Looking for a Love Story (35 page)

“Tomorrow I’ll get the super to hang it on the wall,” I told Chicky.

“It’ll look good there,” she said.

And we went in to watch our movie.

EPILOGUE

Part of me wishes I could finish with a big happy ending tied up in a pink bow. On the other hand, the only way you really have an ending—happy or not—is if you’re dead, so that’s not a great plan.

Here’s where my life is right now.

Our movie was good. It got nice reviews, and even though it was only a cable flick it did well in the ratings. As a result, Andy has thrown me some more work punching up other people’s scripts. It seems I’m really good with dialogue. (And be proud of me, because when I went out to Hollywood I saw Jake, and it was obvious that Andy wasn’t the only one who had had her chin done, but I didn’t make one crack about group rates on surgery or adjoining beds in recovery. Honest, not one.)

I have a couple of ideas for novels I’d like to write. Especially now that Nancy has decided she wants to get back into the business
and she’s opening her own agency. So I’ll probably start the old merry-go-round again. And I’ll probably be work-obsessed, and there will be days when I’ll forget to shower. But I may finish another book, so what the hell.

Meanwhile, I have two more dog-walking clients, a toy poodle and a Chihuahua. Lancelot isn’t threatened by them because they’re tiny so they can all walk together; he actually loves the company.

Mom and Chicky are getting to be even better friends, and Sheryl and Chicky adore each other.

Show Biz has found a fella. I was scared he was going to move out, but Jeff is a sous-chef who has been having trouble finding a job, so for the moment they’re both living in the apartment. Someday Show Biz will go, I know that. I just hope it doesn’t happen for a while. Until it does, Annie and I are soaking up the good times—and snarfing up the homemade cookies.

And now for the biggie: I’ve had a date. He isn’t going to be the love of my life, but at least neither one of us ran screaming into the night. Sheryl says I’ll find the right man, because now that I realize I’m high maintenance I’ll know what to look for. Chicky says when you want something to happen, there’s only one way to guarantee that it won’t, and that is to quit trying. And yeah, I want it to happen. Meanwhile, I’ll just keep wearing my pink ruffles and soaking. One thing I know, whoever I wind up with, he’s going to have to be my friend. I learned that from Joe and Ellie.

Yeah, I’m still learning life lessons.

Acknowledgments

I don’t know why so many wonderful people are in my life, but I’m finally old enough not to question it anymore and to just say thank you.

So, thank you first and always to Eric Simonoff, my agent and my friend. It just gets better the longer I know him. To the amazing Laura Ford, who edited this book with such smarts and humor. Publishing will miss you, Laura. Thank you to Caitlin Alexander who took over with this book, and gave its final stage such loving care and attention. Thank you to Libby McGuire and Jane von Mehren for faith and support that is truly phenomenal.

I am grateful to Robbin Schiff for the book cover, which makes me smile; to Dennis Ambrose, who continually bails me out and makes me look better than I am; and to Janet Baker for such a terrific copyedit. Endless gratitude, too, for Lisa Barnes, Caitlin Kuhfeldt, Kim Hovey, Kathleen McAuliffe, and Anne Watters, for making sure that the word about my books gets out there.

Thank you to Cynthia Burkett, whose continued friendship will always be a treasure in my life, and to the spectacular Robert
Reid, who made it a one-man mission to bring me into the twenty-first century with his own brand of brilliance, kindness, and generosity—and he makes a mean vegan “chicken” parmesan. Thank you to Gerry Waggett, Charlie Masson, Richard Simms, Margaret and Barbara Long, Ellie Quester, Emma Jayne Kretlow, Rachel Pollak, Ellen Tannebaum, the staff of the East Fishkill Library, especially Cindy Dubinsky and Kathy Swierat, the incredible Carolyn Rogers, Jane Ryan, who is still the world’s best listener, and Melissa Crapser, whose goodness just does me in. And Charlie and Joshie will never forgive me if I don’t mention the kind and caring Gil Anderson.

Thank you to those who will always give me a goal to aim for just by their lovely example of lives well lived: Phyllis Piccolo, Virginia Piccolo, Jessie O’Neil, and Albert Piccolo. Thank you to Christopher and Colin for making my life richer in ways I never knew were possible, and to Bee and Iris. And, as always, thank you to my sisters, Lucy and Marie, and my brother, Brad.

And I’d like to end with special memories of Mary Minnella. The world is not the same without you and your gift for happiness, Aunt Mary. We all miss you.

