Stepdog (24 page)

So finally we were on our way for real. Despite the comedown of the upchuck (so to speak), it was amazing to have another living being in the car with me. I was so aware of her specific personality, something I'd never thought of her, a dog, as having: a personality. But regardless of species, there was
somebody else
in the car with me, and that somebody was
familiar
. And I liked that feeling.

The road remained two lanes in either direction, grass meridian and shoulders, pine forests set back and interspersed with mead
ows. We drove and drove and drove and drove. And drove. I was feeling the toxic aftereffects of the drinking, which got worse, not better, as the day went on. Cody perked up, but then eventually got bored, circled on her bed, and lay down to nap. I glanced at her in the rearview mirror. In all fairness, she was about the most endearing dog in the world, and seeing her sleeping safely in her bed, knowing I'd helped rescue her and was taking her safely back to Sara . . . there are no words to express how good that made my heart feel. “Love you, Cody,” said a man's voice from somewhere in the car, in an affectionate tone.

Jesus, did
I
say that? At least I hadn't called her snuggle bunny. Then I'd have to shoot myself. (Snuggle bunny! For fuck's sake!)

After a few hours the terrain got hilly, then almost mountainous. Cody was bored, but perked up when my phone rang. I'd set it on speaker, cradled in one of the cup holders. “Hello?”

A booming voice filled the car, declaiming, “Rory, brother! Alex here.” There was a lot of ambient noise. He must be in the clubhouse. “Just wanted to let you know that I've fulfilled my duty. I kept Jonathan here for four hours as we agreed. Despite the raucous party we threw for him, he just left.”

A small andiron smashed into my gut. “Do you know where he was going?”

“Well, he
said
he was just going to hightail it back to Massachusetts, but I believe that about as much as I believe the Republican Party line. I'd guess he's probably coming after you,” Alex said cheerily. “Too bad he didn't stay. It's a
great
party. Anyhow: good luck with whatever happens next. Godspeed, brother!”

“Thanks, Alex,” I said morosely. “Enjoy the strippers.”

He hung up. I groaned. If Jay were chasing after me, I had to
keep that four-hour lead. I couldn't
really
bring myself to believe that he'd chase me across the continent for a dog . . . but I still couldn't really bring myself to believe he'd stolen her in the first place.

Almost immediately the phone rang again. Sara, this time. That woman had no off-duty setting.

“Hey, love,” I said, answering.

“It's been four hours,” she said. “That means Alex just released him.”

“Yes, he just called giving me a heads-up,” I said in a reassuring voice. Then I realized I didn't actually have anything reassuring to say.

“Jay knows you're headed to Los Angeles.”

“Oh, please, he wouldn't be stupid enough to try to follow me when I'm hundreds of miles ahead of him.”

“He's not giving up,” she said decisively. “He's going to do
something
.”

“Well it's a massive country,” I said. “I'm a needle in a haystack. If he's got a plan, I'm fucked if I can guess it.”

“I wonder if he'll guess you're headed to Chattanooga tonight. Do you think he'll guess that? Maybe you should detour somewhere?”

“Sara. My love. We'll drive ourselves mad that way.”

A pause. “You're right. Just get out here as quickly as you can. You know,
safely,
but—”

“I could drive straight through,” I said, leaping at the opportunity to extend my superhero status beyond my fabulous Indian cooking and intrepid dog rescuing. “What is it from here, thirty hours? Forty? I can do that.”

“There's no need to make yourself miserable. Pace yourself. How's Cody?”

“She's grand,” I said. “Happiest dog in the world. She told me to tell you that I'm her god now, and you must thank me for her rescue by letting me undress you whenever I like.”

“You don't say.”

“She'd also like some lamb chops.”

“We'll work on that,” Sara said, a smile in her voice. “Call when you take a rest stop and I'll give you the address for the Chattanooga hotel. And I guess I should stay in L.A., not fly back east, but maybe I could still come out and meet you in Flagstaff and we could go to the Grand Canyon. It's so close and everyone says you've got to see it to believe it, and it'd be a great way to celebrate Cody's rescue. I'd like to do something romantic with you.”

