Chihuahua Confidential (7 page)

Pepe was still trembling when we arrived back at the Chateau Marmont. I tucked him into my bed and sat beside him until he fell asleep. Then I got up and turned on my laptop. I had to solve the mystery of Caprice's white Chihuahua. I had been hearing this story from Pepe ever since I adopted him, but I had never thought to do any research.

Typing the words
Caprice, Pepe,
and
Chihuahua
into a search engine brought up a wealth of links, including photos of Caprice clutching a white Chihuahua and cuddling a white Chihuahua and even shopping with a white Chihuahua tucked into her purse.

What was more disturbing were the news stories about how Caprice's dog had run away last October, about six months before I adopted Pepe from a Seattle shelter. She was offering a $50,000 reward for his return. But what about Jennifer's story? It made more sense that Caprice's little white Chihuahua had been killed since no one had ever claimed the reward.

I sighed. I didn't know who to believe. Pepe had told me dozens of outrageous stories, each one more unbelievable than the last. He had worked for the DEA; he had traveled in France; he had been a junkyard dog in Tijuana. He watched a lot of TV. I suspected his little brain had been addled by too many Spanish soap operas and true-crime TV shows.

It was totally possible he had seen the news about Caprice's dog on the news and had invented a story that made him the lost heir. I had similar fantasies when I was a child—thinking I was a princess whose royal parents would eventually come to reclaim her from the peasants they had asked to raise her.

I shut down my laptop. Although it was late, I decided to call Felix. We had only been out three times back in Seattle, and I was still unsure of his intentions toward me, although I was quite clear about my intentions toward him. Unfortunately, Pepe sensed these intentions and did his best to sabotage my attempts to lure Felix into my bed. So we hadn't progressed much beyond a few steamy kisses at my front door, which meant I didn't really know if calling this late at night was appropriate. Perhaps he had another girlfriend. Perhaps he lived with her. All I had was his cell phone number, which he used to stay in touch with his dog-training clients.

I couldn't find my cell phone, so I called him on the phone in the room. It rang and rang and then went to voice mail. I listened to Felix's sexy voice for a moment: “Hello, this is Felix Navarro, dog wrangler. If you have need of my services, let me know.” Ah, yes, I needed his services, but not to wrangle my dog, who was behaving himself for once. Pepe had burrowed under the covers on my bed and was snoring quietly. I loved to listen to him snore. It was the tiniest sound, so adorable.

I left Felix a message: “Thinking of you. Hope all is going well. Call me if you get a chance.” As I turned away to get ready for bed, the phone began ringing. I snatched it up. It was Felix. He sounded breathless.

“Geri! I'm so glad you called. I've been trying to reach you all day.”

“Really?”

“Yes, your cell goes straight to voice mail.”

“That's odd. I was just looking for it and couldn't find it. Maybe it's at the bottom of Nigel St. Nigel's pool.”

“What were you doing in Nigel St. Nigel's pool?”

“Well, Pepe wanted to investigate.”

“Of course he did.” Felix sounded amused; then his voice got serious. “But, Geri, I heard about the murder. You need to be careful. I'm sure Nigel St. Nigel had some powerful enemies.”

“Yes, well, that's why I'm leaving it to the police.” I paused. “And you? How are you?”

His voice got vague. “Oh, I've been really busy.”

“Lots of dogs to wrangle?”

“More than usual. I had to double up on clients because I've got a big gig at the end of the week that's going to take me out of town.”

“Oh, where are you going?”

“No place exciting,” he said.

“Well, where?” I suddenly got self-conscious. “Or am I not supposed to ask?” Was there another woman in the picture? I hadn't really learned much about his romantic past.

“Oh, you can ask, but I can't tell.” He laughed, but it was an awkward laugh. “Actually it's just an old client who lives in California and wants to fly me down for some private lessons.” It was clear he didn't want to talk about it. Maybe he did have another girlfriend. Or
a
girlfriend. Maybe I wasn't a girlfriend at all. “So, Geri, you called for a reason?”

How did he know that? I wanted to protest that I called just to hear his sexy voice, but I felt a little too vulnerable to do that. “Yes, I'm wondering about Pepe.”

“Is he having problems?” Felix had been eager to train Pepe ever since we first met, but Pepe was having none of it.

“Not any more than usual,” I said. “It's about his background.” How could I explain that Pepe thought he was Caprice's long-lost dog? I had not yet been able to tell Felix about Pepe's talking. I thought of Ted, who would understand, but he wouldn't know the answer to my question.

“What is it, Geri?'

“Well, Caprice used to have a little white Chihuahua that looked a lot like Pepe. He disappeared about six months before I adopted Pepe. Do you think Pepe could be her dog? He
was
originally from L.A.”

“I doubt it.” Felix sounded very sure of himself. “There must be hundreds of white Chihuahuas in L.A.”

