Not That Kind of Girl
Acknowledgments
The author would like to thank Susan Homire, DVM, “Maryland’s Dog Whisperer,” for sharing her expertise about the art and science of pack leadership. This book would not have been possible without Susan’s help. Thanks also to Karol Kennedy, who placed the winning bid at the 2008 auction for the Humane Society of Washington County, Maryland. A canine character in this book has been named in honor of Karol’s beloved dog Gizmo. The author has fictionalized elements of the City of San Francisco’s Vicious Dog laws and its hearing process for the sake of the story.
“It’s a dog-eat-dog world, Woody, and I’m
wearing Milk Bone underwear.”
—Norm from
Cheers
CONTENTS
St. Martin’s Paperbacks Titles Title by Susan Donovan
Praise for the Novels of Susan Donovan
Chapter 1
The room nearly overflowed with hope, joy, and love, and Roxanne Bloom knew if she didn’t get out of there within the next thirty seconds, the top of her head would blow off.
“Having a swell time?” Bea asked, squeezing her formidable figure between Roxanne and the throng of baby shower revelers.
Busted,
Roxie thought to herself with a sigh.
True, her friend Bea Latimer didn’t miss much, but Roxanne was sure she’d been doing a stellar job of faking it, hanging back in the corner of the big living room, smiling and nodding at all the right times. In fact, she’d just cooed with approval moments before, right when everyone else did,
and
with the appropriate level of enthusiasm. So how did Bea notice that Roxie was about as comfortable as a nun at a Chippendales show?
A new wave of
oohs
and
aahs
came and went. Roxie peeked around Bea to see her friends Josie and Ginger sniffing back tears, rubbing their equally ginormous bellies, and shaking their heads over the beauty of their matching baby jogger strollers with racing-stripe awnings and radial tires.
Roxanne checked the time on her cell phone, wondering if it would be rude to leave early. She could always say she wasn’t feeling well, which wouldn’t be a complete lie, because all the cooing, nodding, smiling, and teary-eyed sniffing had given her one mother of a headache.
Bea frowned. “What’s up, Rox? Your face is as white as my ass in January.”
Roxanne shuddered, fighting off the mental image. “I’m good,” she said.
“The hell you are.” Bea took a quick swig from her low-carb beer. “I’ll tell you what. Why don’t you take five to pull yourself together? Go outside and run around the tennis courts or something. Maybe shoot a few hoops. What’s the point of partying at a wine country estate if you don’t take advantage of all the amenities. Am I right?” Bea leaned closer and lowered her voice. “Whatever you do, make sure it’s an attitude adjuster. You look like you’re at a wake instead of a baby shower and I
know
you don’t want Ginger and Josie to see you’re not happy for them.”
“But I’m thrilled for them!” Roxanne whispered, horrified that her friends might ever think such a thing.
Bea’s expression softened. She smiled a little. “I know you’re happy for them.”
“I love them. I’m glad their lives are so wonderful.”
“I know.” Bea patted Roxanne’s arm.
“I mean,” Roxanne continued, “just because I don’t believe in true love or marriage or happiness doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy a fuckin’ baby shower for those who
do
!”
One of Bea’s eyebrows shot up high on her forehead, but before she could respond, the front door of the old mansion opened. Everyone stopped their oohing and aahing long enough to see who the late arrival might be.
Roxanne already knew. She knew even before she got a peek at the wide brim of a black felt cowboy hat and before that hat came off and the tussle of dark blond hair was revealed. It was almost as if she
sensed
him before she could see him. So, before Eli Gallagher could stick his handsome head all the way into the room and unleash one of his modest yet stunning smiles, Roxanne was out of there and halfway through the kitchen, the back door her salvation.
Unfortunately, Bea was right behind her.
“I didn’t know Rick invited
him,
” Bea said, jogging to catch up.
“He works for Rick, so why not?” Roxanne reached the kitchen door latch. “Anyway, Rick can invite anyone he wants. This is Rick’s home. It’s Rick’s party! For God’s sake—it’s Rick’s
baby
!” Roxanne caught herself. “Well, only one of them is his baby. The other one’s Lucio’s. But you know what I mean.”
Roxanne cringed at the sound of her own distracted rambling, hoping Bea wouldn’t notice.
She noticed. “Well, well,” Bea said with a snort. “I had no idea Eli Gallagher had gotten under your skin that bad.”
Roxanne spun around. She pointed a finger at Bea. “That man is not under my skin. Never again is a man going to get under my skin, or anything else I’m wearing. I am not that kind of girl anymore. Got it?” She flung open the kitchen door and prepared to stomp off indignantly. She didn’t get far.
A short old lady blocked Roxanne’s exit down the steps. The lady’s eyes were squinted and her hands were on her hips. Her sturdy legs were widespread. Her orthopedic shoes were planted firmly on the worn bricks.
Roxie gasped. “Mrs. Needleman?”
“That would be me,” she said in her usual cheerful warble, her eyes now twinkling with amusement.
Roxanne shot an accusatory look Bea’s way.
“I didn’t know she was out here! I swear!” Bea raised her hands in surrender. “Seriously, Rox. The last time I looked she was sitting in the recliner with a cup of tea. I have no idea how she got out here so fast.”
“You aren’t leaving, are you, dear?” Mrs. Needleman smiled so wide that Roxanne feared the lady’s dentures would lose their berth. Then Mrs. Needleman clapped her hands together and laughed. “It’s such a fun party! There is miraculous power in preparing for a new life, you know. And one can’t help but be touched by the pure joy of it.” She gripped Roxie’s wrist. “And to think—today we are lucky enough to share in the preparation for
two
new lives. That’s
twice
the joy!
Twice
the miraculous power!”
