What the Dog Ate (22 page)

She stiffened, pulled away from
him, and looked down.

“I know; you think I’m about to try
to back out on my promise to leave early. But, I’m good as my word. I’m going,”
he said. She smiled up at him. “Right now. Gone. Unless you wanted to try to
entice me to stay?” The left corner of his mouth crept upward into the crooked
smile she found almost irresistible. Almost.

She knew there was no way she’d
feel comfortable doing anything with him in this house. There were too many
memories, gathered in every corner like cobwebs.

“No, you’d better go. School night
and all,” she stepped partly behind the door.

He said goodbye and kissed her once
more, lightly on the lips, then left.

She let Kona back in. She was glad
he’d been outside so he couldn’t try to wiggle his way between them when Brian
kissed her. There’d been enough kinky animal action for one day.

She sat on the couch and invited
Kona up. She surveyed the house she had lived in and loved for the last twelve
years. It was ready to go on the market.

She rubbed the dog’s ear and said,
“What do you think, Buddy? I think
we’re
ready too.”

Kona sighed with pleasure at the
ear rubbing and gave her a look that was a combination of “I love you” and
“Please keep doing that.” He collapsed across her lap. She knew he didn’t care
where they lived, as long as they were together.

After their workout Saturday
morning, Maggie asked Helen to come along and help pick out new towels. It was
the last thing she needed to do to finish sprucing up the master bath.

As they walked through the bed and
bath section of Macy’s, Helen grilled Maggie about her upcoming date with
Brian.

“So, you think tonight’s the Big
Night? Ready to get back up on that horse?” Helen whispered as they shopped the
shelves stacked with rainbows of fluffy towels.

“I guess so. I mean, he invited me
to his place, so I’m sure that’s what we’re both thinking.” Maggie chewed her
lip. “God, why didn’t I suggest we go out instead? Do you think it’s too soon?
How many dates are you supposed to go on first? This is only our third.”

“First of all, this is your fourth
date: dog park, dinner, zoo, tonight.” Helen counted them off on her fingers.
“Count ‘em.
Quatro
.”

“Dog park doesn’t count.”

“It does.” Helen held up a finger
to silence Maggie who had opened her mouth to argue. “And that brings me to my
second point. It’s not about keeping some scorecard of dates and hitting a
predetermined number. It’s about doing what you feel comfortable doing. So, how
about it? Are you ready?”

“I guess. I’m excited about
tonight, but I’m also nervous as hell. It’s awful. It’s this mix of
anticipation and just wanting to get it over with. It’s like... virginity all
over again.”

“Hmmm. I can picture the preview
now.” Helen said as if reading the words across a movie screen. “‘Virginity:
The Sequel.
Coming
soon.’ Get it?” She cracked up at
her own joke.

Maggie twisted her pendant. “I hope
the tag line is: ‘The one sequel that’s actually better than the original.’”

