Connections (26 page)

A printout of the form reporting an animal bite made its way through the proper channels and finally ended up on the desk of the secretary to the deputy commissioner at the Bureau of Animal Affairs. She asked the deputy commissioner what to do with it and, when he read the severity of the wound and the number of stitches it required, he had her call Metropolitan Hospital for more details. By that time, Alex Petrowicz, the forty-eight-year-old homeless victim, had vanished. The 19
^th
Precinct had notified the Central Park Precinct, because the incident occurred in its jurisdiction, and they, in turn, briefed their officers to be on the lookout for a large white dog with tan spots, with a young, blond male, probably a runaway.

Dr. Pomalee clicked the switch on the wall intercom above the little sink. “Attendant, please,” he said into the round plate dotted with holes while he massaged the soap into his hands. Behind him, a Mrs. Fleischenbaum was reassuring her black Cocker Spaniel that nobody was going to hurt him. His nails kept scraping on the stainless steel as he tried to stand on the examining table, but Mrs. Fleischenbaum held him down with her torso stretched across his back. She murmured in his ear, “It’s okay. I’m not going to let him hurt you. It’s okay, baby.”

“Everything else seems fine.” Dr. Pomalee turned to face her, pulling rubber gloves over his fingers. “His heart’s good, as well as his eyes, ears, and teeth. We’ll just clean out those anal glands so Pepper here can move his bowels more easily.”

“Oh, thank you. I’m so glad, Doctor. Hear that? You’re fine.”

The door to the examining room moved quietly and a lanky young boy seemed to slide sideways through the opening. Pepper’s paws scrambled in fear as he tried to get away from this new arrival, and Mrs. Fleischenbaum was doubtful that the puny young man would be able to hold him down.

“All right, now, you can either wait outside or just stand over there in the corner, so you don’t distract him.”

“But Dr. Pomalee, maybe it would be better if I tried to hold him myself. He’d be less scared.” To demonstrate, she lay across the Spaniel, flattening his body so he couldn’t move.

“C’mon, he’ll be fine.” Dr. Pomalee nodded to the boy, who deftly raised the dog to a standing position and held him motionless. “Just remember: it hurts you more than it hurts him.”

Pepper let out one shrill yelp as the first swollen gland burst between the doctor’s fingers and the foul, fecal pus oozed out, filling the small examining room with a putrid smell. The attendant tried not to let them see that he was about to gag from the odor that dizzied his senses from the force of its repulsiveness. He thought about squeezing his pimple like that. He shrugged nonchalantly. The gray smock, which looked more like a smoking jacket than a medical uniform, was much too big for him. It shifted across his shoulders and hung toward his back. He tried breathing through his mouth. Even the dog’s owner, pushing herself further into the wall, gasped and held a tissue over her face like a mask.

He waited until Dr. Pomalee was ready to squeeze the second gland. As the dog yelped again, he kept his arms, as strong as lead pipes, wrapped around the dog and dug his thumbnail into the animal’s soft belly.

Louise put the coffee cups, still warm from the dinner dishes, in the sudsy water. After she rinsed them, she started scrubbing the broiler she had left soaking in the bottom of the sink. She was mad at herself. She hadn’t told Ken about next weekend. The longer she waited, the harder it would be. She tried to figure out what Dr. Matthews would suggest if she were still in therapy.
“Are you sure it’s really the dog?”

“
Of course I’m sure.”

She played a conversation in her head, adding the right scenery to make it more authentic. She was sitting in the velour recliner that she had accused him of buying so his patients could return to their wombs in its protective comfort. He was in the club chair opposite, his feet on the ottoman, looking as if he were relaxing in his study rather than working in his office, a luxury she always resented him for.…

“
But don’t you find it strange that it always happens
that as soon as you get a little close to someone, your dog interferes?”

“
He does not.”

“
No, I guess he doesn’t. I should say, you blame your dog for getting in the way.”

“
I do not.”

“
Think back. Stop being defensive and just think about some of the things you’ve told me. ‘This guy wouldn’t have worked out because he didn’t like my dog.’ ‘That guy wouldn’t have lasted anyway because my dog didn’t like him.’ ‘It would never have worked with so-and-so because he tried to make me feel guilty for taking good care of my dog.’ Or ‘he tried to come between us’ or ‘he resented my feelings for the dog’ or ‘he expected me to choose between them,’ or ‘he didn’t like the dog enough,’ or ‘the dog didn’t like him enough.’ Haven’t you said all those things at one time or another?”

