5
Her fingers were going to fall off. Petrify into rock, then shatter and scatter to the ground in miniscule granules. That’s what she believed and, in a way, that’s what she wanted. Squeezing a dog’s anal glands had not been a part of her Hooking Mason by Any Means Necessary plan, and the way Brooklyn’s butt smelled, she knew her nostrils were in trouble. And she hadn’t even started the expression.
“The gland openings should be somewhere around the five-o’clock and seven-o’clock positions of the openings. Remember?” Rebecca asked.
Charly grimaced. She’d been face to dog’s butt for too long, and was ready to run. But she couldn’t. Putting her right hand under Brooklyn’s stomach, she adjusted her until Brooklyn’s rectum was directly in front of her. With her thumb and forefinger, she pressed gently but firmly against the skin under the anal gland openings, feeling for something about the size of a kidney bean. “Yuck!” she said, feeling the odd shape that was more enlarged than Barkly’s had been.
“You got it,” Rebecca said. “Now press and squeeze at the same time. Think of popping a pimple. You press and squeeze around the perimeter, pushing up at the same time.”
Charly gagged. She pressed her forefinger on one side and her thumb on the other of the inflamed bump, then squeezed, moving her digits in an upward motion.
“Towel. Towel. Towel!” Rebecca yelled, reminding Charly.
Greenish-brown gooey secretions squirted from Brooklyn’s bottom, making Charly jump back and to the right. Her face contorted, and she squealed like a pig. She was afraid to look down, scared that some of the mess had gotten on her. Yes, she wanted to please her boyfriend, well, almost boyfriend, but even she had to question if she wanted to be liked so badly that she’d wear his dog’s mess.
“You’re good,” Rebecca said, laughing. “It didn’t get you.” She reached over and handed Charly a warm towel. “Now cover it this time.”
Charly happily accepted the towel and placed it over Brooklyn’s anus. Still gagging from the smell, sight, and thought of what she was doing, she expressed and expressed and expressed until Brooklyn had no more greenish-brown anal secretions.
Rebecca clapped like she was at a concert. “I’m proud of you. Now you can bathe her.”
Charly held up her hand to the waning sun in front of the salon. Her fingers had been to a place they shouldn’t have gone, and done things they shouldn’t have done. She looked down at Brooklyn, glad that she had been the second victim. That’s how Charly thought of the dogs she and Rebecca had freed from their built-up anal secretions—violated. There was no way anyone—man or animal—could go through something like that and not feel victimized by an injustice.
Brooklyn whimpered, sitting on her bottom, refusing to move. Charly felt bad for her, knowing it had to be sore. Getting all that gunk out of the dog had not been easy, and the whole “expressing” had given her new appreciation for being human. “Come on, Brooklyn,” she gently urged, tugging lightly on the leash.
Brooklyn wouldn’t move. In fact, it seemed as if she was getting heavier by the second. Charly put her free hand on her hip. “Brooklyn, we can’t do this. I know you don’t want to stay here all day. Do you?”
Brooklyn whined.
Charly crouched down, getting as close to eye level as she could with the small dog as passersby moved to and fro, looking at Charly and the dog taking up the middle of the busy sidewalk. “Okay, let’s make a deal. You walk, and I promise to get you some treats. At the rate we’re moving, we’re going to get run over. And I can’t have that.” She stood and pulled on the leash again. No luck.
“She’s not ready,” a voice called from behind, stealing her attention from Brooklyn. It was the distinguished gentleman who’d brought Barkly into the salon, and by his side was Barkly. “She’s a pup, and it seems as if she hasn’t been trained to walk yet.”
Walk yet? What dog needed to be taught to walk? Charly wondered, smiling at the man as if she was well aware of the problem. “I know, but I always like to give them a chance to prove me wrong. Sometimes I think they’re smarter than us. Take Barkly, for example. He’s such a pro, he almost groomed himself.”
The man smiled and froze mid-move. He’d been reaching toward his breast pocket. “Don’t speak so soon, you might smite yourself.”
Smite? “How so?” Charly asked, standing.
The man stuck his hand inside his suit, then pulled out a wallet. Unfolding it, he opened it lengthways, then fished out two twenty-dollar bills. “Your tip. You don’t want to smite—cut yourself off—from getting the tip you earned. I forgot to leave it.”
Charly accepted the money with a thankful grin. “Wow! Thank you. But isn’t this too much? This has to be more than the groom cost.”
He shook his head. “No. No need to thank me. My Barkly’s never been so clean or smelled so good. And money is not an option when it comes to my baby,” he said with a polite nod. He turned and began to walk away, pulling on Barkly’s leash. “One more thing.” He looked back over his shoulder. “Next week, then?”
Charly’s eyebrows rose. She didn’t know what he meant by “next week,” but she knew why Barkly was so clean and fresh. After he’d been expressed, she’d washed him for almost an hour straight because she’d spilled so much concentrated shampoo on him, then took forever to rinse him. He was her first lesson on too much soap, and had been the first initiated into what she and Rebecca called Charly’s Doubly Bubbly Club.
“Yes. Barkly and I will see you next week. If you’re not available, we’ll have to look elsewhere for a groomer. After today, I know he wasn’t shampooed properly before you came. Isn’t that right, Barkly?” he asked his dog as if Barkly could speak.
