What the Dog Ate (19 page)

The crowd quieted. He thanked
everyone for their generous support and spoke about the renovations, saying the
museum itself was now a work of art. The audience applauded.

“Now that the museum has a new
face,” he continued, “it’s time for her to have a new heart as well. As many of
you know, I’m retiring and we have a fantastic new director who’s taking over
the reins here at MAMA. And, with that, I’d like to introduce: Brian Benatti.”

Now Maggie realized why Brian
looked familiar. She’d seen his picture in last month’s MAMA newsletter. The
thinning hair had thrown her; the picture must have been an older one. She
remembered reading that in art circles he was known as Golden Boy Benatti. He
was a
wunderkind
who’d gotten his graduate degree at
an early age; then convinced a museum in London to hire him. It was new with a
small budget; they agreed to hire him at a low salary and give him a chance.
He’d turned it into a success, and then been head-hunted back to the U.S.

Maggie missed most of Mr. Vee-Zee’s
speech but tuned back in as he said, “I must admit this young man makes me feel
very old. When I started here in 1977, he wasn’t even born yet.”

There were some chuckles from the
crowd, and Maggie’s mind spun while Mr. Vee-Zee handed the microphone to Brian.

Wasn’t even
born yet?
Maggie barely heard Brian as he thanked Mr. Van Zant and said
“what an honor,” blah, blah, blah.
I was flirting with a
man who’s at least eleven years younger. Not only that, but he’s a shooting star
in his profession. How could he be interested in me?

She felt ridiculous, still standing
where he’d asked her to wait. He was going to have more important things to do,
like meeting and greeting the upper echelon of patrons, than to come back and
buy her a martini. She was wondering if she should leave when she saw Helen.

“There you are. I’ve been looking
everywhere for you. You didn’t answer your cell.”

“Sorry...” Maggie reached for her
purse. “I guess I turned the volume too low.”

“Where were you?” Helen asked.
“Hey, what’s wrong? You look funny.”

“Can we get out of here?” Maggie
looked back as the crowd applauded one last time. The spotlight went dark and
Mr. Vee-Zee, hand on Brian’s shoulder, introduced him to a handsome older
couple who had come forward. Brian flashed his crooked smile at them.

“Sure, as long as you tell me
what’s going on.”

As they left, Maggie did some math
in her head. She worked out that she’d been on the planet thirty-seven percent
longer than Brian.

Maybe our age
difference wouldn’t seem as bad if I calculated it in dog years?

Maggie and Helen sat at their usual
table at Tea Time.

“Sorry to make you leave,” Maggie
said as she stirred her tea. She looked at the worn furniture. “We’re a little
overdressed for this place, huh? You look really pretty by the way.” Helen’s
hair was slicked back in a wide black headband that matched her strapless
little black dress. A strand of oversized pearls circled her slender neck.
“Like a blond Holly Golightly.”

“Holly Golightly, the AARP years,
you mean. I can see it now,
Early Bird Special at Tiffany’s
.”

“Don’t make me laugh. I’m not in
the mood.”

“Alright, tell me what the heck
happened back there.”

Maggie told her everything: about
the flirting, the doggie-play-date invite, the fact that Brian turned out to be
the new museum director—and probably under thirty years old.

“I meet this nice looking,
interesting guy, and he’s way too young for me.”

“What are you talking about? He’s
not too young for you.”

“Uh, yeah, he is. If I asked him,
‘where were you when John Lennon was shot?’ his answer would be, ‘I was in
diapers.’”
Pros of dating a
much
younger man: um,... drawing a blank. Stamina maybe? Oh God, OK,
come back to pros. Cons: Will I look totally foolish? What will people think?
I’d have to be really vigilant about my roots
. Helen interrupted her
analysis.

“Aren’t you supposed to be going
with the flow? Thinking like Kona?”

“Yes.” Maggie looked down at the
table, her curls falling like a curtain over her face. “I forget when I get
stressed.”

“Well, stop stressing. Look, does
Kona focus on the journey, or the destination?”

“The journey,” she said, in the
voice of a teenager answering a nagging mother. She hated that Helen was so
right, but she could see that this was basically the same reason things went
wrong with Dave. She’d been so focused on the destination, the All Powerful
Plan, that she hadn’t noticed the journey had started to feel like a forced
march. She pushed her hair out of her face. “You’re right. I’m overreacting.
Besides, we don’t even know if he’s interested in me.”