She wanted to do romantic things with me again!

I stopped on the far side of the city to grab a bite of prefabricated food consisting mostly of starch and fat, and to let the dog stretch her legs again and to take a poo. I looked at a wee map of the American Southeast on my phone, then I called Sara, who gave me the address for the dog-friendly Chattanooga hotel, which I fed into the GPS.

The GPS gave me several route options to Chattanooga. I thought between here and Chattanooga all the roads were essentially the same—just different ways to divert around the Great Smoky Mountains.

Several hours later, I had come to realize that wasn't true.
Bollocks
.

Somehow, I had programmed the GPS to steer me
through
the mountains, rather than around them. While the Great Smoky
Mountains Parkway turned out to be one of the most beautiful roads I've ever driven on in the entire world, it's hard to appreciate much of it when you're a white-knuckled and knackered driver staring at the tarmac right in front of you, anticipating the next curve, which is starting before you've finished the last curve, which you were already on before you finished the curve before that one. I'd take a year of Boston driving over one more hour on the fucking thing, even though I hardly saw another car. Every time we took a sharp curve Cody yawned, which (Sara had told me) might mean she was queasy.

“Please,
please,
don't be sick again, please, I
cannot
deal with that now,” I said to her, glancing into the rearview mirror and then immediately focusing my gaze back to the road. Of course the notion of Cody being sick brought Jay to mind and my mind began to regurgitate—excuse the term—all the dread and angry thoughts about him. I wondered what he would do next. No way would he follow me. That would be mad. But what would he do instead, then? Was he simply on his way back to Boston? Hard to believe. So what was it?

After 7,258 more hairpin turns, with the car reeking of bacon and apple-pie moonshine, and the carcasses of eight million dead bugs splattered against the windscreen, the sun started to slant in the west, throwing a tangerine dust in broad stripes across the trees and the road. Despite the foul overstressed state I was now in, despite feeling more hungover than I had earlier that day, I have to admit it was
gorgeous
. I opened the windows to discover the air here smelled like honey. It would have been a lovely drive, if all three of us were here together—me, Sara, and Cody—and Mr. J. Baldy didn't exist.

Finally we approached a major highway, the kind of road I'd intended to be on all along. We were losing the light, and I was driving almost directly into what little light was left, so I could not see details as the urban sprawl crept in again and the sun set pink and beautiful before me. Beautiful through the smear of dead bugs, I mean.

Then I saw, for just the briefest moment, a white Lexus SUV. It snaked up near my right flank, and then fell back. I couldn't see it after that one moment, masked as it became in the glaring headlights behind me. I had not seen the license plate.

It couldn't have been Jay! No way!
Don't be paranoid,
I told myself. I'd played with the dog a bit before getting on the road, I'd been slowed down by the Great Smoky Mountains Parkway, and of course there was a faster way to get to Chattanooga, but he could never have eaten up my
four-hour
lead that quickly . . .

Could he?

No way. No. Mad to even think it.

The GPS guided me to the hotel in the exurb sprawl. I pulled into a parking spot and turned off the ignition. A motion-sensitive light lit up outside, backlighting the windshield smear of dead bugs. I let Cody out on her leash to pee, then made her get back in the car so she wouldn't be underfoot in the lobby. “Hang on, girl,” I instructed, “let me get us checked in.”

I left the window open a crack, locked the car remotely, and went into the hotel. It was one of those beige, bland chain hotels, no personality whatsoever. The bloke behind the counter was humming along with the piped-in Muzak crap of Kenny G (his sound track). It was quiet, at least. I was
so
grateful to be out of the car and done driving for the day. I was dying for a nice cold ale,
ol' hair of the dog to get rid of this brutal hangover. But I firmly decided, no, I just needed plenty of water, a shower, and a good night's sleep.

“How's it going,” I said. “Checking in. O'Connor, one night.”

Without making eye contact with me, the clerk looked into a computer screen, clicked a few things, read something. His face and expression never changed.

“That's the double suite?” he asked officiously.

“Ye—what? No.”

“It looks like an upgraded reservation. Do you need a second key?”

“What? I need a first key,” I said, “I just got here.”

