by Michele Hauf
The impromptu arrangement looked great on my nightstand. As I stared at the pale purple flowers, an idea began to take root in my mind. My next heroine could have eyes like this. Lavender-colored eyes...
I sat cross-legged on the bed, grabbed my laptop, created a new document and started making notes. I decided to try my hand at Romantic Comedy for the first time. I felt like writing comedy, and if I managed to insert only a fraction of all the funny stuff I’d seen and lived, it would be a hoot.
For instance, I could describe the time when I was at the police station back home, doing research for a book. I knew a guy who lived next to my parents’ house, and I was working on a thriller for which I needed some documentation. While I was talking to Gus, a teenage dude stumbled inside and, barely keeping his balance, informed Gus he was there to make an official complaint against his regular dealer, because he’d sold him low quality pot.
As I typed the notes, I was laughing to myself at the memory. Living in a big city had its moments of fun. I also wrote down the episode with the exhibitionist. My parents had just purchased their house a couple of weeks earlier, and when I came to visit them one day, I saw Mrs. Crenshaw, their neighbor, watering her plants. As I parked my car, I noticed a guy approaching Mrs. Crenshaw, unzipping his pants and waving his wanger at her. Outraged, I grabbed my bag and burst out of the car to rescue her. But she bent down to take a closer look at the guy’s half-a-hard-on.
“I remember them things being bigger than this,” she’d said, shaking her head thoughtfully. “But today’s young people aren’t what real men in my time were like. Next thing you’ll be getting your period, young man.”
By the time I filled a few pages with these kinds of recollections, my face hurt from so much grinning. I thought I could write one hell of a funny story. I was about to write down one more thing, but my stomach gave a loud growl, at the same time my phone happened to ring. My heart skipped a beat when I saw it was Blake. As I reached for the phone, I wondered if he’d seen the newspaper.
“Hello,” I answered breathlessly.
“Hey, beautiful. How are you doing?”
His voice had a low, sexy quality that caressed my senses.
“I’m okay, writing. Have you arrived in New York?”
“Just landed. We’re on our way to the hotel now.”
“How was the flight?”
“Full of hot dreams.”
Oh, boy! He didn’t know. I had to tear myself away from the temptation of sliding back into the same hot dreams, and face the reality.
“Blake, there’s something I have to tell you,” I said tentatively. “Um, have you seen any of today’s newspapers?”
“No, I almost never read the newspapers. Why?”
I took a deep breath.
“Well... My mom called me this morning to tell me that pictures of you and I are all over the tabloids, and I’ve seen for myself the Internet is full of them. Someone photographed us last night at the restaurant.”
I bit my lower lip in the short silence that followed. I expected him to be furious that his privacy had been violated, but he only said, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have exposed you to those sharks. Do they know who you are?”
“No. They called me ‘the mysterious girl with the butterfly tattoo’,” I replied dryly.
He uttered a short laugh. “That fits somehow. Listen, Kendra, I should have warned you. Going out with me can have downsides like this. I... never reveal my private life. I thought I was protecting you last night, because that restaurant has always been a paparazzi-free zone. But I guess it’s no longer safe. I could sue them, but that would only create a bigger scandal.” He paused for a bit. “Does this bother you? Of course it bothers you,” he said on a self-reproaching note before I could answer. “I can imagine what they wrote about us, about you. I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean to drag your name...”
“Blake, you don’t have to apologize,” I said, stunned by his reaction and deeply touched by his thoughtfulness. “It’s not your fault. You have the right to a personal life, for God’s sake! And yes, it infuriates me both our privacies were violated, but I understand you’ll never be rid of the press and their speculations. I... I can live with that if you can,” I said shyly. “I mean, for the time we will be seeing each other,” I added quickly, not wanting him to think I was planning to tie him up forever.
“Oh, anxious to get rid of me already?”
His tone sounded joking, but there was a slight edge to it.
“No, of course not. Far from it,” I whispered softly.
