A Question of Manhood (27 page)

“Maybe I wanted to see how you and the queer kid are getting along.”

I picked up a bag of dog treats and shoved them at his chest. “Eat shit, Marty. You don't scare me. Anybody questions me, I'll just point out how I was able to ‘do the deed' with our prostitute, and you failed to perform.”

“Like hell you will. Hey, what are these things for?”

“You're buying them, or you can face the possibility that my dad'll have you arrested for breaking and entering.”

He held them up and stared at the bag. “Why these?”

Unbelievably, it seemed as though he was backing down. As though once he knew I would throw shit back at him, he wasn't heaving any more at me. All I said was, “They're Dante's favorites.” Didn't matter that it wasn't quite true.

“Dante the monster in the back?”

“Yup. And he's my dog now. Got a problem with that?”

Marty slapped my shoulder. “Simmer down, boy!” He held the bag up, saluted me with it, and headed toward the registers. “See ya around.”

I watched him go, and in my mind's eye I could see Dante the day his owner had brought him in. Pacing, threatening, snarling, until JJ had stood up to him. Until he realized that JJ had his number. I stood there just long enough to be sure Marty wasn't going to avoid payment, and then I headed back to the stockroom.

Another surprise awaited me. There was Dad, crouched down over Dante, stroking his ears and saying, “Good dog, Dante. Good boy.” JJ, standing a little away and watching, looked up at me as I came in.

Dad saw me. “That troublemaker gone?”

“Gone.”

“What did he buy?”

“Some dog treats.”
See, Marty? I was right to make you get something.

“You boys clean up in here”—he pointed toward the mess Marty had made—“and then carry on with your work. I'm going back to the office.” He started out the door but turned at the last minute. “Paul, maybe I'll walk Dante with you later.”

Well, well.
JJ beamed at me. “This is going to work, you know?”

JJ and I bent over our task. At one point we reached for the same packet; he backed off. I said, “Something about Marty reminded me of how Dante was pacing the day he showed up here.”

A few seconds of silence, and then JJ said, “I can see why you'd say that. And maybe with retraining, Marty could be recovered, too. But right now he reminds me more of the guy who brought Dante in than he reminds me of Dante.”

“The tattooed guy? Why d'you say that?”

“They both want you to think they're much tougher than they really are, and they'll walk all over anyone they can in their efforts to prove it.”

“So, what, you just stand up to them and they back off?”

“Sometimes. It depends.”

“On what?”

“On how cornered they feel and how much they think they might lose. On how scared they think you are. On how many buddies they have around them. Bullies don't want to be beaten; they can't afford it, because they'd lose too much status. So they won't start a fight they aren't sure they can win. They don't fight for principles; they fight for self-image.”

“You sound like you know a lot about bullies.”

JJ snorted. “With a name like mine, with a face like mine, and as short as I've always been, you bet I do.”

I almost brought up being gay, but I didn't dare do that again. Guess I'm trainable. Instead, picking up a packet and throwing it onto the pile, I said, “You don't back down from dogs like Dante. Do you back down from bullies?”

He straightened up and brushed his hands off. “Did I back down from his owner?”

No; I had to admit he didn't. “I guess not. But you were scared of Marty the first time you saw him.”

“I recognized him for what he is, just as he recognized me. And to be honest, I'm really, really tired of people like him, which is too bad because it seems like there are a lot of them. I just didn't feel like dealing with him.”

“How would you deal with him?”

“Depends. When I was little, I would have just made myself too much trouble. A kid like me? I was always a target. But bullies really don't want to get caught. If they beat me up and I told on them, I'd be in even deeper trouble. But running away was a drag, and it didn't always work. So I fought back. I still got pulverized, but when the teacher or whoever came thundering toward us, I wasn't the only one with blood on him. And they knew better than to think I'd started anything. So the bully would get caught.”

I just stared at him, wishing I could say I had that much guts, even to myself. I would have expected someone like JJ—especially if he was gay—to whimper and beg not to be hit anyplace it would show. But from what I knew about JJ by this point, how stupid was that assumption?

