I Have Never (A Laugh Out Loud Romantic Comedy)

by Camilla Isley

  “Since when did you become such a legal expert? You’re not even American.”

  “I came to the rescue with a lawyer friend. She’s waiting for me outside.”

  She? I get a mental picture of a sleek, attractive femme fatale in stiletto heels. Like Kim Basinger in LA Confidential. Another friend.

  “So what are my options?”

  Richard shrugs. “If I were you, I’d suck it up, apologize, and go home to shower.” He flares his nostrils for emphasis. “But if you want to spend the night in here with your furry inmate and face real charges, be my guest.”

  “Easy for you to say. You weren’t mistreated.”

  “Now, you’d better decide,” Richard says, turning his head toward the main entrance. “The officer in question is coming. Want me to wait and give you a lift home?”

  Hell, no. The less time the boss spends with me while I’m this messed up the better. And I can’t stand to meet his lawyer “friend” in this state either. “No, thank you. I’ll call my roommate.”

  “See you tomorrow at the office, then.”

  Richard winks and walks away.

  Mr. Mutt barks.

  “I know,” I say, patting the dog. “I like him, too.”

  ***

  By the time I get out of jail, it’s already dark outside and the animal shelter is closed. The rental company has retrieved the car from the location of my arrest, and there’s no cab or Uber in the world who’d take me for a ride while I’m this dirty. Not to mention the gasoline-soaked pup. Unfortunately, Nikki doesn’t have a car—I only used that excuse to get rid of Richard. So I—we—have to walk home. Luckily, this morning I picked shoes comfortable enough to drive in so they’re not too bad to walk in either, and my house is only a few blocks away.

  On the way there, I stop at a Petsmart and buy all the dog-grooming products they carry. At home, I give Mr. Mutt a very long bath. Then I give the bath a thorough cleaning before finally showering myself, hoping to wash away not only the dirt, but today’s humiliation as well. I’m dry and wearing PJs before Nikki comes home.

  “Is that a dog on our couch?” my roommate asks as she comes into the apartment.

  She’s not wrong. I spent the last twenty minutes losing another battle of wills. It started with me saying Mr. Mutt wasn’t allowed on the couch and ended with the puppy nestled in my lap.

  “Yes.”

  “I thought you weren’t an animal person. I’ve been begging you to get a cat for ages, you always said the house was too small for a pet, and now you bring home a dog?” Nikki sits on the coffee table, staring at us accusingly. “Does he have a name? Where did you find him?”

  “I call him Mr. Mutt.”

  “That’s a horrible name.”

  “And I found him at a Chevron…”

  Mr. Mutt barks.

  “…gas station. What’s up with you?” I ask the dog.

  Nikki studies him. “He barked when you said Chevron.”

  The pup barks again.

  “Chevron?” I repeat.

  And again.

  “I think we settled that horrible Mr. Mutt name, right, Chevron?” Nikki asks.

  “Ar-rooff!”

  Nikki finally pats him. “So are we keeping him?”

  “No.”

  An excruciating howl rips through the room.

  “Oh, I forgot,” I say. “The pup speaks English.”

  “Right,” Nikki says skeptically. “So what is he doing here if he isn’t staying?”

  “The plan was to drop him at Animal Heaven, but by the time I got out of jail the shelter was closed. I couldn’t leave him on the street.”

  Nikki is about to pet Chevron again when she stops, hand in midair. “Wait, reverse. Jail?”

  “Yeah, jail…” I tell her of my afternoon of misery.

  “Aw, so now Mr. Hot Sticker even saved you from prison.”

  “Richard didn’t save me from prison. He just had to be there as a witness, and used it as an excuse to hook up with a lady lawyer.”

  Nikki scrunches her face. “Ouch.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “Of course you don’t. Just as much as we aren’t keeping the puppy.”

  “Woof!”

  Seven

  Always Be Responsible

  There’s something bulgy on my bed that’s preventing me from stretching my legs. So annoying. I ignore the nuisance for as long as I can until finally I blink my eyes open and find a set of big brown eyes fixated on me.