“Whew! That’s a relief, because I’m sitting here in the limo, whispering into my phone like a teenager and wondering how it’s possible to miss you already.”
I let myself slide down the pillow and onto the bed like melted ice cream, closing my eyes in bliss. I remembered his lips on my breasts, his hands on my body, his mouth on mine, his incredible gray eyes smoky with desire.
“I miss you too, Blake.”
After a few moments of silence, during which I was sure our erotic recollections merged together as our bodies had last night, he said, “Listen, we’ve arrived at the hotel. I’ll call you later, okay?”
“Sure. Take care.”
“You too. I can’t wait for you to get here.”
I put the phone back on the nightstand, unable to wipe the large smile off my face. He’d missed me! Blake Tyler, famous movie star and idol of millions of women across the world had missed me. Somehow, this simple statement was just as important, or even more meaningful than our lovemaking.
I wasn’t as naive as to think he’d been a saint. He’d probably had dozens of women in and out of his bed. As I pictured him doing with another woman what he’d done with me, my smile faded. I felt a painful twinge in my heart. An image of Richard and his blonde bimbo flashed through my mind. It was absurd, because I honestly didn’t love Richard and didn’t care about his betrayal anymore. I had never been as attracted to him as I was to Blake, and never had he made me feel so special, so wanted. I guess my subconscious wasn’t ready yet to forgive and forget his cheating. But I wasn’t going to let the ghost of the relationship I’d had with Richard ruin the happiness Blake made me feel.
I didn’t want to think about what would happen next, if what we had would last for a week or a lifetime. I was going to enjoy every second by his side. With renewed energy, I sat up again and began writing, mentally sketching my fictitious heroine and placing her in absurdly comic situations. I hadn’t been so inspired in a long time, so I had to take full advantage of this creative spell.
It wasn’t until the light began to fade that I lifted my gaze from the screen of my laptop. When I looked out the window, I saw the sun had set, leaving only a few scattered reddish rays to peek through the California palm trees. I’d been so engrossed in my work the day had passed without me. However, even as I stretched my stiff legs and rubbed my aching back, my good mood lingered. I had put in over five thousand words, which was an impressive accomplishment for any writer.
As I put the laptop aside, my stomach gave a loud growl, reminding me I hadn’t eaten since yesterday. Blake was not going to feed me golden potatoes tonight, so I had to content myself with the next best thing. I grabbed my phone and dialed my usual restaurant, to order a large pizza with extra cheese and pepperoni. While I waited, I took a quick shower. I was drying my hair with a towel when the doorbell rang, announcing my pizza had arrived.
After I paid the delivery boy, I dashed to the bedroom and opened the divine-smelling box. I took only a second to admire the rich dough covered with a mountain of melted cheese, then I dug in. Between bites, I opened my laptop again to put on a movie, since I had no TV yet. I chose The Addams Family, one of my all-time favorites. I had nothing better to do, so I might as well have a movie marathon night.
Half a pizza later I was so stuffed I had difficulty breathing. Somehow, I’d never mastered the ability to control my appetite. I was lucky I had an excellent metabolism,
otherwise I would be obese because of all the junk food I ate. Not to mention the cookies and other sweets.
By the time I finished watching the first Addams Family movie, it was dark outside. A glance at the clock showed me it was almost ten. I wondered what Blake was doing. I longed to call him, but didn’t want to look—actually, show him—how desperate I was to hear his voice. It was going to be a long week.
Groaning, I forced myself to get up and do some tidying. I opened the window to let in the cool, fragrant night air. Nearby, crickets were chirping their beautiful, melodious serenades. I’d read somewhere that only male crickets could sing. The sounds were produced when the insects rubbed their wings together, and were mostly mating calls.
I bent to pick up the pizza box and an empty can of Cola. Sliding my feet into flip-flops, I unlocked the front door and walked around back to put the garbage in the trash bin. I was just lowering the lid on the bin, when I had the eerie feeling someone was watching me.
