Charly's Epic Fiascos (5 page)

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Authors: Kelli London

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“Smax. Smax,” Charly barely whispered, waving the towel in the air.
“What?” he answered her distress call, his whisper even lower than hers.
Charly pointed toward the walk-in freezer, where she speed-walked, waving him on to follow her in case he didn't get the message.
“Dang, Charly! It's doggone cold in here. What is it?” he asked, shifting his feet in place to keep warm as if he'd been in the freezer for hours, not seconds.
“I gotta go, Smax. Now. It's an emergency.”
Smax shook his head. “I need you—”
“Lola's mother's brother, Steely, is in town, and he's trying to come up here to get some free food he says you owe him. You know he's a thief, and he's hinted at you being Lola's . . . you know. Lola thinks he may be coming to clown, so I assured her—over the speaker phone so he could hear the conversation—that I was getting off early and would bring him some ribs.”
Smax just stood there, nodding. “You all right, you know that, don't ya, Charly? Go 'head. Take two full slabs of ribs, and don't worry about your check. I'll pay you for the full day.”
Yes!
Charly praised her newest lie. She felt kind of sorry for lying to Smax, but she had to get to the pet salon, and talk her way into a part-time job there. She knew it probably wouldn't happen, but she didn't want to let Mason down.
4
C
harly bolted down the street with the wind against her face, but nothing blocked her determination. She had to get a position in the shop, even if they only allowed her to sweep the floor. Turning the corner at full speed, she hoped there was only some lowly employee working there, one who wouldn't care one way or another. That's what she needed because she had no pet experience to speak of, so being qualified for the job was out of the question. A car horn blared when she ran into the intersection, forgetting to look both ways. She'd become so focused on her destination that safety hadn't crossed her mind. Over her shoulder, she could see Lola moving slower than a slug, taking her time following. Lola was clearly in no rush.
But
, Charly thought,
why would she be?
Lola wasn't the one who'd lied and was trying to avoid eating her words.
“Here. Here. Here!” Charly said, skidding to a stop. She'd run so fast that she'd just passed the salon, and had to backtrack. Fixing her hair and wiping off perspiration from her face, Charly looked over her outfit, adjusting it where necessary. Squaring her shoulders, she stood tall, then opened the door and entered.
“We'll be with you in a second,” a young girl not much older than Charly said, then disappeared through a doorway behind the counter.
“We” jumped out at Charly and made her pulse race. She'd been hoping to find one person at the salon, believing it would've made her chances of bargaining herself into working some measly chore. That's all she needed to make it look as if she were employed there when Mason showed. Something simple.
“Okay,” Charly said, drumming her fingers on the counter, then walking around the waiting area, scouting the place. A pampered pet pamphlet caught her eye, and she picked it up. The salon offered a lot to pets and their owners. Way more than she would've guessed. Who knew that puppies had pedicures and facials and Pooch Smooch mouthwash for “kissers”?
Yuck
. Sucking face with a dog was totally disgusting and ridiculous.
“How can I help you?” a cheery younger woman asked. She wore a white lab coat, and looked more like a veterinarian than a pet groomer.
“See you tomorrow.” The first girl Charly had seen walked out from the back, waving. “Hopefully my fever will break by then.”
“Feel better,” the veterinarian-looking pet groomer said.
Charly pasted a smile on her face. “Actually, I was coming here to ask you the same thing. How can I help you?”
The woman smiled. “I'm sorry. Does that mean you're looking for a job? Because if so, I can take your application, but, we've hired someone already so, at the moment, we're not—”
The door opened and an old-fashioned bell, situated where the door would barely hit it, rang, cutting off the woman. A German shepherd walked in, leashed to a young lady who had her cell pressed to her ear. The lady announced herself and her dog without ever ending her phone conversation, signed a sign-in sheet, then took a seat.
“One moment,” the shop worker said, typing something into the computer.
The woman nodded, still babbling into the phone while trying to make the German shepherd sit.
The bell dinged again and the door opened. This time an older woman carrying a pet carrier came in. “I'm afraid Orion needs an emergency cleaning. He regurgitated and got it all over himself. Isn't that right, Orion?” she said into the opening of the carrier.
