Chasing Stanley (6 page)

“I won't,” Jason promised.

The banter was easy through dinner, with Ty and Michael asking him questions about growing up in North Dakota and, of course, about playing for the Mosquitoes. It wasn't until dessert came (some kind of cheese fritter drenched in honey) that they got down to the crux of the matter.

“You've got a reputation as a hard worker out on the ice,” said Ty. “Which is good, because we're a team that prides itself on excellence.” He took a sip of sambuca. “Want to know why I won three Cups in St. Louis and two here in New York?”

Jason hated being put on the spot this way, but he had no choice but to respond. “Skill. Hard work. Dedication. A burning desire to win.”

Ty nodded approvingly. “What else?”

Jason drew a blank. He felt like a dolt.

Ty nudged Michael in the ribs. “Tell him what else.”

“Discipline. In all areas of your life, hockey has to come first. Always. Before partying, before hanging out with your friends, before everything.
Capisce?
”

“I hear you,” said Jason, squirming with irritation. He'd spent the first sixteen years of his life dreaming of making it to the Big Apple, and now they were telling him to live like a monk?

“I don't like guys who are distracted,” Ty continued. “You need to live hockey. You need to eat and breathe it. It has to be the only thing you think about. The only thing you
dream
about.”

Ty flashed Jason his trademark glare, and Jason shrank in his seat. That look made grown men want to dive for cover. It was fierce and unforgiving.

Michael smiled. “All we're saying is: Don't forget your priorities. Because if you slack on this team, both of us are going to ride your ass so hard, you're going to wish you'd never been born.”

“You got a girlfriend?” Ty asked.

“Not right now,” said Jason.

“Good,” Ty said emphatically. “Less distractions.”

Michael rolled his eyes. “Girlfriends are fine. Just make sure—”

“The team comes first,” Jason finished for him, trying not to chafe. These guys had wives and kids and managed to juggle it all. Why couldn't he?

“Do you always
lay your head in a girl's lap right after she walks in the door?”

Delilah clucked her tongue. She had no sooner entered Jason's apartment and sat down than Stanley hopped up on the couch beside her and laid his massive head in her lap. He looked so comfortable she hated to move him, but she had to. Stanley had to learn getting up on the furniture was unacceptable. Delilah delicately pushed him off her, rumbling the word
“down”
in her most commanding voice. Stanley gave her a dirty look and grumbled, but he did as she said.

“Let me guess,” she said to Jason, who watched in amusement as the scene unfolded. “You let him up on the couch to watch TV with you.”

Jason rocked on his heels. “Well . . .”

He looked like a little kid caught in a fib, Delilah thought. She wasn't sure what she'd do if he ever asked her on a date. All that “Don't look too eager/Wait till he calls/Let him chase you” stuff her mother was always preaching confused her. Delilah had never been good at this; in fact, she found it excruciating.

Besides, who was she kidding? Why would a hot pro athlete want to go out with
her
? She wasn't gorgeous. She wasn't rich. She was a bumbling blurter. To top it all off, she knew
bubkes
about sports.

“I got that
thing
you told me to get.” Jason disappeared into what Delilah assumed to be his bedroom, returning with the Halti, holding it out before him as if were a noose.

“Stanley, come,” Delilah coaxed. Stanley came. “Good boy.” She gave him a slice of hot dog then pulled out another. “Stanley, sit.” Stanley sat. “Good boy,” Delilah repeated enthusiastically, feeding him another treat. Delilah slowly extended her free hand to Jason.

“Halti,” she whispered.

Jason passed her the Halti.

“Rub Stanley's belly and tell him what a wonderful boy he is,” she told him.

Jason knelt before Stanley, doing as Delilah said. Stanley lapped up his master's praise, barely making a fuss as Delilah put the Halti on him. “Good boy!” she boomed, giving him another treat.

Jason rose to his feet. “Well, that was easy.”

Delilah took off the Halti and handed it to Jason. “Your turn.”