“How would I know for sure?”

“Well, he's chipped, isn't he?”

“I don't know.”

“They would have certainly checked for a chip at the shelter. If the chip identified his owner, they would have returned him.”

“But what if he doesn't have a chip?”

“That's unlikely. Almost all dogs are chipped these days when they pass through a shelter. That's where you got him, right?”

“Yes, he had been abandoned in a shelter in L.A., and they flew him and a bunch of other Chihuahuas up to a shelter in Seattle.”

“So if he wasn't chipped when he arrived, they would have chipped him at the shelter.”

“Odd. I don't remember them giving me any information about that.”

“Sometimes the vet or the shelter will just register the dog themselves. Then if the dog is lost and found, the number traces back to the shelter or vet and they can contact the owner. The assumption is those businesses might be more stable than the owners who can change addresses or phone numbers frequently.”

“How would I find out if Pepe is chipped?”

“Any vet could tell you.”

“Oh, there's one on set,” I said. “I'll ask her.”

“Anyone I know?”

“Do you know all the vets in L.A.?” I asked.

“Just the ones who work in the film business,” he replied. Felix had grown up in L.A. and spent years working as an animal trainer on movie sets.

“I think her name is Alice.”

“Is she a cute little blonde with blue eyes, about five-two?”

“Yes,” I said. That certainly described her.

“Well, if it's Alice Bennett, she's one of the best. You can trust her to take care of your little Chihuahua.” His voice got wistful. “I wish I was there to take care of you. I worry about you, Geri.”

“There's nothing to worry about,” I assured him, though I'm not sure why. I would love to have him taking care of me, though Pepe would surely object. He thought he was taking care of me.

After saying my good-byes to Felix, I got ready for bed and slipped under the covers. Pepe woke up and snuggled closer to me, shaping himself to fit within the curve of my arms.

Back at home in Seattle, I often didn't get to sleep with him because Albert the Cat laid claim to the bed. So it was a special treat when Pepe laid his soft little head on my arm and went back to sleep. I could feel his warm breath on my skin as I drifted off.

The schedule for the second day was much like the first. A 7:00 a.m. wake-up call, four hours at the dance studio in the morning to learn a new routine, and then off via town car to the soundstage for the afternoon costume fitting, run-through, and filming.

They had designed a cute way of giving us our assignments, which they filmed. We waited in our empty practice room and a little white Maltese came trotting in with a bunch of dog tags around his neck. We chose one and read off the name of our dance. Then our assigned choreographer came in to work with us. Our dance for the second day was hip-hop and our choreographer was a gentleman named Flash Daddy.

In addition, Rebecca announced an extra twist. She had informed the costume designers to make us look as much like our dogs as possible, and the choreographers were supposed to do the same.

“Do not worry, Geri,” said Pepe. “We will kick it.” And he dropped and did a couple of doggy push-ups.

“How did you learn how to do that?” I asked him.

“Watching TV,” he replied. “You can learn everything on TV.”

 

 

Flash Daddy created a routine for us that featured lots of push-ups and tail wagging, not to mention some side leg lifts. Easy for Pepe, not so easy for me.

“Geri, you need to imagine that there is a fire hydrant on either side of you,” Pepe said.

“Pepe, fire hydrants don't really inspire me,” I said, pushing my hair out of my face with the back of my wrist.

“And you need to aim high, because a Great Dane was there before you,” Pepe went on.

I wrinkled up my nose. “Ugh!”

“Geri,” said Pepe solemnly, “there is nothing wrong with marking your territory and marking it well.”

“Yes, but by peeing on it?” I asked.

“Do you need a break, Miss Sullivan?” asked Flash Daddy.

“No, I'm good,” I said.

“Try getting into character,” said Flash Daddy.

“You can be
L.L.
Cool Geri,” said Pepe.

“
L.L.
Cool Geri?”

“That's a good name!” said Flash Daddy. “That will work.”

“And I'll be L'il Dawg,” said my little dog.

To my surprise, the name change worked. The rehearsal went much better.

“Let's try it one more time,” said Flash Daddy.

And so we did. Once, twice, three times.

When we finished, Flash Daddy gave me a fist bump. “You're getting down, girl.”

 

 

At the soundstage, Shelley, the second assistant director, sent us to the costume room. Robyn and her crew had created a little baseball cap for Pepe that fit over one of his ears, with the brim backward. They also made him a gold chain like all the hip-hop moguls wore. I had a matching baseball cap and gold chain, but the rest of my costume was more elaborate, as I was supposed to look like my dog. Robyn had made me a skintight, white, fake-fur catsuit.

“It should be called a dog suit, not a
gato
suit,” Pepe observed.

I turned around to admire my form in the mirror as Robyn pinned a feathery tail to my rear end.