The lady behind the counter kept her cool, but Charly could tell that she was pressed. German shepherd and Cell Phone Lady obviously had an appointment, but the lady with Orion didn't. Charly took the cue as the opportunity she'd been waiting for, then leaned against the counter and read the lady's name tag. “Rebecca, you sure I can't help you? You seem to be alone.”
Rebecca did one of the things Charly knew she would, and would've bet they had taught it to Rebecca in pet salon school. She smiled. “We don't have any openings—”
“Are you sure? What if the sick girl doesn't come back?” Charly pressed.
The bell ding-a-linged again, and in walked a gentleman dressed in an obviously expensive high-end suit, cradling underneath his arm the ugliest mushed-faced dog Charly had ever seen. “Barkly's here early for his pre-paid standing appointment. We're ahead of schedule today, and would like to stay that way. You understand and will accommodate, right?” he announced, making his way to the counter.
Charly scooted to the side to allow him room to sign in seconds before the bell rang again. Lola smiled and waved.
Rebecca exhaled loud and long, and her cheeks flushed. Overwhelmed wasn't the word for the look that blanketed her face. She stared at the computer monitor, clearly looking at the bookings. Charly stood taller on tiptoe, and saw that the salon was only booked for one appointment before Mason's, and none of the pets or owners occupying the waiting room were it, not even the shepherd.
“Yes?” Rebecca asked Lola with raised what-do-you-want brows, shirking her usual “How can I help you?”
Lola made her way next to Charly, and Charly nudged her in the ribs. “Oh, you're the girl with two show cats, right?” Charly asked her, not really knowing the difference between a house cat and a show cat, but remembered some animal show on television making a big to-do about show cats and competitions.
Lola gave her the side eye; then Charly nudged her again. Lola nodded, finally getting the hint. “Yes,” she said. “Three, actually.”
Rebecca's eyes widened, and Charly couldn't tell if it was because she was excited at the possibility of grooming show cats or because she was overwhelmed.
“And we have a competition coming up, and my groomer is ill,” Lola said, making the lie even more believable. “Can we bring them in in like an hour? You and this salon will get credit, of course. So is that a yes?” she asked Rebecca.
Rebecca nodded and her eyes glossed over. She was on the verge of crying, and Charly knew it. Courtesy of Brigette, she'd been there too many times before not to recognize being worked like a slave. She curled her finger in a come-here fashion, then whispered to Charly, “I can't lose my job. I can't. And if I lose one more client, that's it. And this is the only way I can pay for school.”
“I told you I got you, Rebecca. You don't even have to worry about paying me.” Charly went around the counter, found her way to the back office, and grabbed a lab jacket. She slipped it on, scrunching up the too short sleeves to make it look like her own. “Barkly! We're ready for you,” she called out, returning to the front, opting for the smaller pooch without vomit on his coat. She didn't do throw-up or big dogs, so Barkly was easiest. “I'll personally take care of him,” she told his owner.
Barkly was washed and the German shepherd was getting a pedicure before Charly knew it. She'd gone into nanny mode and found washing dogs easier than she'd thought, once she'd figured out how to use the sprayer, and cleaned up the sudsy catastrophic mess she'd created. When she was allowed to put a gentle muzzle around the dogs' mouths to prevent them from nipping, it became even simpler. To her surprise, they were all gentle and loving, even the big dog who could've taken her down with one snap.
“You're not so bad, Charly,” Rebecca said, tying a red hankie around the German shepherd's neck. “I don't know why you showed up here, or where the girl with the three show cats went, but I'm glad you did.” She shrugged. “I wish I could say the owner's hiring, but she's not. We could really use someone around here like you, especially because you helped save my job. A job I can't afford to lose.”
Charly shrugged her shoulders, too. “Don't worry. You already paid me by letting me help out. Plus, I already have a job, Rebecca.”
The front bell rang again, and Charly's heart dropped. Without looking, she knew it was Mason. Had to be.
“One second,” Rebecca called out. She wiped her hands on her lab coat, then patted the shepherd's head. “So why are you here, Charly? Really?” she asked, heading toward the front of the salon.
