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‘Don’t look,’ said Michelle to Connie under her breath. ‘Don’t look, don’t look, don’t—’
‘Oh, there’s Becca!’ Connie waved.
‘Jesus! I told you not to look!’
Connie leaned forward. ‘This isn’t a big restaurant. We’re right near the entrance. The odds of her not seeing us were slim.’
‘That’s because she has evil laser vision,’ said Michelle. ‘A telescopic bitch scope.’
‘Ssh,’ said Connie. ‘She’s coming over.’
‘You,’ said Michelle, ‘have gone right to the top of my shit list.’
‘Connie. How lovely to see you.’
Becca was beside them. She was wearing a severely minimalist long-sleeved panelled dress in grey and black. It stopped above two knees that reminded Michelle of Rosie’s teeth against her gum just before they started cutting: the bony nubs of Becca’s knees seemed to strain against her skin in the same way, as if they were about to erupt through. Her hair was pulled back in a high ponytail that clearly doubled as a facelift, Michelle decided. That elastic band better be extra sturdy. If it snapped, her whole face would collapse inwards, like a failed soufflé.
Becca stooped to kiss the airspace beside Connie’s cheek. She was smiling, observed Michelle, but it was stiff, fixed, a smile for form only. Becca’s true state of mind was shown by her eyes, which were travelling around the room, scanning it for anyone who might be more important than them, Michelle decided. And no doubt for enemies, too, like the Cylons in the old version of Battlestar Galactica.
God, now it was her turn, thought Michelle, as Becca aimed the smile in her direction. This would go one of two ways. She’d either pretend to have forgotten who Michelle was, to make her feel like an insignificant speck, or she’d make a pointed reference to her behaviour at the dinner, to make her feel like a drunken slob.
‘Michelle,’ said Becca. ‘It is Michelle, isn’t it? I didn’t get much chance to talk to you the other night before Chad had to take you home.’
Impressive. A double hitter! Hook, cross! Ka-pow!
‘Yes, it’s me.’ Michelle smiled. ‘Mrs Chad. Which one was your husband again?’
‘Jay,’ said Becca. ‘He’s the Senior Vice-President of Hedging.’
‘Hedging, eh?’ said Michelle. ‘Connie, is Phil also in Hedging?’
‘Phil is in Equity Derivatives,’ said Becca. ‘Isn’t that right, Connie?’
‘Yes, Becca,’ said Connie.
Michelle resisted a temptation to kick her friend’s shin under the table. Goddamnit, Connie! Don’t be so freaking meek!
‘Becca, won’t you join us?’ said Connie.
And with that, thought Michelle, Connie had earned a place on her special shit list. But not high enough to bump Gwyneth Paltrow off top spot.
‘I’m meeting Sissy. You remember Sissy,’ Becca said to Michelle. ‘She was at dinner too. She’s married to Elliot.’
Didn’t ring a bell. There was a woman called Bitchface. But no, Michelle didn’t recall a Sissy.
Becca’s phone beeped and she pulled it impatiently from her bag. As she read the text, her mouth thinned.
‘Oh, for God’s sake.’
She shoved the phone back in her bag and expelled a sound like ‘tchah’.
‘Sissy’s cancelled,’ she said. ‘That’s the second time she’s done this to me! So incredibly self-centred. I really will have to say something.’
‘Then do join us, Becca,’ said Connie, ignoring Michelle’s warning glare. ‘They haven’t taken our order yet. We’ve really only just sat down.’
‘Oh, why not?’ Becca made it sound like the second-worst of two very bad offers. ‘Get them to set another place.’
As it happened, a waiter was hovering anxiously. Becca was the kind of woman who induced anxious hovering in waiters, thought Michelle. A third place was set and a menu offered. Becca waved it away.
‘Bring me the chicken salad, with no almonds or avocado. And no stone fruit or kiwi. I assume the lettuce is cos and not iceberg. Make sure it’s extremely well-washed and air-dried only.’
‘Mm-mm,’ said Michelle. ‘That sounds delicious. Connie, what are you having?’
‘Oh.’ Connie’s smile up at the waiter was tentative. ‘Oh, I think I’ll have the same.’
‘Connie?’ Michelle adopted a sing-song tone of enquiry. ‘Is that what you really want?’
‘Connie has a constant battle with her weight,’ said Becca. ‘Most of the time you win though, don’t you, Connie?’
Connie flushed and nodded to indicate that the waiter was now hovering next to Michelle.
‘Oh, right,’ Michelle said to him. ‘I’ll have the cheeseburger.’
When the waiter had taken the menus and hurried off, Michelle added, ‘I was going to have the roast chicken, but it’s only a mere six hundred and ninety calories, whereas that cheese-filled sucker is a whopping nine-ninety! If my weight wants a battle, then I say bring it.’
