Dog Training The American Male (35 page)

“It’s for his advanced training.”

“How advanced does he need to be?
Are we sending him to college?”

“Relax. Spencer said it doesn’t
hurt the animal, it just hits them with an uncomfortable jolt which deters the
negative behavior.”

“Where’s the control?”

“Hanging from the key hook. Jacob,
I trust Spencer; if he says it doesn’t hurt the dog, then . . . what
are you doing?”

“Testing it.” Jacob snapped Sam’s
collar around his own neck, then retrieved the palm controls. “Is it this red
button—Ahhhhhhh . . . ahhh! Ahhh!”

“Stop pushing it!” She knocked
the controller from his hand, a slight buzz running down her arm. “Are you all
right?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why didn’t you stop?”

“I couldn’t let go. The charge
kept my fingers squeezing the button. Gosh, maybe I really am Friedrich
Riesfeldt’s kid.”

“Who?”

“Friedrich Riesfeldt. The
zookeeper my mother . . . never mind.”

Nancy tossed the shock collar on
the counter. “Where were you last night?”

“I went to a self-help seminar.
It was pretty cool. You were asleep when I got home.”

“I went to bed earlier; I was
exhausted. But I have some amazing news—the station’s renewing my contract for
two years, with a thirty percent raise in salary.”

“Nancy, that’s great.”

“I know, it’s like a dream come
true. And I didn’t tell you the best part—they want to syndicate the show and
add a product line.”

“What kind of product line?”

“You know . . . women’s
stuff. Nothing you’d be interested in. The owner of the station invited me to a
private party tonight to discuss business.”

Jacob’s smile faded. “Old man
Cabot invited you to his party?”

“Cabot’s retired. His daughter,
Olivia – she owns the station—it’s her party.”

“Olivia Cabot’s his daughter?”

“I thought you knew that.”

“How would I know that? You never
told me Cabot’s daughter was your boss; you never told me her name was Olivia!”

“Calm down. Say, isn’t Ruby’s big
gig tonight?”

“Is it? I nearly forgot. I think
it’s at a comedy club.”

“You told me it was a private
party.”

“A private party at a comedy
club. I have to check my text messages for the address.”

“Take it easy. I think that shock
collar made you hyper.”

“Hyper? I’m not hyper. And what
if I was? Would you cut off my balls like you did Sam’s?”

She kissed him quickly on the
lips, then patted his hairy left cheek. “Only if you cheated on me. Maybe it’s
time to trim the beard; I have a rash on my thighs from the other day.”

* * * *
*

Jacob drove east
out to the beach,
ignoring the calls from his dispatcher.
Nancy’s going to be at the party.
She’ll see Ruby and Olivia chasing after me in their sexy outfits. The moment
Nancy flips out, Olivia will know she’s my girlfriend. That’ll give her
leverage. She could force me to sleep with her by threatening to cancel Nancy’s
contract. She might even lie to Nancy, telling her I already slept with her
just to get Nancy to leave me.

“Suck balls!”

He recalled a John Lennon quote:
The
postman wants an autograph. The cab driver wants a picture. The waitress wants
a handshake. Everyone wants a piece of you . . .

He arrived at the high-rise beach
condominium ten minutes later, parking in the vendor’s lot. Using a Federal
Express delivery as cover, he snuck past the $12-an-hour guard working the
security desk and followed an older woman and her miniature toy poodle onto an
awaiting elevator.

The dog sniffed Jacob’s pants.

“Little fella probably smells my
German Shepherd. Sam likes to rub his ass against me so I’ll scratch his butt.”

The woman offered a polite smile,
and then quickly exited on the fifth floor.

Jacob pushes the button for
eleven.

Enough is enough. I’m tired of
being manipulated by these two rich menopausal horn-dogs. Ruby and Olivia
either back off, or I won’t do the show.

Stepping off the elevator, he
stormed across the carpeted corridor to the double oak door at the end of the
hall and rang the bell to Suite 1101.

The door opened, revealing Ruby
in a bathrobe and silk pajamas. No make-up. Her hair was twisted in a loose
ball atop her head as if she had just woken up.

“Jacob? What are you doing here?”

“We need to talk.”

“Can we talk later, I don’t feel
well.”