Charly pointed toward the waiting area. “Him. There's this guy I like who thinks I work here . . . a dumb lie I told. Don't ask me why. Anyway, please just let me do this. He just got a dog and was bringing it here because I—”
“Work here? I got'cha. I did stupid stuff too when I was your age,” Rebecca said, then laughed for the first time since Charly had been there. “Well, c'mon. Favor granted. He's yours then.”
Charly followed Rebecca to the front and almost froze. Mason stood on the other side of the counter with the cutest ugly-faced dog she'd ever seen. Well, it wasn't really a cute dog, but to her it was because it belonged to Mason.
“Charly,” he said. “I wasn't sure if you were here today. Anyway, meet Brooklyn, my bulldog puppy.”
Charly, totally forgetting that she hated dogs, made her way around the counter and relieved Mason of Brooklyn. Cuddling the puppy like a baby while Mason explained to Rebecca what Brooklyn needed, Charly oohed and ahhed, telling the dog that she was going to take care of her. Mason went and sat. Rebecca laughed, loud and clear, snagging Charly's attention.
Charly crinkled her eyebrows together. “What's so funny?” she asked, taking the dog around the back of the counter.
“You're taking care of her, all right. You said you wanted her, and you asked for the favor, so you got it.”
Charly shrugged. “Okay, thanks! So? How bad can it be?”
Rebecca bit her lip, then made a face. “Depends on how badly she's impacted.”
“Impacted . . . ?” Charly repeated. “And that means?”
“Brooklyn needs to be expressed.”
Mason made his way back to the counter. “Since I know you have my back, Charly, I know Brooklyn's okay with you. No offense, miss,” he said, turning to Rebecca. Then he locked eyes with Charly. “I hate to leave, but my moms needs me. I know you got this. Right, baby?” he asked, nodding his head toward his dog. “You'll call me when she's ready, right? Or do you want to bring her to me? I like option two, myself.”
Charly nodded. “No problem. I'll bring her to your house. You know I got'chu, Mason!” she said, enthusiastically, then whispered to Rebecca, “What's that? Expressed?”
“I hope you really like him! You need to squeeze all the poopy stuff out of the dog's anal glands. Maybe even finger scoop it out. But that's not the only one, Barkly too. You told his owner you'd take care of him. His bath wasn't a real bath, just a prewash before the expression. No worries, though. I'll help with his so you'll know how with Brooklyn.”
5
H
er fingers were going to fall off. Petrify into rock, then shatter and scatter to the ground in miniscule granules. That's what she believed and, in a way, that's what she wanted. Squeezing a dog's anal glands had not been a part of her Hooking Mason by Any Means Necessary plan, and the way Brooklyn's butt smelled, she knew her nostrils were in trouble. And she hadn't even started the expression.
“The gland openings should be somewhere around the five-o'clock and seven-o'clock positions of the openings. Remember?” Rebecca asked.
Charly grimaced. She'd been face to dog's butt for too long, and was ready to run. But she couldn't. Putting her right hand under Brooklyn's stomach, she adjusted her until Brooklyn's rectum was directly in front of her. With her thumb and forefinger, she pressed gently but firmly against the skin under the anal gland openings, feeling for something about the size of a kidney bean. “Yuck!” she said, feeling the odd shape that was more enlarged than Barkly's had been.
“You got it,” Rebecca said. “Now press and squeeze at the same time. Think of popping a pimple. You press and squeeze around the perimeter, pushing up at the same time.”
Charly gagged. She pressed her forefinger on one side and her thumb on the other of the inflamed bump, then squeezed, moving her digits in an upward motion.
“Towel. Towel. Towel!” Rebecca yelled, reminding Charly.
Greenish-brown gooey secretions squirted from Brooklyn's bottom, making Charly jump back and to the right. Her face contorted, and she squealed like a pig. She was afraid to look down, scared that some of the mess had gotten on her. Yes, she wanted to please her boyfriend, well,
almost
boyfriend, but even she had to question if she wanted to be liked so badly that she'd wear his dog's mess.
“You're good,” Rebecca said, laughing. “It didn't get you.” She reached over and handed Charly a warm towel. “Now cover it this time.”
Charly happily accepted the towel and placed it over Brooklyn's anus. Still gagging from the smell, sight, and thought of what she was doing, she expressed and expressed and expressed until Brooklyn had no more greenish-brown anal secretions.