“Oh,” he said, confused but eyes never leaving the screen. “It looks like the rest of your party has already arrived.”

T
here was a brief pause made out of pure lead. Then I was able to speak.

“Rest of my party? I'm traveling alone.”

“Someone has already checked into that room.”

“Under what name? Rory O'Connor?”

“Under O'Connor, yes, sir.” Finally his eyes glanced up at mine. “Is there a problem?”

“What did he look like? Was he tall? Bald?”

“Sorry, sir, I wasn't on the desk yet.”

I couldn't think straight.

“Ok, thanks, I'll be right back, just getting the dog,” I said in a stupid voice, and went out to the car.

I couldn't see Cody through the windows. She'd been taken. He'd taken her! Shite!

Frantically I opened the door with the electronic key and hollered, “Cody!” into the car. The motion-detector light was at too high an angle to light the backseat, but I suddenly felt her breath against my cheek and almost collapsed with relief. “Fucking hell,”
I said. “Okay, Cody, okay, good girl.” I patted her head and sank my weight back down into the driver's seat.

She, of course, wanted to get out. “Sorry, girl, no, it's not safe,” I said, pushing her back. “I'm taking you someplace else.”

How could he possibly have gotten here before me? I'd had a
four-hour
lead on him, and Great Smokies Parkway notwithstanding, I drive like a maniac. And anyhow, how could he have known to come to
this hotel
? And more than anything, of course: What was he up to? What the
fuck
was he thinking? What, was he planning to tail me across the continent?
Really?

I reached for my phone and called Sara to tell her I'd arrived safely. “You know,” I continued, trying to sound casual, “we're really making good time here and I'm not tired. What's the next big city we could stay in?”

“Sweetie, we've already paid for the Chattanooga hotel and you need to rest.” When I began to protest, she insisted: “You might not think you're tired, but it's been a hell of a few days; as soon as you let yourself relax you'll see how much your body needs sleep.”

“He's here,” I blurted out. “I need to keep going because he's here. He followed me. And somehow he caught up to me.”

“What?” she gasped.

“He's
following
me, Sara. Isn't that mad? He's here,
in the hotel
. He somehow got into my
room
.”

“Wow,” she said softly. “I guess I should have expected that, but . . . well, anyhow, I didn't.”

“So I can't stay here,” I pressed. “Obviously.”

“Well . . . I guess you could go on to Nashville,” she said. “I think that's two hours, maybe two and a half. I'm at my computer, I'll check.”

“And that's due west?”

“It's actually a little north, but it's the next city on Highway 40, which is how you'll go, all the way out here.”

“And what's the city after Nashville?”

“Memphis, but that's a real schlep. Tennessee is a very long state.”

“I'm up for it,” I said.

“That's more than twelve hours in the car in one day, and after your drive yesterday, I'm sorry, but that's too much. You'll fall asleep at the wheel and I'll lose both of you.”

“I did more than that yesterday,” I argued. “I can do it again. And if I can do it twice, she can do it once.”

“It will really stress both of you, and there's no need to—”

“As long as I have the energy to drive, it's to our advantage for me to get as far ahead of him as possible.”

After a moment, she sighed. “Memphis is too far. You're wired up, and I get that, but trust me, you're not thinking clearly. I'll find a Nashville hotel and text you the address.”

“All right,” I said, feeling irritable and edgy.

Before I went back onto the highway, I went to fill up the tank, and to scrub—literally scrub, with the scrubby side of a dish sponge Sara had thought to pack for this specific purpose—the bugs off the windshield. While I was stopped, I cantankerously typed in
Tennessee—Memphis
as the next destination on the GPS. Then I started driving.

I didn't know my American geography the way someone traveling cross-country surely ought to. But I knew that Chattanooga, Nashville, and Memphis are all in Tennessee, and so when I saw
a sign saying, “Welcome! We're Glad Georgia's on Your Mind,” I realized something was wrong.

“Again?! Two GPS fuckups in one day? Fuck fuckfuckfuckfuck FUCK! SHITE!” I shouted, pounding my hand on the dashboard over and over again. Cody jumped.