“From what you said, it sounds like
he is. I’ll bet you a margarita he asks you out next time you see him at MAMA.”

“If he does ask me out, how do I
work my age into the conversation?” Maggie knew it was possible Brian thought
she was only a bit older. People often guessed her age as low- to mid-thirties.
She’d even had a grocery clerk make her day, hell, her whole month, last year
when he carded her while buying tequila.

“Uh, you don’t. You just accept his
invitation, and then you call me and ask me when and where I’d like to go for
my margarita.”

Helen sat back and crossed her
arms, confident in her prediction. Maggie’s hand crept toward her pendant.

~~~

As Maggie walked across the foyer
at MAMA to the information desk, she heard a familiar voice behind her say,
“Miss, I’d like some information.”

She turned and Brian beamed his
lop-sided smile at her. She’d known she might run into him tonight, but now
that she had, the butterflies in her stomach fluttered in earnest. Although she
pictured whatever trampolined around in there not as delicate butterflies, but
fat, beige moths instead. She also wondered if she should tell him she was not
a “Miss” but more of a “Ma’am.”
Oh well, just go with it.
Think like Kona. Besides, when’s the last time you felt moths in your stomach
over a man?

She pushed the corners of her mouth
up into a smile. “What can I help you with, sir?”

“I’d like some information on where
you disappeared to the other night.”

“Sorry about that. I was at the
party with my girlfriend, and... she wasn’t feeling well so we left. I wanted
to say goodbye, but you looked busy, meeting people and...” she trailed off.

“I accept your apology, if you’ll
agree to that doggie play-date we talked about. How’s Saturday? The dog park
here at Balboa. Say, eleven? We can get some lunch afterwards.”

Guess I owe
Helen a margarita. And I’ve got to go shopping. I need new shorts. Wonder if they
can fit me in for a cut and color tomorrow? OK, calm down. Start by answering
the man. What would Kona say? Probably: “Hell, yeah!”

She settled for a simple, “OK.”

~~~

“You don’t have to look so smug,”
Maggie said to Helen.

“I’m not. I’m just enjoying my
margarita. My marg that you
owed
me, because I was
right. Did you hear about our bet?” Helen asked Russell.

Maggie had called Helen when she
got home from MAMA. When Helen heard about the date, she’d suggested they go to
Alfonso’s on Friday so Maggie could pay up. They’d decided to invite Russell
too since Natalia was out of town on a Girls’ Weekend. When Maggie called to
invite him she’d told him she had news that would make Natalia happy.

“Yeah, I heard,” Russell said. He
turned to Maggie, “But let’s hear about this guy. What’s he like? Artsy-fartsy-type?”

“No, he’s smart and articulate...
handsome.” Maggie studied her menu, even though she planned to order her usual.

“He
is
handsome,” Helen said. “I can vouch for that. Tall, blonde. He’s
young
.” Maggie shot Helen a look and Helen added, “But
very mature.”

“He sounds dreamy.” Russell picked
up his menu.

After they ordered, the two pros
offered to share their tried and true rules with the rookie, once again acting
as her personal lifeguards, as she prepared to jump back into the dating pool.

“Rule number one,” Helen said, “is
never accept an invite immediately. Always act as though you have to check your
calendar first.”

“You should have told me that
sooner; I already broke that one,” Maggie said.

Russell said, “That is not the
number one rule of dating. The number one, most important rule is a little
thing I like to call: The Twelve-Hour Rule.” He sat back as though waiting for
the choir of heavenly angels to quiet down so he could continue. He held up a finger,
“Unless you’re going away together, you should never spend more than twelve
hours at a stretch with a date. It’s been my experience that the ladies begin
to put down roots after that.”