“No, it has to be now.”

“Fine.” She stepped aside,
allowing him entree into the three-bedroom condo. He followed her through the
living room, its white marble floors ending at a balcony overlooking the
Atlantic Ocean. Ruby shuffled barefoot over to a U-shaped beige leather sofa
where she laid down, curling herself in a ball. “You trimmed your beard. It
looks better.”

“Thanks.” He noticed the
assortment of medication on the coffee table. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s a female thing. Are you
ready for tonight?”

“I suppose.”

“Don’t
suppose
, you need
to be good tonight. I’m running out of influential friends.”

“I’d be more confident if I knew
you and your friends weren’t in a contest to see who could have sex with me
first.”

“Who told you that? Cyril?”

“Is it true?”

“No. Well, yes, it was Olivia’s
idea, but it was just a tease. We didn’t think you mind.”

“Normally I wouldn’t, but I have
a girlfriend . . . someone I really care about.”

She winced in pain. “So I’ll back
off.”

“What about Olivia?”

“I’ll call her.”

Jacob breathed a sigh of relief.
“Thank you. And don’t think for a minute it’s not because I don’t find you
attractive—I do . . . it’s just—”

“I’m happy you found someone
special in your life.”

“Thanks. You know, John Lennon
once said—” He paused, his cell phone reverberating with a 9-1-1 text from his
boss at
i-Guru
. He typed a response, and then thought better of it.
“Ruby, is there a landline I can use?”

“Down the hall, my home office.”
She rolled over, covering herself with a wool blanket.

Jacob found his way to the converted
bedroom and sat at the desk. Using Ruby’s house phone, he dialed Mr. Patel’s
number—his eyes wandering to the cluster of framed photos situated on the glass
table top.

Ruby with her two kids, some taken
as babies and teens, the more recent photos taken in their mid-twenties. One
with her parents. A family Christmas photo, taken long ago. A graduation photo
with her son.

Missing in action—her husband of
thirty years.

“I’m happy you found someone
special in your life.”
Ruby had found someone special, and he had cheated
on her, tossing her life into disarray.

Jacob recalled his brother’s
words:
“Ruby’s not insane, she’s in pain. Her ex hurt her pretty badly, now
she’s trying to bury the last thirty years by reinventing herself.”

Thirty years . . . How
do you erase thirty years of marriage? Thirty years of memories? How do you
trust another man after your spouse cheated on you?

Vince was wrong. Ruby wasn’t
trying to reinvent herself; right now she was just trying to survive a tsunami
of hurt by numbing herself with sex until her heart could form scars.

“This is Patel.”

“Mr. Patel, it’s Jacob. I dropped
my iPhone this morning and it’s not working; can you transfer me to dispatch
for my first appointment?”

“What took you so long to call
in?”

“I had to stop at a friend’s
house to use his phone.”

“Very well. But you had better
not go missing again or you are fired, I do not care what Ganesha says.”

“Yes, sir.” Jacob waited for the
dispatcher, who read him an address in West Palm Beach. He wrote the
information on a scrap of paper—listening to Ruby moaning in pain in the living
room.

Completing the call, he stood to
leave. Hesitated . . .then text messaged his brother.

The iPhone rang a minute later.
“This better be an emergency.”

“Vin, I’m with Ruby. She’s in a
lot of pain.”

“What did you do to her?”

“Nothing. She says it’s female
pain, but it seems pretty bad.”

“Put her on the phone.”

Jacob left the office, and then
knelt by the sofa. “Ruby, my brother wants to speak with you.”

Ruby opened her eyes and took the
phone. “Hello?”

“Ruby, it’s Dr. Cope. What’s
wrong, sweetheart?”

“I hurt inside. Really bad.”

“When did the pain start?”

“This morning.”

“Are you spotting?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll have Wanda expedite the
results from your last pap smear. Can you get to my office?”

“I don’t think I can drive. I’ll
have to call a friend.”

Jacob took the phone. “It’s okay,
Vin. I’ll drive her.”

* * * *
*

“You teased him
, Carmella. Then you and
your witch’s coven tossed him into the pool.”

“I did nothing of the sort . . . whore.”
Carmella Cope left her lounge chair and headed for the steps leading into the
shallow end of the pool to claim a good spot for the morning water aerobics
class.