I bent over to pick up the last fallen package. “I had this weird dream last night.” I didn't know I was going to say that; it just came out. The image of the boat had stayed with me all day long.

“Are you going to tell me what it was?”

I shrugged. And I told him about the gay schooner, and about what the narrator said. “I feel like it means something. But I can't think what.”

“Are you asking what I think?”

“I guess so.”

“A couple of things occur to me. It's like I said to you about stereotyping, when we were putting up Dante's run. Remember? But even more, I think it's like what my mom says when I have a dream that keeps repeating. Maybe you haven't had the dream more than once, but it's almost like you had it several times in one night. Anyway, she says it's because there's a lesson in it we haven't learned yet.”

He stopped, like that was it, so I said, “Okay, so what's the lesson in this one for me?”

“What do
you
think? What is it you need to learn about people who are gay?” I guess he figured I wasn't about to answer that right here and now, so he said, “So, shall we get back to work, like your dad said?”

When we got back into the store, Mrs. Carter was waiting for JJ. She didn't have Gypsy with her, but she'd come for a consultation. As I was moving away, I heard Mrs. Carter saying something like how much better Gypsy was to walk, using JJ's techniques.

Walking Dante with Dad was interesting. JJ went with us, I guess just in case something happened, but he took the leash only once when Dante went a little insane seeing another dog. It wasn't a long walk, with Dad's leg, but other than the one crisis he held the leash the whole time. I'm a little ashamed to say I felt jealous.

 

One thing that Dante did for me was to take my mind off of the fact that I was very much still in a harness myself. On a tight leash. Penned in. However you want to look at it. Dealing with him, learning the best ways to handle him and maintain my position as alpha, took a lot of focus. I'd still rant and rave a little at night as I jerked off, but my days were less of a burden with Dante in the picture.

He got so that he loved spending time outside on the run, and we stopped needing the harness and the muzzle after a week or so. Sometimes I would look at him and think how happy he seemed, how I'd helped take away the awful life he'd been living, how his worries were gone. He seemed to think so, anyway. Oh, he was still difficult on the leash when he saw other dogs or bicycles, but not as bad as he had been. I could walk him alone with just a standard choke collar, no need for the prongs anymore. But I still had to fight pangs of jealousy when Dad took him for short walks, usually with JJ.

Things would have been at least decent, considering my virtual incarceration, if it hadn't been for Marty and Kevin. Marty must have decided I was okay or something after all, and the two of them started coming around when they knew I was likely to be on lunch break. Dante still hated Marty, and he stood staring at him the whole time Marty was around, but he didn't lunge. It was kind of like he just wanted Marty to know he shouldn't pull any funny stuff, whatever that would have meant to Dante. For his part, Marty tried to ignore the dog, but I noticed he always positioned himself as far away from Dante as he could before he fell into his studied casual pose.

I guess if I'd had any other friends I could see that summer, I would have told Marty—and Kevin, who was less of a troublemaker but obviously under Marty's influence to some extent—to get lost. As it was, though, they were it. They were all I had. And I was still pissed enough at Dad for so many things that hanging with Marty was almost like a slap in the face to my dad, and I wanted that. Take that, Dad, for telling me to be a man and then making it impossible for me to do that. Take that, for overreacting to my little romp in the hay with Lady Pink Vest. Take that, for not letting me have any of my own fucking money. Take that, for not letting me go on one stinking date all summer.

And while you're at it, take THAT for making Chris die. For making him do what you couldn't, to be the man you couldn't be. For forcing him to go someplace he hated, and then to get killed there before he had a chance to get back to being normal.

TAKE THAT!

That last one? That's what I wanted to shout every time I came. Every time I shot cum. It was like I was shooting Dad with the gun he was never given.

People kept bringing their dogs into the store to see JJ. The appointment thing worked pretty well, once customers caught on to it. But did Dad ever thank me? You know the answer to that. Instead he just kept piling praise onto JJ. It was, “Oh, JJ, you were so good with Mrs. So-and-so.” And, “JJ, how did you learn how to do that?” And, “JJ, how did you manage to get that animal under control?” And, “JJ, I can't tell you how delighted I am to have you with us this summer.” It made me grind my teeth.

