Page 20 of A Matter of Pedigree
Carole read the letter as the crossed the lobby, pushing the rumbling cart ahead of her. Who was this Doriss woman? Whoever she was, Carole was positive she’d never actually met her. She must spend her days hiding in some back office. And so much for the two-thousand-dollar pet deposit they’d paid; it didn’t seem to have bought them much. Not to mention the two hundred dollars she’d tipped Barry at Christmas. Good luck next year, she thought, stuffing the paper in her purse and pushing the button for the elevator. When it arrived, Joao, the Brazilian kid who collected the garbage and vacuumed the halls, was inside.
“Hi, Mrs. Capobianco,” he said, noticing the cart. “You need help with something?”
Carole cheered up; some people evidently appreciated their Christmas tips. “I do,” she said. “Thanks.”
Joao took charge of the cart as they rode up to the second floor.
“So how’s the family?” she asked, as they made their way to the garage.
“My mom’s doing better; she doesn’t miss Brazil so much,” he said. “But the weather! She hates the cold!”
“Me, too,” sympathized Carole. “But spring is almost here. The days are already getting longer; warm weather is on its way.”
At the car, Carole unlocked the door, and Joao lifted out the cooler, while Carole roused Poopsie. The dog was groggy, but she followed Carole on the leash, weaving unsteadily from side to side.
“Is your dog sick?” asked Joao, his soft brown eyes full of concern.
Carole loved this kid. “She was barking this morning, so I gave her some tranquilizers. They made her sleepy.”
Joao nodded as he held the garage door for her. “Dogs don’t like apartments; they like the country. And if you gotta live in the city, you gotta make sure they get a lot of exercise.”
“I think you’re right,” agreed Carole.
“I’m talking from experience, y’know. I got a dog.”
“Yeah? What breed?”
“Pit bull.”
“Oh,” replied Carole, a bit surprised. Joao was more interesting than she’d thought.
Returning to the building, they encountered Tilly, another staff member, wrestling with a massive, industrial carpet-cleaning machine. Seeing her, Carole had an idea.
“Listen,” she said, waving a hand at the cooler, “I got all this food here. Frank’s father made it and we can’t eat it all. Do you want some?”
“Sure,” said Tilly, promptly switching the noisy machine off.
“You’re very generous,” said Joao, as Carole popped the lid on the cooler.
“What do you want? Lasagna? Manicotti? I’ve got it all,” said Carole, passing out half a dozen packages. Down at the far end of the hall, she spotted Pinky, the super, and his assistant, Wilson, and waved at them.
“What’s this?” asked Pinky, looking at the cooler.
“Frank’s dad loves to cook, but I don’t have room in my freezer,” said Carole. She actually had plenty of room; in fact, she relied on Big Frank’s cooking to feed Frank, since she didn’t really like to cook much herself. She was willing to make the sacrifice, however, if she could win them over with the food. “Can I convince you to try some of his cacciatore? It’s sooo good …”
“I don’t need no convincing,” said Wilson, stretching out his hands, dark chocolate brown on the backs and pink on the palms. “Say, what’s the matter with your dog?”
Poopsie was standing unsteadily with her legs splayed out, looking woozy.
“She was barking this morning, and I don’t want her to disturb the other tenants, so I got some tranquilizers for her. I don’t think it will be a problem anymore.” She made eye contact with them, one at a time, her arms full of frozen food. “Will it be a problem?”
“Dogs bark; it’s natural,” said Pinky, accepting a couple of containers of cacciatore, a container of gravy, and a chicken parm.
“Boss is right,” agreed Wilson, topping his load with a foil-wrapped baton of garlic bread. “Thanks, Mrs. Capobianco.”
“I got a couple more,” coaxed Carole, studying something lumpy wrapped in white freezer paper. “Looks like osso buco to me. You ought to try this. It’s delish.”
“You sure, Mrs. C?” asked Joao. “There’s nothing left for you and Mr. C.”