She didn’t miss the glance that Becca shot Connie. It said, unmistakeably, that everything Becca had decided about Michelle at that dinner had now been confirmed. Michelle was a fat lush with a foul mouth, who lived in shitty new-money Marin.
Thing was, Michelle couldn’t give a flying fuck what Becca though of her. The list of people whose opinions she valued was short enough. The world could freeze up and thaw out again before Becca would make the cut.
But Connie didn’t think that way, Michelle realised. Connie cared very much what Becca thought. The woman who had the brains to conquer Joyce and a patience and wisdom to rival Ghandi cared about the opinion of a woman whose flesh had been melted off her bones by her own bile. Why did Connie bother to go to a clinic to get an acid-peel? She could have just paid Becca to lick her face.
Right, Michelle decided. Gloves off.
‘How’s your new nanny working out, Becca?’ she said. ‘I hear she’s quite the fresh-faced young stunner.’
Becca didn’t even blink. ‘She’s an idiot. If every other nanny in the Bay Area wasn’t a Hispanic illegal with crappy English, I’d fire her tomorrow.’
‘Oh!’ said Connie. ‘I thought she was sweet!’
‘Marshmallow is sweet, Connie,’ said Becca, ‘and its nutritional value is roughly equivalent to Isabel’s IQ.’
‘What does Kay think?’ said Michelle.
‘Who?’ Becca frowned.
‘Oh, right. I mean Jay.’
‘Jay?’ Becca rolled her eyes. ‘He sees her for thirty seconds a week, if that. So of course he thinks she’s a honey.’
‘Fortunately,’ Michelle said, ‘thirty seconds isn’t enough for him to do any honey-dipping.’ Her gaze became mock-innocent. ‘Or maybe it is?’
‘Jay won’t screw the help,’ said Becca without hesitating. ‘He has a whore up in Potrero who does the whole pointy-boots thing with him. Keeps him happy.’
‘Becca!’
Michelle was grateful for Connie’s exclamation. It gave her time to pick her jaw up off the tabletop. Maybe she’d misjudged Becca? She’d pegged her as uptight, hyper-critical and vengeful. But perhaps those qualities had their upside?
‘Doesn’t bother me,’ said Becca to Connie. ‘Keeps him out of any messy situations with domestics or girls in the office. I mean, you can pay them off, but all the weeping and phone calls and carry on? It just gets tiresome.’ Becca held up her glass of water. ‘Nope,’ she said. ‘It’s whores for us from now on.’ She took a sip, and added, ‘You should suggest it to Phil, Connie.’
Connie touched her hand to her chest. ‘Oh, no! No, Phil wouldn’t want to do that kind of thing. I mean — he simply wouldn’t.’
‘Really.’ Becca eyed her for a moment. Then she shrugged. ‘OK.’
The waiter arrived with their food. Michelle noted that he served Becca first.
Connie waited until he was well out of earshot. ‘I know some men have a high sex-drive,’ she said, and blushed. ‘But Phil — well, he doesn’t go without, let’s put it that way.’
‘It’s not just about sex, Connie,’ said Becca. ‘It’s as much about stroking their egos as it is about stroking their dicks. The whole power-play and adrenalin rush — the kind of high they get from work is what they’re after when it’s after work. If you follow me.’
She picked up her fork and stabbed a piece of lettuce. ‘I’m sure Phil is happy as a lark being married to you, Connie. But when those phone calls start coming, which, according to Jay, should be any day now, don’t say I didn’t warn you.’
Aishe was in the shelter van with Nico, considering making a pass at him.
Fuck it, she thought. What had she got to lose? OK, yes, there was her place at the shelter. But if Nico said yes, then he was hardly likely to fire her. So she’d get laid and be able to stay.
Nico is not interested in you, said the voice, and you know it. You’re just acting up because you’re feeling lonely and old and unattractive.
Fuck you, Frank, said Aishe in her head. Fuck you, Eddie, Benedict, Jonas and Uncle Jenico. Fuck every man who want to interfered with her life!
Aishe thumped back in the passenger seat so hard that Nico glanced at her, startled.
‘Something up?’ he said.
‘Nope.’
‘Uh-huh,’ he said, after a beat. ‘You up for this? Because if not, you can stay in the van.’
Aishe gave him a baleful stare. ‘It’s just some moron who can’t take care of a dog. It’s not a case of abuse.’
‘And I’d rather it didn’t turn into one,’ said Nico. ‘So could you keep your thoughts about morons to yourself?’
Aishe nodded. Then when Nico kept staring at her, added a brisk, ‘Yes. OK. Fine.’
They were driving into a newly built area. Even though the road was public, it had the air of a gated community. Rows of matching houses, neat and large, with billiard-baize lawns and driveways filled with SUVs so clean you could see your reflection in the hubcaps. Nico’s van was dusty and battered, patched up with mismatched paint. If it didn’t have the cute, bright animal-shelter logo on the side, thought Aishe, they’d be pulled over by the neighbourhood cops before they got two feet. Protecting smug suburbanites from undesirables. Bet that made them feel like real policeman.