“At least this time you’ll know
what you’re doing.” Helen reached out and gently pulled Maggie’s hand away from
her necklace. “But would you mind if I give you a few pointers?”

~~~

Brian answered the door in a white
dress shirt and navy slacks. Maggie had dressed up too, knowing he would. She’d
bought a new dress, a white flowing A-line, and pale pink, lacy underwear;
although they were not having the desired effect of making her feel sexy. More
than anything, she felt uncomfortable, as the lace scratched her left hip. She
tried to surreptitiously rub at it with her arm as, with a sweeping gesture, Brian
welcomed her to his “humble abode.”

The condo was an inanimate
extension of Brian—everything perfectly coordinated and perfectly groomed. It
looked as if he either did not actually live there or had just ushered out the
camera crew from
Interior Design
. Not a single
dog-eared magazine, piece of mail, or old newspaper appeared within sight, let
alone a Chihuahua hair or speck of dust. His love of art was evident
throughout. The rich but neutral colors of the walls and furniture allowed the
paintings and sculptures to be well-deserved focal points. A huge piece hung in
the foyer.

“That one’s from the artist I was
telling you about,” Brian said. “In London?”

“The guy who got out of jail?
You’re right; he’s amazing.” There were bits of fabric and metal on the canvas,
expertly woven in with the thick strokes of vivid oil paints. “When you told me
his story, I thought his stuff was going to be dark and depressing. But this is
so...”

“Kinetic?”

“Yeah. It’s really gorgeous.”

He took her on a tour of the rest
of his treasures, telling her stories about the artists and where or how he’d
acquired each item.

Brian tactfully left the master
bedroom off the tour. In the guest room, she said hello to Peaches, curled in
her cozy basket. Peaches deigned to bestow a darting kiss on Maggie’s hand.

A gleaming silver abstract piece
stood alone on an oak end table above where Peaches lay. Maggie wanted to touch
its shiny surface, but wouldn’t dream of marring it with a fingerprint.

“That’s an interesting piece,” she
said. “It’s so sleek.”

“That’s my iron, actually.” Brian
rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s from the Hammacher Schlemmer catalog.”

“Oh, hell, I’m an idiot.”

“No, you’re right, though. It is
gorgeous, isn’t it? That’s why I leave it out.”

An antique brass iron sat on a
shelf overhead. She pointed at it. “My grandma has one of those. I wouldn’t
actually have figured you for an antiques kind of guy, though.”

“I’m not, usually. But, I’m sort
of... into irons.”

Maggie turned and noticed a
tailor-quality steamer in the corner she’d overlooked before.

At the end of the tour, he escorted
her back to his long, narrow kitchen, which smelled of roast chicken. He
invited her to sit at a bistro table under the window while he finished
prepping a plate of appetizers. He poured her a glass of cabernet and began
describing the menu. She half-heard him talking about the problems he’d had
finding decent looking fennel bulbs.

Her legs were crossed and her foot
bounced like the tongue of a panting Pekinese. She fiddled with her pendant, until
Helen’s tips for “feel sexy, be sexy” came back to her. Number One was: “No
fidgeting.” Helen had noticed her tendency to play with her necklace when
anxious. “Try not to be nervous,” Helen had said, “But if you are, just be
still; move slow-ly.”

Be still, move slowly, she thought
as she laced her fingers and put her hands in her lap. She glared at her foot.
It stopped bouncing.

Within a minute her foot resumed
its jig. She figured getting everything out in the open was the best approach.

“Look,” she said taking a gulp of
wine, “I need to tell you. I’m... a bit nervous.”

“About my cooking?” Brian stopped
slicing and grinned at her.

“No.” She forced a smile back at
him, then took a deep breath. “About tonight.”

“Tonight?” He raised an eyebrow at
her.

“Yeah, you know. Tonight.” Her
hands waved in desperate circles, but she willed them back into her lap. “I was
thinking maybe we need to talk about a few... ground rules.”

“Ground rules.”

“Yeah, ground rules. You know,
lighting, that sort of thing.”

“Alright, what sort of rules did
you have in mind?” He grabbed his glass of wine and the plate of crackers and
assorted cheeses, and went to sit opposite her.

“‘Rules’ doesn’t sound very good.
Let’s call them ‘guidelines.’ I know this is sort of a spontaneity-killer, but
I always feel more comfortable when everyone’s on the same page.”

“I’m all for doing whatever we need
to do to make you feel comfortable, so what sort of guidelines did you have in
mind?”

“Well, first of all, we should get
the whole safe-sex discussion out of the way.” Her hand went to her pendant
again. She pictured the condoms in her purse. She wasn’t sure, so she’d brought
different sizes. (Two “trim,” which she’d figured out in the store must mean
“small,” since she realized no one would want to buy small condoms, and,
optimistically, three “XLs.”)

“Certainly,” he said. “And I want
