What the Dog Ate (28 page)

Maggie spun for them. She’d tie-dyed
the dress, gathering bunches of it in loops of twine before plunging it with
rubber-gloved hands into the laundry room sink filled with dye, as if it were a
living thing she needed to hold under until it went limp. She’d felt a slight
pang as the dress turned from white to peach, but as it deepened to pink she
began to enjoy the transformation. By the time it was dark red she was smiling.
It came out perfect; some parts of the dress darker red than others, streaks of
lighter sections here and there. It looked painted.

She held up her goat to show him
off. She’d remembered that one of the zoo gift shops carried a huge selection
of stuffed animals. She’d used her membership card to go find a goat; then,
searched online for a miniature shop where she’d found a cello. She’d adhered
it to his hoof with a hot glue gun. A long white veil trailing down her back
and a bouquet of white daisies and Baby’s Breath completed the look.

“
C’est fantastique
,”
Helen said.

Before Maggie could reply, there
was a knock. She opened it and couldn’t help letting out a gasp. Kona growled.

Brian looked like something that
had barely survived a nuclear apocalypse. He wore black pants and a
long-sleeved T-shirt, both streaked with muddy shades of brown, gray and orange
paint. He’d slicked back his thinning hair with gel. He’d covered his face in
pale pancake makeup with splotches of gold and orange and painted the backs of
his hands, which he held at the sides of his face, to match. His lips, outlined
in black, formed the circle of a silent scream, just as in the painting. He
looked horrifying. At first Maggie thought it was the makeup and the pose, but
the final touch, making him look truly petrified and petrifying, was the gold
contact lenses he wore.

“Trick or Treat, Beautiful,” he
dropped the pose and smiled. He held out his hands as if to hug her.

“Don’t you get that makeup on me.”
She backed up, as did Kona. “Eeesh, you look so creepy. You’re even freaking
out the dog.”

“It’s OK, boy.” Brian held out a
hand and Kona sniffed it tentatively. His tail wagged and Brian ruffled his
ears. Brian said hello to Helen and Raul and added, “No shaking hands for me
tonight.” He displayed his painting job. “The right hand was the hardest part.
Difficult to paint with your left hand.”

Brian had brought his camera along
and asked Helen to take a picture of him with Maggie. “I told my mother about
the party and she wanted to see our costumes,” he said.

As they all finished posing for
pictures, the bell rang and Kona barked.

Maggie opened it to find Russell,
wearing a shaggy St. Bernard costume and holding a fan of five Bicycle playing
cards in his hand. The dog suit came up over his head in a hood with floppy
ears. His nose was covered in brown makeup and he chewed the stub of a cigar.

They all laughed and Maggie asked,
“
Dogs Playing Poker
is your favorite painting?”

“It’s close. I was going to come as
Elvis, but couldn’t figure out how to do a black velvet background. This was
the next best thing.”

Maggie introduced Brian and
Russell, then Russell surveyed everyone’s outfits. “You guys all look great.”
He sized up Maggie. “You’re a bride? I have no idea why you’re holding a goat,
but you look nice.”

“It’s a Chagall painting,
La Mariée
.” Maggie had prepared for this in case someone
didn’t know what she was. She’d printed a picture of the painting, folded it up
and slipped it in her sleeve. She set her goat on the kitchen counter, then
pulled out the picture. “See?”

Russell looked at Maggie’s dress
again, then at Brian. “So, love and... fear. Good combo. Those go hand in hand.
You guys plan that?”

Maggie felt herself blush.
Maybe this was a bad idea. I didn’t mean to come as love
personified. I just like the goat
.

Brian chuckled. “No, we didn’t plan
it, but you’re right. There’s always a certain amount of anxiety that goes
along with falling in love.” He made a move to take hold of Maggie’s hand, but
she moved away again.

“Uh-uh,” she waggled a finger, “You
don’t want to mess up your hands and I don’t want you to mess up my dress.” She
certainly did not want to talk about falling in love; not here, not now, not
anytime soon. Besides she hadn’t meant for the costume to represent love. Quite
the opposite. She was aware some cultures get married in red dresses, but not
her Irish ancestors, so she thought of the costume as a sort of anti-bride; a
statement that she was over and done with her marriage. She had told Helen on
Tuesday at yoga about dying her wedding dress—causing Helen to state, “You
rock”—but the boys didn’t need to know.
Time to end this
conversation
. “OK, let’s go. We’re fashionably late enough.” She hooked
a thumb toward the door. “I’ll be the designated driver. Hey, wait. Where’s my
goat?”