The fucking GPS assured me I was heading toward Memphis, so I just kept driving into the night. What else could I do? In almost no time at all, the road turned and we reentered Tennessee, which briefly deluded me into thinking I was on the right track after all—until I found myself crossing into
Alabama
. Ala-
fucking
-bama! Gobshite fuck bollocks! Jesus fucking Christ!
Three
GPS accidents in one day? Cody looked frightened of me. I was losing the plot.

I took a deep breath and tried to calm down a little. Okay. Alabama. I knew a few things about Alabama. I knew Hank Williams. I knew Neil Young and Lynyrd Skynyrd's dueling songs about the state. I knew that Mobile, Alabama, was on the
Gulf Coast
. Which proved being in Alabama was a
mistake,
no matter what that useless piece-of-crap shite technology had to say about it. “Look,” I said to Cody, staring at me in fright from the passenger seat. “Rory fucked up again. Good man, Rory. That's the way.” The thought of having to call Sara made my stomach sour. But at the same time I was stuck, totally lost. With a heavy, resigned sigh, I reached for my phone.

“Hi, love, I was just about to text you the Nashville hotel,” she said.

“I'm going to cut to the chase here,” I said. “I'm in Alabama.”

A pause.

“You're what?”

“I just wanted to get the fuck out of there, Sara, and I ended up in Alabama.”

“Umm . . .” she began, which was enough to make me so defensive I could
hear
my blood pressure rising. “Nashville is
north
. Alabama is
south
. How could you possibly end up in Alabama if you were headed for Nashville? That would require some kind of . . . non-Euclidean geography.” Then she laughed a little, nervously. I remembered fuck-all about geometry, but I suppose that was intended to be funny. She was trying to avoid an argument. All right, then, so would I. First I took another big breath and let it out slowly.

“I didn't put Nashville in the GPS,” I confessed. “I put Memphis.”

“Rory!” Sara said, the humor gone. “We agreed you'd go to
Nashville
.”

“You're
the only one who agreed to that, and anyhow, going to Memphis is supposed to take me
through
Nashville.”

“Well, obviously it's not doing that,” she huffed. Huffy wasn't generally her thing. I wanted the old Diana Spencer–with–a–kindergartner back. It had been ages since I'd seen that side of her. I wondered if I was coming across as especially inept in light of that bollocks of an ex-lover's crafty efficiency. Look at me, failing better and better all the time. Beckett would be proud of his countryman.

I heard a few muffled clicks and taps as she sorted out what I'd done wrong. “All right,” she said shortly. “You need to drive west across all of northern Alabama and all of northern Mississippi, and then you'll reenter Tennessee at its southwestern corner, and that's where Memphis is. Please don't forget to feed the dog.”

And she hung up. So much for the sweetness of early afternoon. At least I could now be confident that prick was no longer on my tail.

“I'm still lookin' out for you,” I said grumpily to Cody. “Lot of thanks I get.”

She carefully rolled over on the front seat for a tarty-dog pose, craning her neck to check out my response. She looked ridiculous.

It was hard to see much, now that it was dark, but I'd say if New England were a size-eight shoe, this part of the country was a size 8.5 wide. There was a general broadening—of roads, of car lots, of meridians, of housing estates, of fields—and between long stretches of undeveloped land, clatters of gas stations, convenience stores, towing facilities, storage facilities. I drove for dozens, then scores, then
hundreds
of silent miles, trying not to think about either Jay or Sara. The smell in the car was gank. My early sense of exultation was completely eradicated. I was spooked. So spooked, I simply had to keep myself from thinking.

My phone rang.

“Hi, Rory,” said Alto as I picked up. “Just checking in one more time before bed to see how you're doing.”

His sound track had definitely changed. No more Janis Ian, now it was Pharrell Williams.

“Squire Alto!” I said, with forced heartiness. “We're on the road, me and Cody. Tennessee. Although tonight it's Mississippi and Alabama.” (That all sounded so exotic.)

“That's great,” he said. “Everyone's delighted you got her back.”

“Actually, you know . . . it might be a bit dodgy still,” I said. “Don't tell Lena that. Do me a favor, just give me a bell tomorrow or the next day.”

