Love Is in the Air (96 page)

“Um…” Wyatt said when he realized that Bodhi was not going to take Diablo with him. “Bodhi? Throw me a bone here?” Wyatt scooted back to the middle of the table. “I mean, literally, a bone so I can feed it to Diablo.”

But Bodhi’s only response was the sound of the bedroom door clicking closed.

“Oh dear God…” Wyatt said as Diablo’s lips curled up into a devious smile, his tongue lolling out, tail wagging. Whenever Diablo looked happy, that was the time you really needed to worry.

“No!” Wyatt screamed as Diablo lunged forward, clearing the side of the table, his nails clattering on the wood. What else could Wyatt do but jump onto the couch.

But Diablo could clearly smell Wyatt’s fear and set off in hot pursuit.

As Wyatt launched for the recliner he realized that this was going to be a
very
long day.

CHAPTER 2

The hotel looked like it had been built back in the fifties, when everything seemed designed to be quickly turned into a bomb shelter. Boxy, squat and solid, it mocked Wyatt and everything he stood for.

Worse someone must have decided to give the place a freshening up. Unfortunately they choose to do during the seventies. The wall paper was a swirling of peach and mint green that made Wyatt a little dizzy. He half expected a disco ball to be at the center of the ballroom.

While dabbing yet another wound on his arm, courtesy of the devil dog, Wyatt nearly running straight into the registration table. The bite wound stung, but nothing NeoSporin couldn’t take care of. He
hoped
.

The edge of a banner smacked him in the face.

“Perfectly Pets Presents: Find the Right Pet Communicator for You!”

Yeah, right.

Did these people really believe that someone could read pet’s minds? Wyatt loved his uncle and everything but
come on
. Looking out over the crowd taking their seats Wyatt’s fears were confirmed. Three ring circuses were less chaotic. The barking, hissing and squawking. And that was just from the people.

There was a lady with long blonde hair sitting next to her Afghan, all matchy-matchy. Not just their clothes, either. People talked about pets looking like their owners, but these two were so close it took Wyatt a second to figure out which was the human and which was the dog. Wait. Was the one with the pink burette the chick?

Then there was the guy that looked like an ex-fighter sitting next to a Bulldog. Wyatt had to be being punked. He wasn’t even going to comment on the naked Sphinx cat with his bald owner.

Yet the contestants for best in the freak show weren’t the clients. They were the other “communicators.” One wide eyed woman held up and mirror and growled at herself. There was an older, grey-haired man wearing camouflage shorts, flip flops, a and well, nothing else. Except for the large gold ankh necklace. Nothing inspired confidence like a bare chest in the middle of winter. And Wyatt was fairly certain the guy with a bundle of smoking weeds in his fist, waving them back and forth, was not in compliance with the fire code.

And everywhere, animals.

Dogs, cats and birds were to be expected, but there were species there that Wyatt had a hard time. What’s more he was relatively confident they didn’t… couldn’t… or
shouldn’t
occur spontaneously in the natural world. There was a pygmy hedgehog, three potbellied pigs and what looked like a cat-sized gerbil.

“Excuse us,” a voice came from behind.

Wyatt side-stepped just in time as an enormous iguana on a leash, led by a preppy guy in an Izod and topsiders walked past. At least the guy’s clothes matched the decor of the hall.

An older woman, grey bun tight upon her head, crossed toward him. Wyatt bit his tongue before he accidentally called her Mrs. Guthry, his junior high school librarian. Now that woman could have stood up to Diablo. Especially if he had a late book.

But this woman, while very prim with her glasses dangling down on a beaded necklace, did not have the look of world conquest as Mrs. Guthry had. A shiver went down Wyatt’s back just remembering when he returned a book with the corner of the cover ripped. Atilla the Hun had warmer receptions. Much warmer.

“Where in the world is Mr. Stampley?” the Mrs. Guthry look-alike asked her assistant.

“What would be me,” Wyatt answered stepping forward, making sure no reptile were in his way first. As she turned to him, Wyatt read her name tag. “Mrs. Crumpet, Organizer.”

He held his hand out, but instead of taking it, Mrs Crumpet’s eyes studied him up and down. Dang. She did have a bit of Mrs. Guthry in her after all. Wyatt repressed a shudder while tugging his sleeve down. The less battle scars she saw, probably the better.

