Dog Training The American Male (29 page)

“Of course.” Spencer waited until
she walked away before opening the zip-lock bag. The English gentleman stuck his
nose inside, inhaling deeply. “Ahh . . . Caswell-Massey
Lilac skin cream . . . my favorite.”

Nancy took the call from her
radio producer in her bedroom. “Trish, what’s up?”

“That big W.O.M.B. party set for
next Thursday afternoon? I just found out Olivia Cabot will be there. Soderblom
too.”

Nancy’s heart pounded in her
chest. “You think they’ve made their decision about the show?”

“The word around here is that
they’re still on the fence. Which means Thursday’s meeting could be what
decides whether we have a job next month. Lean in, baby!”

“I will. Thanks.” She returned to
Spencer, who was rubbing Ruby Kleinhenz’s thong undies over six magazines. The
dog trainer spread them out on the kitchen floor, then slid open the back door
and called for Sam.

The German Shepherd hurried to
him, tucking its tail as it recognized the Alpha male.

“Alrighty then, Nancy. These six
similar objects now carry the suspected home-wrecker’s pubescent stench. In
step one of our scent training, Sam will smell the undergarment, then be given
the ‘seek’ command. Every time he goes to a magazine he’ll be praised. In step
two we’ll repeat the exercise, having exchanged a scented magazine for an
unscented one. We’ll continue the drill, swapping a scented magazine for an
unscented one until only one scented magazine remains. Depending upon Sam’s
progress, we’ll then scent and hide a different object with the whore’s stink
trail on it, preparing him for the moment when you ultimately put Sam onto your
boyfriend’s scent trail -- the dog determining if there is a match.”

* * * *
*

At precisely 5:57
p.m., Jacob Cope
returned home, having spent the last few hours guzzling coffee at a local donut
shop. Regaining his sobriety, he had changed back into his shorts, tossing the
wet bathing suit and towel in the donut shop’s dumpster—his mind fantasizing
about the afternoon that might have been with Ruby and Olivia Cabot.

“Nancy, I’m home.”

He placed the newspaper on the
shelf by the hall mirror and carefully removed his wiped-clean sandals,
depositing them in the bedroom closet on their designated shoe tree branch. His
bladder ready to burst, he headed for the master bathroom, lifted the lid and
seat and urinated. Wiped the rim with toilet paper and flushed. Rinsed his
hands. Bypassing the neatly-folded hand towel on the rack, he used his shirt to
dry his hands, thus maintaining the high performance score required for what he
called ‘spontaneous sex.’

Nancy was waiting for him in the
bedroom when he emerged. “Shoes in their proper place, towel not destroyed . . . I’m
impressed. How was work?”

“Stressful. I need to unwind.”

“By unwind, you mean sex.”

“Sex? Sure, I suppose sex would
relieve my stress, but more importantly it would allow me to express the
overabundance of love that I feel for you at this very moment.”

“Yeah, yeah. Get naked, cowboy,
we’ll have a quickie.”

“Works for me!” Jacob stripped in
four seconds flat.

Nancy carefully removed her skirt
and blouse. “Wait, you didn’t say hi to your best friend. Sam, come!”

The German Shepherd came bounding
into the bedroom.

“Hey, boy, how are ya!”

“Sam, seek!”

Sam’s demeanor suddenly changed, the
dog sniffing at Jacob’s legs, feet, and testicles.

“Whoa, easy boy, I need those.”

Satisfied with Jacob, the German
Shepherd sniffed the pile of clothes. Finding nothing, the dog left the bedroom
to search the rest of the house.

“Seek?”

“Affection. It’s important to hug
your dog every day.”

“And your sexy girlfriend.” Jacob
attacked Nancy, growling like a bear.

Nancy intercepted him with a
passionate kiss, her hands groping his groin as she slowly dropped to her
knees, kissing and inhaling his scent.

Jacob’s eyes fluttered as she
reached his hard-on.

“Chlorine?”

“Huh?”

“You smell like chlorine.”

“I do?”

“Were you swimming today?”

“Swimming? I . . . no,
I wasn’t swimming. Why would I be swimming? That’s crazy.”

