Full MoonCity (15 page)

All the while this is going on, I am staring at Tabasco and trying to think of how to put his transformation to economic gain. For a while I think of the movies, but even though Rin Tin Tin has gone on to his reward, I can foresee numerous problems, because out there time is money, and once they get all the actors and cameras in position and yell, “Action!” it would not do for the new Rin Tin Tin to appear as the old Tabasco Sanchez.

I know that guard dogs are always in demand, but I also know Tabasco Sanchez, and whether he is busy being a man or a wolf, I would not want to put him near anything that was worth guarding.

I am beginning to think that maybe he has got a handle on the situation, that there is no way for a wolf to make a decent living working the third shift, especially in Manhattan, when a newspaper delivery truck drives by, and plastered all over it are ads for the forthcoming Southminster dog show, and suddenly I see a way for Tabasco to pay off his debt to me.

“ Tabasco,” I say, “if you can understand me, I think I have the solution to your problem. I do not know quite how you can answer me. Clearly you do not howl on cue, and telling you to lift your leg once or twice will clearly put you in dutch with Joey Chicago. Maybe you could paw the ground once if you understand me and twice if you don’t?”

Tabasco stares at me and remains motionless.

“Is that a yes or a no?” asks Benny.

“Maybe you should make it multiple choice,” suggests Gently Gently.

“ Tabasco,” says Joey Chicago, “if you will stop being a wolf for the next ten minutes, you can have an Old Peculiar on the house.”

“I call that damned sporting of you,” says Tabasco, who is a man again so fast that I do not even see him change.

“How do you do that?” asks Benny.

“And how come your clothes vanish when you are a wolf and come back when you are a man?” asks Gently Gently.

“You will have to ask Big-Hearted Milton or Soothsayer Solly,” replies Tabasco. “I do not seem to have any control over it-or over anything else, for that matter.”

“Do you remember what I say to you while you are being Kazan of the North?” I ask as he downs his Old Peculiar.

“Yes, and I am very grateful.”

“Then why did you not respond?” I say.

“When I am a wolf, I think wolfish thoughts, and I am concerned with wolfish things. I hear you say that you have solved my problem, but as a wolf I am much more interested if you had tell me where all the rabbits or the lady wolves were hiding.” He pauses for a moment, then continues: “But I am interested now.”

“I see that the Southminster dog show is coming up, and that first prize is six large, which means five for me and one for you. All we have to do is win it.”

“Win against the best-bred, best-conditioned dogs in the world?” says Tabasco doubtfully. “I haven’t got a chance.”

“Where would America be if Alexander Hamilton had had that attitude?” says Gently Gently reproachfully.

“Pretty much where it is today,” answered Tabasco. “And so, come to think of it, is Alexander Hamilton.”

“I don’t know, Harry,” says Benny. “I know what he did in an eight-dog field, but Southminster has thousands of dogs. How many can he kill and eat before someone gets wise?”

“Or before he gets full?” says Gently Gently.

“ Tabasco,” I say, “are you willing to try, or do I pass the word that you will not make good your marker?”

“I will try,” he says. “I cannot have you spreading it all over town that I am a deadbeat.”

“Or that he is only occasionally a human being,” adds Gently Gently.

So the next morning I buy a leash and collar, making a note to add it to what Tabasco owes me, and then I go to the Madison Square Garden, where they are holding this canine beauty contest that night, and ask to see the condition book, figuring I will enter Tabasco in a field for nonwinners of two, and they explain to me that this does not work like Belmont or Aqueduct, and I have to enter him in the proper breed, so I request the entry form for timberwolves, and they laugh and ask me what I really want.

“I do not much care,” I reply, “so long as he competes after dark.”

“That is a most unusual request,” says the steward.

“He burns easily,” I say.

“Here is a list of the breeds that will show at night,” says the steward, handing me a sheet of paper. “Is he on it?”

I look, and I do not see timberwolf or even werewolf listed, but one of the breeds is greyhound, and I figure, well, he has won a race as a greyhound so he might as well remain consistent and win Southminster as a greyhound.

I go back to Joey Chicago’s and kill some time there before we are due in the ring, and then, about an hour before post time-at Southminster they call it ring time-Benny and Gently Gently and Tabasco and I all go over to the Garden.

It is a very unusual sport, this dog-show game, because they do not even have a tote board on the infield, and in fact they do not have an infield at all. There are dogs everywhere, and Benny hunts up the ring we are to appear in, and I turn to Tabasco.