Rebecca clapped like she was at a concert. “I'm proud of you. Now you can bathe her.”
Charly held up her hand to the waning sun in front of the salon. Her fingers had been to a place they shouldn't have gone, and done things they shouldn't have done. She looked down at Brooklyn, glad that she had been the second victim. That's how Charly thought of the dogs she and Rebecca had freed from their built-up anal secretions—violated. There was no way anyone—man or animal—could go through something like that and not feel victimized by an injustice.
Brooklyn whimpered, sitting on her bottom, refusing to move. Charly felt bad for her, knowing it had to be sore. Getting all that gunk out of the dog had not been easy, and the whole “expressing” had given her new appreciation for being human. “Come on, Brooklyn,” she gently urged, tugging lightly on the leash.
Brooklyn wouldn't move. In fact, it seemed as if she was getting heavier by the second. Charly put her free hand on her hip. “Brooklyn, we can't do this. I know you don't want to stay here all day. Do you?”
Brooklyn whined.
Charly crouched down, getting as close to eye level as she could with the small dog as passersby moved to and fro, looking at Charly and the dog taking up the middle of the busy sidewalk. “Okay, let's make a deal. You walk, and I promise to get you some treats. At the rate we're moving, we're going to get run over. And I can't have that.” She stood and pulled on the leash again. No luck.
“She's not ready,” a voice called from behind, stealing her attention from Brooklyn. It was the distinguished gentleman who'd brought Barkly into the salon, and by his side was Barkly. “She's a pup, and it seems as if she hasn't been trained to walk yet.”
Walk yet?
What dog needed to be taught to walk? Charly wondered, smiling at the man as if she was well aware of the problem. “I know, but I always like to give them a chance to prove me wrong. Sometimes I think they're smarter than us. Take Barkly, for example. He's such a pro, he almost groomed himself.”
The man smiled and froze mid-move. He'd been reaching toward his breast pocket. “Don't speak so soon, you might smite yourself.”
Smite?
“How so?” Charly asked, standing.
The man stuck his hand inside his suit, then pulled out a wallet. Unfolding it, he opened it lengthways, then fished out two twenty-dollar bills. “Your tip. You don't want to smite—cut yourself off—from getting the tip you earned. I forgot to leave it.”
Charly accepted the money with a thankful grin. “Wow! Thank you. But isn't this too much? This has to be more than the groom cost.”
He shook his head. “No. No need to thank me. My Barkly's never been so clean or smelled so good. And money is not an option when it comes to my baby,” he said with a polite nod. He turned and began to walk away, pulling on Barkly's leash. “One more thing.” He looked back over his shoulder. “Next week, then?”
Charly's eyebrows rose. She didn't know what he meant by “next week,” but she knew why Barkly was so clean and fresh. After he'd been expressed, she'd washed him for almost an hour straight because she'd spilled so much concentrated shampoo on him, then took forever to rinse him. He was her first lesson on too much soap, and had been the first initiated into what she and Rebecca called Charly's Doubly Bubbly Club.
“Yes. Barkly and I will see you next week. If you're not available, we'll have to look elsewhere for a groomer. After today, I know he wasn't shampooed properly before you came. Isn't that right, Barkly?” he asked his dog as if Barkly could speak.
Charly nodded. On one hand, the man was paying her a compliment, but on the other side of his decision, he was ousting Rebecca out of a job. Rebecca had told her she couldn't lose one more client, which Charly took to mean she'd had to have lost some before. Charly nodded. She'd have to fix that. Rebecca had looked out for her, so she owed her. She wouldn't let her shampooing skills get in the way of Rebecca and college, even if she, herself, wasn't a big fan of textbooks.
Charly took the forty dollars and stuffed the bills deep into her skirt pocket. In only a few hours at the pet salon, she'd made more than she would've at Smax's, and it sure felt good. Not wonderful enough to make her want to turn her back on the retirees who patronized the restaurant, because she'd grown to love all the regulars and her bosses, but still, it was nice. Mentally, she calculated how much she'd saved. There was the two-hundred-eighty-six that Lola had returned, and now forty. “Three-hundred and twenty-six,” she said, proudly. With the money Bathsheba had given her and her upcoming paycheck on Friday, she'd have enough money for the phone (which she had to buy outright because she was too young to enter a contract), a jazzy case, and maybe even the first month's service. “C'mon Brooky-Brook,” she said to Brooklyn, scooping her from the ground. “We don't want to keep Mason waiting,” she said, then prepared to help Brooklyn walk the half mile to Mason's house.
