Jennifer Johnson Is Sick of Being Married (23 page)

It doesn't matter what I say. I'm dead. The Trinity Committee will hang me and Mother Keller will . . . oh God.
Mother Keller.
My stomach does a queasy flip. Everyone else is over on the other side of the fire and we stand there. Big Louise, Dirty Louise, and me. Somewhere in the crowd I hear Martha Woodcock's rage counter going
beep beep beep! Beep beep beep! Beep beep beep! Beep beep beep!
Then Gordon comes out staggering around, wearing his white sheet.

“Oh no . . .” Big Louise whispers. “He looks just like a . . . a . . .”

I turn to her and shout, “A guy from the fucking
Ku Klux Klan,
Louise!”

“What?” She blinks at me. “I was thinking of—”

“Shut up already, Louise!”

I hate Big Louise.

17

Odd Man Out

B
y the time I get home, it's almost midnight. I'm exhausted and shaky, and my hair smells like burning cross. Brad's car isn't in the drive. He's not home, which is a small miracle. I wonder if his mother already called him. I shudder to think of the expression on his face when she tells him. Shame, anger, remorse. An I-told-you-so eyebrow arching up on the left. I don't need to be there to see it. I already can.

I go to the Ice Empress.

“Ice Empress.” I sag against the refrigerator. “Chardonnay?”

The Ice Empress appears with a small royal crown and scepter. “Right away, Your Highness! Cheerio!” She has a posh British accent now and an annoying British personality. “However, might I suggest a more refreshing beverage? Perhaps an icy-cold Yoo-hoo?”

I rest my head against the cool chrome door and groan.

The house is quiet.

Too quiet. Nobody is home, not even the Fang Gang, which is . . . unheard of. Bi'ch and Pac Man shouldn't be out this late. I start to get worried. Brad wouldn't . . . deport them, would he? No, they're from Milwaukee. Still, maybe he deported them to Milwaukee. I call Brad's cell phone but he doesn't answer. Then I find a note from Star Fan saying they're out looking for Ace. I look around . . . where's Ace? Why isn't he here? I can't find him anywhere. I look all over the house, calling his name, and then run outside, shouting for him and clapping my hands along the lake. Panic rises inside me. I reluctantly call Mother Keller and there's no answer there either.

I start to panic.

I call my neighbors, but nobody in this neighborhood picks up the phone this late at night. I call the police and they say to call the pound. That's where they take lost dogs. The pound, however, is closed for the day. I finally call Greta at the animal hospital and ask her what to do. She makes a few calls on my behalf and fifteen minutes later she calls me back, breathing strangely, which unnerves me. This is a woman who's seen every conceivable tragedy there is and I've never heard her so much as let out a sigh.

“Jennifer?” she says. “He's at . . . the pound.”

“Are you serious?”

“I called my friend who volunteers down there. She said they had two dogs delivered today and one was white with three legs.”

“Who delivered him?”

“I don't know. She's going to fax me a copy of his intake form in the morning, but you don't have that long. You have to get him out of there before six in the morning.”

“It's closed until nine.”

“I know, but, Jennifer . . . he's scheduled for termination at six.”

Within minutes I'm driving in the car, careening through city streets and clipping curbs. I blow through a red light and don't even look back. My mind is working in a peculiar gear. I'm familiar with the panic that's coursing through my veins, screaming at the top of its lungs, and seething anger is also there, but there's a strange new flower blooming in the night garden of my soul. I feel calm. Not overwhelmed calm or Zen Buddhist calm . . . it's more like a seasoned Navy SEAL has arrived in the situation room. I will allow panic when I can afford panic, which is not now. I have to think clearly now. There's no time for mistakes.

I call Nick. “Jen?” he says. “What's up?” I tell him I need him to meet me at the pound in fifteen minutes. He should wear dark clothes and bring any tools he has that can cut, pry, pull open, or break into things. He pauses, and then to his credit he says, “I'll be there.” I hang up and the Navy SEAL commander approves of the decision. Nick will be a worthy crewmember.

The pound parking lot is empty. I leave the car running and start circling the building. I'm looking for any open door or sign of someone like a security guard. They probably have cameras watching me right now, which is fine. Lock me up tomorrow and throw away the key. Tonight, I will be getting inside this building. I find the gloomy entrance closed up tight. The big metal security doors are padlocked. Every window is barred and there's not a night janitor to be seen.

Nick's truck pulls into the lot and parks next to my car.

He hops out of the car and says, “What's the plan, chief?”

