got him. I signed the forms and adopted Napoleon. And now I’m giving the little bastard to you.”
“Oh my God!” I threw myself on Alex and hugged him hard. He fell back against my front door and I landed awkwardly in his lap. He grabbed me around my waist and stopped me from dropping off the porch onto the concrete.
“Oops,” I said my lips inches from his. I looked up into his eyes. “When I was a kid I was a bit of a klutz.”
“There is nothing remotely klutzy about this moment,” he said. “I wouldn’t mind catching you every time you fall.” He leaned toward me and his lips brushed mine. I felt the stubble on his chin on my face: It was rough but intoxicating.
I suddenly couldn’t breathe, and falling I was.
There was a small insistent scratching sound, claws on cardboard, followed by one pathetic mew.
I pulled my lips from Alejandro’s, backed away and ripped myself off his lap. “Thank you, thank you…” I knelt down next to the cardboard carrier and peered though a hole at Napoleon who was eyeing me suspiciously with one round yellow-green eye. “You are mine!” I exclaimed.
“You’re welcome.” Alex looked a little befuddled. “If I had known you would have plastered yourself all over me like Saran Wrap, I would have gotten you a cat a couple of weeks ago.”
“Any cat a couple of weeks ago wouldn’t have mattered. Napoleon matters. You matter. What you did for me today matters.” I broke into a sweat and fanned myself. “When did it get so hot out? I need to take him inside. I’m so excited! We need to get cat food and treats and a litter box and catnip.”
Alex stood up and pointed at two giant grocery bags behind him. A large scratch pad poked out the top of one bag.
“Oh, my God!” I hugged him again.
“Damn, should I get you another cat? I can only fantasize what might happen if I got you a second cat.”
I shoved the key in the door, opened it and picked up the cat carrier. “I don’t want another cat. I want this cat. You didn’t do just good, Alex. You did great. Want to come inside?”
He shook his head. “I thought you’d never ask.
* * *
“You owe me,” Alejandro said. “I saved your cat.” He drove the Jeep, top down, as the summer sun blasted down upon us.
Per usual, I rode shotgun in the passenger seat. He wouldn’t tell me ahead of time where we were going but he suggested I dress casual. I wore shorts and a halter top with a flared hem that landed at my waist.
“I tolerated your bitchy neighbor,” he said. “I attended yoga classes with you and did downward dog in front of complete strangers. I spotted three people checking out my ass. Jeez, that was embarrassing.”
I pretended to stare saucer-eyed at his butt. “Oh my God, has anyone ever told you what a fine behind you have?”
“Stop!” He covered a laugh. “I even took needles for you. This afternoon is my call.”
Strands of my hair whipped across my face and blew behind me under my new straw hat that I held onto with one hand on top. I discovered it wrapped up in tissue paper in the bottom of one
of the bags with the cat supplies and bottled water. I pulled it out thinking it was an awfully big cat toy.
“You’re in L.A.,” Alex had said. “You’re going to be a beach girl and you need a hat. I wanted something a little different for you. Hence the cross between country-western and a typical floppy beach hat.”
“I love it!” I plopped it on my head and rolled up the woven rim. “But I’m from Wisconsin—a state squarely in the northern part of the Midwest. What about me screams ‘country-western’?”
“Your take no prisoners attitude,” he said.
Now we drove through funky narrow streets where ramshackle apartment buildings were plopped between modern four level houses with pristine rooftop gardens. I smelled the ocean air and leaned back against the seat. I kicked my bare legs up and draped my feet out the passenger window. “I agree, Ralph,” I said. “I totally owe you for the Napoleon rescue. Where are you taking me?”
“Venice, Bonita. Because you haven’t lived in So-Cal until you’ve experienced the splendiferous, crazy Venice Beach scene.”
I thought about Pintdick Oscar and his friends, and despite the heat from the sun glaring down on us I suddenly felt cold. I closed my eyes and remembered how scared I was a couple weeks ago when I was lost and assaulted. “I heard Venice has a bunch of gangs. Are you sure it’s safe?”
“Venice Beach is technically part of L.A. Every big city has gangs. Hell, even small cities have them. And bullies know no boundaries—they’re everywhere.” He reached out and squeezed my arm. “You’re with me today. I’m your Driver. I’m your protector. I saved your cat. Stop questioning your safety. At least for today.”
“Okay.” I smiled and shook my head. “Today I am in your hands, Alejandro.” I placed my hand on top of his that was on the wheel.
He smiled at me from behind his Ray-ban aviator sunglasses: the faintest twinkle wrinkles etching next to his eyes, the dimples in his cheeks deepening.
The Story of You and Me Page 9