Maggie laughed, thinking he must be
joking; Helen called him a numbskull. He started to expand on his theory, but
the food arrived. Then Russell started a debate on whether blended or “rocks”
margaritas were better, and they never got back to the rest of the rules.

~~~

As Maggie pulled into the parking
lot, she drummed her fingers on the steering wheel.
Wonder
what the rest of those rules are. Could use some rules right about now
.
She wanted to sit and gather her courage, but Kona saw the other dogs and
whined, beating the door with his paw.

“OK, we’re going.”

Brian stood at the edge of the
park, in a navy linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up and tan shorts with a
crease ironed into them, sharp enough to slice brie. A pale golden Chihuahua
stood next to him. Balanced on three legs, it eyed a gray schnauzer that had come
over to say hello.

Maggie called Brian’s name and he
looked up, his crooked smile stretching across the left side of his face. The
smile disappeared when Peaches growled and snapped at the schnauzer, which had
circled around in an attempt to sniff her petite posterior.

Brian looked down at the canine
hurricane that raged in front of his Italian leather sandals and tried to
extricate his dog. The schnauzer’s owner shrieked and ran over. Kona, ready for
a game of spin-the-schnauzer, trotted over to stick his big brown nose into the
action. Maggie tried to grab his collar and restrain him.

When all three dogs were back under
their owners’ control—Peaches in Brian’s arms, the schnauzer on his leash, and
Kona leaning against Maggie as she held his collar—the woman dragged her dog
away. She muttered about “people who can’t control their dogs,” while Brian
apologized to her back.

“She doesn’t like to have her, uh,
hind end sniffed,” he said to Maggie.

“Can’t fault her for that.”

“Well, this is an excellent start to
their date. I never even said hello to you.” He nodded at the little dog. “This
is, obviously, Peaches.”

“Hello, Peaches.” Maggie reached
out and stroked the dog’s fine, tawny fur. Maggie still held Kona’s collar, but
he struggled to pull free. “This is my beast, Kona.”

Brian patted Kona’s head, but Kona
was busy watching two mutts that wrestled nearby. He wagged his tail
frantically, while Peaches looked down from her perch in Brian’s arms.

“Maybe I’ll let him burn off some
energy before we introduce him to Peaches.” Maggie released Kona, and he took
off like a sprinter hearing a starter’s pistol.

They watched him join the melee,
and the three dogs raced across the park, mouthing each other’s ears and
collars. They yipped and growled in mock ferociousness.

“I see Peaches is much too
dignified for that sort of behavior.”

“She can be a bit of a diva.”

“So, how are you guys doing?
Adjusting to life in a new city?”

“We’re doing fine. It’s so quiet
here, though. I’ve got a condo near the museum. Unless there’s a baseball game
or it’s the weekend in the Gas Lamp district, the sidewalks roll right up at
night downtown.”

“Oh, um, I didn’t know. I’m not
much for the downtown scene. Gas Lamp and all that.”

“I don’t mean the Gas Lamp, per se.
There are some great restaurants, but I’m not one for the bars either. I meant
culture. Big City life. The thriving metropolis. I guess I’m just used to Philadelphia,
London. And I went to college in Chicago. It’s just a bit ‘small town’ here.”

“Well, for culture, there’s the Old
Globe. Have you been there?”

“I saw a play there that they
billed as ‘Broadway bound,’ but I’m not so sure.”

“And there are a lot of galleries
in La Jolla, and I think there are usually a lot of people down there at night.
I, uh, don’t really know though. I haven’t been out much myself lately.”

“Maybe we can change that. Do some
exploring together. Don’t get me wrong, it is nice here. The weather’s ideal,
of course.” He indicated the sunny sky and trees swaying in the breeze. It was
a perfect September day, low seventies; white, puffy clouds dotted the deep
blue sky.

“I don’t think you can beat the
weather here. Of course, I’ve always lived in Southern California, so I don’t
really have anything to compare it to. How about you? Where did you grow up?”
Are you a grown up? You talk like one, but let’s see some ID
.

“In Philadelphia. That’s how I
ended up there after London. My mother’s a violinist with the Philadelphia
Orchestra.”

“Wow. Very cool.” Maggie wondered
how much older his mother was than herself.
I’ve got to
work my age into this conversation. And find out exactly how old
he
is
.

“She’s been a huge influence on me.
She introduced me to art and classical music.” He also told her about his
father, a history professor at Penn State. “But, enough about me,” he said as
he set Peaches down. She pranced through the grass like a miniature Tennessee
walking horse. “What about you? I know you’re a So-Cal girl, but what about
family? Do you have siblings?”