They all looked at the kitchen
counter, where she’d set it, then turned as one when they heard Kona’s toenails
clicking quickly out of the room.

~~~

At the party, a rush of warmth hit
them as they came through the door. The room was packed. It was a chilly night,
so few of the party-goers wanted to be outside, and the impeccable minimalist
great room was wall-to-wall with artists and their works. There was a simply
dressed, older balding man in the foyer who Maggie guessed was Picasso, as his
companion had painted her face blue with spare eyeballs adorning the sides of
her head. Further in, another couple, the man carrying a pitch fork, was
dressed as
American Gothic
. In her first look around
the room Maggie saw a woman in black as
Whistler’s Mother
;
unfortunately for Raul, several Andy Warhols; at least two versions of
Girl with a Pearl Earring
; and a Frida Kahlo, with
mono-brow, and her portly date who Maggie assumed must be Diego Rivera. Dozens
of other guests talked and laughed over the music. Maggie couldn’t wait to walk
around and see everyone’s costumes.

Brian found the host, Jens, who was
dressed as Van Gogh with a bandaged ear, causing Maggie and Helen to exchange
looks with Raul, and introduced them all.

Jens admired their costumes,
laughing at Russell’s. He asked Maggie if he could see her goat (Raul had
managed to catch Kona on his way out of the room, and Maggie traded her little
devil-dog the stuffed animal for his peanut-butter filled Kong) and inspected
its cello. They all chatted until Toulouse-Lautrec and a French can-can dancer
walked in, and Jens excused himself to go greet them. “Help yourselves to
drinks in the kitchen, and there’s food in the dining room,” he said as he
clapped Brian on the back and walked off.

They moved to the kitchen for
drinks, then split off in different directions. Helen and Raul went for some
food and Maggie and Brian saw Lani, the chief curator from the museum, and went
to say hello. Russell flirted with a Degas ballerina at the bar, shaking a
martini for her.

Lani, with her olive skin, long
black wig and floral print sarong, might have just stepped out of a Gauguin painting
of Tahiti. They chatted for a while, but when the conversation turned to a
problem with one of Lani’s staff at work, Maggie excused herself to get some
food.

In the dining room, she was
circling the table, her plate in one hand and her goat and bouquet tucked under
her arm, when a couple entered in dramatic fashion. God, a stocky man in wild
white wig, full graying beard and flowing gauzy tunic, and Adam, his partner,
in a beige body suit with painted muscles, walked through the dining room
entryway. They abruptly stood apart and gazed at one another as their
outstretched hands met at their finger tips. Everyone laughed; a few applauded.

“Luckily there aren’t too many
rooms in this place,” God said, digging into the salmon mousse. “We only had to
make our grand entrance twice.”

Adam sidled up to Maggie, waiting
for his turn at the plate of prosciutto-wrapped melon. He whispered to her,
“Never let your boyfriend play God.” He rolled his eyes. “Even for a few
hours.” He raised his voice a bit so God would be sure to hear, “He’s been
insufferable.”

“Are you telling that young bride
there lies?” God asked from the other side of the table.

“You tell me,” Adam said. “Aren’t
you the all-knowing one here?”

Maggie asked if they were both
freezing.

“Well, I can only speak for my mere
mortal self, but, yes, I froze my fig leaf on the walk from the car.”

God plucked a bright red apple out
of the centerpiece, a cornucopia of fruit. “You,” he said to Adam, holding it
aloft, “Stay away from these.”

Adam gave Maggie a “see what I
mean” look.

“Good luck with him,” Maggie
smiled, picked up her sparkling water and plate of hors d’oeuvres and looked
for a spot to set down her accoutrements while she ate. Although she shivered
at the thought of Adam in his thin bodysuit, she felt warm in her long dress. She
decided to go out on the balcony, and was instantly refreshed by the wind off
the water. The smell of the sea was strong and she could hear waves crashing,
but it was a dark night with little moon so she could barely see the ocean
shimmering in the distance.

Thick white candles in hurricane
lamps lit the patio, where groups of party-goers huddled under tall stainless
steel heaters spaced evenly along the balcony. Maggie noticed an empty table at
the end of the deck and went and set her plate down. A woman, dressed as
Mona Lisa
in a dark velvet gown, asked if she could share
the table.

“Please,” Maggie said, then
introduced herself.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Diane. I
work for Jens managing one of his galleries.”

When Diane learned of Maggie’s