“It is time to turn into a wolf again,” I say, “and it would not hurt things a bit if this particular wolf happens to look just like a greyhound.”

He closes his eyes and grunts.

“I am trying,” he says. “But nothing is happening.”

“Try harder,” I tell him.

He tenses and grunts again, but when he opens his eyes he is still Tabasco Sanchez.

“This is most embarrassing,” he says.

“I do not wish to be the bearer of bad tidings,” says Benny, “but you are due in the ring in three minutes.”

“I am sorry, Harry,” says Tabasco. “It does not seem to be working tonight.”

“I pay a twenty-five-dollar entry fee,” I tell him, “and I am going to get my money’s worth.” I put the collar around his neck and attach it to the leash. “Let us go.”

“This is humiliating!” he says as I start dragging him toward the ring.

“Give me my five large and I will cease and desist this instant,” I say.

He does not reply, and I look back at him, and he has become a wolf again.

We enter the ring with six sleek greyhounds. Tabasco looks at them and growls. It is a loud, ominous, hungry growl. Two of the greyhounds begin dragging their owners to the far side of the ring, three start shaking, and one just lays right where he has fainted.

The judge comes over and stares at Tabasco.

“I believe you are in the wrong ring, sir,” he says at last.

“I am in the right ring,” I answer.

“This is not a greyhound,” he says.

“He is from the Mexican branch of the family,” I say.

“He is not a greyhound,” repeats the judge. “I am going to have to disqualify him.”

“He is a greyhound,” I insist. “He has just been out in the sun too long, and has acquired a tan.”

“Get out of my ring!” says the judge, pointing to the exit.

For a minute I think Tabasco is going to bite the judge’s finger off, but I jerk on the leash, and suddenly all the fight goes out of him as he realizes that we have failed and he still is penniless, and he docilely follows me out of the ring.

We are on our way to the exit when we pass a ring where they are judging these little silken-haired dogs, and suddenly Tabasco stops and digs in his heels, which is a lot of heels to dig in all at once, and I can tell he is taken with one feminine little dog.

I ask a ringsider what this kind of dog is called, and he says, “Shih tzu,” and I say, “Gesundheit!” and he says, “No, that is the name of the breed.”

I pull on Tabasco’s leash again, and he pulls back, and before long most of the ringsiders are no longer watching the Gesundheit dogs but are laying bets on who will win our tug-of-war, and at the moment Tabasco is a seven-to-five favorite, and then suddenly there is a cheer, and Tabasco and I both stop pulling for a minute to see what the cheering is about, and it seems that the little dog he has been watching has won.

On the way out of the ring she makes a beeline for Tabasco, and then they touch noses, and then she is led away and I start to walk to the exit again, and Tabasco bites his leash in half and runs to the big ring in the center of the building, and I have no choice but to follow him since he is five thousand dollars on the hoof, or on the claw as the case may be, and I am not letting him out of my sight until I collect.

I am not sure what is going on, but dogs keep coming and going into the big ring, and finally there is an enormous cheer, and all that is left in the ring is the little Gesundheit dog and thirty-seven photographers. Finally the crowd starts dispersing, and as it thins out I spot Tabasco on the far side of the ring, and I race around it to reach him before he can run off, and when I get there he has forgotten to be a wolf and is just plain old Tabasco Sanchez again, still attached to a leash and collar.

“What are you trying to pull?” I demand.

“Just wait, and all will be revealed,” he says.

A minute later Benny catches up with us, and I can see all 350 pounds of Gently Gently rounding the far turn and heading for home, and then suddenly we are joined by as pretty a dark-haired girl as I have ever seen. She walks right up to Tabasco and plants a kiss on his cheek.

“Harry the Book,” he says, “I want you to meet the woman I intend to marry, Yolanda Schwartz.”

“You must have just arrived,” I say, “because surely I would have noticed someone of your good looks before.”

“You have been looking at her for the past hour,” says Tabasco.

“You are mistaken,” I say. “I would not forget someone like her.”

“She just went Best in Show,” says Tabasco. “I recognize her the second I see her, for even a change in species cannot disguise the love of my life from me.”

I stare at her, and there is not a touch of Gesundheit dog to be seen, except maybe for the silken hair.