Nancy followed her across the
deck. “After all Truman did for you, would it have killed you to be nice to
him?”

“I never asked him to get
snipped, that was your idea—whore.”

“Stop calling me a whore!”

“Why? That’s what you are. Money,
money, money—that’s all that matters to you. The only reason you care about
Cabot is because he bribed you. One whore bribing another.”

“Okay, you’re right. I was
desperate. For a while I had no idea if I was going to keep my job. Forget
about the money—I don’t want the money. But Truman . . . he
really likes you. He says you remind him of his deceased wife.”

“Blah, blah, blah.” Carmella
pushed past Nancy to access the pool steps. “You’re just afraid Richie Rich
will tell his Richie Bitch daughter whose idea it was to get clipped and you’ll
be fired.”

“Is that what you want, Carmella?
To see me fired? Do you think that’s what Jacob would want?”

Carmella ignored her, focusing on
her warm-up exercises.

Infuriated, Nancy took off her
shoes and followed the older woman into the waist-deep water, soaking her skirt
and blouse in the process. “Why do you have to be so nasty?”

“Go away.”

“From the first moment we met,
you treated me like dirt. I want to know why.”

“You’re the hotshot radio whore
psychiatrist, why don’t you tell me.”

“Okay. For starters, you’ve been
hurt. You probably loved Jacob’s father very much. After what happened, no one
could blame you for being bitter.”

“Bitter?”

“Angry then. It’s a natural
response when a loved one commits suicide. But after twenty years—”

Carmella shoved Nancy backwards
so hard she slipped underwater. “You think you know what that man put me through . . . you
don’t know nothing! I had to clean blood stains out of the bedroom carpet on my
hands and knees because I couldn’t afford to replace it. I had to use a
screwdriver to pick skull fragments out of the drywall before I could repaint
the bedroom walls. For months I had nightmares. I had to sleep in the living
room. The boys begged me to move; only I couldn’t afford it because the
military cut off my husband’s benefits. Think I’m mean and nasty now? For years
I resented my kids for being around because they forced me to stay sober.
Instead of checking out on my family, I chain-smoked my way through
double-shifts driving a cab just so my oldest son could go to med school—only
instead of becoming a brain surgeon the stupid schmuck got his girlfriend
pregnant and had to marry her.”

“And then your youngest son moved
in with a radio whore who what? Just wanted his money? For a long time I was
just like you, Carmella, stuck in the blame game . . .feeling
sorry for myself -- poor me. Know what I learned? Everyone has problems. Mine
may not be nearly as bad as yours were, but I learned something recently—that
being bitter about the past doesn’t help me today. So go on, keep calling me a
whore and see where that gets you with Jacob.”

Carmella removed her sunglasses,
her squinting hazel eyes filled with rage. “Life’s a Beach with Nancy Beach. I
used to listen to your show . . . I got a kick out of all
the hecklers who’d tease you about offering relationship advice when you
couldn’t stay in a relationship yourself. So you tell me,
Doctor
Beach—why
did you really move in with my Jacob? Was it because you loved him? Or was it
because you were using him . . . trying to prove to your
listening audience that you could actually hang on to a guy?”

 “To be honest, Carmella, a
little of both. Before I met Jacob I had serious trust issues – I still do. But
your son was kind and sincere, and even though I was mad at him for bringing home
that dog from the pound, I realize now why he did it – because he has a big
heart. I love that about him, and I love that he’d rather make people laugh
than earn the big bucks on Wall Street. And yes, while his phobias can drive me
crazy, I also know that he’s loyal . . . that he’d never
hurt me, and that has helped me get over my own trust issues. I’d like to think
I’ve done the same for him.”

* * * *
*

Cyril was waiting
outside the tuxedo
shop when Jacob arrived at ten minutes after six. “You’re late, Mr. Jacob.”

“Sorry; been behind schedule all
day. Ruby’s sick. I had to take her to my brother’s office.”

“Your brother’s a doctor?”

“Gynecologist.”

“Really? Is he single?”

“He’s married. To a woman. Geez,
dude, I thought you had a boyfriend?”

“We split. Come on, we need to
get your tux and be at the dock before the yacht leaves.”