Before Charly could ring the doorbell, Mason opened the door, barely clothed. Charly gulped, taking in his boxer shorts and extra-white wifebeater undershirt. The sight of him, minus his usual outfit of jeans, sneakers and latest hottest shirt, knocked the wind out of her. She stammered, almost unable to contain herself, but she did. Swallowing her feelings, she calmed herself. She wouldn't let him know he had her. “Here's Brooklyn,” she said, still on the porch, not wanting to appear pushy by just inviting herself in. Reluctant, and a bit saddened, she handed over the dog. It amazed her how she'd gone from being uncomfortable around four-legged creatures to actually knowing she was going to miss Brooklyn. In the short time they'd spent together, she'd grown kind of fond of the puppy who'd shot fecal waste from her anus, then held Charly with sweet innocent eyes, almost as if she was trying to thank her.
Mason took Brooklyn and rubbed her head. “Come in, Charly,” he said, opening the door wider and standing to the side, allowing her room to enter. “How much do I owe you?”
Charly just stood there, not knowing what to do. She shrugged. “Don't worry about it. Look at it as my apology for being late on helping you write your paper.”
A weird look moved across Mason's face. “Well, about that . . . I think I may be okay.” He ran his hands over Brooklyn's head again, then looked at Charly's feet. His whole demeanor screamed foul play.
Charly reared back her head. It was only recently that Mason had been so pressed about the English paper, so his dismissing it had taken her aback. “Really?” She raked her fingers through her hair in aggravation.
“Mason?” a girl's voice called from another room.
Mason's head shot up, and his look moved from weird to guilty. “Well, I kinda had help from a friend,” he said apologetically.
Charly's eyebrows rose and strands of hair fell in her face. “
Friend?
” She was Mason's only friend, at least that's what she'd believed. “Really?” she asked again, a bit of attitude flaring. “I didn't know you had a
friend
,” she said, swiping hair from her eyes. Something was in one, irritating it, and it was starting to water. Blinking deliberately and slowly, she was thankful for the interruption because it gave her time to check herself. Jealousy was starting to surface, and that was unacceptable. So what if another girl had helped him with his stupid paper? So what if the same girl was there and calling his name when it should have been her? She tried to convince herself that it didn't matter. After all, she told herself, she wasn't his
girlfriend
girlfriend. Yes, they were together in theory, but he hadn't actually asked her to be his girl. Then she wondered if guys still asked girls to be exclusive.
“Well, that's good, Mason.” She forced a smile. “I'm glad you got it done.” Her feet shuffled anxiously, and her lids batted away the tears forming in the stinging eye. She was ready to go.
A relieved look washed his face of the guilty mask he'd worn. “I'm glad you're being such a good sport about it. I know I pressed you about it earlier.”
“Mason?” the voice called again.
Charly shrugged her shoulders. “I probably should be going. I got a lot to do, ya know? And you might want to answer her.”
Mason shook his head, then stepped outside and closed the door behind him. “No. I don't.”
Her head spun left to the closed door, then right toward Mason. “You don't what?”
Mason did that thing he did with his brows again. Instantaneously, Charly's attitude began to melt. “No, I don't know what you gotta do, and I don't
have
to answer anyone.” He put down Brooklyn, stepped forward, and grabbed Charly's face in his hands. “Stay still,” he directed, moving her hair from her face, and stretching her eye with his thumb and forefinger. “Stay still. I almost got it,” he said, grabbing the strand of hair that was poking her eye, then blew gently.
Charly backed away, an emotional mess. On one hand, his being so close made her want to get on tiptoe and kiss him; on the other, she wanted to punch him. He didn't need another girl to help him with anything. She was all he needed.
“I gotta go,” she said, opening the door. “Before I have to get a
friend
to help me catch up with my work.” She was down the steps, and speeding away from his house angrily. As much as she hated living in a small town, it had its benefits. Before the sun rose, Charly was sure she'd know two critical things: who Mason's friend was—and how to get rid of her.

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