“Then why do you smell like
chlorine? Normally when you come home you smell like onions.”

Confess, lie, or deny—which
one offers the best chance of still getting laid?
“Wait, I know what it is.
I went to the gym after work to check out a trial membership. While I was there
I used the steam room.”

“The steam room?”

“My lower back was killing me; I
thought it might loosen things up. I was all sweaty after that so I took a
shower. I didn’t have any soap, so yeah; I probably do smell like chlorine.”

“That makes sense. Which gym?”

Jacob’s hard-on shriveled into
something resembling a large chickpea and two Fava beans. “Which gym? The one
on the drive home from work.”

Nancy eyeballed him, suddenly
suspicious. “L.A. Fitness?”

“No. The other one.”

“Gorilla Workout?”

“Maybe.”

“How ‘bout I call them to see if
they registered you as a guest?”

“I wasn’t a
guest
guest, I
didn’t work out or anything. I sort of snuck in.”

“To use the steam room?”

“Exactly. Then I took a quick
shower. It was spontaneous.”

She located her clothes, getting
dressed.

“Nance, what are you doing?”

“Suddenly I don’t feel so
spontaneous.”

“Aw, come on—for real?”

“Tell me the truth, or it’ll be a
dog year before we have sex again.”

“Fine. I got laid off.”

“Jacob . . . when?”

“Last week.”

“Then every day you left the
house for work—you were lying to me?”

“It’s just temporary. Hopefully
I’ll work again on Monday, but Mr. Patel said I’d have to switch to doing
customer service calls on the road. I have to dress professionally, which means
I need to buy dress shoes, which I don’t have the money for.”

“But you hate going into
strangers’ homes.”

“I know. But we need the money.
Which is why I went swimming this afternoon.”

“You were at Ruby’s, weren’t
you?”

“No. I was at some mansion in
Manalapan, trying out for a gig that pays five grand. I got the job; only the
owner invited me to stay for lunch and a swim. Nothing happened; I didn’t even
stay for lunch. But I did jump in the pool.”

“Naked?”

“No. The owner lent me a bathing
suit.”

“When’s the gig?”

“Next Friday night.”

“Does it pay well?”

“Yes.”

Nancy stripped off her bra and
panties.

“What are you doing?”

“Rewarding you for telling the
truth. Now lay down and take a break while I see if I can resuscitate the
little guy.”

BLUE
MONDAY

The man standing
before Amir Patel was dressed in a button-down white collared shirt, black
pants, shoes, and a matching tie. “Now at least you look like a professional.
Sit down, Jacob.”

“If it’s alright with you, Mr.
Patel, I’d rather stand. My butt is a little sore from, uh, working out.”

“Then I’ll make this brief. I’m
giving you a second chance, but you’re on probation. Your first repair call is
with one of our most important clients. Zev Bourla owns the biggest advertising
firm in Miami. They were hit by a computer virus early this morning. I told Zev
I would send him our best man.”

“You’re sending Sanjay?”

“I’m sending you. Here’s the
address,” Patel handed him a business card. “Remember, you are representing my
company, so—”

“I know . . . always
be polite.”

* * * *
*

The drive south
on Interstate-95 was
harrowing, the rush hour traffic weaving from one congested lane to the next at
seventy miles an hour, the construction lanes narrowed by concrete shoulders.

 An hour after leaving Boca, Jacob
arrived at the address in Miami, his nerves frayed, his fingernails chewed down
to the nub.

The high-rise building was on scenic
route A1A, the advertising firm occupying the entire sixth floor. Jacob was
escorted to the president’s office, a large corner suite divided into a desk
and work area and a small conference table, its white Formica top cluttered
with four-color glossy posters. The east wall offered a floor-to-ceiling view
of the Atlantic Ocean, the turquoise and blue tapestry partially concealed
behind Venetian blinds.

Zev Bourla greeted Jacob with a
warm smile and handshake. The advertising executive was trim and in his late
forties with a youthful face and jet-black hair. The Brooklyn accent seemed
perpetually upbeat. “So, you’re Amir’s new superstar?”