  When Chevron notices I’m awake, he starts wagging his tail like mad. Oh, right! I still need to take him to a shelter. At five thirty in the morning, shelters must be closed, but it’s not too early to take Chevron for a run.

  “Let’s see what you’re made of,” I tell him, getting up.

  After putting on my running clothes and sneakers, I secure Chevron with the brand new leash I bought yesterday. The pup pants hah-hah-hah happily the entire time, his tail never sitting still. I reward him with a dog cookie and we exit the apartment.

  As soon as we’re outside, Chevron stops near a streetlight to relieve himself. Oh, crap! What if he has to go number two? I’ve nothing to pick it up with. Luckily, Chevron lowers his leg and looks up at me expectantly.

  “Let’s go.”

  “Woof!”

  We make our way to the Hudson River. I start with a slow jog to see how Chevron copes as I’m not sure how malnourished he is. From the way he devoured his dinner yesterday, I’m guessing very.

  Still, he seems able to keep up. I quicken my pace and he follows suit. Having this little ball of fur run at my feet makes me strangely blissful. Weird… running alone has always been my thing. Whenever a boyfriend or a friend asks to join me, I can’t help but resent them. Feels like an intrusion on my special me-time. Running is a moment of self-reflection and liberation I usually want to spend alone. But today, having Chevron track alongside, I’m one-hundred percent glad for the company. And the puppy seems to enjoy the exertion just as much.

  All the same, I cut the run short. I don’t want to overwhelm this little guy.

  Back home, I shower and search for shelters’ hours as I eat breakfast. Most don’t open until noon. I guess I could work from home in the morning and go to the office in the afternoon. Richard seems the kind of boss who’d be flexible about office hours. But I’d better make sure, so I text him to ask if it’s okay, explaining the dog situation. My phone pings back at once with his reply.

  Why don’t you bring the little guy with you?

  As per my contacts renaming kink, Richard ended up as Jerry Maguire. The sexiest boss in chick flick history seemed like a good match for him.

  To the office?

  R u sure?

  Yeah

  A friend of mine runs a vet clinic here in Brooklyn

  I can take you both there when it opens

  Another friend, huh? Someone with long legs and batting lashes, I’m sure.

  I type, “Okay, thanks,” and end the text with a double paw emoji.

  “Good news,” I tell Chevron. “You’re coming to the office with me.”

  “Woof.”

  “All right, let’s do this.”

  Before we leave, I check the subway website for regulations on dog transportation… And we’re out of luck again. Apparently, all animals need to be inside a pet carrier to be allowed on trains.

  “You know what? We’re going to walk today. It’s only two miles.”

  “Ar rooff.”

  Nikki, clad in cat-print PJs, shuffles out of her room like a zombie and joins us at the kitchen bar.

  “Is there coffee?” she asks.

  I pour her a mug while an overexcited Chevron waggles his tail in welcome.

  Nikki ignores him. “You’re wasting your charms, little guy. I’m a cat person.”

  With a single cry, Chevron lays at her feet, subdued.

  “She’s joking,” I cons
ole him.

  “I’m not,” Nikki insists.

  Chevron wails again and nuzzles her bare feet with his wet nose.

  Nikki tries to remain aloof but her resolve breaks. “All right.” She leans down to pat Chevron’s head, and the good pup tries to jump into her lap. Nikki pets him a little longer and then asks, “So what’s the deal with the dog?”

  When I tell her of my plans with Richard, she raises an eyebrow at me. I wish I knew how to do that skeptical expression. If I tried to raise just one brow in a sassy way, I’d end up looking ridiculous.

  “No comment,” Nikki says.

  “Why? What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing, just saving the ‘I told you so’ for later.”

  “What exactly did you tell me?”

  “That the dog is staying… Hmm, what else?” Nikki gives me a shrewd look to clue me into the fact that she’s really talking about Richard. I play dumb, so she adds, “Anyway, I’ll be gone tonight.”

