Emily & Einstein (6 page)

As my health improved, I began to feel a fissure of concern. What would happen to me once I was able to manage on my own?

I consoled myself with the thought that I would convince the old man I had learned my lesson and he would put me back in my body.

Rolling over on my side, pawing distractedly at some simpleminded rubber toy Blue had left me, I was surprised when Vinny appeared one day and attempted to lure me out of the cage.

“Time for a bath.”

Bath? Someone, namely this fellow, was going to bathe me?

While the idea of soaking in my deep porcelain tub back at the Dakota sounded like heaven, getting a dog bath didn’t sound like anything I would enjoy.

“Come on, dog.”

I deduced it to be well after midnight because Vinny had been there alone long enough to watch his favorite television show, mop haphazardly, watch his second favorite show, empty the trash cans, and take his late-night nip of cheap whiskey. Given that even as a dog I was no fool, I stayed where I was.

“You’re taking a bath. The doc said it was time. When he shows up in the morning you’ve gotta be clean.” His less than spring-fresh coveralls carried a host of competing odors, none of them pleasant. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way. Just so ya know, I’m partial to the hard way.”

His low chuckle made me think of a B-level actor straight out a bad episode of
The Sopranos
. What was he going to do? Break my leg, stuff me in a trunk, and drive me to a New Jersey landfill? What would Nurse and Vet say when I went missing? They might not care that much, but I knew Emily would.

Amused at my analogies, and gratified that at least someone would notice if I went missing, I laughed at the thought. Unfortunately, it came out as a growl.

“Don’t growl at me, mutt. I can hurt you without anyone knowing. I have ways.”

He leaned close and I cringed at the wave of rotgut liquor coming out of him. Good lord, cheap whiskey, no deodorant, and a street-vendor wrap for dinner. The mix of smells was enough to make a lesser dog empty his stomach.

I rose, backing up until my hind quarters hit the metal grating. Vinny’s eyes narrowed. The next thing I knew he reached in, dragged me from the cage, took out the kind of plastic bat you’d buy at a toy store for a child, and whacked me in the head. Other than surprise, I didn’t feel a thing. But when I finally came to, I was surprisingly clean—and somehow I had managed to give Vinny a nasty black eye.

*   *   *

As much as I shouldn’t admit it, I was rather proud of that black eye. It gave me something of a ruffian swagger, quite a different mien from the one I’d had as a man. As Sandy Portman, I never engaged in any sort of fisticuffs. I didn’t have to. That charm of mine, not to mention my money, went a long way toward getting me what I wanted out of life. But the morning after Emily shoved the bag of cinnamon rolls in my hands and pushed me out the door, I realized she saw me solely as a cog in a corporate machine, no different from her. A novelty, sure, but I found myself dressing down and waving my driver away. More than ever I was reluctant to admit who I was, not because I was concerned she’d suddenly want me for my money, but because I was afraid she wouldn’t want me at all.

After finishing off the cinnamon rolls the next morning, I dialed her cell.

“I’m serious this time, come away with me,” I said when she answered. “We’ll go to Italy or France. You name it.”

She laughed. “I have a better idea.
I’ll
take you away. Meet me at my apartment in an hour.”

“What should I bring? An overnight bag? A steamer trunk so we can run away forever?”

“Just yourself. In casual clothes.”

“France casual?”

More of her laughter, though it turned out her choice of getaways wasn’t particularly funny.

“We’re going to Coney Island?” I said. “On the subway?”

My tone must have hinted at my lack of enthusiasm.

“How else are we going to get there?” she asked, her tone careful.

Right then I should have told her the truth, but better sense was no competition for self-preservation. I rationalized not telling her by promising myself that I would confess that weekend. It never occurred to me she might learn the truth before Saturday was ever over.

“I can’t think of a better way to get around,” was all I said.

The day was perfect. Warm, not too hot, the amusement park crowded, but not insane. She pulled me from the bumper cars to the Wonder Wheel, the Cyclone roller coaster, and the big slide. At the shooting gallery she won a stuffed animal and presented it to me.

“I can’t take that,” I said aghast.

“Why not?”

“For starters, the man’s supposed to win the prize for the girl.”