JJ brought Cain in a few times on Wednesdays. I gotta say, that was one ugly dog. Little piggy eyes you couldn't see very well, ears clipped into tight curls that pointed toward each other over the top of his head. Didn't look like he had a wasted ounce of body space; there was no fat on him anywhere. Most of his short fur was charcoal, but there was a thin line of white down the center of his face and a blaze of it on his chest. I didn't know a lot about pit bulls except that they could be mean, and this one looked like he could live up to it if he wanted to. He wasn't a big dog, though. Not as big as Dante.

On the first few visits with Cain, JJ came in through the store only as far as the closed stockroom door, if Dante was inside, and I could hear Dante growling in there while Cain just hung out. Or JJ would take Cain into the stockroom, if Dante was outside. He said he was gradually introducing Dante to Cain's scent. It was funny to watch Dante in the stockroom, if he'd been outside and Cain had violated his sanctuary. He'd nose all around and growl a little. Once he lifted his leg, but I caught him before he could do much.

By sometime in July Dante stopped reacting very much at all, and JJ said it was time for them to meet. He and Dad, who was very interested to see this event, waited with Cain in the store, just inside the open door to the stockroom, and JJ asked me to bring Dante in from his run.

“Put the choke collar on first. Be sure you have a good grip on the leash, and be ready to yank him around so his back is to us if need be. I'll stand here where we can shut the door between the dogs if that becomes necessary.”

Doing my best not to seem nervous, I grabbed Dante's choke collar and leash and went out, remembering to call him to me instead of going to him. Keeping the leash short and my grip tight, I made Dante follow me into the stockroom, but as soon as he was inside and saw Cain, he forgot who was boss. He lunged.

I did my best to yank him around; jerking on the collar wasn't going to do anything. So I kept him from getting to the doorway where Cain was, but I just couldn't get him to turn his back. Suddenly JJ was beside me. He grabbed the leash and literally lifted Dante's front end off the floor and turned him around. Dante wheeled again, and again JJ turned him. But when Dante wheeled yet again, JJ said to me, “Get him down. Push the collar down onto the floor.”

I tried. Really, I tried. I knew what JJ had done, and I would have sworn I could do it, but I was just a little too scared to concentrate. Or maybe all those warnings I'd heard JJ give Dad earlier this summer, about how most people shouldn't try this, made me hesitate.

JJ did it. He waited until he was sure I couldn't, and then he did it.

“Help me hold him!” he shouted over Dante's noise. I managed to do that, though I was careful to watch where those jaws were snapping. I have to say, though, it didn't actually seem like he was trying to bite
us
.

Finally Dante stopped struggling, and both he and I were panting. I looked toward the door and there was Cain, Dad holding his leash, interested but calm as he sat watching the show.

“Sorry,” I said to JJ. “I just couldn't—”

“It's tough the first time you have to do it. It's like you can't really believe you can. But you can. Not everyone has it in them, but you do. And next time, you'll be able to.”

JJ stood, took Dante's leash, and gave it a slight tug. Dante stood, and JJ turned him so his back was to Cain and made him sit. At first Dante had a kind of beaten look on his face, but we all stayed where we were for a minute, and he seemed to feel better about himself, almost like he'd forgotten his humiliation. But he hadn't forgotten about Cain. He kept starting to snarl and trying to turn toward the pit bull, but JJ was still able to back him down and make him stay put, facing away from this threat to his dominion. They didn't get any closer to each other, but JJ made Dante just sit there, his back to Cain, for a couple of minutes. I couldn't help thinking Dante would get the better of Cain, if it came to it. He was a bigger dog, and he seemed so much more ferocious.

Finally JJ turned Dante and made him sit again. “Paul, you see how I turned him? I
allowed
him to turn. It was my decision, not his.”

Dante, unbelievably, was not even looking at Cain anymore. Oh, he knew the other dog was there, and Cain knew Dante was, but they both just sat and looked around.