“It is true,” says Yolanda. “I am so mad at my father for what he does to poor Tabasco that I run away from home, so he curses me, too.” She holds up a fistful of money. “It turns out to be a blessing, because now Tabasco and I can be together forever, and he can pay off the five thousand dollars he owes you.”

“No,” says Tabasco. “We need that money to set up housekeeping.”

“Think, Tabasco,” says Yolanda. “If we take our human forms, Daddy will just find us and break us up again. But if we stay a Shi Tzu and a wolf forever, he will never find us. We will sleep all day and love all night.”

This sounds as good to Tabasco as it would to any red-blooded male of any species, and he turns over the money to me.

“You only owe me five large,” I say. “I will invest the rest where it will do the most good.”

I do as I promise, and the next day I give them their very first wedding present, which is a thousand-dollar line of credit at Morgan the Gorgon’s Meat Market.

O
h, God.”

Karin had heard Russ say those two words in a number of ways for a number of situations. It would be an explosive murmur while making love, a groan after she told a bad joke, or an epithet when he discovered a new oil spot on the driveway-but the way he said it this time sent a chill racing through her, freezing her hand halfway against her wineglass.

“Russ?”

His eyes moved slowly from some point over her right shoulder to her eyes, then down to his plate, his mouth set in a firm, bloodless line. Suddenly the restaurant’s ambient sounds-the quiet conversations from the other tables, the soft click and clatter of flatware against plates, the sweet, seductive music that hung in the air… all of it became a distraction as Karin leaned forward. “Russ, what
is
it?”

He looked up and said one word: “Lily.” The chill deepened.

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

For the six months they’d been dating, Lily-the ex who wouldn’t go away-had been a constant, determined, and, up until that night, discreet rival for Russ’s affections… even though he’d made it clear to Karin that he no longer felt anything for the woman.

Karin believed him.

Lily, apparently, did not.

They’d be at a movie and-surprise-Lily would be sitting two rows back. They’d be at a party and Lily would be standing across the room, glaring at Karin until Russ turned around, at which time tears would magically form in her pale gray eyes and she’d leave in a flurry of weeping and garnered sympathy. For six months Lily would show up, accidentally, wherever they were. Karin should have expected it, but somehow, she thought tonight would be different.

“Ah, Jesus…”

Karin didn’t have to look, she knew when the air, suddenly scented with lilacs and musk, moved between them and the candle flame shuddered as a shadow fell across the table.

Russ shook his head. “Karin, this is Lily.”

Karin’s hand finally reached her wineglass as she looked up.
Fragile
was a term she heard most from people, including Russ, used to describe her.
Broken
was another, but from where she sat, looking up at the pale woman with thick black hair and bloodred lips, Karin couldn’t see it.

Except for the tears glistening in her eyes, and the flowing, über-feminine dress the color of ash, Lily seemed as hard-and invulnerable-as marble.

Smiling politely, Karin cleared her throat and nodded. “Hi.”

The sadness in Lily’s eyes crystallized momentarily when she glanced at Karin, before melting back into twin pools of dejection as she looked at the table.

“Oh,” she whispered, voice hoarse with emotion, “I see you’re having dinner.”

It was a flat statement that made Karin feel as if she’d done something horribly wrong… or simply
was
something horribly wrong. She lifted the wineglass and took a quick sip to wash the taste out of her mouth.

“Yes. The food’s very good here.”

Lily brushed at her coal-dark hair, dismissing Karin and her comment, before turning her full and undivided attention back to Russ.

“I always thought so; it was one of our favorite places.”

Russ made a sound that was halfway between a cough and groan. “We never ate here, Lily.”

“Oh?” Confusion deepened the slight-very slight-wrinkle between the woman’s eyes. “That’s strange… I thought we had. Well, we ate at so many good restaurants I guess I got…” She sighed and Karin fought the urge to applaud. “Anyway, I was just driving by and saw your car in the parking lot and thought I’d stop in. To say ‘hi.’ ”

Karin’s stomach tightened uncomfortably around the portion of the night’s meal that she’d already eaten. “How nice.”

Lily gave her a small, weak smile before utterly dismissing her. Again.

“You look good, Russell.”

“Thanks.”

“And you’ve put on some weight.
She
must be a good cook.”

The color deepened along Russ’s cheeks as the
she
in question finished off the wine in her glass and toyed with the idea of
accidentally
spilling the rest of the bottle down the front of Lily’s dress.

