Page 12 of Hell Bent
“How long’s the wait likely to be?” I asked.
“Could be an hour or more. Saturday night.”
“Right,” I said. “Look—this dog isn’t in great shape. How crowded is that shelter?”
“Bursting at the seams,” he said, “like all of them.”
“Which means,” I said, “that they won’t take this dog.”
“Oh, they’ll take it,” he said. “And they’ll put it down. No choice. The whole country’s like that now. Probably why somebody dumped it. Think they’re giving it a chance. Giving it a chance to get eaten by coyotes, more like. That’s a bad way to go. Better to just put it down. Quick and painless.”
“OK,” I said. “Thanks.” And hung up.
The dog was still staring at the exit to the freeway, but she wasn’t wagging her tail anymore. I put my arm around her and said, “Hey, girl. It hurts, huh?” and she turned her headand looked at me, dark eyes trusting and somehow sad. I rubbed her ears, and she pressed her head into my shoulder.
“Here’s the plan,” I told her. “I’ll take you with me to Portland, find a place that will take you. Rescue group, maybe. You’re a golden retriever. Piece of cake.” They took older dogs, right? At least if the breed was popular enough. Dogs with huge lumps on them, though? Maybe.
She wagged her tail a little this time, and I said, “Looks like I’m on rescue duty again. Got to tell you, though, I haven’t done too well on picking up women lately. Seems the ones I like don’t want to get picked up, and the ones who want to get picked up, I don’t like. You’re the exception, eh?” At which the dog looked at me some more, and I said, “Yeah, you’re breaking my streak. Looks like we’re turning around and heading back to Redding for a leash and some dog food. Let’s go.”
Alix
Want some free advice? Do not walk around Target on Saturday night by yourself in a short sequined cocktail dress and heels.
A guy with a kid in the cart stared, and another guy, younger and without a kid, said, “Hi. How you doing?” I ignored him, and he said, “You don’t have to be all snobby about it. You’re not really all that.”
I could have said, “Obviously I’m not all that,” since I was, in fact, wearing that dress with zero makeup and my hair in a somewhat messy ponytail, possibly looking like a hooker who’d only got the outfit half right, or a woman with an extreme case of overdue-laundry-day. I didn’t say anything, because I was not engaging. I was grabbing a couple of easyoutfits, some shoes, a carton of milk, and an energy bar, I was changing in the bathroom, and I was out of here. I couldn’t stand to be in California any longer than I had to be, but I also couldn’t stand to wear this dress another minute. It was drafty, for one thing. I should have brought the cape. I’d have looked even stupider than I did now, but I wouldn’t be freezing.
Finally. Women’s wear. I picked out a pair of black stretchy pants, a pair of Levi’s, three long-sleeved tees, and a flannel shirt. Now I needed non-bridal underwear and a couple of bras, which would be in a different department.
Also shoes and socks. And a coat. Jacket. Sweatshirt. Something. I had my grandpa’s ratty old gardening jacket in the car, the only clothing of his that my grandmother still possessed, but even I had quailed about wearing it with my cocktail dress. I wouldn’t just look weird then, I’d look crazy.
I was thinking it when I saw him. The guy from the restaurant, the guy with the Uber. Sebastian. Looking as good as ever, or better, actually, in Levi’s that were molded to his thighs—those were some thighs—and a cotton Henley sweater in soft blue. He had thighs, yep, and shoulders, and all of that, and he looked … loose. Confident in that casual way.
Sex appeal, was what this guy had. What my grandmother called “allure.” Like Cary Grant, her favorite actor, except that Sebastian looked nothing like Cary Grant. But heseemedlike Cary Grant. Flannel-shirt Cary Grant. Or Harrison Ford, maybe. More of a wolf look, and also a favorite of my grandmother, “before he got so old, like me,” she’d say, and laugh.
I thought that for half a second, and then I thought,I’m in the Redding Target, though! Looking like a lunatic. How is that even possible? How did this day actually get harder?
Hide.I know, I know—stupid, but there I was, scooting across the main aisle with my cart and ducking into another one—dog food, it was, breathing a sigh of relief and then starting to laugh. Just … laugh. I totally lost it, in fact. I clutched my hair, doing no favors to the messy ponytail, shook my head, and laughed.
“Uh …” The voice was amused. And familiar. “I probably shouldn’t ask.”
I raised my head and accepted my reality. “Hi,” I said. “I was just …”
“Buying dog food,” he said.
“Oh, no. I don’t have a dog.”
“Which would explain why you’re laughing in the dog-food aisle.”
“Well, no,” I said, “I think the real explanation is that I’ve gone a little crazy.”
“Ah. Well, yeah. That would probably explain it better.” He was smiling, though. “I like the dress.”
“I know, right?” I had to laugh some more. “I need to pay for this stuff and change. Believe me, I feel as weird as I look right now.”
“I wouldn’t say you look weird. Sort of an odd mix of hot and …”
“Not,” I said, and this time, he grinned. “So you have a dog?” I decided to try, in an attempt to get the conversation off my clearly bizarre behavior.
