begun earlier. “Joey, Joey, Joey, what am I gonna do? How am I gonna live without you?”
Behind me, Mavis or her companion whispered, “Drama queen. She rents too many videos.”
“Joey, I should’ve never let you eat like that,” Carla went on. “I should’ve taken better care of you. What am I gonna do now?”
One of the funeral reviewers behind me murmured an answer. “Run a flower shop. Enzio’s buying Carla a flower shop, you know that? She’s going to be a florist.”
“Joey!” Carla persisted. “I can’t live without you!” With that, still clinging to the little dog, Carla made as if to throw herself onto Joey’s coffin and thus presumably into the ground with him. Before actually hurling herself forward, however, she flashed her eyes left and right. Only after having verified the presence of Guarini’s troops did she launch herself coffinward. Guarini’s bodyguards made no move to stop her. Who says it’s hard to get good help these days? If you’re a Mob boss, it can still be done. The bodyguards concentrated on Guarini and left it to the gargantuan twins to prevent Carla from committing suttee. With the same big, capable hands they’d so recently used to wrap Joey in plastic and raise his corpse, they grabbed Carla’s bare arms, thus triggering a fit of screaming and sobbing. They probably didn’t mean to hurt her. Still, Carla’s cries suddenly conveyed genuine pain, and— involuntarily, I’m sure—she released her grip on Anthony.
Fanciers of toy breeds are convinced that these little guys are exceptionally attuned to their owners. More than Rowdy and Kimi are to me? I doubt it. Still, it’s true that when the bruisers put the brakes on Carla’s rush to Joey’s coffin, her toy dog gave every appearance of acting on her wishes by rocketing through the air and landing in the blossoms in the center of Joey’s coffin. The gravediggers had cleverly sized the opening in the ground to be just a bit longer and wider than its intended contents, and the pseudo-grass carpet masked the gap between the earth and the box. No matter how effectively disguised, the gap had to be there. And the dog was as small as a kitten.
Drama queen no more, Carla was in a panic. “No! No! Anthony! He’ll be buried alive! He’ll fall six feet under! No!”
Guarini caught my eye and pointed a finger at me.
You see? Good help isn’t hard to find. Without pausing to beg anyone’s pardon, I pushed my way to Carla and in a Don Corleone tone spoke to the men who restrained her. “Take her far away.”
My black corduroy dress was one I’d never liked. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d worn it. The dog treats in the pockets had held up well; the liver had been freeze-dried to begin with. I crushed a couple of morsels and rubbed my hands together to coat them with what I hoped would be the irresistible scent of meat. As Guarini’s men led Carla away, the little dog, Anthony, quit his prancing to watch her departure. Calmly and quietly, I managed to block his view of his retreating mistress. Anthony stood on his four tiny paws in the exact center of the coffin. If I’d tried to grab him, he’d probably have evaded my grasp, run, and ended up falling underground. Still, I had to suppress the impulse to snatch at him as well as the urge to look him straight in the eye and try to boss him around. Instead, I slowly reached out and placed a bit of liver about a foot from the end of the coffin. I kept my hand there, palm up, motionless, as if I’d forgotten to remove it. Murmuring to myself in happy, almost inaudible, tones, I fixed my gaze on the liver. Old trainer’s trick: To get a dog to move from one place to another, instead of staring at the dog, stare at the place you want him to go. Never having had the opportunity to wise up to dog trainer wiles, Anthony danced across the coffin and lowered his nose to the liver. The hand I’d so carefully and so casually left there wrapped itself firmly
Behind me, Mavis or her companion whispered, “Drama queen. She rents too many videos.”
“Joey, I should’ve never let you eat like that,” Carla went on. “I should’ve taken better care of you. What am I gonna do now?”
One of the funeral reviewers behind me murmured an answer. “Run a flower shop. Enzio’s buying Carla a flower shop, you know that? She’s going to be a florist.”
“Joey!” Carla persisted. “I can’t live without you!” With that, still clinging to the little dog, Carla made as if to throw herself onto Joey’s coffin and thus presumably into the ground with him. Before actually hurling herself forward, however, she flashed her eyes left and right. Only after having verified the presence of Guarini’s troops did she launch herself coffinward. Guarini’s bodyguards made no move to stop her. Who says it’s hard to get good help these days? If you’re a Mob boss, it can still be done. The bodyguards concentrated on Guarini and left it to the gargantuan twins to prevent Carla from committing suttee. With the same big, capable hands they’d so recently used to wrap Joey in plastic and raise his corpse, they grabbed Carla’s bare arms, thus triggering a fit of screaming and sobbing. They probably didn’t mean to hurt her. Still, Carla’s cries suddenly conveyed genuine pain, and— involuntarily, I’m sure—she released her grip on Anthony.
Fanciers of toy breeds are convinced that these little guys are exceptionally attuned to their owners. More than Rowdy and Kimi are to me? I doubt it. Still, it’s true that when the bruisers put the brakes on Carla’s rush to Joey’s coffin, her toy dog gave every appearance of acting on her wishes by rocketing through the air and landing in the blossoms in the center of Joey’s coffin. The gravediggers had cleverly sized the opening in the ground to be just a bit longer and wider than its intended contents, and the pseudo-grass carpet masked the gap between the earth and the box. No matter how effectively disguised, the gap had to be there. And the dog was as small as a kitten.
Drama queen no more, Carla was in a panic. “No! No! Anthony! He’ll be buried alive! He’ll fall six feet under! No!”
Guarini caught my eye and pointed a finger at me.
You see? Good help isn’t hard to find. Without pausing to beg anyone’s pardon, I pushed my way to Carla and in a Don Corleone tone spoke to the men who restrained her. “Take her far away.”
My black corduroy dress was one I’d never liked. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d worn it. The dog treats in the pockets had held up well; the liver had been freeze-dried to begin with. I crushed a couple of morsels and rubbed my hands together to coat them with what I hoped would be the irresistible scent of meat. As Guarini’s men led Carla away, the little dog, Anthony, quit his prancing to watch her departure. Calmly and quietly, I managed to block his view of his retreating mistress. Anthony stood on his four tiny paws in the exact center of the coffin. If I’d tried to grab him, he’d probably have evaded my grasp, run, and ended up falling underground. Still, I had to suppress the impulse to snatch at him as well as the urge to look him straight in the eye and try to boss him around. Instead, I slowly reached out and placed a bit of liver about a foot from the end of the coffin. I kept my hand there, palm up, motionless, as if I’d forgotten to remove it. Murmuring to myself in happy, almost inaudible, tones, I fixed my gaze on the liver. Old trainer’s trick: To get a dog to move from one place to another, instead of staring at the dog, stare at the place you want him to go. Never having had the opportunity to wise up to dog trainer wiles, Anthony danced across the coffin and lowered his nose to the liver. The hand I’d so carefully and so casually left there wrapped itself firmly
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