Russ grinned but pushed his plate away. “Is there something you need-”

“I saw Ben and Dee the other night,” Lily interrupted with the precision of a surgeon removing a tumor. “They said you seemed happy.
Are
you happy, Russell?”

Russ smiled at Karin and winked. “I’m working at it.”

“Oh, dear. That’s rather an evasive answer, isn’t it? You’re either happy or you’re not. You shouldn’t have to
work
at it, Russell.”

Despite the obvious chill that had descended, Karin felt a slow burn creep up along her throat, but managed-somehow-to keep her voice light. “Oh, I think Russ is doing okay in that department.”

“Really?” Lily said, then reached down and helped herself to the piece of roast beef on Russ’s fork.

He shook his head when Karin started to say something. Holding herself still, she watched the woman’s lips slowly part to reveal a set of strong white teeth that closed over the meat with a kind of predatory finality.

“Well.” Lily handed Russ back the empty fork and leaned over, kissing his cheek. “If you’re not going to invite me to join you… It
was
good seeing you again, Russell.”

Turning, she gave Karin one last withering,
dry-eyed
glare before walking away. Karin watched the rest of the performance-Lily wiped at her eyes a number of times between their table and the door-before she could force herself to look away. Russ was busy looking at nothing in particular.

“Join us?”

Russ was toying with his wineglass but never picked it up. “Sorry about that. Sorry.”

“Did she
seriously
think we were going to ask her to join us?”

“I don’t know, yeah… maybe. That’s just Lily being Lily.”

Karin poured another glass of wine and finished it in one long, continuous swallow.

He reached across the table to take her hand when she started to refill the glass. “Don’t. She was just trying to rattle you.”

“Well, it worked. How could she see your car? We parked in the back.”

“I don’t know… she has a way of doing things like that.”

“She’s… barged in on your other dates?” Karin did a quick mental rundown on the things Russ
had
told her about Lily and couldn’t remember that particular point of interest.

“What? Oh… no, no, but for the first couple of months after we broke up I’d go somewhere-to the market or hardware store or, even a fast-food drive-thru-and I’d see her. We wouldn’t talk or anything, but she’d be there. And when I’d get home, there’d be a message on my answering machine or a text message on my cell… We never actually spoke but she wanted me to know she was there… that she’ll always be there.”

Russ let go of her hand and finished his wine.

“And, in case you’re wondering why this happened tonight… I suspect it’s because I’ve been with you longer than any of the other…”

Karin took pity on him and nodded. “Six whole months, going on seven.”

“And that bothers the hell out of her… because this is real.”

She couldn’t say anything and it was probably just as well when, instead of letting the moment continue, he added:

“We started dating just a few months after her husband died and that was a mistake. She was so devastated by his death, so helpless…” He shrugged. “I don’t know, but she
needed
me and, I guess, I liked the feeling, so I stayed even after I knew the relationship wasn’t what I wanted. A couple years into it and I’d really had enough and tried to break it off…”

Karin leaned forward but didn’t say anything. This was the first time she’d heard about that.

“She threatened to kill herself if I left. And… I believed her.”

“So you stayed.”

“For another eighteen months, and then… Christ, I couldn’t take it. She thought she had me so she felt she could do or say anything to belittle me and I’d take it. We were at an office party and my boss’s wife-who was a bit drunk and flirty at that point-was complimenting me on my suit when Lily walked up. ‘Oh yes, the poor man knew nothing about fashion or… much of any of the social skills until
I
showed him. He’s so helpless without me.’ ”

“Yikes.”

Russ nodded. “Yeah, and Lily made sure everyone in the room heard it. When I took her home… back to
her
home, that is, I told her how I felt and she laughed and said it was only a joke and she felt sorry for me if I didn’t know that. I walked her to her door, then turned around and left.”

“Wow.”

“I didn’t answer the phone for three days, and on the fourth, she showed up at my office in hysterics… making me the bully, of course. Then-Christ, I don’t want to talk about this anymore, okay?”

Karin nodded. She could get the rest of the story from friends. “Sure.”

They ate the rest of their meal making careful small talk about safe subjects and were laughing and holding each other as they walked to his car. But later that night, when they made love, Karin had the distinct impression that there was another person in bed with them.

A woman with long dark hair and sad gray eyes and sharp white teeth: a bitch in flowing sheep’s clothing.

“So… you met Lily?”