Roxanne pasted a pleasant smile on her face, trying not to show she was now twice as likely to lose her lunch. This Gloria Needleman chick—this goofy, correspondence-course minister and self-proclaimed cosmic matchmaker (whom Josie and Ginger swore had helped them find their true loves)—was the last person on earth she wanted to chat with.
Strike that. Gloria was second-to-last. Eli Gallagher was taking up the rear.
“I was just stepping out for some air,” Roxanne said, gently pushing Mrs. Needleman aside. The old lady wouldn’t budge. “Excuse me, please,” Roxie said, finally dislodging her enough so that she could get down the two steps to the patio. She started to jog off toward the barn.
“Roxanne.”
She turned back, nearly laughing at the sight—Mrs. Needleman looked like a garden gnome compared to Bea, who towered behind her in the kitchen doorway.
“Stop right there,” Roxie said, hoping the old broad would have mercy on her. Really, how blunt did she have to be? After Ginger’s wedding three months ago, right here on this very patio in fact, Roxie had informed Gloria Needleman that under no circumstances was she interested in finding a man, or, as the wrinkled old bat had put it, her
beloved
. And nothing in the last three months had changed her mind.
“Please, Mrs. Needleman,” she told her now. “Don’t start with the love crap again.”
“I’m afraid it’s already started, my dear,” Mrs. Needleman whispered sweetly, shrugging. “It’s out of anyone’s hands now.”
Roxie nodded curtly. “Great. Gotta run. See ya.”
“How’s your angry little doggie doing? What’s her name again?”
Roxie went still. She let go with a deep sigh of surrender, aware that she’d been suckered in. “My dog’s name is Lilith.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” Mrs. Needleman said, nodding. “The mythological demon of the night, the ancient embodiment of man’s fear of everything female.”
Roxie suddenly perked up, impressed by Mrs. Needleman’s grasp of the subject matter. She smiled at her with renewed respect. “Right on, sister.”
“A man-hating succubus.”
Roxanne blinked, becoming suspicious. Was this lady mocking her? “So what’s your point?”
“Oh, I was simply thinking how your dog’s name reflects the whole tenor of your life, Roxanne. Even the little ‘Men Make Me Sick’ gift shop you operate.”
Bea snorted.
“It’s
www.i-vomit-on-all-men.com
,” Roxanne corrected her. “It’s hyphenated.”
Mrs. Needleman shrugged, as if the details didn’t matter.
“It’s an online social network,” Roxie pressed on. “I’ve created a community where women all over the world can go to tell their horror stories and find encouragement and support. And yes, I do happen to offer T-shirts and coffee mugs and a few other novelty products, but that doesn’t make it a damn
gift shop
.”
Mrs. Needleman dismissed the detail with a wave of her wrinkly hand. “Regardless, I’m assuming you’ve not dealt with Lilith’s aggression issues.”
“Why would you assume that? She’s not here today. You don’t even
know
my dog.” Roxie let go with an offended laugh. “Besides, she’s doing much better, for your information.”
Mrs. Needleman smiled sadly. “Dear girl, there’s no need to bronze the turd with me.”
Roxie looked to Bea with wide eyes, hoping for some clarification. Bea was happy to provide it, even though she nearly doubled over with the giggles in the process. “She means …”—
snort
—“she means you don’t have to put lipstick on a pig for her, you know, soften the truth.”
Roxanne wasn’t amused. “And the truth would be what, Gloria?”
“The truth is this—if you’d found a way to help your little doggie, you wouldn’t be the angry and uncomfortable young woman I see today, still trying to run away from life.”
Whoa.
Roxie felt as if she’d just been punched in the gut. Her legs became wobbly and hot. She flailed her hands around behind her, seeking out one of the sturdy old portico pillars to hold her up.
Bea gently placed her hands on Mrs. Needleman’s shoulders. “How about we go back inside now, Gloria?” she suggested. “I bet we’re missing out on a whole
shitload
of joy in there.”
Mrs. Needleman laughed, brushing Bea’s hands off her shoulders. “Patience, Beatrice,” she said. “You might learn a thing or two.”
Roxanne leaned fully against the pillar, steeling herself as she watched the Grandma from Hell advance toward her, one rickety step at a time.
“I know you think I’m a crazy old lady.”
Roxanne straightened. This would be where a polite person might say,
“Of course not!”
“You’re a fruitcake, Gloria,” was her response.
The old lady giggled, her thin shoulders bouncing up and down in delight.
“Find someone else to harass,” Roxie added.
Mrs. Needleman let go with a long sigh. “I’m getting quite old, you know. I’m eighty-five. Not feeling like myself lately. No time to waste.” Her eyes were suddenly shadowed with sadness.
“Hey, hey! Don’t talk like that!” Bea scurried up behind her and cradled her elbow.
Mrs. Needleman continued addressing Roxanne. “I know you are a thoroughly modern young woman. I can see you have no patience for fools.”
Roxie shrugged.
“And I understand that you’re protecting your heart.”
Roxanne laughed, crossing her arms tightly under her breasts. “Damn right I am. If I don’t, who will?”
“I just have one favor to ask of you.”
Roxanne groaned and looked to Bea, whose eyes were large and pleading.
Just do it, for God’s sake,
Bea mouthed silently from behind Gloria.
“Fine. What—
ever,
” Roxanne said. “If I agree to your favor, will you leave me alone? I’m not in the mood for one of your love interventions.”
Mrs. Needleman laughed. “Thank you, dear,” she said. “Once you do this one little favor for me, I’ll never bother you again. I won’t need to.”
“Deal,” Roxanne said, hoping she could trust this lady’s word. “What do you want?”
“I want you to leave the door to your heart open just a crack, my dear girl—just an itty-bitty, tiny crack. That’s all I ask.”