volunteer work at MAMA, she said, “I’ve been meaning to come see the Hidelbaum
exhibit.”

“It’s amazing. It’s here until
Christmas, so you’ve got some time to come see it.”

They became engrossed in a
discussion of art as they ate. From Maggie’s seat she had a view into the
kitchen and she noticed Russell mixing himself another martini. She watched as
the ballerina appeared at his furry brown elbow. She held her now empty glass
out like Tinker Bell with her wand; they laughed together. Maggie tried to
concentrate on what Diane was saying about a trip she’d taken to Germany for
the gallery. The petite dancer stood
en pointe
and
whispered in Russell’s ear.

“Sorry, what was that?” Maggie
asked.

“I asked if you’ve been to Germany.”

“No, but I’d love to go.” Maggie
shifted her chair, as if adjusting her alignment with the heater, but really
having seen enough of the flirtation inside. She gave Diane her full attention,
and they spoke about various trips they’d each taken until Maggie felt chilly.

“I think I’ll go back in. My hands
are so cold I can’t feel my goat.”

“You go ahead; it’s too hot for me
in there in this velvet robe,” Diane said. “It was nice talking to you. I’ll
try to come see that exhibit on a Thursday night so I can say hi.”

“I’ll keep an eye out for you.”
Maggie went in to a welcome wave of body heat. The serene crashing of the waves
was replaced by the thumping bass of the music and buzz of the crowd. She
decided to go wash her hands before looking for Brian and was about to go in
search of a bathroom, when she saw Dave and That Woman standing by the stereo.

She froze.
What
the hell are they doing here? And what the hell are they wearing?
She
shot them a look she usually reserved for people who ran red lights or cut in
line at the movies. Dave wore a Yankees uniform. Stupid Slut (true to her
nature, Maggie thought) was dressed as a French maid.
If
she wanted to dress like a slut she could have at least been an art-themed
slut. A topless Venus de Milo or something. And I know just the person to rip
her arms off
.

Dave saw her and did a double-take.
He whispered something to his date and marched over to Maggie. “What are you
doing here?”

“I was about to ask you the same
thing.”

“Jessica’s brother works for the
guy that owns this place, Vince or whatever his name is.”

“His name is Jens. And you’re not
even dressed right. You’re supposed to be wearing a costume related to art.”

“We can wear whatever we want. What
are
you
doing here?”

Maggie threw her shoulders back.
“My boyfriend,” she stressed the word and saw the muscles in Dave’s jaw tense,
“happens to be good friends with Jens. And he’s the director of the modern art
museum.”
Hah. Take that. He’s super brilliant, has a great
career, and... oh hell, he looks really weird tonight. How am I supposed to rub
in how young and good-looking my boyfriend is when he looks half-bald and...
half-dead? Crap. Stupid costume party. And where the hell is he, when I need
him here fawning over me?
She scanned the room for Brian.

“Wait a minute, is that your—” Dave
pointed at her dress, then shook his head and snorted. “Never mind.” He ran a
hand through his hair. “Look, as long as you’re here. I’ve been wanting, well,
I’ve been meaning to call you.” He swallowed. Maggie wondered if there might be
a tear bulging at the corner of his eye. “I... I miss Kona. I wanted to see if
I could visit him once in a while. Maybe I could take him running sometimes. I
miss that.”

“My boyfriend takes him running
now.”

“Oh. OK, well, something else then.
Maybe we could work out some visitation.”

“No.” Maggie shook her head. “No
way. You’re the one who walked out. And you haven’t even tried to come see him
once in all this time. I can’t believe you’re even bringing this up now. It’s
been months. You don’t even care about Kona.”

“I do too. It’s not me. I’ve wanted
to see him. I miss him. It’s Jess.” He glanced at Jessica and Maggie followed
his eyes. Jessica watched them over the top of a CD case she pretended to read
in the dim light. He lowered his voice, as if she could hear over the hum of
the crowd and the music. “She’s afraid of Kona.”
Good! But,
what an idiot. Who’s afraid of Kona? He’s a big sweetie
. He went on as
if he knew what Maggie was thinking. “It’s just that, he knocked her down,
that... well, that time she was at the house.”
Good boy, Kona!
You knew that slut wasn’t supposed to be in Momma’s house. You are getting a
huge treat when I get home
. Maggie had been tortured by the thought of
Kona aiding and abetting Dave’s introduction of that slut into her home. She’d
pictured the three of them cuddled on the sofa together. But now she knew how
it had really been; Kona had been her champion. Her knight in sheddable armor.
“I finally convinced her to give him another try. Please, Maggie. I miss him.”