“
Maybe.”

“
And now you’re having a real relationship with someone. Not a one-night stand or a one-week stand. It’s lasted a few weeks, and you seem to like him as much as he likes you. And he doesn’t just like your dog; he’s crazy about Honda, and Honda is crazy about him. So your dog can’t be your scapegoat this time. You either have to decide you want the relationship to continue—wherever it goes—and make some kind of commitment. Or you have to end it. Instead, you’re trying to bring the dog into it, using him as an excuse. To do nothing.”

“
I’m not. It’s just that I can’t put him in a kennel. He would die. Maybe I feel more responsible for him than I should. But, after my parents died, after that terrible period, the moving, the readjustment, I can’t let him think that he’s lost me too. I just can’t do it to him. And don’t tell me he’s just a dog and plenty of people board their dogs for vacations and everything. I know they do. But I don’t. And I don’t see what’s wrong with that.”

“
There’s nothing wrong with that. But this Ken has made a big commitment to you, I think. And by arranging to bring you home to meet his folks, it seems to be the next step in a relationship that is going somewhere. And now you want to abort that plan by saying you can’t go to Connecticut because of your dog. How do you think that’s going to make him feel?”

“
I don’t care.”

“
Well, if you don’t care, I guess none of this matters. But just consider that maybe it’s not that you don’t care. Maybe you care too much. And you’re afraid.”

“
What would I be afraid of?”

“
I don’t know. I’m not a mind reader. I try to be a mind healer. You have to figure out what it is you’re afraid of. Maybe that he won’t like you. Maybe that you’ll be a disappointment to him, and then he won’t want you anymore. Sometimes, Louise, it’s easier to dismiss something, give it up, than it is to take the risk of being rejected.…”

“Hey, what are you so intent on in here?” She hadn’t heard Ken come into the kitchen, and his breath against the back of her neck startled her. “What that needs is some elbow grease.” He gently pushed her aside, grabbed the worn Brillo pad and started scouring. Maybe Dr. Matthews was right. She’d have to be out of her mind to give up a guy like this. She might be crazy, but she wasn’t stupid.

She wiped her hands on a paper towel and impulsively hugged him from behind, laying her head between his shoulder blades. Louise had never had a problem with sex, only with affection. So she was very much aware that the casual squeeze she had just given him was a major emotional outburst for her.

Ken turned around and looked down at her with that tender expression that always melted her, much as her father’s loving look used to do. His hands, still foamy with soap, flattened against hers in a patty-cake touch. Then their fingers plaited together and a current of excitement charged through them, from one to the other. Louise pressed into him, her pelvis grinding against him, bone chafing bone, honing the eroticism of devotion turned to desire. Her voice was hoarse when she said, “Let’s go inside.”

On the way to the bedroom, they stripped off most of their clothes. Louise fell onto the bed on her stomach, her breasts rubbing the stitching of her summer quilt, the coarse thread brushing her nipples as she squirmed. Ken straddled the back of her thighs. He clutched her buttocks through the bikini panties she still had on and moved up so the tip of his penis touched the silk crotch. Her hips began to rotate slowly, and he timed his movements to pick up her rhythm and swing his erection to meet her behind as it rose up and came down. He kneaded her cheeks with his hands, pulling them apart, mesmerized by the sliver of fabric narrowing and disappearing into the widening cleavage. He stood on his knees finally and pulled her panties down to her ankles, where they bound her feet together. He pushed her up to a crouch in front of him. He held one hand across the fissure, using his fingers to spread her two fleshy halves. His other hand guided his penis from the back of her waist along the cleft to its end in the recesses of her vaginal lips, where he lubricated it, and let it slide back along the same route.

Louise groaned and pushed her weight against his arms, flexing her elbows straighter, so they could hold her bent in position. Ken moved down to the edge of the bed and rolled her panties over her feet. When he gently held her thighs, her knees automatically moved apart, her body rocked backward, exposing the source of all her passion. Ken bent his face and saw her insides quiver from the closeness of his breath. Louise gasped, the air stopped in her chest. Ken plunged his tongue inside and drank the liquid satin.

Laurie’s stomach twisted as she approached the cage. The thought of this adorable little creature being sent to a shelter, longing for attention and affection, only to be euthanized after a few days, made her feel like retching. Megabyte stood, her ears back, a pathetic longing in her eyes. Laurie pulled the lever back, released the lock, and picked her up. Megabyte rubbed her face into the nest between Laurie’s neck and shoulder, and whimpered. “I wouldn’t have left you here, baby,” she cooed to her. She gently pulled her away from her chest and placed her in the nylon Sherpa bag. Megabyte lay down and purred, as if she knew she was going back home.