She shot me a crooked smile, but I ignored it as I handed over a series of tickets until I managed to win a stuffed animal for her. “There,” I said.

She looked at me as if I had given her a priceless emerald sculpture rather than a cheap green toy made in some slave-labor factory in China.

Amazingly, it was one of the best days of my life—right up until we ran into an acquaintance that was at the park with his kids.

“Sandy Portman,” Barrett Higby said, slapping me on the back. “How are you? You’re looking well. Though I’m surprised to see you at Coney Island. I certainly wouldn’t be here if the offspring hadn’t insisted. Said I
had
to bring them out to see how the other half lives—the half without money. Some new push these kids have gotten in their heads to be
real
.”

One look at Emily’s creased brow told me this wasn’t going to go well.

The minute Barrett started to introduce himself to my date, I said it was great to see him, took Emily’s arm, and headed for a food stand that promised coffee.

“What does that guy mean,
regular family
?” she asked.

There was a bite to her tone and I knew that the time had come for the truth. I half hoped the crowd of people at the food stand would distract her from fully absorbing the news.

The clerk asked what we wanted. “Two coffees,” I said, then added to Emily, “I have money.”

She glared at me. “Forget it. I’ll pay for my own.”

Even I knew that not fully absorbing was something altogether different from not understanding at all. With no help for it, I said it straight out. “Emily, I’m wealthy.”

First more confusion, before her brows slammed together just as the clerk handed us our coffees. “What do you mean, you’re wealthy?”

“I’m rich. My family is rich. I’m Sandy Portman,” I added with emphasis. “As in the Portmans of Regal Bay.”

“I thought the principals were the Regal family.”

“Well, yes, they were, are. My father’s mother was a Regal. Silas Regal is my great-uncle.”

“You aren’t struggling to make your way at the firm?”

“Struggling?” I might have shrugged. “Doesn’t everyone struggle now and again? And let me just add, it’s harder than you’d think to work your way up the ladder when you’re related to the boss. Nepotism is such an ugly word, and quite frankly, can work against you as easily as not.”

Emily poured sugar into her paper cup, more than seemed reasonable, before setting the sugar dispenser down with a little bang. “You lied to me.”

I doubted she would appreciate the difference between an out-and-out lie and the obfuscation of truth by omission.

We rode home on the train in stony silence, she refusing my offer of calling the car service. Since the cat was out of the bag, I would have preferred to wait for a driver to hie us back to the city, but no way was Emily going anywhere near a hired anything, and I couldn’t let her take the subway by herself. Whether she believed it or not, I was still the guy who was old-fashioned enough to spend a small fortune on tickets to win her a stuffed animal—a stuffed animal, I might add, that she crammed into the trash bin on our way out of the park.

For a week, she didn’t take my calls. Good, I told myself, ignoring the desperation I felt returning, that strange hungry need Emily had put to rest for something more in life. I went out every night, drank and ate and did all the things I used to do, determined to forget Emily Barlow.

Only that was the thing. I couldn’t.

For the first time in my life I gave in and sent a woman flowers with a card saying I was sorry. She sent them back. Frustrated, I did something I never would have thought I could do. I showed up at the Trigate building and waited outside like some pathetic stalker, taking her hands, bowing my head to hide what I knew were genuine tears. I told her that I missed her. She didn’t relent, but she wavered.

For the next week I showed up at work every day, making my case. I was sweet and vulnerable. Surprisingly, I was sincere.

Five days into my quest, she stared at me for what felt like forever, then closed her eyes. When she opened them again I swear she wanted to reach out. But something held her back. She turned and walked away.

I told myself to leave, to move on, but I had seen that look.

The next day I showed up one last time, this time at her apartment. I didn’t bring flowers or candy or any of the things that I knew wouldn’t mean anything to her. She arrived at the front of her building, her arms loaded with groceries, and I held up a book.

She stared at the carefully preserved hardcover, the title in German. “An original 1812 edition of
Kinder- und Haus-Märchen,
” she said so softly I barely heard.

“More currently known as
Grimm’s Fairy Tales.
”

“You noticed my collection.”

“I’ve noticed a lot of things.”

