Charly's Epic Fiascos (15 page)

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Authors: Kelli London

BOOK: Charly's Epic Fiascos
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Pee-Wee smiled.
Nicole nodded, still swinging the bag in her hand. “Okay. Cool. Let's roll.”
Charly shook her head. From what she and Nicole had talked about, she'd have to venture this way again. There were a few elderly people on the block who needed them—people that Charly was supposed to help so she could earn some bucks to make it to New York—and it was the fastest route to the stores. She waved her hand at Nicole. “Go ahead. I'm good.” She looked at Ms. Dirty Headscarf. “I'm from the South Side—where they don't do drive-bys, they raise us to do walk-bys. We ain't gonna have no more problems. I'll meet you at the house.”
Pee-Wee looked at the girl with the dirty headscarf. “You done messed up now. She with Nicole, and you know what that means.”
The older girl jetted in the house with her head hanging. Charly took it all in. Nicole with a purple bag, Pee-Wee's attitude changing and becoming more sure, and Ms. Dirty Headscarf running like a coward. It seemed Nicole was a lot more than a temporary roommate and community do-gooder. Charly just didn't know what that more was. Yet.
20
A
sneeze awoke Charly from her sleep. With a rush, she sat up. This time the sound didn't come from Nicole, it came from Marlow. Charly felt Marlow to see if she had a fever; then she caught herself. How was she to know if a dog had a fever or not? Gently, she shook Marlow, but barely got a response. Worry moved through her. Just earlier Marlow had been running and jumping through the house and yard as if she were in the circus. “You okay?”
Marlow still didn't move. Charly picked her up, and her head just collapsed in Charly's hand. “Nicole!” Charly yelled. “Nicole! Get up!”
“What is it?” Nicole said, rubbing her eyes and sneezing in the doorway.
“I think Marlow's dying. Look,” she said, barely tapping Marlow's head and making it roll. “See, she can't even hold it up. She's listless.... I think that's what they call it.”
Nicole yawned; then her body jerked with another sneeze. “Take the car.”
Charly set Marlow on the sofa, grabbed a pair of pants out of the suitcase, and pulled them on. She tucked in her nightgown, then fastened them. She stepped in her brown combat boots, not even thinking of lacing the red shoestrings. “No. I don't know where the vet is, and I've only driven once in my life. I crashed then.”
 
The twenty-four-hour veterinarian clinic was a madhouse. A three-legged dog bumbled by, trying to escape its owner and veterinary assistants. A cat sat in a big open box, crying out, giving birth. And a parrot, perched on its owner's shoulder, extended huge wings, then relieved itself on the floor.
“Oh!” Nicole yelled, then sneezed loudly. Her shoulders hunched and her eyes turned color-crayon red.
“You okay?” Charly asked, then turned to the receptionist and explained what was happening with Marlow.
“Oh!” Nicole said again with a garbled voice. Her tone was low and Charly could barely make out what she was saying.
Nicole clasped her hands around her throat, then took one and pounded on her chest. She was trying to say something.
“What?” Charly asked, still holding a limp Marlow.
“Outside. Outside!” the receptionist yelled. “Take her outside. She can't breathe! There's a lady out here who can't breathe!” she shouted toward the back.
Charly's heart dropped. She had no idea what to do. Nicole couldn't breathe and Marlow wasn't fully conscious. Turning her face from side to side, she looked for help, but everyone was too busy with animal problems of their own.
“Here! Give her here!” the receptionist demanded, reaching for Marlow.
Charly handed the receptionist Marlow, then thought of something. She reached into her pocket, pulled out a wad of money. “Take this too. I don't know how much it is, but it should be enough to start,” she said, then rushed over to Nicole.
“I got her. I got her,” she said, referring to Marlow. “I'll take her in the back. Go help your friend. She's losing color. I'm sending someone to help.”
Nicole was bent over just outside the door, wheezing and trying to pound herself on the back when Charly got to her. Balling her fist, she banged on Nicole's back like she'd seen people do in the movies when someone had food caught in their throats.
“Here,” a veterinary worker said, then stuck Nicole in the arm with something that looked like an ink pen. “It's for allergic reactions.”
Nicole wheezed with her chest heaving. Then she leaned against the brick wall and slid to the ground. She breathed for a couple of minutes that seemed to take a small eternity. Her color began to return. “Ahh,” she finally uttered.
The vet worker nodded. “I knew it. She's allergic to animals. Very,” he said to Charly, then turned to Nicole. “I advise you to stay away from anything that has fur. The only reason that you haven't had a reaction until now is because her dog,” he said, looking at Charly, “has hair. Not fur. Still though, dander.”
