Love and Other Things I'm Bad At (34 page)

10/18

Not speaking to Mom.

Got back last night; Gerry drove me. I know, of all people. But Bryan had a meet, and I was not on speaking terms with Mom. Or Sterling, for that matter.

If it weren’t for Sterling’s allergies, Oscar wouldn’t be living with me. If he weren’t living with me, then Grant and Kelli wouldn’t have borrowed him for class. If they hadn’t done that, I wouldn’t have embarrassed myself in front of 50 pre-vet students. All Sterling’s fault. Most everything that’s going wrong can be traced directly back to him—and Mom, by the transitive property.

I had dropped by T or D Saturday afternoon to show Gerry a menu from Smoothie Stop, and he got very riled up and said he’d have to come see for himself. But as we got closer to Fort Collins, he seemed to lose his nerve.

“I hate confrontation,” he said as we pulled into the Smoothie Stop parking lot. (Where there are some very dumb red stop signs with the store name on them.)

“Tell me about it,” I said, thinking of my argument with Mom. “But, Gerry, you used to be a counselor. Didn’t you have to know a lot about conflict resolution?”

“Yes. But I still hated it.”

“You could just be friendly and nice today,” I said. “Just take a look around and see if you agree with me, that he borrowed your ideas a little too liberally.”

“OK. Today, I just look.”

We went inside and Gerry stood behind me, trying not to be noticed, I guess. Of course, Guy immediately saw who it was and came out from behind the counter and started shaking Gerry’s hand and saying all these complimentary things about how he never realized how hard it was to be a store owner, and how it was great employees like myself that made a great shop, etc.

Total snow job.

Guy seemed to think it was strange that Gerry and I drove up together. Couldn’t understand why. When I told him that it was a long story, he seemed to think that was even weirder.

Whatever. Probably doesn’t understand the concept of friendship. Probably has never had a friend.

“Guy Nicollet. Never liked him,” Gerry muttered as we walked to the car.

“He worked for you for, like . . . two years,” I reminded him.

“Oh, I know. Believe me, I know.”

“So why didn’t you fire him sooner? Oh. You really don’t like conflict, do you?” I said.

He smiled sadly. “Not at all.”

“Well, that’s OK. You can let your lawyer do the confrontational stuff, like suing him.”

“Right, right.” Gerry started the car. “What lawyer?”

“You’ll find one.”

“Sure, sure. They don’t cost much, right?” He smiled nervously and ran his hand through his thinning hair.

Right before he dropped me off at my house, he said, “You know, Courtney, instead of lawyering up, maybe you could help me instead. You’ve already gathered the evidence. Now, as part of your journalism major, you could write about it. How he stole all of my ideas.” He was sounding a little delirious. “I can see it now. The truth will set you free.”

“The Truth or Dairy, you mean,” I joked, trying to get him back to reality.

“No. No! The smoothie will set you free!” he cried. “Will you do it? Please?”

“I’ll think about it,” I said.

“Please!” he said. “Think of the great publicity this would bring me. Maybe even enough to save the store.”

“The store . . . it needs saving?” I asked.

“In a big way,” he admitted, looking down at the steering wheel.

“OK then. I’ll do it,” I promised.

Not sure what I can do. Not sure what I’ve gotten myself into.

10/19 MONDAY NIGHT FOOTBALL AT GRANT’S

“You could have called me, you know.”

“What?”

“When you were locked out,” Grant said as my roomies and I walked into his house.

I frowned. Stupid housemates do not keep secrets. At all.

“Oh, it was no big deal,” I said, still a little embarrassed by everything. “It worked out. I spent some quality time with Mr. Novotny.”

“Mm hm. And the Denver police?” he asked.

“You were arrested?” gasped Kelli. “You didn’t tell me about that. When?” She looked excited about
that
, too. She loves it when people and animals are in trouble, apparently.

What does Grant see in her? I thought she used to be nice and sweet but now I’m starting to wonder. She was like a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Although she looks nothing like a sheep. She was a tiger in a striped sweater. . . . OK, that makes no sense at all.

TA is correct. I cannot describe things sometimes.

I took a seat on the sofa next to Shawna. “Thanks for keeping my story to yourself.”

“No problem,” she said.

I punched her arm. “I wasn’t serious.”