I looked around slowly and thoroughly, trying to ignore the goose bumps that rose on my arms. Then I spotted the intruder, his face half hidden, his eyes glinting among the abundant foliage of a bush.
My heart gave a short leap as I straightened, trying uselessly to find a weapon in the dark. There was nothing I could use to defend myself. As though sensing this, the intruder advanced a bit, seemingly unsure of what to do next.
“Holy crap! Where the hell did you come from, Baskerville?”
I barely breathed the words, as the huge black dog took a hesitant step toward me, then another. Scared as I was, I thought he looked like a wolf. An enormous, terrifying, lethal wolf. I almost expected his eyes to turn a glowing red.
I honestly don’t know what I would have done if he’d attacked me, but in the next moment two things happened at once: I noticed one of his front paws was bent and hanging loosely, as though it was broken, and when he tried to take another step toward me, he stumbled and put his weight on it. His involuntary yelp was heartbreaking. I was beside him in a second, regardless of any potential danger.
“Poor boy, what happened to you?”
I knelt in front of him and extended my knuckles toward him, letting him smell me. It was a trick I’d read about in Diana Gabaldon’s Outlander, and I hoped to God she knew what she was writing about.
The dog—not a wolf as I’d initially thought—gave me a cautious sniff. Then he did something extraordinary: he rested his head on my thigh, as though he’d finally found solace after a long, exhausting journey. My heart melted. I stroked him, whispering random words of comfort as I touched him gently, searching for more injuries other than his broken paw. I found none, except for a patch of missing fur around his neck. There was a scar that circled his throat, where the raw tissue was exposed. Obviously he’d been tied tightly, for an extended period of time. Tears stung my eyes and my teeth clenched at the thought of the monster who’d done this to a defenseless animal.
“Thank God you got away.”
At this, I received a grateful lick on my hand, which made me laugh through the tears. I buried my hands in the thick fur, wondering what to do about the dog. It was too late to take him to a vet, even if I knew one, which I didn’t. I half dragged, half carried him up the back porch, turned on the outside light, filled a bowl with water and grabbed the rest of the pizza I had yet to put in the fridge. When I rushed back, he was lying patiently on his side, waiting for me.
“I’m sorry, honey, but this is all the food I have,” I said, placing the water and a piece of pizza in front of him.
He didn’t acknowledge the food, but he pounced on the water, lapping it up greedily until the bowl was empty. He was parched, poor thing! I brought him another one, my heart full of pity. Only after he drank another bowl did he stop and put his head back down, panting, his pink tongue hanging between his white teeth.
Now that I was able to analyze him closely, I saw he didn’t look malnourished. His black fur was clean and glossy. I couldn’t tell what breed he was—I took a peek to confirm it was a he—but my initial impression of a wolf was accurate. Probably a German Shepherd hybrid. His dark eyes watched me earnestly as I gently explored his crooked front paw. I had no idea how he’d managed to break it, but I was sure it was broken. When I tried to probe further, he gave a short yelp and snatched the paw away, placing it onto the ground.
I sat helplessly beside him, stroking his head soothingly. There wasn’t much I could do for him tonight, other than give him water and food. And make him more comfortable. Back inside, I took the blanket off the bed and folded it to create a soft makeshift mattress. I was startled when my phone rang. It was Blake.
“Hey, I was just thinking of calling you,” I said, cradling the phone between my cheek and shoulder as I walked through the kitchen, to the back porch.
“Really?”
“Yep. I have a... request involving you, me and a large black dog.”
There was a beat of silence. Then two. Finally, he said, “You’ve got my full attention.”
I choked out a laugh as I spread the blanket next to the dog and helped him move onto it.
“It’s nothing kinky, just so we’re clear.”
“My hopes are crushed.”
“You pervert!”
“That’s not what you said last night.”