Delilah sensed Jason's anxiety as he took the Halti from her. He seemed to be stalling, staring down at it as if it were some puzzle to be solved.

“You okay?” Delilah asked.

“I'm afraid I'm going to choke him.”

“You're not. That's the whole point. This is a better way to train him than a choke collar.”

“Maybe you could help me?”

Delilah was caught off guard. “Help you how?”

“Help me guide it onto his muzzle. Just until I get the hang of it.”

Delilah swallowed. “I could do that.”

Delilah gently placed her hands over Jason's. Together they guided the Halti onto Stanley's muzzle. “See?” Jason's hands beneath hers felt strong and warm. “It's easy.” Delilah withdrew her hands, discreetly trying to wipe them off on her jeans; she was afraid they'd been sweaty. “You try.”

Jason's gaze lingered on her a long time before he began slipping the Halti on and off Stanley on his own.

“How am I doing?” Jason asked.

“Great. Let's take a five-minute break, and then we'll start putting it on him and attaching his leash.”

Delilah stared at Stanley. Jason stared at Stanley. Stanley looked from one to the other. Seconds passed. Delilah nearly jumped when Jason abruptly turned to her.

“How did you get into this again?”

Same question as last time they'd seen each other, when Delilah had cut him short. Determined to prove she could hold a conversation without running on at the mouth like a ninny, she smiled.

“I've always loved dogs. Like I told you, I got my first dog when I was five, and I trained him. The rest is history. By the time I was in high school I had my own business, walking and training dogs. I guess you could say it was my destiny.”

Jason laughed appreciatively. “I hear you. There's only one thing I've ever wanted to do in my life, and that's play hockey. I guess that gives us something in common.”

“Yes,” Delilah managed. Thoughts were breaking up into fragments, making it hard to know what to say next. Ask about work—play—girlfriend—family—home—dog? See Spot run. See Delilah speak. See Delilah try not to sound like a moron.

Delilah cleared her throat. “How do you like New York?”

“I like it,” Jason said after a careful pause. “Now that the culture shock has worn off, I'm starting to feel at home here.” His expression turned curious. “You a native New Yorker?”

“Me? No. I mean, I grew up in New York. New York State, I mean, Long Island, well, that's part of New York, so I guess, hmm, technically yes but not the city, no.” Mortified by her incoherence, she shut up and petted Stanley's head, glad for the hairy prop.
This is why dogs are better,
she thought.
You never have to worry about making a fool out of yourself.
“Where are you from?” she asked, eager to deflect attention from herself.

“Flasher, North Dakota.” His expression turned playful. “If you tell me you've heard of it, I'll know you're lying.”

Delilah blushed. “No, I've never heard of it.”

“It's small, rural, and boring as hell. I got out of there as soon as I could.”

“And now you play hockey.”

“Now I play hockey. First in Minnesota, and now here.” Delilah had stopped petting Stanley, so Jason took over. “I bet it's not half as interesting as walking and training dogs, though.”

“Please,” Delilah scoffed.

“Seriously: you must see some interesting stuff.”

Delilah swallowed nervously. It couldn't hurt to open up just a little. She could always retreat if her tongue began tripping over itself.

“There's this one little pug I walk named Quigley. I have to go through this little ritual before I can even get him out the door: I pet him five times, coo, ‘Quigley Wiggly you da man,' and then give him a biscuit.”

Jason looked perturbed. “Really?”

“I didn't come up with the ritual! His owners did.” Delilah was horrified he'd think her capable of such silliness, though if he ever heard the little songs she made up and sang to her dogs, he'd probably have her committed.

“That can't be as bad as it gets,” Jason prompted.

“Oh, it's not,” Delilah assured him, warming to the topic. “I walk one dog whose owner has covered every inch of wall space with pictures of Andy Griffith.”

“Male or female?”

“Male.”

Jason looked queasy. “Sweet Lord deliver us, as my grandfather used to say.”