JJ said, “That's enough for a first meeting, I think. Maybe next week we'll let them get closer and actually sniff each other. That will help Dante learn how to be a dog with other dogs. But we don't want to push him too far today. Mr. Landon, will you lead Cain back into the store? I'll be right there.” When Dad had left, JJ said, “Your father is very good with dogs.”

For some reason this irritated me. Maybe because of how jealous I'd been feeling when Dad walked Dante. Maybe because I knew that Dad would hate JJ if he knew the truth about him. “I'll take Dante back outside,” I said, wanting to exert some control.

“No, I think he'd be more comfortable in here. He needs to know the room he thinks of as home is safe. It's important that he wasn't allowed to chase Cain out, so he wasn't able to claim the space for his. It belongs to you, not him, and you let him use it. But he needs to feel safe here again.”

What about me? Where can I go to feel safe?
I felt kind of like I'd had the wind knocked out of me. I couldn't control Dante after all. Puny little gay JJ had had to come to my rescue, and Dad had seen that.
My room, like hell. Nothing here is mine. Every day more and more of it belongs to JJ.

It felt even worse a few minutes later, when I heard Dad talking to JJ, who was about to take Cain home. “JJ, that was phenomenal. What an experience! You do amazing things with these animals.”

“Thanks, Mr. Landon. But it's just a matter of thinking like a dog.”

“Maybe, but so many people can't even learn to understand other people, let alone manage to do something like this.”

Yeah. Try understanding me, Daddy-o.

 

The Sunday after the first meeting of the dogs, Marty and Kevin showed up around two o'clock. I was working on the goddamned fish tanks again, and they found me. We shot the breeze for a couple of minutes, tales of conquests, sights seen as they cruised in the Mustang, that sort of thing.

Then, “Where's the Wunderkind?”

My eyes flashed toward Marty. So he remembered that, too. And it seemed he deliberately said it the way he wanted to say it, not the way Anthony had.

“I think he's restocking bags of dog food.”

Marty jerked his chin toward Kevin and they headed toward the floor-to-ceiling shelves where we stack dry food for dogs, in two aisles, and cats, in one. The shelves were open on both sides to allow for maximum flexibility for whatever you might want to store on them, and for access from either side. I watched them go into the aisle where JJ was working.
Should I follow? What are they likely to do? What will JJ do? Will I get into trouble?
I decided I'd better follow slowly in the direction they'd gone, and I could hear Marty's slurred voice.

“How's it going?”

“Fine,” from JJ. Quiet. Calm. Noncommittal.

“Those bags look kinda heavy.” No response. “Aren't they heavy for you?”

“They're fine.”

God, but he reminded me of Anthony, responding to my offers of a ride.
You're not exactly making yourself too much trouble now, Wunderkind.

So here I am again, caught between Marty and someone I don't like but who doesn't really deserve the kind of attention Marty wants to lavish on him, and again I'm leaning in the direction of Marty. Again. Why? Was I still afraid of Marty or something?

Yeah. I guess I was.

From where I stood, a little hidden behind a low display case with ferrets in it, I saw Marty and Kevin go down the aisle past JJ's. Marty had that silent cackle expression on his face that told me he was up to no good, and in a few seconds I noticed the heavy bags on the shelf over JJ's head start to move. I was debating whether to shout, to warn JJ, when he seemed to hear something. He stood and moved to the side just as a thirty-pound bag came tumbling down. It thudded to the floor and split open, dried nuggets sliding along the aisle, under the shelves, all around.

I think if Dad had been in the store, Marty and Kevin would have dashed for the door, like the day they set the tarantula on JJ's back. But they knew he wasn't around. So instead they sauntered back to the end of JJ's aisle, Marty in the lead.

“Oh, my,” Marty said, and clucked his tongue. “What a mess. That's too bad.”

I had moved closer, and I could see that JJ wasn't even looking at Marty. It was as though he chose to believe the bag had fallen of its own accord, and Marty and Kevin didn't exist. He turned and walked out the other end of the aisle toward the stockroom, and for one crazy moment I thought he might be going to get Dante. But he came back with a broom, a piece of cardboard, and a trash bag, and he just started cleaning up.