“No fur? Not even mink coats?” she asked, and Charly knew Nicole was almost back to her normal self.
She looked at her new friend, happy to see her better. Then something hit her hard. Another problem. How was she going to bunk with Nicole long enough to make money to get to New York if Nicole was allergic to Marlow? For the first time in a long time, Charly closed her eyes. If there was a God in heaven, there had to be a way. She couldn't get rid of Marlow. Wouldn't. “I need help. . . .” she called on the universe, and knew that it would assist her.
Nicole sat up straight, then pushed herself to her feet. “What kind of dog is it?” she asked, looking at the veterinarian employee, who was making his way back inside the twenty-four-hour clinic.
He held the door open with one hand. “Huh?”
Nicole crossed her arms. “I asked what kind of dog we brought in. You must know since you said its got hair, not fur. It's about yea small,” she said, holding her hands about eight inches apart. “Caramel and white. Female.”
The worker looked to the sky as if his answer was in the stars. “If you're talking about that puppy, the beautiful one who probably literally ran her sugar level low because she's so small, and really only needed a tablespoon of honey to raise her glucose, it's a shih tzu.” He eyed Nicole.
“How much is she worth?” Nicole asked.
Charly stood silent for a second. She watched in horror as Nicole turned from caring friend who wanted to help her make money to get to New York to a puppy peddler. “No,” she finally said. “Marlow's not for sale.”
The vet worker smiled at Charly. “Good for you. Really good.”
Nicole put her hands on her hips, then pivoted her head toward Charly. “Think about what you're saying, Charly. You need a place to stay. You need me to help you get to New York.” She turned to the veterinarian employee again. “Well? How much?”
He laughed, shaking his head. “Not that it's gonna really matter, 'cause your friend here, the owner, doesn't seem the least bit interested in selling. But since you really want to know . . .” He held a finger up to his mouth in thought. “If she's purebred, and I can almost tell you for certain that she is because I'm an ethical breeder who's listed with the American Kennel Club, for her size and sex, she'd easily sell for a thousand upward. She's a little small, but nowadays, people pay more for the runts . . . if they're marketed as teacups.”
Nicole gave Charly a hard look, then turned toward her car, which was parked at the clinic's entrance. Charly shook her head, following after Nicole. She knew what direction Nicole was headed with her questioning, and she wasn't willing to take it there with her. She wasn't getting rid of Marlow. “Nicole?” she called as Nicole slipped into the driver's seat. “Can I talk to you?”
“A thousand dollars? For a dog?” Nicole asked the vet worker, an incredulous look on her face. She turned to Charly. “Charly, you better sell her. If it was me, I'd sell her,” she stated matter-of-factly. “Did you hear that? A stack for a dog,” she said, using the street term for a thousand dollars.
Charly shook her head, then put her palm on Nicole's arm to get her attention. “I don't want to do it, Nicole. I know it's a lot of money, but—”
“But nothing.” She shrugged. “It's simple. I'm allergic. Sell her.” Nicole's hand was on her hip and her stare was stabbing holes in Charly's plan to keep Marlow. “End of discussion.”
Charly's brows rose. End of discussion, her pinkie toe. Nicole could help her and had, but that didn't give her the right to be a dictator. “Nicole, you're not being fair. Lola wouldn't—”
Nicole held up her hand, stopping Charly midsentence. “Listen, Charly, I know you and my family are super close, but, here in the D, we don't rock like that. Here it's every man—or woman—for herself. It's about dollars and sense.” She pointed to her temple. “If it don't make money, it don't make sense. And it don't make sense if it don't make money. And, right now, you or Marlow ain't making either.” Nicole shut the driver's side door and started her Jaguar. Her expression said a decision needed to be made.
Charly didn't want to move out of Nicole's fabulous brownstone, but had to. Nicole was allergic to Marlow, and there was no getting around that because Nicole wasn't going to take medication to tolerate someone else's animal. And Charly didn't think her unreasonable for not doing so. Just as she saw nothing wrong with her refusing to get rid of Marlow. Point blank. Period. So there was no getting around that either. She loved her dog, and would give her a loving home once she found one, and she'd make sure that the warmth of hers rivaled the coldness that Brigette's house offered.
“Okay, then. Keep the dog. I'll be right back with your stuff,” Nicole said, pulling out of the parking lot. And just that quick, Charly was on her own again.
When Nicole returned an hour later with Charly's bags, she still hadn't figured out her next move.
“You're going to be okay,” Nicole stated, hanging partially out of the driver's seat window. It wasn't a question. It was a demand.