“No, sir. The truth is, this is
my first service call and I’m a little nervous. Actually, I’m very nervous; I
don’t do well in new environments with strangers I’ve just met. That’s not to
say I can’t fix your computer—I can. I just work better alone.”

“Do you want me to have the
building evacuated?”

“No, sir.”

“Good. So, the computer’s over
there on my desk, and I’m just going to work over here at the conference table . . . if
that’s okay?”

“Yes, sir.” Jacob entered the
horseshoe-shaped work area. He carefully moved the leather swivel chair out of
the way and knelt by the computer keypad. After typing several commands, he connected
his own laptop to Zev’s hard drive and began running a diagnostics program.

Several minutes of quiet caused Zev
to look up from his work -- the shy technician nowhere to be seen. “Jacob?”

“Down here, sir. I’m just waiting
for the diagnostic program to finish running.”

“You don’t have to sit on the
floor; you can use my chair.”

“It’s okay, I don’t mind.”

“How much longer will the
diagnostics program take?”

“Another twenty-nine minutes.”

“Twenty-nine minutes . . .”
Zev smiled, looking up at the ceiling. “Sent me another one, huh?”

“Excuse me?”

“Jacob, come on out from there
and have a seat on the sofa.”

Jacob crawled out from beneath
the desk, walking over to the sofa as if had a tail tucked between his legs.

“You seem nervous. Relax, I don’t
bite. I like you, Jacob. I wonder if you could keep an open-mind, say for the
next twenty-nine minutes?”

Stranger-danger . . . 
Jacob
felt his skin crawl. “I have a girlfriend, sir.”

“I’m sure she’s a very nice
person.”

“I meant, I’m not gay.”

“
Mazel tov
to your
girlfriend. I simply wanted to share something with you—advice that has helped
me over the years. Are you okay with that, or would you rather sit under the
desk?”

“No, advice is cool.”

“Good, because I love hearing
myself talk. Jacob, everything in life is consciousness; the way in which we
view things affects us both conceptually and on a physical level.”

“If you say so.”

“Let me give you an example. You
told me that you don’t do well in new environments with strangers. When your
boss sent you to see me, the way in which you accepted the assignment created
an energy field, either positive or negative. Do you follow?”

“No, sir.”

“I’m talking about being afraid.
Fear is a weapon of mass destruction, Jacob, it creates all kinds of negative
energy that can manifest in our physical lives.”

“Being around strangers . . . it’s
not my only fear.”

“All of us have fears. Fear of dying,
fear of catching a disease. Fear of losing our jobs, fear of poverty—”

“Amputees.”

“Amputees?”

“They freak me out. The water
scares me, too—and heights. Maybe you could shut the blinds?”

“Of course.”

“And elephants.”

“Elephants? Do you come across a
lot of elephants in your line of work?”

“Thank God, no.”

“God . . . now
there’s an interesting subject. Do you believe in God, Jacob? A higher power?”

“I guess so.”

“You guess so?”

“I’m not really into religion.”

“Neither am I. I’m strictly
talking God. Because if you really believe in a Creator, then what’s to fear?
Why don’t you just pray—‘hey, God, please—no amputees riding elephants today.
Hey God, I could use more money . . . help me to lose
weight, to live until I’m two hundred.’ If you really believe in God, what are
you afraid of?”

“Maybe I should check the
computer.”

“What you’re afraid of, Jacob, is
your own inability to connect with the higher power that you say you believe
in. Feeling powerless, your life becomes overwhelmed with chaos. Chaos leads to
fear . . . fear turns you into a victim. Trust me, I’ve
been in your shoes—a member in good standing at
Victim.com
. What I’ve
learned is that our fears actually create what we’re afraid of. It’s always the
guy who’s afraid of amputees that runs into a VA hospital. The people who are
afraid of flying—those are the ones who always find themselves on the planes
experiencing turbulence. The reason is that fear manifests a negative energy
field that brings the actual situation to life. When you’re afraid or angry or
anxiety-ridden you’ve essentially shut yourself off from God. That’s the
negative energy at work. Instead of drowning in fear, focus your mind on
swimming to the solution—it’s these positive thoughts that will connect you to
the power of the Creator—the place where real miracles come from.