Damn him! With a single sentence spoken in that evocative tone, he could make me turn into a pile of horny jelly. However, this wasn’t the time to play. I told him briefly about the dog and his condition.
“So I wanted to ask if you know a good animal clinic around here,” I finished. “I don’t necessarily mean in Malibu. I can take him to Los Angeles if I have to. I just want him to have the best care.”
Blake blew out a long breath. “Nope, sorry. I can’t think of any vet clinic. I love animals, but I haven’t had pets since I moved to L.A. Too busy. What about his owner?”
“I don’t care about his owner. I’m not returning him to be mistreated again,” I said firmly, ruffling the dog’s pointy ears. He seemed better now, pushing his long muzzle into my hand, as though he sensed he’d been rescued. “For better or worse, he’s mine now.”
I could hear the smile in Blake’s voice. “I can’t blame you. I’d do the same. You should search vets and clinics on Google. I’m sure there has to be at least one in Malibu.”
“I’ll do that.” I glanced at my watch. “Hey, it’s past eleven. What time is it over there?”
“Almost two a.m.”
“And why aren’t you sleeping?”
“I am, almost. I just wanted to call you before I crashed.”
Only now did I realize his voice was a bit slurred with fatigue. My heart warmed again and my stroking fingers sought comfort in the dog’s fur. I wanted to touch Blake, to hold him, but I had to content myself with a phone call for now.
“I’m glad you did,” I murmured. “But please, go to sleep now. You didn’t get any rest last night.”
“I know,” he replied huskily. “Fortunately.”
“Yeah... Well, I’ll let you rest. Sweet dreams.”
“To you too, Kendra.”
I was about to disconnect when he asked, “By the way, what do you plan to name your new pal?”
I looked down at my unexpected companion, who was watching me steadily with kind, devoted brown eyes. Even if he was a mongrel, he had a classy air about him. I immediately dismissed cliché-ish names like Butch, Spike or Krull.
On a wave of inspiration I said, “Duke.”
17
As soon as I woke up the next morning, I flung the sheet aside and padded to the back porch to see if Duke was still there. I was relieved to find him lying on the blanket, black fur shining in the sunlight. I could swear he smiled when he saw me. As I knelt beside him, he lifted his head and licked my hand.
“Hey, boy, how are you doing?”
I cooed as I inspected him once more. The broken paw was stiff and obviously he was in considerable pain. He couldn’t stand my touch
ing it. I frowned, worried when I saw he hadn’t eaten. He’d finished the water though, so I quickly refilled his bowl. Rushing to the bedroom, I switched on my laptop and began to research local animal clinics.
I found one near the Malibu Civic Center, and less than twenty minutes later I was on my way, with Duke settled as comfortably as possible in the back seat.
To my relief, the staff at the clinic were very helpful and, more importantly, efficient. The slender, young doctor asked me pertinent questions about the dog. After he examined Duke and took a blood sample, he told me the animal’s paw wasn’t broken, but his knee joint was dislocated. The doctor assured me that this was good news, and that the injury could be treated more easily than a broken bone.
I sat patiently in the waiting area, while the doctor treated Duke’s leg. Several hours later, when he finally returned to the waiting room, my ass was numb and my nerves taut.
“The procedure went well,” he told me, smiling when he noticed my shoulders slumped in relief. “I would like to keep him under observation overnight. I don’t foresee any problems, but I’m a cautious person by nature,” he added, giving me a glimpse of white teeth from under his hairy upper lip.
I smiled back. “Whatever you think best, Doctor Hopkins. I can’t thank you enough. When shall I come pick him up?”
“Tomorrow afternoon would be best. I’ll also test him further to make sure he’s parasite-free and has all the necessary vaccines. He is in good shape, although he’s very shy and subdued. He needs a loving owner who’ll give him the affection and attention he needs. Dogs require someone to talk to them and treat them like buddies. I’ll prescribe an ointment for his neck, to help the healing process. I’ll leave the prescriptions and other information with Nurse Campbell.”