Charly wheeled her luggage to the side of the car, then up on the curb. “Thanks for helping me out,” she said, not knowing what else she should say. She'd thought of her and Nicole as friends, but Nicole's nasty blowup had proved otherwise. Nicole had said for her it was only about money. Everything else was secondary. Family and friendships included, she had admitted to Charly once she knew Charly wouldn't be of use to her “building people and the community” business, which only served as a distraction for the other things she was into. Things Charly didn't care to know about, though she had several assumptions.
“You know we could've made a lot of money together,” she said to Charly. “But I guess you're more like Lola than I thought. You had me fooled for a second. Running away to make it? Yeah, right! That takes guts.” She raked her eyes over Charly. “You got good intentions, but that's all they are. Intentions. You're selfish, Charly. Selfish for not helping me and the community. What you really are is just a small-town girl with big-city dreams, but not the umph to make 'em come true.” She revved her engine, looking at Charly with pure disgust in her eyes.
Charly tilted her head and smiled. She'd never seen someone switch personalities so quickly before, and knew for a fact that Nicole was the selfish one. That's why she suddenly hated Charly. She disliked Charly now because she wanted something from her and couldn't get it. That's what Charly had learned from Brigette. She was sugar one second, then turned sour the instant she didn't foresee things going her way.
“I don't see what's so funny,” Nicole said. “If I remember correctly, you gave the lady at the desk your last dime, and for what? A stupid dog's vet bill that you'll never be able to fully pay off? Now how you gonna get to New York?”
“You don't know what you're talking about. I haven't even seen a bill,” Charly said, knowing there would be one. One she'd really have to make arrangements to pay. She reached into her purse with one hand, then flipped up her middle finger at Nicole with the other. “With this!” she snapped. “I'm going to get to New York with this,” she said, looking into Nicole's cold glare with an even icier one. She held up the still brand-new-and-in-the-box Ultra smart Android Nicole had gifted her with. “This has to be worth at least three hundred on the street. Give or take fifty. That's how I'm going to make it!”
21
C
harly opened her eyes. Her back was aching, her neck was tight and her butt had lost all feeling. She stretched her legs in front of her, wiggled her toes, then remembered she wasn't alone. Hesitantly, she looked up. She was relieved to see the veterinarian clinic was much quieter than it'd been the night before, and there was barely a soul inside. Charly struggled to her feet, grabbed her luggage, then made her way to the counter as if she'd just walked in and hadn't spent the night in the waiting room. A different receptionist greeted her.
“Marlow. I'm here to pick up Marlow,” she said, proudly. “I'm Charly St. James. Charly spelled with an L-Y.” She quickly closed her mouth. She wanted to get her dog, not kill the receptionist with morning breath.
The receptionist entered something into the computer, then made a weird face, alerting Charly. “Hmm?”
“Hmm?” Charly parroted. “What does hmm mean?” Her heart began to race and her head shook from side to side. She'd taken all that she could take, and a month ago, would've bet a dollar to a dime that a girl her age was too young to suffer a breakdown. But now she felt herself breaking. She banged on the counter. “Miss? Did you hear me? What does hmm mean?”
The receptionist's eyes bulged, and Charly could see fear pumping in her veins. “I . . . I . . .” she stammered.
“Look, lady,” Charly said. “I'm not going to jump on you or curse at you or do anything stupid. I've dealt with enough madness in the last few days, and I wouldn't wish what I've been through on my worst enemy.” She rubbed her hand across the counter, then toyed with the business cards in the holder. “I just want to pick up my dog. I brought her in last night, gave you all the money I had on me, and I promise I'll pay it off.” She exhaled. “And just yesterday, I lost my home because I won't get rid of her.” She nodded. “But I got another one for us.”
The receptionist just stared blankly. “I don't know what to tell you. Your dog isn't listed in our system as ever being here, so you don't owe a cent,” she said, a bit too chipper for Charly.
Charly blinked slowly as she tried to calm herself. She raised her hand, and was going to hit the counter with every ounce of strength she had, then choke the receptionist until she found Marlow in the computer system. That was the plan. Then her phone vibrated in her pocket and stole her attention. Gave her a second to think. If she choked the lady, she'd go to jail. If she went to jail, she wouldn't see Marlow or New York.
“Shih tzu owner!” a familiar voice called out.
Charly looked to her right, and there stood the veterinarian clinician from the night before. A huge smile spread across her face. He was holding Marlow, who was up and alert. Her tail was wagging. “There she is! But she's not—”
“She's not listed in the computer system,” the receptionist interjected. “And I had to tell this young lady, who just lost her home because she won't give up this precious dog, that we didn't have her.” She shrugged. “What else do you expect me to do when incompetent people, I swear. . . .” she muttered, finishing her complaint under her breath.
“Let's talk,” the guy said, handing Marlow to Charly, then taking an empty seat. He patted the one next to him.