  “Where to this time?” Video marketing is the best job; she gets to travel so much.

  “Just upstate for the night; gotta get ready. The crew is picking me up in”—she looks at her watch—“twenty minutes.”

  Nikki turns around the bar and hugs me goodbye then bends down to scratch Chevron behind the ears. The puppy is so ecstatic that he follows her to her room.

  I go after them and turn right instead of left to reach my bedroom. Since I have to walk, I change into a pair of pants and a blouse so that I can wear gym shoes for the crossing to Brooklyn without appearing too weird. Foldable flats do the trick only for short trips. I grab my duffel bag from under the bed where it’s been since my breakup with Gerard, and put together a basic dog-at-the-office survival kit. A bag of dog cookies, a bowl for food, another bowl for water, and, for me, a pair of high-wedged pink All Stars. No matter if I’m in sportswear, no one can see me without heels. At the last minute, I add a bundle of plastic bags.

  There. Now I’m ready for any doggy situation.

  ***

  As soon as Chevron steps a paw into the office, he becomes the center of attention. I leave him with grungy Saffron and vintage Ada to go drop the duffel bag at my workstation.

  There’s a big bowl of oranges placed on the desk. How odd. I’m about to take out Chevron’s water bowl and fill it when Hugo, the ginger News Editor, comes near my desk with two weird metallic mugs.

  “Want some coffee?” he asks, offering me one.

  “Oh, wow. Thanks.” Hugo never makes me coffee. Where does the extra-nice attitude come from?

  As I bring the mug to my lips, it feels like everyone is watching me. Like one of those slow motion moments in sitcoms where all the actors are holding their breath, waiting for something to happen. My eyes finally focus on the black writing on the side of the mug: USP ALCATRAZ. I lower the cup, aghast, and everyone starts laughing. They were watching me. That’s also when Indira spins in her chair, showing the front of her bright orange T-shirt. It spells, “I want to be your prison wife.”

  My entire body heats. Not just my face, but my neck and shoulders all flare bright red. Everything makes sense now. The oranges, the mug, the suspense… they know I’ve been in jail. Damn Richard, I’m going to strangle him!

  “Very funny,” I say. And the laughter doubles.

  I have to endure half an hour of prison jokes before Richard appears. “How are our two inmates doing today?” he greets Chevron and me.

  I scowl at him.

  “Still ruffled, are we?”

  “I’d like to see how happy you’d be after being unjustly arrested and made to apologize for it,” I reply pettily.

  “You should write an article about police brutality,” Indira suggests, unable to hide the amusement in her voice.

  “Nice shirt,” Richard tells her.

  She winks. “Thanks, boss.”

  I roll my eyes and hide under my desk to pat Chevron, who promptly nudges my calves in support.

  “So.” Richard squats down next to us, eyes level with mine.

  For a moment, all the air leaves my lungs. Finding myself almost nose-to-nose with Richard is giving me heart palpitations. When will he stop having this effect on me?

  “Want to check out the clinic?” the boss asks, scratching Chevron behind the ears.

  The treacherous dog forgets all about me and goes to nuzzle Richard’s face. And for the first time in my life, I’m jealous of a quadruped.

  ***

  The veterinary clinic is only a ten-minute walk from the office, but as our trio strolls down the streets of Brooklyn, I can’t help noticing the seething looks of envy New Yorker women send my way. Walking with Richard and a happy puppy, I must look like I’m living the dream. If only the ladies knew how far from picture-perfect my life really is.

  Needless to say, the vet is female. Not only that, she greets us with a perfect smile worthy of a toothpaste commercial. Actually, her general wholesomeness would play well in a family friendly advert. With big blue eyes, chestnut hair, and rosy cheeks, she’s an image of friendly beauty—particularly friendly toward Richard.

  As she comes out from behind the admission desk, her cheeks become rosier, her smile broadens—how is that even possible? How many teeth does she have?—and her eyes sparkle with something that could only be described as utter adoration. So the vet, too, has a crush on the boss. Have they dated in the past? Is everything Indira said true? Did Richard literally leave a trail of broken hearts sprinkled all over New York?