Her shoulders slumped, like something deep inside her was trying to give in. She pressed her eyes closed, then started to open the front door. When the groceries began to fall I grabbed them, along with the keys.

I followed her into the elevator and she didn’t stop me. But I hadn’t taken more than two steps into her apartment when she whirled back. “You lied!”

Her anger came at me in waves, all that careful control ripped away.

My first instinct was to make some glib remark. But I ignored instinct and went with something that I realized was from my gut.

“I’m an ass, a big idiotic ass that has the sense of a gnat. But a well-meaning gnat, I swear.”

“Well-meaning?” she shot back.

“Face it, as Sandy Portman of the Vandermeer Regal Portman family, you, the daughter of the militant feminist, wouldn’t have given me the time of day.”

For a second I thought she was going to give in. “Don’t turn this around and make me some sort of reverse snob,” she snapped instead.

I must have looked as surprised as I felt. I hadn’t been trying to manipulate anything. I wanted her back, I needed her back, needed that heady mix of peace and excitement she made me feel.

“I didn’t mean it that way, Emily. I just wanted you to see me.” My voice had risen, the desperation coming through my always-careful façade. “I just wanted to be the guy I saw in your eyes before you knew I had money.”

Her jaw was tight as she stared at me. But this time when she started to move away, I dropped the groceries on the floor and caught her arm.

“I’m sorry for lying, Emily. I swear I am.”

“Damn you,” she whispered.

I turned her to me and she pounded my chest, not hard, more a testament to being torn between frustration and the desire to give in.

“Damn you,” she repeated.

When I pulled her close, pressing her body to mine, she cursed me one last time before we fell together to the floor, kicking lettuce and bread and bags aside. I had the fleeting thought that she was doing more than forgiving me. Somehow she was saving me.

*   *   *

Had I known more about dogs, or dog clinics, or anything dog related, what happened next in my newfound existence as Einstein wouldn’t have surprised me. As much as I’d like to say I was indifferent to being clean, I really adored it. For all Vinny’s faults, he cleaned me up pretty good and for a second I felt badly for whatever I’d done to him. My wiry fur had softened, and I smelled halfway decent.

However, all thoughts of cleanliness disappeared when hours passed and Emily didn’t make an appearance. She didn’t show up that night either, or even the next day. Fortunately Blue was there, and she gave me my due. When she opened my cage door, I couldn’t resist the need to strut out like a drum major in a marching band.

“You’re so handsome.” She laughed. “Whoever adopts you is going to be totally lucky.”

I went stiff.

Sure, I had seen the Adopt-A-Pet programs on the local news, but I had given them no thought. If I had wanted a dog, I would have gone out and found a purebred something that cost a great deal of money. A moot point, however, since a dog never would have fit into my world. Dog hair, dog walking, and a secret love of hand wipes didn’t go together. Though that was hardly my concern now. Adoption was.

Where the hell was Emily? Surely she would adopt me. She would take me home. My wife loved dogs. For God’s sake, she loved Einstein.

“No, no, no!” I moaned.

My heart rate shot up and I started the wretched drooling thing. On my clean fur!

The next day I was moved up front to a long cinder block room filled with bright fluorescent lights and a long line of cages. Here they had a German shepherd, a few other dogs and cats, a guinea pig, even a rabbit at the end of the line. As it turned out, it was Wednesday, a big day for adoptions.

My scruffy neighbors posed for each person who entered the room looking for an animal to love. My mind raced. If I was adopted, would that make this insane situation real? Permanent?

I whimpered and moaned, foaming at the mouth like Old Yeller.

The rabbit went surprisingly fast, the cats snapped up in a matter of hours. Even the guinea pig found a home. At the end of the day only the shepherd and I were left. I was relieved. The shepherd was not. He sank down into his cage, muzzle on his paws, and stared off at nothing.

By the end of the week, “Shep” and I were still there. I’d had a close call when a young family showed up. But after a quick—and I thought, inspired—baring of canine teeth, the middle-class gaggle of four fled. Afterward, Nurse shook her head at me and conferred with the vet about something I couldn’t make out. All I cared about was that I had averted disaster.