Alpha Dog (20 page)

“No! I can’t leave,” I blurted out, my voice shaky with panic.

“And why not?”

I paused. Should I just go ahead and confess about Seamus? I had to tell her sometime. “Because I have . . . I have . . .” My heart seemed to leap into my esophagus, making it hard to talk. “ I have . . . some writing labs I have to go to,” I finished somewhat lamely.

“Oh. Well, good for you. Classes are more important than any visiting. I remember. I didn’t graduate with honors by skipping school, you know.”

“I know,” I mumbled. “Hey, Mom. I really need to get off the phone. I have a ton of studying to do and I want to get to bed early,” I lied, knowing being the ultra-good Stepford daughter was the only way to beg out of a conversation with her.

“I think that’s wise, dear. Hang on, your father has something to tell you.”

I heard a rustling sound and then my dad’s voice came on the line. “Hey, Kit-Kat. How are you?”

“Good.”

“Who’re you going to root for when Texas baseball plays Notre Dame next week?”

“The Fighting Irish, of course.”

“Good girl. Bye, sweetheart. Love you.”

“Love you, too, Dad.”

I could hear my mom scolding him. “Is that all you’re going to say to her?” She sighed loudly and got back on the receiver. “Okay, then. We’ll talk later. Get some sleep, sweetie.”

“I will. Bye, Mom.”

As I hung up the phone, my hands felt weighty with guilt. Why couldn’t I just tell the truth about Seamus? I couldn’t put it off forever.

I just needed a little more time, that’s all. Just a few more days. Or couple of weeks. A month tops . . .

10

“R
eady?” Mr. Willard looked somewhat fearfully at Seamus and me and scratched the side of his head. Along with pacing, I’d noticed he tended to do that when anxious. He was one of those men who tried to make up for being bald by letting the rest of his hair get long and bushy. Thanks to our little group of canine misfits, he usually abused his head so much throughout our lessons, he’d look like some washed-out Krusty the Klown by the end of them.

“We’re ready,” I answered, holding Seamus’s leash firmly in my hand.

“All right,” he said in a lackluster voice. “Begin.”

I took off walking around the room with Seamus, weaving around the others, who stood in a very loose circle. We were spending the hour doing heeling exercises, and Seamus was the worst of the bunch—except for maybe Natasha, and that wasn’t totally her fault. She was just so huge, a simple turn of her Volkswagen-sized head would send poor Barry scrambling sideways.

“Heel,” I said as we wended our way around Yoda, the bassett hound, and his mommy. “Heel. Heel.”

Seamus tried to stop and sniff them, and I turned toward him, ready to correct his behavior with some sharp words.

“No!” called Mr. Willard, grabbing a tuft of hair on the back of his head. “Don’t wait for him! Snap the leash!”

I nodded and gave a quick jerk on the choke collar. “Heel,” I said a little more strongly.

“Good. Now faster. Faster,” Mr. Willard cried out. “Take the lead. Make him catch up with you.”

I quickened my pace. Sure enough, Seamus lagged, distracted by Floyd, the corgi, who was cowering against his master’s legs.

“Snap the leash!” Mr. Willard shouted.

Again I jerked the line, somewhat reluctantly. I still felt like a big meanie every time I half choked my dog. It worked, though, and Seamus caught up to me.

“Good,” Mr. Willard said. “All right, now. Slow down.”

We were making a curve and approaching Natasha and Barry. Natasha saw us coming and smacked her jowls eagerly, her drool making a small puddle on the floor in front of her. Seamus seemed to notice and sped up, veering away from the amorous Great Pyrenees.

“Snap it! Snap it!” Mr. Willard cried, tugging his hair with both hands. He was wearing the cramped, puckered expression of someone watching an impending train wreck.

I gave a good sideways yank and corrected Seamus’s trajectory. As we rounded Barry and Natasha, Seamus appeared to cringe slightly. Sure enough, just as we were even with the two of them, Natasha bounded forward and licked the side of Seamus’s face. Seamus ducked his head, tucked his tail between his legs and dove between mine. The next thing I knew, I was falling face-forward, with chaos erupting all around me. I could hear Barry yelling, “No, Natasha!” and Mr. Willard shouting, “Snap it! Snap it!” Then Seamus let out a yowl as I hit the hardwood floor, jerking him backward by the choke collar.