Karin could hear the pity in her friend’s voice and almost wished she hadn’t called. But what’s the use of having a girlfriend, especially a girlfriend who knows all the players and doesn’t have to be brought up to speed?

“Yes,” Karin said. “Yes, I did.”

“And?”

“Scary lady.”

“You think so?” Karin was a bit surprised by the comment. “I just think she’s sad. And, yeah, okay, maybe a little… pathetic. I mean, it
has
been three years. I keep telling her it’s time to move on.”

“You still talk to her?”

“Oh, sure. Ben and Russ worked together, so I knew Lily from the start and…” Her friend’s sigh echoed softly in Karin’s ear. “Well, she still calls sometimes to ask about Russ. Last night she was in tears, sobbing her heart out because she saw the two of you together and how could Russ go to
their
restaurant with another woman and-”

“It wasn’t their restaurant. Russ said-”

“-do this to her because she still cared so much. Yadda, yadda, yadda. Same song, different verse. Don’t let it get to you.”

Karin heard a snap and looked down at the broken mechanical pencil in her hand. “Uh-huh.”

“C’mon. It’s just her way of trying to get sympathy. I know she probably hoped I’d call Russ and tell him, but I told her to knock it off instead. She got real quiet and then hung up.”

“Why does the word ‘manipulation’ come to mind?”

“Yeah, but she’s just running scared. Ben and I haven’t seen Russ this happy in… a long time, and I’m sure Lily notices that, too.”

The mailbox icon flashed in the upper corner of her computer screen and Karin smiled. Russ liked to send her jokes or cartoons or just “Hi, miss you” messages to brighten her workday. Setting the broken pencil down, she clicked open the e-mail… and stopped smiling.

“Oh, joy.”

“I know.” Dee sighed. “But don’t let her get to you. It’s hard when someone won’t let go, but she’s really only hurting herself.”

“I know… and I can understand how Lily doesn’t want to give up. Russ is a wonderful man and I don’t intend to simply walk away.”

“It may get rough.”

Karin nodded and reread the message on her screen:

I simply don’t understand why you’re with him. You’re nothing. You’re average at best and Russell requires a woman who is much more than that. I’m saying this only as a friend, but if you continue to burden him with your presence, you’ll only bring him down to your level, and one day he’ll notice that and leave you. Show me I’m wrong. Leave him now and gain my respect-Lily

“Oh,” Karin said into the phone as she pressed the
delete
key, “there’s no doubt about that.”

“Excuse me?”

Russ smiled weakly. “She wants all of us to be
friends
.”

“And you know this because…”

“She called me at work this afternoon… weeping and asking me to forgive her for last night. She said she’d be happy and be able to get on with her life if we could be friends.”

Karin took a deep breath and pretended to think about it without adding any comment about aeronautically gifted swine. She also didn’t mention Lily’s e-mails-five in total, all along the same “you’re not good enough for him, leave now, you pitiful excuse for a woman” lines-or the phone message on her answering machine:

“I don’t think Russell will ever know just how much he meant to me… but he was my world and I-I-” (sound of weeping) “I hope you both know that I only want him to be happy. If not with me, then… I hope you can make him happy but I worry because he should have said that last night. If a man is happy, he wants to tell the world. Has he ever told you? He told me so many times how happy I made him… but he must have lied. He must still be lying-to himself. Please, Karin, call me and let’s talk. There are so many things you apparently don’t know about him… that only I can tell you. We need to talk. Please call. My number is-”

She’d erased the message and, just for the annoyance factor, turned off the machine before heading over to Russ’s for the night. The woman was obviously nuts… or not.

“The lady does get around…”

Russ stopped tearing lettuce apart and looked at her. “Excuse me?”

Karin shook her head and stole a grape tomato out of the bowl. “Nothing. So she wants us to be friends, huh? What did you tell her?”

He looked down so quickly Karin thought she heard his neck pop. “I… told her I’d ask you-but that I didn’t think it was a good idea.”

“Uh-huh.”

Russ finished dismembering the lettuce and picked up a homemade cheese crouton and held it out to her… an offering she couldn’t refuse.

One of the many things Karin loved about Russ was his skill in the kitchen. The man could cook, and while she managed well enough to keep from starving, her meals tended to be of the simple boil-in-the-bag variety. Russ, on the other hand, prepared
real
food, from scratch, using recipes that required more than “place in pot” and “turn on heat.”