“You are definitively
not
Mr. Bodhi Stampley.”

“Got me there,” Wyatt answered with his iconic win-’em-over smile. He made quite the show of bringing his thumbs to his chest. “But I am the pet whisperer extraordinaire that you are looking for.” He thumped the thumbs against his chest for good measure. There was no substitute for good marketing.

Mrs. Crumpet looked down at the myriad of nicks and cuts on his hand. Darn him and his sense of flair. He dropped his hands and amped up his smile.

“But Bodhi has been a head-liner at this event for over a decade—”

“Just point me in the direction of the ladies,” Wyatt reassured her. “And I’ll take it from there.”

The organizer’s lips pinched together in what Wyatt could only assume was relief that he was taking his uncle’s place. They then relaxed into a thin smile.

“Yes, let’s let you do that,” she said then turned to her assistant. “Please escort Mr. The-World-Renowned-Stampley to table thirteen, Scout and Ashley, would you?”

The assistant’s eyes dilated. Probably because, you know, she appreciated Wyatt’s sense of style and panache. He had that effect on women. She wordlessly nodded and guided him across the room where a woman stood facing away from them, studying the landscape painting on the wall. This goddess incarnate had on a draped scarlet dress that allowed you to view her perfectly sculpted back. She was tall, with shapely legs that just went up and up and
up
.

Wyatt straightened his bolo tie. “Now
this
is what I am talking about.”

He waved the assistant off. He could handle this introduction his own. He was in his element. A colorful and shiny fish in crystal clear waters.

Making his way up to table thirteen, Wyatt blew into his palm, testing his breath. Maybe this pet whispering gig wasn’t as bad as he had thought.

“Why, hello there, beautiful.” Wyatt liked to come off confident.

Ashley turned around to reveal a long handle bar mustache. “Why hello there, yourself,” he said in a deep, thick Texan accent.

“Oh my…” Wyatt said backing away. He could care less about how someone dressed or whether they preferred AC or DC current, but he did care that he just called this guy beautiful. That statement was a little hard to walk back from, ya know? Someone could have warned him. Wait. Someone
should
have warned him.

Wyatt glanced over to Mrs. Crumpet who had a more than satisfied look upon her face. World Renowned his booty. Just as he was going to make his apology-slash-exit, Ashley’s rather large Doberman Pincher ran up to Wyatt and stuck his nose right at the zipper.

“Oh dear!” Wyatt exclaimed as he tried to push the dog’s nose away, but the rather large canine with a snout at exactly the wrong height was determined to get in a good sniff. A good sniff, and to all appearances, as much long a sniff as he could get away with.

Okay, Diablo was a demon child, but at the least he couldn’t reach quite all the way up there.

“Now you know why we call him, Scout,” Ashley comments with a smile.

“Yes, he certainly likes to explore forbidden—” Wyatt’s voice cracked as Scout burrowed in deeper. “Wow. Maybe we could reel him in before he digs down to the family jewels…”

Finally Ashley, with his rather well-developed arm muscles, pulled Scout away, but as soon as Ashley left any slack, Scout’s nose moved right up against Wyatt’s booty.

“Okay,” Wyatt said trying to shoo the dog away. “I have to give Scout credit for persistence.” The way things were going, Wyatt’s next doctor’s appointment wouldn’t need to be quite as thorough as usual.

Out of the thousand different ways that Wyatt thought that today could go when he woke up on the sofa, this was
definitely
not one of them. How did Bodhi put up with this? There were insults here too great to be borne. Wyatt either found a way to ditch the Doberman’s nose or he was out of here.

Luckily the chair seemed the perfect escape. With one good shove, Wyatt extracted himself from Scout and had himself a seat. At first Scout seemed perplexed. With Wyatt’s legs tightly crossed, his all stage access pass was denied. Wyatt allowed himself a moment of satisfaction until Scout wrapped his paws around the chair legs and started humping.

Perfect.

Ashley sat down across from Wyatt a cheerful grin.

Wyatt waited, hoping either Scout would get tired of the incessant back and forth motion or Ashley would feel some sort of embarrassment and call the dog off. Apparently the two were quite happy with the arrangement.

“We do realize…” Wyatt said, trying to keep his tone a notch or two below shrill, “… that this is wildly inappropriate, right?”