“Then there's this black Lab named Betty over on West Seventy-ninth whose owners are”—Delilah lowered her voice—“Satanists.”

“How do you know?”

“They leave their mail on table by the front door, and they've got a subscription to some magazine called
Black Mass Monthly
. Plus there's a huge painting of Satan hanging over the fireplace.”

Jason whistled through his teeth. “Man, I'd love to spend a day with you. I bet I'd learn a lot.”

Delilah blushed, wondering he was referring to her clients or to her. “We'd better get back to Stanley.” She spent the remainder of the lesson getting Stanley used to wearing the Halti.

“You need to keep practicing with him,” Delilah told Jason. “Keep the Halti and the leash on for a little bit longer each day. After about three days, start walking him around your apartment with it on. If he pulls in a direction you don't want him to go, stop a minute and tell him, ‘This way,' or, ‘Let's go.' If he does what you say, give him a t-r-e-a-t. Never punish him if he does something wrong. Reward him if he does something right.” Delilah pulled out her PalmPilot. “So, next Thursday?”

Jason grimaced. “Look, is there some kind of accelerated program we can put Stanley on?”

“Why?”

“Because my first road trip is in about three weeks, and I'm worried he won't be properly trained and you won't board him.”

Delilah crouched down so she was face-to-face with Stan. “You'll be ready by then, won't you, big guy?” Stanley's response was to lick her face with a big slurp. “See?” she said to Jason. “He'll be ready. No extra lessons necessary.”

“If you say so,” said Jason. Delilah thought he looked disappointed.

“I guess that's it, then. See you next week.”

“Next week,” Jason echoed.

“Don't forget to practice.”

“I won't.” He paused. “Thanks for your help.” Before Delilah knew what was happening, Jason leaned in to give her a quick peck on the cheek. Dazed, she floated in the direction of his front door.

“Bye, Stanley,” she called over her shoulder on her way out. She hated to admit it, but next Thursday suddenly felt like a long time away.

 

 

“
Heads up
,
here
comes the mayor.”

Jason turned from where he sat with Eric at an outdoor café, expecting to see Rudy Giuliani or Michael Bloomberg strolling down the street. Instead, a wizened old man in a shabby suit was slowly ambling their way, pausing every few feet to stop and chat with everyone who crossed his path. Jason and Eric were no exceptions.

“Hello, boys, hello.”

“Hello, Mr. Mayor,” said Eric. “Beautiful day, isn't it?”

“A rare September gem,” the mayor said before continuing on his way. He was barely out of earshot before Eric turned to Jason. “Total lunatic. Makes the rounds every day. He's harmless, though.”

Jason nodded, watching the mayor until he'd toddled completely out of view. Eric waved to a willowy woman clad like a Bedouin across the street, piquing Jason's curiosity. “Who's that?”

“Sheena. She lives in my building. She's some kind of puppet master or something.”

“How the hell can anyone make a living as a puppet master?”

“You'd be amazed at some of the ways people make a living in this city.”

“You seem to know everyone,” Jason observed, making sure he sounded impressed.

“Well, I have been living here awhile,” Eric replied with the boastfulness Jason had deliberately sought to stoke.

“Do you know that dog walker?” Jason asked casually.

“Who, that cute little chick who walks around covered in dog hair and drool?”

Jason nodded, mildly annoyed by Eric's use of the word
cute
. His physical description of Delilah wasn't very flattering, either. Jason hadn't noticed either dog hair
or
drool.

“I've seen her around,” said Eric, breaking off a piece of crumb cake from Jason's plate and popping it in his mouth, a habit from childhood that still drove Jason up the wall. “But I can't say I
know
her.” He looked at Jason. “Why? You know her?”

“She's training Stanley.”

“No kidding. How's it coming? Has Oscar Mayer called to thank you for keeping his empire afloat?”

“Har-har.” Jason stretched out his legs. “I was just wondering what the word around the neighborhood is about her, that kind of stuff.”

Eric grinned at him. “You're hot for her.”