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doggy with him to work?”
    I tried again. “Ever see Hondo , the John Wayne movie? He played the tough, brooding loner with the savage dog, Sam, whom he refused to feed because he didn’t want Sam to ever become dependent on him.”
    Bunny frowned. “Yes …?”
    “Well, we’re not like that.”
    “What are you, mister, a wisenheimer?” she snapped, glaring at me.
    “I am not.”
    “Better not be. I got no use for them. Never have.” She shot a glance at Sarge, then down at Lulu. “Is she at least paper trained?”
    Lulu snuffled indignantly. She definitely wanted a piece of the old biddy now. I shrugged and let her have her. I’d done all I could.
    Slowly, Lulu stalked over to her, Bunny watching her every move disapprovingly. When she arrived at Bunny’s Reeboks she gave her The Treatment. First, the look—her saddest, most mournful face. A definite ten on the hankie meter. Second, a slight whimper, more a catch in the throat really. Third, her knockout punch—she rolled over onto her back, landing directly on Bunny’s feet with a soft plop, paws in the air, tail thumping. The little ham overplayed it this time, if you ask me. Possibly it was the surroundings. No matter. The Treatment never fails.
    Bunny fell to her knees immediately. “Aw, I’m sorry, sweetheart. Bunny’s sorry, okay? She’s sorry.” She knelt there rubbing Lulu’s belly. To Lulu she said, “Such a little sweetheart.” To me she said, “Oy, yoy. What does she eat, dead fish?”
    “Exclusively,” I replied. “They flop around if they’re still alive.”
    “Have you thought about Milk Bones?” she asked. “I understand they’re very good for this sort of thing.”
    “She won’t eat them.”
    “Why not?”
    “They’re for dogs.”
    Bunny got up and finished tidying Badger’s room. “Sorry about all of this mess, Hoagy. I didn’t know we were having company until five minutes ago. At the last minute Matty tells me. Look at all of this, will you?” She scooped up a huge load of dirty T-shirts. “I’ll be up half the night washing it.” She carried it off to the living room and deposited it next to the front door to nowhere. Her purse was there.
    I followed her. “You do his laundry?”
    “You never stop being a mother,” she replied. “Not if your baby needs you.” She bustled over to the coffee table and started picking up the shoes and socks, humming.
    I stood there a moment watching her. Then I turned to Sarge and said, “This is where he lives? He actually sleeps in Badger’s bed?”
    She looked away uncomfortably. “I thought you knew.”
    “I knew he was staying on the lot. I thought he had a suite of rooms or something.”
    “He does, sort of.” She looked around at the sets. “Kind of strange though, I reckon.”
    “You can forget the kind of. This is not good.” This was far from good. This was Dysfunction Junction. And welcome to it.
    “He likes it here,” Sarge insisted. “Feels safe. The man’s hurting, like I told you.”
    “You didn’t tell me how much. Nor did Shelley.”
    “What did Shelley tell you?”
    “That he’s tearing his hair out.”
    “He is,” she affirmed. “Lookie, I got to leave you now. Shit to do. He’s in casting—be down in a minute. Just yell when you’re ready to leave for the hotel, okay?”
    “Thanks for the lift—and the tour.” I looked around at the sets. “I think.”
    She grinned at me. “No problem.” Then she yelled good-bye to Bunny and strode off into the darkness out beyond the lights, rump high, calf muscles rippling. A moment later the stage door slammed shut.
    “Such a lovely girl,” observed Bunny, scooping wadded-up candy wrappers into a wastebasket. “Strong, smart, big-hearted. And carrying a torch for that bum. That convict. Poo.” She finished clearing the coffee table and wiped it off with a damp rag. “I usually make Matty a snack now. I’ll make you one, too. But you have to come help.”
    “It’s a deal.”
    The