When the game started, I found that I actually cared what happened. “If Orton doesn’t have a good night tonight, they don’t stand a chance,” I said.

And then, “Their defensive positioning is all wrong,” I said.

And then, “What they need to do is get the running game started so that the passing game involves the defensive backfield—”

“Um, do you have any idea what you’re talking about?” Grant interrupted.

“Of course. I’m completely in the know.”

“No!” Grant started laughing. “It’s that neighbor guy, isn’t it? Isn’t it?” he asked, leaning over and squeezing my arm.

“Stop it!” I was laughing, too, and Grant was quoting Mr. Novotny and—

Then I realized everyone was looking at us. Kelli was giving me the evil eye, like she wished I would have a full-on seizure. Not the kind I could recover from.

Awk . . . ward.

We tried to explain who Mr. Novotny was, and why it was so funny, but it didn’t seem to be funny to anyone else.

When we got home, Dara said, “Courtney? I think you were having, like, too much fun over there. One, it’s football, and two, you and Grant—”

“Since when is it possible to have too much fun?” I asked.

“When you’re laughing that hard with a guy who isn’t your S.O.!”

“S.O.?”

“Significant Other,” she said.

“I laugh that hard with my friends all the time. Grant’s a friend.”

“Mm hm.”

“I never laugh that hard with Wittenauer, and he’s my significant other. So there,” I said.

Dara arched her eyebrow, the one with the piercing. “I don’t see how that proves anything, but I’ve got, like, a hundred pages of Brontë to read. Why did I let you guys talk me into going over to watch football, anyway? I hate football. It’s so . . .”

“Fun?” asked Shawna.

“Violent and pointless. Hey, that sounds like a good title for a poem.” She was off and running to her bedroom.

Shawna and I stayed up watching TV and kind of, sort of, like, studying. I fell asleep on the living room rug next to Oscar. Woke up and there was rug wool and/or dog fur stuck to my face. Think it’s time for one of us to buy a vacuum.

10/20

Mom did an impersonation of Shawna’s mom and called me about 20 times today. I ignored her. Still not over the whole invite-me-to-visit-and-then-ditch-me-and-then-nearly-get-me-arrested thing.

10/21

It’s Wii-dnesday at work. Which means Guy sets up a Wii and anyone can play.

Which means it gets kind of sweaty in here.

Which I guess means people order more frozen things.

This is how the brilliant business mind of Guy Nicollet works. At least that’s one idea he didn’t steal from Gerry. Gerry wouldn’t be that stupid.

The night was going along fine, or at least wasn’t horrible, except I felt that Guy was hovering around me, like an annoying dragonfly. Finally, he asked, “So. You and Gerry. You’re close?”

“What? No.”

“Really? You seemed close.”

“No. We talk every couple of months.”

“Is that so? But you mentioned he gave you a ride up from Denver, so . . . would just anybody do that for you?”

“Well . . .” I didn’t want to get into details, like, “It’s because I was telling him you stole all of his ideas and should probably give him a percentage of the profits here,” so I just said, “Well, nothing.”

“Right. Nothing.” He nodded, looking at me as if it was anything
but
nothing.

I helped the next person in line. Why did he care if I was friends with Gerry—the only reason he would is if he felt guilty for being caught plagiarizing the T or D menu. Guy didn’t strike me as the kind of person who felt guilt, though. Or many other emotions, for that matter.

Maybe he was an alien. It would explain so much. Especially the bad hair.

10/22

Dr. Bigelow, I presume.

“Do you want to make a difference or do you want to sit around and watch the continental shelf drop off into the Arctic Ocean? To be responsible or not to be responsible. That is the question.”

Wow. This guy is so full of himself. Talking like Hamlet. (Yes, I got an A in Shakespeare.)

Still, I wanted to tell him that I was taking responsibility by writing my new blog, encouraging local businesses to Green Even More (GEM).

So I stood by his desk after class. But the thing is, there’s always a swarm of people waiting to talk to him, to get his take. He’s like the green guru. He has groupies. I have waited a few times already, and I never get any closer than second in line.

I waited about ten minutes and then I had to leave for work.

Tonight, composing my next column: “What Does Animal Cruelty Have in Common with Antienvironmentalism?”

Where do I begin?

No. I mean, seriously. Where the hell do I begin?