“Ace is inside that building, and we're getting him out.”

“Okay . . .” He looks up at the ominous shadowy building. “Whatcha thinking?”

“The entrances have metal doors and double padlocks. Too hard to go through that way.”

“Yep.” He nods. “Never liked doors much myself.”

“The first-floor windows are all barred, the second-story windows aren't.”

He looks up. “Second story, then?”

I nod. “Unless you have enough steel cable or chain link in your truck.”

“Well then, let me take a look.”

I'm gauging the height of our vehicles and measuring them against the building, all the while vaguely aware of him rooting around in his truck. Then I hear a loud clank and a heavy metal chain dragging on the ground. “I'm thinking those little window bars over there might pop out,” he says, and I agree. I move his truck and reposition it closer to the building as Nick drags the heavy chain over and clamps it with a thick U-bolt to the metal bars on a window. Then he bolts the other end of the chain underneath his idling truck.

“Ready?” he says. “Just keep the wheels straight and gun it.”

“You want me to do it?”

“Hell, sweetheart, this is your rodeo.”

“All right. Here we go.” I get into his truck and slam the door shut. Then I take a deep breath, shift her in gear, and punch that pedal down for every ounce I'm worth.

Vroooorovrooom!
The truck lurches forward, the chain goes taut, the engine starts straining. “Come on, you son of a bitch!” I grip the wheel with both hands, nearly standing on the gas pedal with my full weight. I hear a metal groaning and then
bang!
The truck leaps forward like a bronco from the gate and the iron frame bursts from the brick window well, clanking across the asphalt. I hit the brakes and stick my head out the window.

“Did we pop it?” I shout at him.

“We popped it!” he shouts back.

Nick just helped me break into a city building. Not only does Jennifer the girl think that's sexy, Jennifer the Navy SEAL commander does too. I repark his truck so the bed is right beneath the window we just violated, and we climb up, hoisting ourselves through the window. Inside the dark building we run down the empty halls, our footsteps echoing off the floors of polished cement.

We find Ace in a lonely chain-link cage with cement floors and a big padlock on the door. He's all alone, without even a blanket to comfort him in there. Ace whimpers when he sees me and limps over to the door. “Hey, buddy!” I whisper. “We're gonna get you out of here, okay? Don't worry.” A sheet of yellow paper is clipped to his cage. The top line reads
“ACE”—
IMMEDIATE TERMINATION.

I snatch it up and rapidly scan the form for contact information or a signature. My jaw clenches when I see it. Of course. I'd recognize that spidery scrawl anywhere.

Mrs. Edwin Keller.
The cocky bitch signed it at the bottom.

“Hey, Nick! We're gonna need a hacksaw or—”

“Some bolt cutters?” He whips out a pair of industrial bolt cutters from his jacket.

“Where were those?” I hiss at him.

“Don't worry about it,” he says as he snaps off Ace's lock, which clatters to the floor. We hear another dog whimper in the cage across the way, a skinny greyhound who's shivering nervously. On the cage door it says
“TOGGLE”—IMMEDIATE TERMINATION
.

“She said there were two dogs delivered. We'll have to take this one too.”

“Already on it.” Nick snaps off Toggle's lock. Then we wrap the dogs up in our jackets; I carry Ace and he takes Toggle. We hear something in the other room and we both look at each other. Then we get the hell out of there.

I go through the window first and stand on the truck bed as Nick hands Ace down to me. I set him down and tell him to stay, and for the first time in his life, he obeys me. Nick carefully lowers the greyhound down and I hold her while he climbs out onto the truck bed. He takes Toggle and I take Ace and we quickly leave the scene of our crime. I call him on the cell phone as we drive away and say thank you.

“Shit, I think we should do that once a week,” he says. “Travel the land and become professional dog-nappers!” I thank him again and tell him I'll call him to check on Toggle tomorrow. Then I hang up and drive for twenty minutes or more before I realize I have no idea where I'm going.

At a red light I catch sight of the little Travel Angel on my dashboard. I lean forward, crushing it with my fist. “Ace,” I say, “from now on, we look out for ourselves. I've about had it with angels. No one will
ever
hurt you again, as God is my witness.”

I drive to the house but I can't go inside.

Brad's car is now parked in the driveway. It makes me writhe with rage. I turn around and keep driving. By this time it's nearly three in the morning. I go the only place I can think of, the only place I know where I can turn up this late, or rather, this early.

Ted's house.

Ted, my bookmark guy. Always in place when I need him.