Charly nodded. On one hand, the man was paying her a compliment, but on the other side of his decision, he was ousting Rebecca out of a job. Rebecca had told her she couldn’t lose one more client, which Charly took to mean she’d had to have lost some before. Charly nodded. She’d have to fix that. Rebecca had looked out for her, so she owed her. She wouldn’t let her shampooing skills get in the way of Rebecca and college, even if she, herself, wasn’t a big fan of textbooks.
Charly took the forty dollars and stuffed the bills deep into her skirt pocket. In only a few hours at the pet salon, she’d made more than she would’ve at Smax’s, and it sure felt good. Not wonderful enough to make her want to turn her back on the retirees who patronized the restaurant, because she’d grown to love all the regulars and her bosses, but still, it was nice. Mentally, she calculated how much she’d saved. There was the two-hundred-eighty-six that Lola had returned, and now forty. “Three-hundred and twenty-six,” she said, proudly. With the money Bathsheba had given her and her upcoming paycheck on Friday, she’d have enough money for the phone (which she had to buy outright because she was too young to enter a contract), a jazzy case, and maybe even the first month’s service. “C’mon Brooky-Brook,” she said to Brooklyn, scooping her from the ground. “We don’t want to keep Mason waiting,” she said, then prepared to help Brooklyn walk the half mile to Mason’s house.
Before Charly could ring the doorbell, Mason opened the door, barely clothed. Charly gulped, taking in his boxer shorts and extra-white wifebeater undershirt. The sight of him, minus his usual outfit of jeans, sneakers and latest hottest shirt, knocked the wind out of her. She stammered, almost unable to contain herself, but she did. Swallowing her feelings, she calmed herself. She wouldn’t let him know he had her. “Here’s Brooklyn,” she said, still on the porch, not wanting to appear pushy by just inviting herself in. Reluctant, and a bit saddened, she handed over the dog. It amazed her how she’d gone from being uncomfortable around four-legged creatures to actually knowing she was going to miss Brooklyn. In the short time they’d spent together, she’d grown kind of fond of the puppy who’d shot fecal waste from her anus, then held Charly with sweet innocent eyes, almost as if she was trying to thank her.
Mason took Brooklyn and rubbed her head. “Come in, Charly,” he said, opening the door wider and standing to the side, allowing her room to enter. “How much do I owe you?”
Charly just stood there, not knowing what to do. She shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. Look at it as my apology for being late on helping you write your paper.”
A weird look moved across Mason’s face. “Well, about that . . . I think I may be okay.” He ran his hands over Brooklyn’s head again, then looked at Charly’s feet. His whole demeanor screamed foul play.
Charly reared back her head. It was only recently that Mason had been so pressed about the English paper, so his dismissing it had taken her aback. “Really?” She raked her fingers through her hair in aggravation.
“Mason?” a girl’s voice called from another room.
Mason’s head shot up, and his look moved from weird to guilty. “Well, I kinda had help from a friend,” he said apologetically.
Charly’s eyebrows rose and strands of hair fell in her face. “Friend?” She was Mason’s only friend, at least that’s what she’d believed. “Really?” she asked again, a bit of attitude flaring. “I didn’t know you had a friend,” she said, swiping hair from her eyes. Something was in one, irritating it, and it was starting to water. Blinking deliberately and slowly, she was thankful for the interruption because it gave her time to check herself. Jealousy was starting to surface, and that was unacceptable. So what if another girl had helped him with his stupid paper? So what if the same girl was there and calling his name when it should have been her? She tried to convince herself that it didn’t matter. After all, she told herself, she wasn’t his girlfriend girlfriend. Yes, they were together in theory, but he hadn’t actually asked her to be his girl. Then she wondered if guys still asked girls to be exclusive.
“Well, that’s good, Mason.” She forced a smile. “I’m glad you got it done.” Her feet shuffled anxiously, and her lids batted away the tears forming in the stinging eye. She was ready to go.
A relieved look washed his face of the guilty mask he’d worn. “I’m glad you’re being such a good sport about it. I know I pressed you about it earlier.”
“Mason?” the voice called again.
Charly shrugged her shoulders. “I probably should be going. I got a lot to do, ya know? And you might want to answer her.”
Mason shook his head, then stepped outside and closed the door behind him. “No. I don’t.”
Her head spun left to the closed door, then right toward Mason. “You don’t what?”
Mason did that thing he did with his brows again. Instantaneously, Charly’s attitude began to melt. “No, I don’t know what you gotta do, and I don’t have to answer anyone.” He put down Brooklyn, stepped forward, and grabbed Charly’s face in his hands. “Stay still,” he directed, moving her hair from her face, and stretching her eye with his thumb and forefinger. “Stay still. I almost got it,” he said, grabbing the strand of hair that was poking her eye, then blew gently.
Charly backed away, an emotional mess. On one hand, his being so close made her want to get on tiptoe and kiss him; on the other, she wanted to punch him. He didn’t need another girl to help him with anything. She was all he needed.
“I gotta go,” she said, opening the door. “Before I have to get a friend to help me catch up with my work.” She was down the steps, and speeding away from his house angrily. As much as she hated living in a small town, it had its benefits. Before the sun rose, Charly was sure she’d know two critical things: who Mason’s friend was—and how to get rid of her.