Charly sat. “What's up?” She pet Marlow, then held her up and rubbed noses with her.
“First, Marlow's good. We gave her all her shots, tested her for diseases and worms. She's in excellent condition. She's just so small, so it's easy for her to run her glucose levels down. While she's this little, you should give her a tablespoon of honey. Daily. She's also going to need very nutritious food.”
“Okay,” Charly said, trying to estimate how much she owed. She didn't know how she was going to do all that.
He scooted to the edge of the seat, rested his elbows on his knees, and clasped his hands together. “She's also one-hundred-percent purebred, and I'm guessing she comes from great genetics. As a breeder, I couldn't help myself. I had to test her. The results will come in later.”
Charly nodded.
“In short, you have yourself a show dog. And with the right training, she could win herself lots of trophies and you lots of money.”
Now Charly was curious. Every time someone mentioned money or anything of the sort, she'd been beat. This man was a veterinarian clinician who bred dogs like Marlow in his spare time, so Charly knew he'd want her. But no one could have her. “I know I owe a lot for Marlow's emergency visit—which I promise I'll pay—just like I know the food you say she needs is going to be expensive. I even get that she needs to be supervised because she's so small. But, before you ask, Marlow's not for sale,” she said.
The man eyed Charly. “Even though you have no home to take her to?” He tilted his head.
Charly paused. She hadn't expected such a low blow. “I'll get us a home. Don't you worry about that. You just worry about the dogs you need to take care of here, Mr. Vet Worker. For your info, me and Marlow are going to live with my dad's family in New York. I'm going to be a television star and Marlow, thanks to you telling me, will be the best show dog on the planet.” Her words were sure, and though she wasn't sure about her dad's family or her and Marlow being famous, she didn't feel like she was lying. Everything she'd said felt truthful. She grinned smugly as if saying,
Take that!
She was now certain that the universe was working in her favor.
Surprisingly, the man smiled and made Charly relax. He nodded. “That's exactly why Marlow isn't in our database, Charly. And it's also why you don't owe us a dime for taking care of her. Last night, I could tell you have the same passion for animals as I did when I was your age. That's why I became a veterinarian and opened my own twenty-four-hour emergency hospital—being a caretaker wasn't enough. I wanted to save animals' lives.” He winked.
Her hand was cupped over her face in shame and embarrassment. “I'm sorry. I thought . . .” She shrugged. “I have to pay you more. The shots? The tests? They had to cost you more that I gave last night.”
“Don't worry about it, Charly. I donate services to no-kill shelters and kennels all the time. Whatever else you owe, I'll write it off as a donation. He got up, then walked to the counter, beckoning Charly to follow him. He leaned over it, grabbed a pad and pen, then scribbled something on it. He handed it to the receptionist. “Give that to her, will ya?”
The lady smiled. “Sure will. I'll be glad to.”
“What's that?” Charly asked.
“Good nutritious food for Marlow, about enough for a week, and a leash to go with the collar we gave her. Oh, and a kennel. If you're traveling, she'll need something to ride in. The prescription is how we prove our donations.” He petted Marlow, then patted Charly on her shoulder. “Keep us posted on Marlow's first ribbon. She's gonna win a few.” He waved, then disappeared into the back.
Charly stacked Marlow's traveling kennel on top of her luggage, wheeling it out. Her phone vibrated in her pocket. By the time she got everything situated, she saw she had some missed calls. Immediately, she redialed. “Yes?”
“Is this the girl with the dog? The one who gave me the leash for Petey?” Pee-Wee, the foster child Charly had met, asked.
She wrinkled her brows. She hadn't given her number to Pee-Wee, and, suddenly felt that Nicole was behind the call. Pee-Wee had known who Nicole was, and Charly wasn't sure of the connection. “Yes. How'd you get my number?” she asked.
Pee-Wee laughed. “It was on Petey's collar. You gave him a collar, leash, and Marlow's dog tag. Your name and number's on the back of it.”
Charly nodded. She had bought an inexpensive dog tag out of a machine that spit it out almost immediately. And she had listed her name and number in case Marlow had ever gotten lost. “Okay?”
“Well, I just wanted to talk to you.” She hesitated. “Well, to warn you, really. You helped me, so I think I should return the favor.” Her words came out in a trusting whisper, but Charly wasn't falling for it.
“Let's meet at the nearest bus station. Where's the closest 'Hound to you?” Charly asked, figuring if she couldn't get anything else out of Pee-Wee, she'd at least learn where she and Marlow could depart from once she sold the phone and got bus fare.
“Oh, that's easy. . . .” Pee-Wee began, then gave Charly the address.

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