I drive over to his apartment and knock on the door. A pretty blond girl with a perky ski-jump nose answers. She's wearing red flannel pajamas that are covered with big white snowflakes. An enormous beagle waddles up behind her. He sniffs at Ace, who growls at him. “Sorry,” I say. “I thought my friend Ted still lived here.”

Then Ted appears in the doorway. He's also in red flannel pajamas covered with big white snowflakes. I look at them and say, “What the hell is going on here?”

“Jen?” Ted smiles. “Are you okay?”

“Yep!”

“This is Jen,” Ted says to the blonde, and she blinks at me. Then her face lights up
.

“
Jen?
” she says. “Your Jen?”

“My Jen,” Ted says, grinning.

“Come in,” the blonde says. “Come in!” She seizes me with freakishly strong hands and pulls me into the apartment. Before I know what's happening, I'm sitting on the couch and my coat is off. “Vine!” the blonde says. “Vee have alcohol! Ted says you are always drinking the alcohol. I will bring the biggest bottles vee have. Vait here!”

She bounces off to the kitchen.

“Where'd she'd come from?” I ask. “A Swiss Miss can?”

“Pretty much.” Ted nods. “Norway. Her name's Kjersten.”

He pronounces it like
Shears
-ten and smiles weird when he says it.

“What . . . is Kjersten like your girlfriend?”

“No. Not anymore.”

“Well, thank Norwegian Jesus I missed that episode. She's so cute I might vomit.”

“Now she's my fiancée.”

“Don't be stupid.”

“She is, Jennifer.”

“I like that couch. Is it new?”

“Oh right, like you really care.” He sighs. “I chased you for three years in that marketing department and you never gave me the time of day. Now you're acting jealous? You crack me up. You really do.” Kjersten returns carrying a tray with two wineglasses and a mason jar filled with aquavit. The mason jar is for me. “I vant to meet you for so long!” She smiles and it's like her face is the sun. “I hear so much about you!” she says. “How much talent you have, how you're so funny, so pretty . . .”

I raise an eyebrow at her. “Ted said that about
me
?”

“Yah! He says you eat more than most men.”

Yep. There it is.

“But he never lets me meet you!” she says. “I think he made you up to impress people!”

“She did.” Ted smiles. “She said I made you up to impress her.”

“I get that a lot.”

“Oh look!” Kjersten smiles. “Miss Biggles remembers you!”

Mrs. Biggles? My . . . cat?
I smile and look down. The room tilts. There she is, my long-lost companion, the one I gave up when I married Brad.

“She was your cat, yes?” Kjersten asks me.

“Mrs. Biggles is
still
Jen's cat,” Ted says quickly. “She'll
always
be Jen's cat. Our friend Lana was watching her, but then she got a job in New York and now . . . we're watching her.” He shrugs happily. “Hey, the more the merrier. We love the Biggles.”

“I love Miss Biggles too.” Kjersten grins. “She sleeps vith me every night.”

That's it. My heart, or whatever was left of it, finally gives way and clanks on the floor. I kneel down to pet my old friend. I kiss Mrs. Biggles's sweet head and start weeping. Ted puts a hand on my shoulder. “Jen,” he says. “Listen to me. You can have Mrs. Biggles back any time you want her.”

“It's not that,” I whisper. “I don't want to take her. I can't even provide her a . . . safe home.” Then I start weeping. I tell them everything, about Brad and Mrs. Keller and the dog-napping. I tell them I want my old life back. I can't stop talking. Damned Kjersten wraps a blanket around me and makes herbal tea. She's so freaking sweet it's ridiculous. I pull myself together and splash water on my face in the bathroom. I collect Ace and his things, despite the fact that he's curled up on the floor in postcoital delight with the beagle. He's stretched out belly-up so Kjersten can rub his tum-tum. Just like my beloved Mrs. Biggles, he seems perfectly willing to live here now. I can't say I blame him. Even I don't want to go home.

In the car I call Addi. I tell her I'm fighting with Brad and worried about Ace, and she demands I come over with Ace and stay. She'll have the guest room ready. She won't bother me, I can do my own thing. I drive over there, thinking I won't sleep there but will just have a glass of wine. Right. Here's the recipe for a meltdown: Start with a hangover, add one public humiliation and a terrifying ordeal. Pour into a shaker with complete exhaustion, semi-moderate heartbreak, and a jigger or two of bittersweet memories recalling times gone by. Top off with copious amounts of white wine and garnish with no clean underpants.