he buy you a drink? Did he come on to you?”
“Okay, stop. Honey, I’m not his type, he’s not my type, you know that. I invited him for you.”
Bess steps into a cab. She feels like closing her eyes and sleeping right there on the seat. “Sorry. I’m just upset he left. I kind of liked him.”
“I know. He’ll call. I got the feeling he liked you, too. Let me know if you want help cleaning up, okay? I’m around.”
Bess hadn’t thought of that, how messy and smelly her apartment would be, post-party. “Right there,” she says to the cabdriver, pointing down the block, “where that man is with the dog.” Cricket is standing out front of their building in the colorful kitenge shirt Bess had bought him last year from a Kenyan colleague. Stella is on a leash, lying by his side, her head and front paws draped over his right sandal. When Bess steps out of the cab, Cricket peers at her above his sunglasses, then with an exaggerated twist of his neck, looks the other way down the street.
“Morning,” says Bess, leaning down to scratch under Stella’s chin. Stella sits up and sniffs her wrist. “Are you ignoring me? What did I do this time?”
“Who are you? I don’t know you. Stella, bite her ferociously.” Stella is distracted by a fly buzzing around her head. Her flabby chins swing as she pants and follows the fly’s flight pattern. Her drool drips down onto Cricket’s big toe.
“She’s a monster,” says Bess. “Listen, are you going to tell me what’s eating you or do I have to shake it out of you with my dirty germ-ridden hands?”
“What should you have done very first thing this morning?”
“Called you.”
“I can’t hear you.”
“Called you.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re a nosy son of a bitch.”
“Because I helped you plan that party to the very last Kalamata olive, because I caught numerous nasty infections from you sniveling on my shoulder, because you know I’d be waiting by the phone to hear every last detail, but what do you do? You forget me. You stay out all night with some Casanova—whoever he is I don’t like him—and you fall out of the cab in the same clothes, in a cab, I say . . . where does he live, in the suburbs? Oh, can this get any worse.”
“Are you through, oh Queen for a Day?”
A large yellow bus pulls up beside them and opens its doors. On the side of the bus is a picture of two dogs relaxing on lounge chairs by a pool wearing sunglasses, bikinis, and wide-brimmed hats. A waiter is serving them bones wrapped in red ribbons on a silver tray. Above the picture it reads, “Dogaritaville.” Cricket leads Stella onboard, disappears for a moment, then steps back off the bus. Stella’s head appears in the last window in the back. Cricket blows her a kiss from below her window. “Bye-bye, beautiful baby girl. Play nicely with your friends. Daddy loves you.” Cricket waves to Stella as the bus pulls away.
“Why is Stella going to a kennel?”
“Camp, you philistine. Canine camp, the very best.”
Bess is about to say that she would have looked after Stella, but she realizes (and she knows Cricket is thinking this, too) that she was not home this morning for him to ask that of her. “Where are you going that you couldn’t bring her with you?”
His voice drops. “Nowhere. Out.”
“Now who’s the cagey one?”
“I prefer a cloud of mystery about me, it’s part of my charm. And don’t turn the telescope on me, we were talking about your whereabouts.”
“I just came from the hospital. Didn’t you hear the ambulance last night?”
Cricket gasps, pressing one hand to his mouth, the other to his chest. He is in and out of his persona so quickly it’s hard sometimes for Bess to keep up. He never seemed to be that dramatic when Darren was alive. Darren was clearly the queen in their relationship. “Ambulance? I took an Ambien, I must have slept right through it. What did those single beasts do to you? Germinators, every one of
“Okay, stop. Honey, I’m not his type, he’s not my type, you know that. I invited him for you.”
Bess steps into a cab. She feels like closing her eyes and sleeping right there on the seat. “Sorry. I’m just upset he left. I kind of liked him.”
“I know. He’ll call. I got the feeling he liked you, too. Let me know if you want help cleaning up, okay? I’m around.”
Bess hadn’t thought of that, how messy and smelly her apartment would be, post-party. “Right there,” she says to the cabdriver, pointing down the block, “where that man is with the dog.” Cricket is standing out front of their building in the colorful kitenge shirt Bess had bought him last year from a Kenyan colleague. Stella is on a leash, lying by his side, her head and front paws draped over his right sandal. When Bess steps out of the cab, Cricket peers at her above his sunglasses, then with an exaggerated twist of his neck, looks the other way down the street.
“Morning,” says Bess, leaning down to scratch under Stella’s chin. Stella sits up and sniffs her wrist. “Are you ignoring me? What did I do this time?”
“Who are you? I don’t know you. Stella, bite her ferociously.” Stella is distracted by a fly buzzing around her head. Her flabby chins swing as she pants and follows the fly’s flight pattern. Her drool drips down onto Cricket’s big toe.
“She’s a monster,” says Bess. “Listen, are you going to tell me what’s eating you or do I have to shake it out of you with my dirty germ-ridden hands?”
“What should you have done very first thing this morning?”
“Called you.”
“I can’t hear you.”
“Called you.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re a nosy son of a bitch.”
“Because I helped you plan that party to the very last Kalamata olive, because I caught numerous nasty infections from you sniveling on my shoulder, because you know I’d be waiting by the phone to hear every last detail, but what do you do? You forget me. You stay out all night with some Casanova—whoever he is I don’t like him—and you fall out of the cab in the same clothes, in a cab, I say . . . where does he live, in the suburbs? Oh, can this get any worse.”
“Are you through, oh Queen for a Day?”
A large yellow bus pulls up beside them and opens its doors. On the side of the bus is a picture of two dogs relaxing on lounge chairs by a pool wearing sunglasses, bikinis, and wide-brimmed hats. A waiter is serving them bones wrapped in red ribbons on a silver tray. Above the picture it reads, “Dogaritaville.” Cricket leads Stella onboard, disappears for a moment, then steps back off the bus. Stella’s head appears in the last window in the back. Cricket blows her a kiss from below her window. “Bye-bye, beautiful baby girl. Play nicely with your friends. Daddy loves you.” Cricket waves to Stella as the bus pulls away.
“Why is Stella going to a kennel?”
“Camp, you philistine. Canine camp, the very best.”
Bess is about to say that she would have looked after Stella, but she realizes (and she knows Cricket is thinking this, too) that she was not home this morning for him to ask that of her. “Where are you going that you couldn’t bring her with you?”
His voice drops. “Nowhere. Out.”
“Now who’s the cagey one?”
“I prefer a cloud of mystery about me, it’s part of my charm. And don’t turn the telescope on me, we were talking about your whereabouts.”
“I just came from the hospital. Didn’t you hear the ambulance last night?”
Cricket gasps, pressing one hand to his mouth, the other to his chest. He is in and out of his persona so quickly it’s hard sometimes for Bess to keep up. He never seemed to be that dramatic when Darren was alive. Darren was clearly the queen in their relationship. “Ambulance? I took an Ambien, I must have slept right through it. What did those single beasts do to you? Germinators, every one of
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