Ashley shrugged. “I guess he likes well coiffed men as much as I do.”

Wyatt, once again, cursed his superb ability with hair product.

* * *

Martin Forlanker leaned forward in his chair. He needed to give the impression that he was paying rapt attention as Holly rambled on about her little Scottish Terrier, Something about McDuff’s habit of chewing her shoes. Her leather shoes. The ones that matched little McDuff’s. Everything about the two was in synchrony.

Their dark hair color, their red and black tartan sweaters. Although Martin did have to admit that Holly filled hers out a tad better. However, the young woman could talk. And talk. Time to step in.

Martin reached out and took Holly’s hand. She tried to pull back, but he gave it a tender squeeze. Not enough to alarm her, but enough to keep their skin in contact.

“Now Holly,” he asked. “Do you feed him from your plate?”

Martin’s guess must have hit the mark for the woman’s eyes fell and she studied the floor. However for a Scotty owner in matching clothes, his question wasn’t exactly a leap.

He gave her hand another squeeze. “Tell the truth, Holly. Because you know that McDuff will.”

She looked to the Scotty who did in fact look ready to spill the beans. Finally with a sigh, she shrugged like only pretty woman could. “Every once in a while.”

“Holly…” Martin coaxed.

“Okay,” she said biting her lip. “More like every meal.”

Martin smiled broadly, patting Holly’s hand as he leaned back in his chair. “Well, McDuff wants you to know how much he appreciates it.”

Her eyes widened when no reproach came. As a matter of fact she hugged that furry little Scotty tight to her. “Really?”

“Really,” Martin replied with every bit of sincerity he could muster.

This wasn’t about what the pets said. It was all about what the owners wanted to hear. And no one was better at telling them exactly that than Martin.

* * *

Wyatt had almost gotten used to the rhythmic rocking. There was something almost hypnotic about the way the chair moved. The part he wasn’t quite so used to was the dog actually humping the leg of it.

“Nope, sorry. Got nothing,” Wyatt said as he opened his eyes after “communicating” with Scout. He looked to Ashley, hoping against hope that the three-minute timer would go off and save him from this torment.

“But he likes you so much!” Ashley responded seeming quite put out that Scout was not communicating beyond the obvious body language signs.

“Yeah. Let me qualify,” Wyatt said with a clenched jaw. “I’ve got a lot to say, but not in mixed company.”

Of course Wyatt wasn’t exactly sure the “mixed” he referred to; he just knew if he said what was in his mind right now it might singe the feathers off the cockatiel next to him. And considering the amount of hairspray in its owner’s bouffant, keeping his mouth shut was probably safest for everyone involved.

For the thousandth time, Wyatt searched the room for an excuse, any excuse to leave this “appointment” early. But then he stopped. Wait a minute. Why wasn’t anyone else getting humped? Why was he the only one? Why was he so special? Okay, maybe he answered his own question.

Finally, finally, finally the jarring sound of the buzzer went off. Before Ashley could ask for his number or Scout could put a nose somewhere else it didn’t belong, Wyatt flew out of his chair and headed for the next station. Anything was better than this.

Unfortunately that meant running straight into another one of the pet psychics.

“Sorry,” Wyatt mumbled, trying to get around the guy.

“A whelp, I see,” the man stated.

“Huh?” Wyatt asked as he looked up to find the guy was dressed in a three piece suit. A suit. Around all these animals? How exactly did the guy expect to get the cat hair out of that wool tweed?

* * *

“I’m Martin Forlanker,” He introduced himself as the cur did not bother.

“Oh sorry,” the man said. “Wyatt Stampley at your service.” He held out a hand, but then wiped it off on his frayed jeans. “You do
not
want to know what that was.”

“And this must be your first time?” Marting was finding it hard to believe that this hipster had any relationship to the once great Bodhi Stampley.

“Yeah.” The shaggy man answered, still looking around as confused as a kindergartner at orientation.

“We always go clockwise,” Martin stated, but the man still seemed out of his depth. “To the right,” Martin explained, adding his finger as a visual aid. “We rotate seats by always going to the right.”

“Well, yeah.
Duh
,” Wyatt stated then promptly turned left, running directly into Martin’s pressed suit.

“
That
right,” Martin clarified, pointing to the next station.