“They’re just going to have to suck it up and realize you’re part of the household too, and you’re not leaving,” she promised.

When she got home and set the carrier on the floor, Felix and Oscar stopped in their tracks on the way to greet Laurie.

“You guys are just going to have to fight it out, ’cause nobody’s leaving here. Understand?” Megabyte’s back arched into a bow when she stepped out of the carrier, staring at them. But they both just looked at her without hissing or crouching into attack mode. Until the newcomer headed for the kitchen and their water bowl. Laurie rushed to put a second water bowl in the corner of the bedroom, crossing her fingers that Megabyte would claim it without any competition. So far, there was peace and quiet.

Laurie checked her Facebook page and saw 783 “likes.” That meant that 783 people had read her PET-ICULAR, and even though they called it a “like,” she knew they didn’t
like
what they read but were affected by the information. Maybe their awareness would lead them to speak out or donate or adopt or write their congressmen. Maybe, maybe…

“Pretty good. I like how you did this—bulleting the solution points so they follow your overview.”

“Thanks.”

“I’ll send a copy to Commissioner Cooker and one to the mayor, although you could probably set up most of it yourself, without the city’s help. Unless, of course, you want to get paid.” Bernie Petris took the lids off the two containers and passed one over to Ken. “Thought you were taking it black.”

“I am.” Ken broke a packet of Sweet ’N Low over the steaming coffee. “Except when I’m out. Then I treat myself to a regular.”

Bernie leaned all the way back in his chair and put his feet up on the edge of the desk, which was government-issue, old, and scratched. “Then how often do you actually drink it black?”

“Hm.” Ken Hollis pretended to concentrate on his answer. “Once, maybe twice a month I make a cup at home. And it’s much easier, since I usually don’t remember to buy milk anyway.”

“Big shot!” Bernie took a long swallow. “Ah, that hits the spot. But maybe iced woulda been better on a day like today. Boy, it’s sweltering.”

“Yeah, but it has been all summer.”

“Can you believe it’s almost over? Labor Day already. Weekend after this one.”

“Yeah. Time flies when you’re having fun.”

“Or getting old. However you look at it.”

“Thing is, Bernie, I’d like to get this organized as soon as possible. Once school starts, I won’t have much time to give it.”

“I realize. You know I’ll give it my best push. How much we talking about? Ballpark.”

“Oh, not much. As you said, we can get a local school or church to give us a room. There are always volunteers around to do the typing and copying and envelopes. Stuff like that. In fact, I had a brainstorm the other night. Thought I’d run it by you.”

“What’s that?” Bernie smacked the last of the coffee off his lips and tossed the container into the pail in the corner.

“I was thinking of changing one of my courses, community issues and services, to what we’re talking about—growing crimes connected with the elderly. And having field-work requirements. That way, I could get the students out there for hands-on studying. Who knows? Maybe somebody can think of something better than I have so far.” Ken handed his coffee container to Bernie to throw out. “Even if it’s too late for this semester, I could certainly do it for spring. I’m sure we’ll still have a problem then. Or a worse one.”

“Not a bad idea. Well, you have an appointment scheduled with the mayor and the whole committee right after Labor Day. Why not bring it up? By then, he will have read your report”—Bernie tapped the folder on the wood—“and he’ll be more informed. Oh, that reminds me, talking about ‘informed.’ Heard something you might wanna check. Cooker was telling me about the Central Park Precinct looking for a young boy. With a big dog. Assumed he was just another runaway. Routine investigation. Until a bum showed up in the hospital with his neck practically perforated by this dog biting him. They link it to the missing persons they have out and talk to the parents. Still routine. Until the mother and father have a big fight in front of the detectives, and something comes out about a payoff the woman made for the dog. I didn’t get the whole thing, but now they suspect maybe the kid was really kidnapped. By the people who threatened the dog. Probably nothing to it, but hey, I don’t know. I thought maybe you’d be interested in the dog thing.”

“I’m sure it has nothing to do with my old lady.” Ken had become possessive of Eileen Hargan. “But I guess I could give them a call. Have the number?”

“Sure, buddy.” Bernie sifted some of his papers around and finding his notation on a scratch pad, he copied it down for Ken.