“Holding Court”
by Courtney Von Dragen Smith

What Does Animal Cruelty Have in Common with Antienvironmentalism?

This is a question that a lot of people don’t think about. Even I didn’t think about it, until the question was raised in a class of mine. One student was arguing that saving the environment was the most important issue in front of mankind at this moment. Another student argued that if we didn’t save animals that are threatened, both domestic and wild, we didn’t deserve to inherit the earth in
any
form, damaged or otherwise.

But if we think about it, saving one is a win-win for both.

Saving the environment preserves a livable habitat for animals.

Being kinder to domestic animals and pets helps save the environment. How? Let’s take a look.

• Fewer court cases involving abused animals leads to less paper usage, which means reduced use of trees

• Less driving around by animal control to rescue abused animals minimizes carbon footprint

• Fewer dead animals in landfills

Sorry to be so disgusting. I guess a lot of the unwanted ones get cremated, anyway.

Sorry. Again.

Maybe the real question is: Which comes first? Saving animals or saving the environment?

Well, can’t we do both?

Saving habitats = saving animals.

So, I guess the environment is the egg, and the animals are the chicken.

Without egg, no chicken.

Or without chicken, no egg.

Which is it?

And should we even eat chicken or eggs? I think not.

10/24

Oscar is missing.

It was only a matter of time, I guess. He runs off at least once a season. We were due. Still, he’s been missing since last night. He got out while I was at work. Somehow. (Ahem. Clearing throat.) Not saying who. (Clearing throat.) (Dara.)

Overnight! He’s hardly ever been gone overnight before. I didn’t even get to pack him a lunch. Or his pajamas.

Shawna, Dara, and I just spent hours driving around in Dara’s car looking for him. After we searched campus, we headed for the mountains.

“Who knows, he could have felt the pull of the mountains. His, like, wolf instincts kicked in,” said Shawna.

“You’ve been watching too many Coors commercials.” I shook my head. “They’ve never kicked in before. You know what he likes? Bright lights and pasta.”

“So we’re looking for an all-night Italian restaurant,” said Dara.

“Want to hit Olive Garden?” asked Shawna.

“I said
Italian
restaurant,” Dara said.

I didn’t think he’d be all the way up in the mountains, but then again, he has strayed pretty far before. “Maybe he saw the big
A
in the hills and headed for it, thinking it stood for, I don’t know . . . Animals?”

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” said Dara. “What
is
that giant
A
all about, anyway?”

“This is an ag school. Agriculture,” I said. “That’s its background.”

“Oh. I always thought it stood for athletics,” said Shawna.

“I thought it stood for altitude,” said Dara. “’Cause, you know. It’s up on the mountains.”

“Why would they label a mountain that . . . never mind,” I said.

Since we were all the way up near Horsetooth Reservoir, we decided to scout that area as well. I didn’t think Oscar could run that far, but he’d escaped once in Denver and we found him all the way at the zoo.

“So this is that Horsetooth place? OK . . . it’s a horse’s tooth. Really? It doesn’t look like one,” said Dara.

“How many horses did you ride back in Seattle?” Shawna asked.

Dara shrugged. “None. Why?”

“Just wondering.”

“Let’s go home. Maybe he’s there by now,” I said, feeling strangely, falsely confident for some reason. But he wasn’t. I mean, he isn’t. Here yet.

I don’t want to say anything to Dara yet, but I can’t help thinking DeathKitty is involved, that she lured a bigger, meaner dog to the yard and then somehow got Oscar to go outside. How many times can you tell a dog not to talk to strangers without feeling ridiculous? Um, one.

I called Grant to ask if he could help look, but he’s working tonight.

“You have the magic touch. Or eye. Or whatever,” I argued.

“But—I can’t just take off, Courtney. This is my job,” he said.

“Right. You’re right. OK, fine.”

“Don’t be hurt—” he protested.

“No, I’m not, I’m not—I get it. It’s not your responsibility—it’s mine.”

So, I just called Bryan and told him to drive to FC ASAP.

Wait a second.

What about all those stories and movies about animals that walk, like, 1,000 miles to get back to their original homes?

Oscar must not be as happy as he’s seemed.

Tragic vet science class experience.

He has begun the long, lonely trek south to Denver. Only explanation.

I didn’t get a chance to tell him that Mom changed the locks.

Called Bryan back and told him to stay there, just in case.