I rolled over and untangled myself from the leash. Barry ran up and offered me a hand, stuttering and apologizing profusely. Meanwhile Natasha chased Seamus all around us.

“It’s okay,” I said as he helped me back up. “Really it’s Seamus’s fault. He drives the ladies crazy.”

He laughed and pulled Natasha back to their spot.

Mr. Willard, who now resembled an electroshock-therapy patient, made me and Seamus run the gauntlet again. This time, it went much better. I wasn’t as shy about snapping the leash, and when we headed toward Natasha, Barry commanded her to stay in a booming voice that surprised everyone, including a very obedient Natasha.

Soon we had rounded Mr. Willard and Ollie and returned to our spot in the circle. I stopped and Seamus came to a halt beside me.

“Sit!” I ordered.

Seamus immediately sat down and looked up at me with his baby-deer eyes, waiting for his praise.

“Good boy,” I said.

The entire class clapped.

When we left the lecture hall, instead of going to the park to practice, I decided to take Seamus for a long walk.

I shielded my eyes as we crossed Guadalupe at Twenty-first, the afternoon sunshine bouncing off cars, shop windows, and flaxen-haired sorority girls. It was one of those beautiful, sparkling days the Texas Tourism Board loves to advertise. The kind that makes people run like lemmings into lakes, streams and swimming pools and plasters a big, dippy smile on everyone’s face. At the corner we stopped and stared northward, down the seven-block stretch of Guadalupe’s west side—more commonly known as the Drag.

I absolutely loved the Drag. I loved the dense cluster of bookstores, cheap eateries and hip boutiques; the commingling of various drool-inducing smells wafting out of its many ethnic restaurants; and the harsh symphony of street musicians, boom boxes, and thoushouldst-repent soapbox ranters, underscored by a steady hum of traffic.

But most of all, I loved watching the people. You name it, the Drag had it. From pampered coeds scoping the latest fashions to chain-smoking philosophy majors debating Kierkegaard in the coffeehouses, to mumbling, disheveled drifters squatting in doorways. There was even a guy who liked to rollerblade up and down the bicycle lane wearing skimpy gold lamé shorts.

I’d gone to the Drag a few times with Mom to shop and once with Ariel to meet her older sister, but I hadn’t really been able to explore it much since I moved down here—mainly because I knew I couldn’t navigate the foot traffic with Seamus.

But now it was time to test that out.

“You can do it, buddy,” I said to Seamus.

He lifted his shaggy triangle ears and gazed back at me.

“Good boy,” I said, heading down the sidewalk. “Heel . . . heel.”

At first it was scary. Throngs of people seemed to come right at us, as if some Hollywood director were standing atop a cherry picker a few blocks down yelling into a bullhorn. “Group of chatty Tri-Delts . . . go! Woman with six shopping bags . . . go! Loveydovey couple, fuse hands and . . . go!”

But then, when I realized Seamus was staying even with my ankle, it was great—exhilarating, even. I steered him effortlessly through the crowd and around parking meters, just like we practiced in class. Only once did I have to snap his leash—when he stopped to sniff a discarded, half-eaten taco.

By the time we reached the little plaza at Twenty-fourth Street, I felt like I’d been pumped full of helium. My chest was swollen with pride and I was praising Seamus over and over in a squeaky, munchkin voice. “Good boy! Good,
good
boy!”

Seamus grinned up at me, his back end swishing like a fish tail.

People continued to rush past us, many of them heading to and from the plaza, where over a dozen carts and kiosks had been set up, displaying all sorts of handcrafted wares. Feeling bold, I let Seamus into the mini marketplace.

It was much slower going than on the street. The cramped aisles and crowds of onlookers made it difficult to maneuver around. Seamus stayed close to my legs, his bristly fur tickling my skin. He appeared to be extra alert and cautious.

“Good boy,” I continued praising.

It had been a while since I’d had the time or freedom to browse. I scanned the different items displayed on the cloth-covered tables. There were stalls full of beautiful silver jewelry, rainbow-colored tie-dyed shirts, milagros, Santeria candles, woodcuttings, pottery and hookah pipes. Everything looked exquisite in the liquid gold sunshine.

“Great dog,” came a voice from behind me.

I spun around and spied a man sitting at an easel. He had extremely long, graying dark hair and crinkly blue eyes that seemed to be smiling even when his mouth wasn’t.

“Thanks,” I said, beaming like a proud mommy.