  After greeting us and introducing herself as Michelle, the vet shifts her entire attention to Chevron. Not even Richard’s Bambi-like eyes can compete with real puppy eyes.

  Michelle picks Chevron up and cuddles him. “And who do we have here?” The puppy loves the attention and yaps and nuzzles in response. “Good boy, oh, you’re such a good boy.”

  As Michelle walks away with my dog, an explicable pang of something makes my throat tighten. Okay, no need to get territorial. Not over Richard and not over the dog—who’s not your dog, by the way, as there’s no way you can keep him. Begrudgingly, I follow the vet into an examination room.

  With Chevron placed on a metallic table, Michelle asks me an infinite series of questions—most of which I have no clue how to answer—and then she tells us she needs to do a full checkup. The clinic closes at six in the evening and Chevron will be ready for pickup after four.

  Even if I know I’m going to see him in just a few hours, I get withdrawal syndrome symptoms as early as my first step away from the room. His desperate cries following us as we leave don’t help either.

  Richard must notice because he tries to distract me with conversation. “You actually named the dog after the gas station?” he asks as we walk back to the office.

  “Every time someone said Chevron he barked, what was I supposed to do?”

  “That fur ball is so adorable, he makes me want to go to a shelter and adopt a little guy just like him.”

  “No need for a shelter, you can adopt exactly him.”

  Richard stops dead in the street and turns toward me. “You’re not keeping him?”

  “Even if I wanted to, there’s no way I can.”

  “Why not?”

  “My apartment is too small, I’m out all day, and I don’t have a car.”

  “You could bring him to the office. He could become our mascot. And since when is a car essential to having a dog?”

  “For one, he’s not allowed on the subway.”

  “How did you come to work today?”

  “We walked.”

  “All the way from Manhattan?” Richard seems impressed, and we start walking again. “You could’ve told me. I would’ve picked you up.”

  I wave him off. “It’s no big deal.”

  “So what are you going to do with the puppy?”

  “I’m bringing him to a shelter… unless you want him.”

  “He’s not going to a bloody shelter.
”

  This time I stop. “What else am I supposed to do? I’m only being responsible here.”

  “That’s your problem. Maybe you should put more heart into what you do!”

  I gasp. “That’s rich coming from you.”

  “Me, why?”

  “Because you should take your own advice.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Put your heart in what you do.”

  “And where did you get the notion that my heart is not in what I do?”

  “Maybe from the fact that in the short time I’ve worked for you, you’ve dated—what? Three, four different women? And the vet seems like another old flame.”

  Richard doesn’t deny it. A dark shadow crosses his face, and he flashes me a hard, reproachful glare. “How I spend my time outside the office is none of your business. You’ve no place passing judgment on my personal life.”

  “Neither is it any of your business if I want to adopt a dog or not, and you shouldn’t judge me if I say I can’t. Again, take your own advice.” With that, I march away, quickening my pace without waiting for my stupid boss.

  ***

  Even if we don’t say another word to each other for the rest of the day, the moment I get up to leave the office, Richard joins me.

  He stops next to me as I wait for the elevator. “I’m coming with you,” he threatens, and I don’t dare retort.

  Wrapped in a heavy silence, we walk back toward the clinic.

  Until Richard breaks. “I should apologize for earlier; it wasn’t my place to talk to you the way I did.”

  “I’m sorry, too. Same as you said.”

  “So we’re good?” Richard asks, staring dead ahead.

  “Yeah, we’re good.”

  Tension lingers. We were both out of line earlier. Still, I appreciate Richard apologizing first.

  At the clinic, I bear witness once again to Michelle’s love-struck attitude toward the boss. And it’s a good ten minutes before she notices I’m even there and brings us to see Chevron.

  “So how’s he doing?”

  “Our puppy is actually a she,” Michelle informs us.

  “You’re a girl?” I ask Chevron, who’s back on the table chasing her tail in circles and yapping. I focus on Michelle. “Anything else?”