As if he’d read her mind, Nico said, ‘A guy I went to school with is a cop in Oakland. He told me they get more call-outs in two hours than cops round here get in two weeks. And you know what the cops here mainly get called out for?’
‘Burglary?’
‘Nope. Most of these people have their alarms rigged up to private security firms. They pay through the nose but at least they get action. Cops won’t prioritise burglary call-outs unless people have been threatened or hurt. No,’ said Nico, ‘the main crime the cops here deal with is domestic violence.’ He glanced around. ‘Hard to imagine. Looks lemon-fresh to me.’
‘Looks like hell to me,’ said Aishe.
‘Yeah, well,’ said Nico. ‘Not all of us have the good fortune to be working-class heroes.’
Aishe couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or not.
‘OK, here we are.’
Nico changed down and pulled alongside the curb. The van gave its usual rattle and cough as he switched off the ignition. Nico patted the wheel and said, ‘Good girl. Be sure to start again for me, won’t you, sweetheart?’
He saw Aishe’s disbelieving look.
‘Bit of tenderness never hurts,’ he said, with a smile.
Aishe frowned. ‘Are you married?’
Nico looked mildly alarmed. ‘Married? No. Why?’
‘Girlfriend?’
‘Aishe,’ said Nico, ‘there’s a woman in that house who wants to give us a dog. She’s desperately eager to give us the dog. Let’s not keep her waiting.’
On the drive up, Nico had told Aishe that the woman had got a black Labrador puppy for her child, as company for the little boy after her husband had walked out on them six months ago. She hadn’t been able to handle the dog at all, and had rung the shelter to beg them to collect it. Aishe had no tolerance for people who thought puppies would somehow take care of themselves, as if they were stuffed toys. Those people, she firmly believed, should be forced to pay a hefty fine for a) animal neglect and b) terminal stupidity.
The woman who answered the door was in her late thirties, Aishe guessed, blonde and attractive but a little frayed around the edges. Too thin, Aishe decided. Like Michelle’s friend, Connie. The woman saw a big tattooed man with a mullet hairdo on her doorstep and her eyes grew large.
‘Hi.’ Nico smiled and reached out his hand. ‘I’m Nico Durante, from the shelter. This is my colleague, Aishe.’
‘Hello.’ The woman was eyeing Nico’s hand as if it was contaminated, Aishe thought. But she did give it a quick, tentative shake.
Then she glanced over her shoulder. ‘Look, I’m sorry, but Danny came home sick from pre-school today. I haven’t told him, and I—’ She scrunched up her face apologetically. ‘Could you come back another day?’
Aishe opened her mouth, but Nico got in first. ‘Ma’am, I’m afraid the dog’s welfare is our first priority now. We’ll be as quick as we can.’
Aishe couldn’t help herself. ‘How did you intend to explain it when he got home from pre-school anyway?’ she said. ‘Were you just going to pretend the dog was a figment of his imagination?’
The woman looked as if she were about to cry. Aishe felt Nico’s hand grip her upper arm in a way that was slightly too firm for comfort.
‘Ma’am,’ he said, ‘can you show us to the dog?’
The woman hesitated, her mouth working with anxiety and indecision. She glanced again over her shoulder and opened up the door.
‘It’s in the laundry,’ she said. ‘Come on through.’
It, thought Aishe? The dog was not an it! But Nico’s grip on her arm had not slackened. She kept her mouth shut.
Aishe had half expected the dog to be chained up in a corner, but he was loose, and when the laundry door was opened came bounding at them, tongue lolling, crooning in the way Labradors do when they’re excited to see you. At least the laundry was a reasonable size. And there was food and water and a bed. But the dog shouldn’t be shut in there on its own. Labradors were social. They needed company.
The dog was only a year old but already adult sized, and over sixty pounds. He leapt up on Nico, who emitted a short, sharp guttural sound. Immediately, the dog dropped to the ground and rolled over.
‘My God, how did you do that?’ said the woman. ‘I can never get him to stop jumping up!’
‘Dogs need to know who’s boss,’ said Nico. ‘I’m alpha dog now, so he’ll wait for my cue before he does anything.’
‘And all you needed to do was growl at him?’
Nico smiled. ‘I’ve had a lot of practice getting that growl right.’
The dog was now sitting at Nico’s feet, gazing up at him adoringly. Nico reached down and fondled his ears.
‘Nice-natured dog. You know he could easily be trained? If you wanted to change your mind, I could suggest a good dog school for you.’
The woman blushed and shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. ‘Oh, no, I don’t think so.’
‘Mommy?’