Marty stood there a minute and then said, “Is it easier for you like that, just a few bits at a time? Not so heavy?” JJ still did nothing to acknowledge him. Marty punched Kevin's shoulder and the two of them headed casually for the front door, laughing loudly. I followed them with my eyes and then, to my horror, I saw Carol step out of the office. I headed back to the fish tanks, ready to deny any knowledge of anything.

JJ had said he wouldn't lie again to cover my friends' pranks, so I expected to hear about this. And sure enough, Carol came to find me.

“Paul, you've got to do something about those two friends of yours.”

I kept working. I liked Carol, but what the hell did she expect me to do? But I couldn't just ignore her. I could, however, fake ignorance. “What did they do this time?”

“They're pushing those heavy bags of dog food off the shelves and onto the floor. Never mind that they've wasted the dog food. They could have hurt JJ seriously!”

Straightening up, I said, “That's awful. I'm sorry, Carol. He's okay though, right?”

“This time.”

“Look, I'll pay for the dog food. Please don't tell Dad. He doesn't need anything more to worry about.”

“True enough; these register tallies coming up short are plenty.” And then she did what I was hoping she'd do. “Oh, never mind. But those boys are trouble, Paul. You should make it clear you don't want to hang around with them. Maybe they'll stay away.”

“You may be right.” I thought this was lame, especially as I had no intention of doing what she said, but it seemed to do the trick. And Dad never said anything about it to me.

In a kind of delayed reaction, I realized she'd made it sound like even more money was missing. It's no big deal, in a store like this, for the registers to be a little off at the end of a busy day, but there'd been talk of bigger sums lately.
Who would do that? Certainly not Alice, and certainly not JJ. But Dave…

 

Tuesday, Mrs. Carter came in, still no dog in tow, and headed straight for JJ, who was restocking bird supplies. She looked upset, so I worked my way over to where I could hear. She was already into her story.

“I couldn't stop her.” Mrs. Carter dug a tissue out of a pocket and blew her nose. She was crying, at least a little. “She ran right out into the street and tried to bite the tires.” I heard a sob or two. “She always hated the trash truck.”

Gross. Gypsy's fur and guts are now stuck in the treads of trash truck tires?

I peeked around the end of the aisle and saw that JJ had wrapped his arms around the now-weeping Mrs. Carter, and she was sobbing openly onto his shoulder. I expected he'd give her a couple of pats on the back and pull away, but they stood there like that, swaying a little, long enough for me to realize that JJ was crying, too. His eyes were closed, and there were tears making their way down his face. Finally they separated.

“I knew you'd understand,” she said. “Of all the people I've told, most of them have just said, ‘Oh, I'm sorry to hear that.' And then it's on to something else. Either they don't care very much or they don't want anything embarrassing to happen.” She snuffled and blew her nose again, and JJ wiped his face.

He said, “In her whole life, the best times she had were the ones you gave her. She died a much happier dog than she would have if you hadn't taken her in.”

Well, that was a stupid thing to say, 'cause now Mrs. Carter was sobbing all over again. Another hug, shorter this time, and he walked her out to her car. They stood out there talking for a few minutes, and when she drove off he didn't come back inside. He walked around the back.

Curious, I went into the stockroom and then peeked outside where I knew Dante was on his run. He was lying in the shade, and JJ sat beside him, his face buried in the fur on Dante's neck.

Some vet this kid is going to make if he falls apart every time some dog buys it.

 

I didn't expect to see JJ on Wednesday. He didn't need to walk Dante, but he came in with Cain in tow. I was bagging at one of the registers, and I saw him and the dog go into Dad's office. They stood there chatting about nothing much, it seemed, and then Dad took Cain's leash and walked him back and forth in the front part of the store. Cain looked docile enough, like he knew what he was expected to do and didn't mind doing it. JJ stood there watching until a lady customer came up to him. It was his day off, and that's what he should have said, but there was a dog in the picture, and he probably couldn't resist. It was a big dog, some mixed breed, and the owner couldn't seem to get it to walk, just be dragged around.