Seamus appeared to realize he was being talked about, and he strained to approach the guy. I knew in theory that I should snap the leash, but since he’d been behaving so well, I allowed him to lead me over there.

“What’s his name?” the man asked as he scribbled something on his canvas.

“Seamus,” I replied.

“Ah. A good Irish name. It fits him. It sounds intelligent, and I can tell this is one sharp little guy.”

“Yeah, well, he’s smarter than me, that’s for sure,” I said, reaching down to rub the soft fur behind Seamus’s ears.

The man laughed. “Where did you get him?”

“The pound.”

“Good for you.” He grinned at me, his eyes scrunching into tiny starbursts. “You saved his life. That’s the most powerful Karma of all—the holiest of mitzvahs. Maybe someday he’ll do the same for you.” He turned back to his easel and began scribbling furiously.

“Uh . . . maybe. I hope so.” The guy was super nice, but he was obviously a wee bit of a crackpot.

I tried to picture Seamus performing some Lassie-like deed, like dragging me from a burning building or running for help while I slowly sank in quicksand. But I just couldn’t. I knew Seamus cared for me in his own simple canine way, but a superhero he was not. Not when any rescue attempt could be easily foiled by a half-eaten taco.

“Here you go.” The hippie guy stood up and handed me the drawing he’d been working on.

I gasped, then laughed. It was a caricature of Seamus and me. He’d exaggerated us perfectly. Seamus’s wedge-shaped ears were as large as garden spades and his eyes and nose were like perfectly round buttons. For me he’d drawn a heart-shaped mouth and Tweety Bird eyes, and he’d definitely embellished my body curves. I looked like a grown-up, PG-13 version of Cindy Lou Who.

“You like it?” he asked, his eyes all twinkly.

“Yeah!” I exclaimed. Then suddenly it occurred to me that he probably wanted to sell it to me. “Oh, I’m sorry. I don’t have any money. I hadn’t planned on coming here, it was just an impulse decision.”

“No, no. Take it. It’s a gift.” He placed his calloused fingers in the center of his Guatemalan shirt and bowed slightly.

I shook my head. “No, I couldn’t do that. It’s too nice.” I tried to give it back to him but he just waved his hands.

“Please. It’s yours. If you don’t feel you should have it, give it to your boyfriend.”

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” I said, thinking of Chuck. The usual pang came and went, but the squeezing sensation was less fierce—as if it had switched from a choke collar to a buckle one. “Nope. Seamus is the only guy I can handle right now.”

He nodded. “I totally get it. I have four dogs waiting for me at home myself.” He reached down and stroked Seamus’s back. “It’s great, isn’t it? There’s nothing as pure and unconditional as the love of a dog. You know, you should keep the drawing for him.”

I looked down at Seamus, who was panting happily under the man’s touch. The man was right. Seamus might have chewed up my stuff and complicated relationships with my landlady and roomie, but he would never purposefully hurt me.

“I think I will keep it,” I said, holding the drawing to my chest and bowing to him the way he did to me. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure.”

I waved goodbye and tugged Seamus’s leash, guiding him back toward Guadalupe.

At the southeast corner of the market, the crowd grew thicker. While I stood off to the side waiting for an opening, something glittered, catching my eye. At first I thought it was some trick of my vision—a special effect my brain threw in to commemorate my good mood. Then I turned and saw a stall of cut crystals. The afternoon sun angled in behind them, creating an explosion of tiny multihued sparkles. I couldn’t help gawking.

“See anything you like?”

I squinted through the pyrotechnics at the cute, pixie-looking girl on the other side of the table.

“Yeah. But I’m just looking,” I explained.

I was about to move on when I spotted a familiar elongated shape in the display case: a tubular piece of cut glass with stubby legs and long, flappy ears. It was a wiener dog, about the same length as a deck of cards, completely clear except for its nose, ears, tail and feet, which had been tinted a faint red color.

“Actually,” I called out as she was turning away. “How much is this one?” I pointed to the dachshund.

“Let me check.” She glanced at the paper it was standing on. “You’re in luck. It’s on sale for only fortyfive dollars.”

Forty-five bucks?
I imagine that would have been a good price for someone who hadn’t already shelled out half her summer funds on a new dog, dog classes, dog supplies, and a dog deposit. I wasn’t even sure if I had enough money to cover my food for the rest of the session. And Mom had made it absolutely clear that I was only to use the credit card for emergencies. Fifty bucks for a hunk of glass was out of the question.