A small boy in pyjamas was in the doorway. He looked as if he’d just woken up. His face was flushed and his hair damp. Fever, thought Aishe. He should be back in bed.
‘Danny!’
The woman skittered along the floor towards her son and scooped him up. Her mouth opened, but she’d been caught on the hop and it was clear her mind had gone blank.
‘Hi, Danny,’ said Nico. ‘I’m Nico and this is Aishe. We’re here to visit—’ He blinked, realising. ‘What’s your dog’s name?’
‘Blackie,’ said Danny’s mother quickly.
Danny, head resting on her shoulder, gave a faint nod.
‘OK,’ said Nico. ‘Blackie’s going to come and live with us for a bit.’
Danny lifted his head. ‘Why?’ he said to his mother.
‘He’s — well, he’s going to play with some other dogs.’ Her voice was brittle, jittery.
‘Why?’ Danny was frowning now.
‘Oh, Danny.’ His mother’s small well of inspiration had dried. She looked once again near tears.
‘Hey, Danny,’ said Nico. ‘What’s your favourite movie?’
Danny hesitated, then said. ‘Frozen.’
‘Have you got it?’
Danny nodded.
‘Want to watch it now?’ said Nico.
Danny’s mother had finally clicked. ‘Why don’t we go watch it?’ she said. ‘I could microwave some popcorn?’
Danny beamed and clutched his hands together. ‘Yes! Yes!’
At the laundry door, his mother paused. ‘Thank you,’ she said, and hurried out.
Nico took a deep breath and bent to give the dog’s ears one last fondle.
‘OK, buddy,’ he said. ‘Time to go.’
The van’s engine whined before rattling into life. Blackie was in the back, in a cage into which he had gone willingly. His bed, bowls and all traces of his existence had been removed from the laundry and shoved into the van. Nico and Aishe had let themselves out the front door of the house without saying goodbye.
Aishe sat in silence for the first five minutes because she was too angry to speak. Nico kept quiet too. For the same reason, Aishe assumed.
‘You should have told her that if we can’t find a home for her dog,’ said Aishe, ‘then we’ll have to put him down.’
‘Should I?’ said Nico.
‘Yes! She should know the consequences of being an idiot!’ Aishe gestured angrily. ‘I’d like to know what she intends to tell her kid now!’ She put on an affected, saccharine voice. ‘Oh, honey, Blackie’s gone to doggy camp. He’ll have such a fun time!’
‘Shut up, Aishe,’ said Nico.
‘Oh, what?’ said Aishe. ‘You agree with what she’s done? You’re OK with her bullshitting her kid and potentially sending her dog to his death?’
‘NO, I AM NOT FUCKING OK WITH IT!’
Aishe had never heard Nico even raise his voice, let alone yell like that. The shock of it made her recoil. She shrank back in her seat and stared at him, waiting and wary.
‘Jesus fuck, Aishe.’ Nico had lowered his voice, but he was still breathing hard. ‘Why the fuck do you do this job? Why do you even fucking bother to be here?’
He didn’t wait for her to answer. ‘Can you not fucking see – have you not learned – that it’s not just about the animals? Sure, people who abuse animals need to be stopped and they need to be punished. But that’s not just for the sake of the animals. It’s for the sake of the people, the kids and wives and girlfriends, whom those arseholes will also abuse. That woman—’ He waved his hand in the air, causing the van to swerve slightly. ‘She decided to get a dog because she wanted to distract her kid from the fact his father had gone. She wanted him to feel less alone. Was that smart? No. She should have found out more about what it meant to own a dog. Was it understandable? Was it a decision any reasonable human being could have compassion for? Hell yes!’
He paused to catch his breath. His face and neck had gone a dark, mottled red. But then he straightened in his seat and started taking deep, calming breaths. The mottling receded. The octopus tentacle tattoo on his neck became visible again.
Aishe was willing him to look at her, but he kept his eyes on the road. She had the urge to apologise over and over again, but it didn’t seem appropriate. It didn’t seem enough. She realised for the first time that she, too, had been a beneficiary of Nico’s compassion. He’d kept her on because he felt sorry for her. He’d seen though all her cranky bluster and understood how much she’d needed this work. And even she didn’t really understand why she needed it.
He’d been good to her – she’d always known that. It was why she was so desperate for him to think well of her. But in her usual way, she’d managed to sabotage all her good intentions. He’d been good to her and in return, all she’d given him was trouble.
‘I could take him,’ she said. ‘Blackie.’
It was a while before Nico replied. ‘I thought you didn’t want a dog because you wanted to stay mobile.’
‘I’ve lived in the same place for almost ten years,’ she said. ‘I think I was more attached to the idea of being able to leave at a moment’s notice than the reality.’ She paused. ‘Gulliver’s always wanted a dog.’
Again, Nico didn’t reply for some time.
‘I’ll think about it,’ he said.
And they drove the rest of the way back in silence.