Page 4 of The Belle and the Biker

My cousin Daisy and her mother would be proud. I'd asked Daisy for ideas on how to be a better person, and this was one of the things she suggested. I need more things to write in my "book of good deeds." It's just a dollar-store notebook, but I'm very proud of it. When I'm feeling low, I look at the lists of nice things I've done for people, and it reminds me that I am a very good person, even if many people don't appreciate it.

The old lady clutches her bag to her chest and starts screaming. "Mugger! Help! Help!"

I take a step back, alarmed. "Ma'am, I'm not…okay, never mind."

It's a good thing we're in the city, and everyone's ignoring her screams. I turn and hurry off, and I don't stop until I'm a block away. Then I quickly call up Tawny to find out what I did wrong. She's my cultural guide on how to live as a New Yorker.

"You did what?" she squalls when I finish.

"It was my cousin Daisy's idea!" I protest. "You know, for my daily good deed. Since the homeless shelter doesn't need me anymore."

"I thought you found a new shelter to volunteer at."

I start walking toward the studio again. "I did. They're cutting back on their volunteer hours to give more to their paid staff." And I think it's selfish of their paid staff to use up all those hours that I was going to log in my book of good deeds. Why is it so hard to find people to be nice to in New York City?

"Your cousin told you to ask a stranger for their packages? In Manhattan? Does she hate you?"

"She didn't specifically tell me to do that; she just said to volunteer to help an older person. And I don't think she hates me." I almost trip over a street musician's open guitar case, and he lets out a stream of curses.

"Bless your heart!" I say to him instead of replying in kind.

"Up yours." He turns his back on me.

I hang up on Tawny and pick up my pace. Now I'm worried. Does Daisy hate me? She said she forgave me, and Daisy's always been a woman of her word.

I'm almost at the studio when I'm startled by a strange squeaking sound from behind a bag of garbage resting against a lamppost. The bag rustles violently.

Is it the world's largest rat? There's another, even louder squeak. I quickly step back. Something crawls out from behind the garbage bag and moves toward me. It's too big and scraggly to be a rat; I think it's a horrible-looking dog in desperate need of a bath.

It shivers violently and limps toward me, tiny feet scrabbling on the slick, dirty snow. Ugh. I hate dogs, and this thing looks like a furry bag of diseases.

However, I am dedicated to being a better person. The Savannah I'm trying to become would not leave a tiny dog-like creature shivering in the cold. Probably.

Also, I can use this as my daily good deed since that old lady with the packages was no help.

I take off my scarf, gingerly wrap the dog in it, pick it up, and stick it in my purse, where it finds the rest of the muffin and attacks it.

"Hey! That was my lunch! And you better not make me late." My tone is severe, but the itsy hell-hound is too busy snaffling the muffin to pay attention.

I look on my phone to find the nearest animal shelter and then head there, grumbling under my breath the entire way. This better earn me lots of karma points. I wish I could see the karma points to count how many I've accumulated by being less awful. Actually, I'd like to get them in the form of cash. I'd like to think that not being a platinum-plated bitch for an entire day is worth at least fifty bucks. Tawny's told me that's not how it works, but who died and put her in charge of the Karma Department?

Nobody is waiting in the front office of the shelter, which gives me hope that I might still make it to my photoshoot on time. That hope is squashed flat when the surly man at the shelter's front desk shakes his head at me.

"We're currently full. Not accepting any animal surrenders," he says.

I shoot a resentful look at my purse-rat. I do not have time for this.

"I can't keep it!" I protest to the man behind the counter.

He shrugs indifferently and swivels his chair around so his back is to me.

That's okay; I've got this. All I need to do is call up my inner Scarlett O'Hara. She never fails me. I bat my lashes and wave my hand in a helpless little flutter. "Sir. Excuse me, a minute of your time?"

He turns back to face me. "What?" he grumbles.

I lean forward, batting my lashes even harder. "Ah, would be evah so grateful if you could make a teeny little exception for me." My voice flows like sweet molasses.

He heaves a sigh and shoves a clipboard at me. "If you insist."

---