you to know, I’ve got a box of condoms in my nightstand drawer. And, as long as
we’re laying our cards on the table, I have had one in my wallet, like a
hopeful teenager, ever since our first date.”

“You brought a condom to the dog
park?” She giggled and nibbled a cracker. Her mouth was too dry. She put the
cracker down. “What were you thinking was gonna happen there?”

“I guess I anticipated that there’d
be more than just the dog park involved, but, then, there was that whole
scene.” He shrugged.

“As long as we’re being honest, I
have to admit, I’m not really crazy about condoms. But we gotta do what we gotta
do.”
God, why did I stop taking my pills after Dave left?
Why didn’t I ever get my tubes tied? I’m not using them. I wonder... do they
really get in there and tie them in little knots? They must, because otherwise
wouldn’t they call it “having your tubes snipped” or “soldered” or whatever?
But then, where do the eggs go that drop out of your ovaries? Wouldn’t they
build up behind the knots?
The knots in her stomach brought her back to
the discussion at hand. She’d missed a bit of what he’d said.

“...none of my business, but when
was the last time you used a condom?”

She thought for a moment. “Hmm... I
was nineteen, so like twenty-two years ago.”

He smiled. “I’m not exactly a
prophylactic expert, but I’m guessing they’ve made advances in the last two
decades.”

She began to feel slightly
nauseous, realizing the first time she used a condom Brian would have been
seven. But she forced herself to focus on Helen’s Tip Number Two: “No dwelling
on age differences.
No math
. Remember to feel
experienced, not older.”

“No doubt.” Her voice echoed into
her wineglass.

“Anyway, what’s next? You mentioned
lighting. What’s your preference?”

“None.” She set her glass back
down.

“You have no preference?”

“No, I mean, I’d prefer there was
no light.”

“No light? At all?”

“Right. Pitch blackness would be
great. But if that’s not possible, a bit of moonlight would be OK. Is that a
problem?”

“Well, I like bright lights. The
brighter the better.” Her eyes widened in a look not unlike sheer terror so he
added, “I’m teasing. But I was thinking maybe some candlelight.”

“Urrhhh... I’m not sure.” She shook
her head.

“When I’ve pictured this in my
head, you look exquisite in candlelight. Very sexy.”

“You’ve been picturing this, huh?”

“Again, it’s cards-on-the-table
time. It would be a bald-faced lie to say I hadn’t.”

She bit her lip and looked down.
Her eyes flitted back and forth, mentally comparing candle versus moonbeam
wattage. “Would moonlight be a deal-breaker?”

“If you’re looking for a
deal-breaker, you’re going to have to come up with something more drastic than
that to back out of this. Moonlight it is.”

“OK. How about music? I know we
both like music, but what about... you know,
during
.”
she asked.

“I’m fine with anything, as long as
it doesn’t have words.”

“Agreed,” she clinked her glass
against his. “Words can be very distracting. But... you’re not thinking like
Ride of the Valkyries
, right?”
Who, or
what, is a Valkyrie anyway? And what, exactly, are they riding?

He laughed. “Actually, that could
be very moving. But no, I was thinking of something a bit quieter.”

“I’ll trust your judgment there.”

“What else? You mentioned words
being distracting. So, what about talking? Where do you stand on that?” he
asked.

“I’m not a fan of that. That makes
me... sort of uncomfortable.”

“OK, I can be quiet as a mouse.” He
winked at her.

“Oh, no, I don’t mean total
silence. I mean, a bit of talking is OK. But no play-by-play.”

He chuckled. “Got it. No
play-by-play. No color commentary.”

She looked around the room as if
playing I-Spy while he watched her, unblinking.

“Are we missing anything?” he
asked.

“Let’s see... Condoms, lights,
music... I think that’s it. I think we can, you know, try to pretend we’re
being spontaneous about the rest.”

“Well then, why don’t we change the
subject.” He stood up, unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled back his sleeves,
revealing the golden hairs on his forearms. “Do you want to help with dinner?”
He held out his hand to her.

She stood up and put her icy hand
into his warm one, thankful to have the conversation over with and feeling much
better for having brought it up. “Yeah, I can help.”

“Excellent. But first, let me go
put on
Ride of the Valkyries
.”

~~~

After dinner, Brian suggested they
sit on the couch and relax. He dimmed the lights.

“I can give you one of my famous
foot rubs.”

“That sounds fabulous.” Maggie was
glad she’d had a pedicure that morning. Every inch of her had been shaved,
plucked, scrubbed and/or slathered in preparation. She was a living scratch ‘n
sniff replica of The Body Shop. “I’ve never had a handsome man give me a foot
rub.”

He began to work his magic on her
left foot, which he held in his lap. “How about an ugly man?”

She laughed. “No, can’t say that I
have. Ohhhhh, that feels fantastic.”

She took a deep breath in and let
it out slowly. She could get used to this. She watched him concentrating on her
foot.