“Will do,” said Alto.

Although there wasn't a thing he could have done, it was a good feeling knowing he was looking out for me. Sweet kid.

My phone dinged with a text from Sara, which I read because the road was so straight and empty.
Sorry for tone. Memphis hotel address attached, reservation made. Oklahoma City rez for next night, too. I want to rendezvous at Grand Canyon. Love you xx.

Instantly my mood improved. See? All I wanted was Sara's love.

I
T WAS A
warm night, and at least there was enough Bible talk radio for me to practice my southern accents. Maybe I'd get to use them in the series.

The series. Ha!

I had a television series. I felt utterly unplugged from that side of myself. I couldn't even remember, now, what it felt like to be
onstage
. To reassure myself that I really was an actor, I started quoting, in a southern accent, the “Commodity” speech from
King John
. That's a great speech, by the way, it works really well with a southern accent. Too bad the play is such crap.

Cody tilted her head and stared adoringly at the back of my right ear. Then she poked her nose at it.

“I promise I will feed you in Memphis,” I said.

She poked her nose down the back of my shirt. To be safe, I pulled over onto the shoulder of the road and let her out to pee. It was so warm here. There were no cars in sight, not a sound or a light, and that steadied me a little. Maybe that beige clerk in the beige uniform in the beige hotel in Chattanooga had goofed off on the paperwork. Not that I now thought for one moment that prick was on his way back to Boston, never to pursue the dog
again. Fat fucking chance. I knew now he meant business. But it occurred to me that I was overreacting a little to the possibility of actual at-hand danger. I took a deep swampy breath and looked into the darkness.

W
E FINALLY REENTERED
Tennessee sometime after midnight, and then it was pretty quick before we were in Memphis, and met another beige clerk in a beige lobby in a beige hotel—and who was piping through the beige speakers? Kenny G. There was no restaurant or room service. I had eaten almost nothing since the chicken cutlet sandwich, and I was weak with hunger, but nothing was around unless I wanted to eat the dog food.

“Of course she packed plenty for
you,
” I said grumpily, once I was settled in the room and dispensing some into Cody's travel bowl. “I, of course, have to fend for myself.”

I peeled my reeking clothes inelegantly off me and keeled over onto the bed, shattered, absolutely knackered, staring straight up at the ceiling. This was not going to procure me a meal. Nothing was going to procure me a meal. There would be no meal. I should just get a good night's sleep.

I turned the lights off, got into bed, and drifted off.

Or nearly did. I hadn't brought Cody's bed into the hotel—not having it for one night wasn't going to kill her. The problem was, her choosing a spot. So she sat right by the head of my bed and stared at me. I could feel it even in the dark. I could hear her dog sounds. Then she brought her nose so close to my face that I could feel her breath, and when I opened my eyes, she moved in even closer and touched her nose very gently to mine.

“Leave me alone, Cody,” I said.

“Leave me alone, Cody” is apparently canine for “Don't leave me alone, Cody.” She knew she had my attention. I heard her tail in the dark brushing across the floor as it wagged. She brought her nose to mine again.

“This is Sara's fault,” I informed her. “You're a good dog but this behavior is not acceptable, Cody, and it's entirely Sara's fault.”

Fifteen seconds later I realized that no, it was my fault. She wanted water and I'd not given her any.

I got up. Filled her travel dish with water from the sink, and placed it on the floor by the bathroom door. As I got back in bed, I heard more than saw her pounce on the bowl. She drank and drank and drank and drank. I thought that would be the end of it and now she'd go to sleep. But no. She was
so
revived after drinking and seemed to want to let me know, wanted to
thank
me. And started bumping noses and staring at my face so hard I could feel it even with my eyes closed. She rested her head heavily on the side of the bed. “Go to sleep,” I said, “I'm knackered.” No change. I could still feel her presence. All right,
Jesus
. Lamp on. She was startled by that. I hit the corner of the bed. “Come on, Cody. Up here. On the bed.”

She looked disbelievingly between my face and the side of the bed where my hand was. I hit it again. She yawned uncertainly.