Sam, her forty-five-pound Dalmatian, greeted her at the door with his exuberant barking. As she leaned down to rub his chin she marveled at the fact that he got just as excited when she’d been gone two hours as when she was gone all day. The dog quickly rolled onto his back and Monica spent several minutes scratching his belly, causing Sam to spasm in delight.
“Okay, love, get your leash. We can manage a quick walk.” Wagging most of his body and almost grinning, Sam skidded across the off-white Spanish tile on her kitchen floor, ricocheted around the refrigerator, grabbed his leash from its shelf, and bounded back to the front door. “Sam, sit,” she said, and the dog sat facing her with his bright blue leash in his mouth, wiggling with barely restrained glee. “Give,” she said as she reached out her hand. Sam put the leash gently into her hand and she hooked it to his collar.
“Good dog,” she said, marveling yet again at how well behaved he was.
Two years earlier she’d gone to the animal shelter with her younger sister Janet and her family to look for a dog for them. When Monica saw Sam’s face behind the bars, however, she’d fallen in love immediately. “It’s so impractical,” she’d said. “I’m gone all day and that’s not a good thing to do to a dog.”
“You have a fenced yard out back,” Janet had answered with a twinkle, “and there’s probably a neighbor who could take care of him when you’re gone.”
“I know, but…” An hour later Sam had joined her household. She quickly discovered that he’d been well trained by his previous owner and was a pleasure to own. When she was out late or stayed in the city overnight, as she often did, Craig, her next door neighbor’s fourteen-year-old son, was delighted to come over, play with Sam, then feed him and leave him in the house until he could let the dog out again in the morning. In return, Monica paid him twenty-five dollars a week, a small price to pay for good care for Sam.
Now she hooked Sam up, opened the front door, and followed him outside into the steamy midday sunshine. It was amazing that the streets were completely dry despite the downpour of a few hours earlier. “Let’s have a nice calm walk,” she told the dog. She usually took him out for just a few minutes but as she strode through the visitors’ parking lot she deliberately made herself slow down. Coronary. She pulled her cell phone from her pocket and pressed a speed dial number.
“Bonnie? Hi, babe.”
“Hello yourself,” her older sister said.
Now that she’d called, she felt a bit awkward. “It’s been a while.”
“It sure has. How the hell are you?”
The two made small talk for several minutes while Sam sniffed at every bush and tree around her block of town houses. Finally, Monica said, “I was wondering whether you guys were free sometime soon. I’ve been thinking that I haven’t seen you, Jake, and the kids in quite a while.”
“We’re barbecuing tonight. Why don’t you stop by for dinner? Come early. I know everyone will be tickled to see you.”
Just what she needed. Although she and her sisters had little in common, she genuinely liked both Bonnie and Janet, and they had so much history that they were seldom at a loss for conversation. “Are you sure I won’t be putting you out?”
“Not at all. I’ve got plenty. I’m going to hang up now so you can’t say no. Dinner’s around six. Be here! ’Bye!” The line went dead.
Monica snapped the phone closed. She was making changes in her life. If she could only keep it up. “Hey, Sam, we’re going to Bonnie’s house later. You get to play with everyone.”
At four-thirty, having spent a couple of hours going over mounds of paperwork, Monica showered and dressed in a pair of lightweight summer jeans and a soft yellow blouse. She opened the car door and Sam bounded into the backseat, ready for an adventure. Not wanting to arrive empty-handed, Monica stopped at her favorite pie shop and picked up a crust full of blueberry calories and a quart of the shop’s special vanilla-fruit-swirl ice cream, then drove the nine miles to her sister’s quiet neighborhood. The raised ranch house was of moderate size and comfortable, with a huge oak tree in the front yard that caused Jake to lament that he couldn’t get grass to grow beneath its branches. It wasn’t at all like the ones on Sheraton, but more than sufficient for Bonnie and her family.
At thirty-six, her sister was three years older than Monica and had been happily married for almost thirteen years. “Auntie Em,” her niece Lissa yelled as she saw her aunt’s car pull into the driveway. “Auntie Em.”
Auntie Em. She’d been called that since the first time Lissa, now aged eleven, had seen The Wizard of Oz. At first Lissa thought it was a big joke, having an aunt whose name began with M, but the nickname had stuck and now all of her nieces and nephews called her that. “Did you bring Sam?” Lissa said, skipping over to the car as it pulled to a stop.
To answer, Monica opened the car door so Sam could gallop toward the giggling girl. “Auntie Em’s here, with Sam,” Lissa yelled, and answering boys’ cries of, “Here, Sammie,” echoed from the backyard.
Monica spent the next hour sitting on her sister’s deck, enjoying large glasses of sangria and large doses of family life, eventually watching Jake fiddle with the outdoor grill. Later, filled with hamburgers and hot dogs, she extricated herself and arrived back at her apartment at around eight, slightly sunburned and scratching three mountains that some hungry mosquito had built on her left ankle.
As she wandered into her bedroom, she realized that times like this left her with deeply conflicted feelings. She was envious of her sisters. Marriage, kids, the security of at least some steady person as the years passed, all sounded so comfortable and wonderful. But she was also contemptuous of them. They were both bright, college-educated women. How could they settle for suburbia, crab grass, and part-time jobs? Sure, Jake made more than enough money as an attorney, and Janet’s husband Walt was a stockbroker, but what did Bonnie and Janet do all day? She remembered Eve’s comment earlier that afternoon. What would she do if she didn’t have her job, and what skills would her sisters have if something happened and they had to go back to work? Sure, Jake and Walt were all right, but men in general were unreliable and would skip out the minute things weren’t going well. Her father was a prime example, leaving the family when Monica was in her early teens to do what he’d always “needed” to do, see the country with his new girlfriend, Doreen. Monica had listened to her mother in the years following, calling her father every name in the book, and a few she made up herself.
Tempted as she was to pick up the stack of work still undone, she stretched out on the bed and flipped on the TV. When her cell phone rang, she pressed the mute button. “Hello?”
“Hi, Monica.” She recognized Trent Lockhart’s voice immediately. He was the assistant media director at the skin care division of a large cosmetics firm, and she’d been trying to convince him to let C & B pitch his account.
Lowering and softening her voice, she said, “Well, hello stranger. I haven’t heard from you in weeks.”
“I’ve been busy. You know how it is.”
“I sure do. To what do I owe this call?” She’d given him her cell phone number “just in case.”
“I’ve got a free evening Wednesday and I thought we might get together and talk about”—he paused—“things.”
Things. She knew exactly what things he was referring to. She had been dangling sexual favors in front of him just as he’d been dangling the account in front of her. Another unfaithful married man. “I’d love to talk about”—another pause—“things. Over dinner?”
“Sure. How about Peter Luger’s in Williamsburg?”
“Seven o’clock.”
“I’ll