Looking
for a
Love Story

a novel

LOUISE SHAFFER

A Reader’s Guide

A Conversation with
Louise Shatter’s Dogs

NOTE FROM LOUISE: Since the dog named Annie figures so prominently in
Looking for a Love Story,
my two canine companions, Josh and Charlie, suggested rather strenuously that they should be a part of this interview. In fact, they thought they should
be
the interview. So here they are in their own words, telling everyone what it’s like to live with an author. And, according to Joshua, giving humans a rare opportunity to explore our mutual existence from a canine point of view. I want it known that I take no responsibility for what will be said from this point on. Especially if it’s Charlie saying it
.

R
ANDOM
H
OUSE
R
EADER’S
C
IRCLE
(to two canines seated on a suede sofa that shows every hair that is shed and every bit of dirt that is dragged in by muddy paws): So you guys are going to give us an insider’s perspective on Louise Shaffer the author.

C
HARLIE:
Josh and me, we call her “Mommy.”

J
OSHUA:
Actually my correct name is Joshua. And technically speaking, Charlie’s mother is a Loose Coated Wheaten Terrier and mine is an English Springer Spaniel—of impeccable pedigree.

C
HARLIE:
I knew he was going to bring up the pedigree thing.

J
OSHUA:
My breed has been around for centuries. We were the companions of kings. You can find us in portraits painted—

C
HARLIE:
(breaking in): During the time of Elizabeth the First—whoever she was.

J
OSHUA:
Only one of the greatest monarchs England has ever known.

C
HARLIE:
Like anyone cares.

J
OSHUA:
You are such a peasant.

C
HARLIE:
Who are you calling a pheasant? Do these paws look like wings to you?

J
OSHUA:
I said “peasant,” dummy.

C
HARLIE:
You want to take this outside, Hot Stuff?

J
OSHUA:
Any time, Carpet Boy.

C
HARLIE:
You have no right to bring that up. The carpet thing was a mistake.

J
OSHUA:
Who eats the ornaments off a Christmas tree and then follows it up by chowing down on the carpet?

C
HARLIE:
I told you, my stomach was upset and the carpet looked like grass. I was just a puppy.

J
OSHUA:
You were an idiot. Our humans are still paying off your surgeries.

RHRC: Uh … guys—could we get back to the subject?

C
HARLIE:
Right. You want us to talk about Mommy.

J
OSHUA:
We call her that because it makes her happy.

C
HARLIE:
Go figure.

RHRC: What’s it like living with an author?

J
OSHUA:
Most of the time, she’s thoroughly presentable.

C
HARLIE:
Except for the week before a deadline.

J
OSHUA:
Yes, that’s not pretty.

C
HARLIE:
Humans really should brush their hair every once in a while.

J
OSHUA:
And they shouldn’t wear the same nightgown all day for a week.

C
HARLIE:
Also, it’s better if they don’t walk around the house talking to themselves.

J
OSHUA:
She usually does that when she’s stuck on a plot point.

C
HARLIE:
Or when she can’t make her characters do what she needs them to do to make the plot work. That can get scary.

J
OSHUA:
She’ll walk into the middle of a room with this weird look in her eyes….

C
HARLIE:
Like that duck in the Aflac commercials …

J
OSHUA:
And she’ll talk to herself for a while, then she’ll start answering herself. Sometimes she uses different voices.

C
HARLIE:
That’s when you know it’s bad.

J
OSHUA:
That’s when Roger—he’s her husband, but he doesn’t make us call him “Daddy,” thank God—hides the car keys.

C
HARLIE:
Sometimes she even forgets our dinnertime.

J
OSHUA:
And she does things like leave the refrigerator door open so certain people can inhale the smoked salmon she was going to serve at brunch before she canceled it because she was stuck on a plot point.

C
HARLIE:
I’ve always been partial to lox and bagels.

J
OSHUA:
A whole pound of lox? The vet was afraid they were going to have to pump your stomach.

C
HARLIE:
So I suppose you’ve never done anything wrong….

J
OSHUA:
Now that you mention it—no. I can’t think of a thing.

C
HARLIE:
Sometimes I really want to bite you.

J
OSHUA:
You’re welcome to try.

RHRC: Guys? We were talking about Louise?

C
HARLIE:
Sometimes she can be really funny. Like when she tried to train us. Remember, Josh?

J
OSHUA:
Oh Lord, yes!

C
HARLIE:
She bought books.

J
OSHUA:
Hired a trainer.

C
HARLIE:
She spent a whole summer walking us around our cul de sac, going, “Sit! Stay! Heel!”

J
OSHUA:
As if.

(There are canine chuckles at the memory.)

C
HARLIE
(mimicking Louise): “Sit, boys!” “C’mon fellahs, stay….”

(The chuckles have now turned into belly woofs.)

J
OSHUA:
Stop! Really. Or I’m going to have to go outside for a potty break.

RHRC: So I’m guessing the attempt at training wasn’t a success.