“I will admit they have done a good job on your costume,” said Pepe. “You do indeed look like a Chihuahua. But the largest one I have ever seen.”

I wasn't entirely sure that was a compliment. You can never tell with Pepe.

 

 

Our next stop was makeup. While we were waiting for our turn, Jake, the Certified Animal Safety Representative, strolled up. He was a big, broad man with deeply tanned skin and deep wrinkles around his eyes. He looked like someone who spent a lot of time outside, doing something like fishing or hunting.

He gave me the once-over. “You make a mighty fine dog,” he said. “Perhaps I should be keeping my eye on you.”

I laughed politely. “How's it going?”

He shrugged. “Everything seems fine. All the dogs are happy.” He bent down to pat Pepe on the head, but it was pretty clear that it was just a token gesture. “Cute little feller,” he said. “Though I prefer the bigger breeds, myself. Working dogs, you know, that's what dogs were meant to do.”

“I work plenty,” said Pepe. “Tell him, Geri. Tell him that we are private investigators.”

“My dog works pretty hard,” I said. “You should see his hip-hop routine.”

“Well, I guess I will in an hour or so,” Jake said.

“So you watch every performance?” I asked. “What exactly are you looking for?”

“Any physical movements that might put too much stress on the animals,” he said. “Dogs have some physical limitations, and certain activities could be dangerous for them.”

“People have physical limitations, too,” said Pepe. “I can do things that humans cannot do. For instance, lick my own—”

“Never mind, Pepe!” I said sharply.

“For example, the German shepherd,” Jake rambled on. “Those dogs are notorious for hip problems and shouldn't be doing any movements that would compromise their hip joints.”

“Shouldn't you be watching the rehearsals, then?” I asked. “You could spot problems before the performances.”

As soon as I said it, I wished I could take it back. If Jake came to the rehearsals, he'd run into Ted. I had seen him briefly at the dance studio. He told me he was choreographing a Jive routine for the border collie today.

I tried to backpedal. “I'm sure the choreographers are aware of what is in the best interest of the dogs.”

“I'm not so sure about that,” said Jake. “My contract only requires me to be on the set, but I'll see if I can extend that to the rehearsal space. Thanks for the suggestion.”

I smiled weakly. I would have to warn Ted.

“There is one other thing that worries me,” said Jake. “I'm afraid they are going to stage some kind of fight. I've insisted they keep the dogs separate, but you know how it is with these reality TV shows. They always have to stir up conflict, and if there isn't any, they create it.”

“That would be bad,” I agreed. “One of the dogs could get hurt.”

“We're ready for you now,” said Zack, the stylist.

As we went in, Siren Song and her dance partner, Luis, filed past. Pepe gazed at his lady love with longing eyes. She was all fluffed up with gold glitter sprinkled over her fur and a big gold flounce flapping off one shoulder. Luis had her tucked into the crook of his elbow. He wore a tight silky T-shirt, the same reddish-gold color as the Pomeranian's fur and a pair of tight, gold lamé trousers. They were doing a salsa. They might be our toughest competition for this round.

 

 

Pepe was carried off to have a bath and a trim, and I took advantage of his absence to duck into the vet's office. Luckily, Alice was there, paging through a thick book. She put it down and gave me a rueful smile.

“Studying for an exam,” she said. “What can I do for you?”

“I'm wondering if my Chihuahua is chipped,” I said.

“I can certainly check him out for you. I should be able to tell if he has a chip by just feeling for it. But I won't be able to give you any more information without a scanner. I don't have one here, but I can bring it in tomorrow.”

“That would be great,” I told her. “And there's one more thing.”

“Yes?”

“Do you think you could check him without him knowing it?”

“I doubt that he will know what a scanner is,” she said.

“But could we just not say anything about it?” I asked. “Like maybe pretend it's a routine test that all the dogs have to undergo?”

“Whatever you want,” she said, but I could tell by her eyes that she thought I was a little nutty. Maybe I was.

I was still sitting in front of the mirror, watching my stylist pull my hair back into a high ponytail, when Pepe came trotting over, shaking himself with vehemence, the way he always did after being exposed to water. The groomer had placed the little baseball cap over one ear, and the gold chain was firmly positioned in the center of his chest.

“Are we ready, L'il Dawg?” I asked him, getting out of the chair.

“Ready if you are,
L.L.
Cool Geri!” said Pepe.

Just then Shelley came hurrying up. “You've got a visitor.”

“Who?” I asked, looking around but seeing no one.

“Says his name is James Gerrard,” she said, looking at her clipboard, “and I really don't have time to deal with this. You're not supposed to have visitors on the set.”

“He's my boss back in Seattle. I don't know how he found me.”

“Why don't you ask him?” she said, turning around to look behind her. “Now, where did he go? He's not supposed to be loose on the set.”

“Jimmy G's right here,” said my boss, popping out from behind a screen.