Chapter 80

I take the bus to work. Muller and Judy are using Mary’s car for a catering job. Theirs is still dribbling oil down the driveway. I lent mine to Mary so she can check out industrial kitchens. My hope is she’ll find one with an apartment upstairs, but saying that really raises her hackles. “They’re staying here,” she says. “I’ve already told them we can turn the den into a nursery.”

On the bus, I’m sitting next to a girl who texts with one hand and flicks through songs on her iPod with the other. Her fingers are perfectly coordinated. She texts, checks song lists, then texts some more. The music comes out sounding like an overcharged mosquito. Looking around the bus, I realize most of people have something in their ears. At my stop, I step out on the sidewalk and see Ruby and Max putting paint cans into the truck. I help with the ladders.

The owners on Madison are waiting out front when we arrive. They have these two enormous sheep dogs that gallop around like longhaired ponies. “I’m Ruby,” Ruby says to the couple. “This is Max and Sam.”

The couple can’t do a thing with those dogs. They run around, bumping into everything. One of them sticks its nose in Ruby’s crotch. “Gilbert!” the woman says. “Stop that.”

We go around the house, Ruby taking notes. From what we can see, the upper floor needs a full paint job, foundation included. I help Max get our stuff out of the truck. The dogs follow me, knocking over one paint can. A few minutes later, they crash into a ladder. “Can you ask them to take the dogs inside, Ruby?” Max says.

“I can try.” Ruby comes back five minutes later. “No dice. She says they’ll settle down.”

We can’t leave anything on the ground. As soon as we do, they run off with a roller or knock over something else. It goes on all day. Max is getting more and more frustrated. “We’re losing money every time they go by, Ruby,” he says. We have to bring everything back with us that night. “I’m gonna figure something out,” he says.

Next morning when we arrive, the dogs come running around the side of the house. Max is waiting with two brownies wrapped in tin foil. He takes one out, breaks it in two, tossing half to each dog. We sit in the truck, drinking coffee, while the dogs go off behind the garage. We find them later under a tree on their backs.

The woman comes out of the house. “What’s wrong with Gilbert and Freddy?”

“They’re just resting, ma’am.”

“On their backs?” She starts rubbing their tummies, calling them her “little boys.” The stupid things don’t even recognize her. “I’ve never seen them like this before,” she says.

“They look pretty happy,” Max says.

“You don’t think they ate paint, do you?”

“No, ma’am,” Max says. “They’d be puking all over the place. We’ve seen it before, haven’t we, Sam?”

The rest of the day is a breeze. Gilbert and Freddy barely move the whole afternoon. Towards four o’clock, Freddy makes a half-hearted attempt to stick his nose in Ruby’s crotch. It’s too much for him. He falls asleep with his ass in the koi pond.

Next morning, the dogs come galloping out of the house: tufts of grass fly, slobber is everywhere. Max doesn’t even bother getting out of the truck. He tosses the brownie, lights a cigarette, and waits for them to fall over. Ruby isn’t thrilled. Giving those dogs pot is cutting into our profits. Otis went nuts when he found out. “You’re wasting good grass on a couple of mutts, Max?”

“They’re purebreds, Otis.”

At least we’re back on track. We paint the rest of the day with Gilbert and Freddy sleeping away. The woman comes out occasionally, rubs their tummies, then goes back inside. Ruby takes Gilbert and Freddy a bowl of water. They slurp half-heartedly. “You’ve turned them into idiots, Max.”

“They’ll be okay in a few hours.”

“You sure about that?”

“Pretty sure.”

“You said the same thing about Otis.”

“That’s true.”