The Wager (2 page)

"I think Gloria is right," Esther encouraged. "The mind can only concentrate on one thing at a time."

"What about multi-tasking?"

"That's just fast alteration of consciousness," Esther insisted.

Linda felt herself going into a mass of confusing emotions at Gloria's challenge. She was very hesitant to make yet another attempt to lure Malcolm beyond the boundaries of friendship. Just then pictures of the transfer ambulances that had carried her mother to her non-successful treatments fashed into her mind. And the crowd of people undergoing treatments in the Cancer Clinic.

"Every one of them and their relatives hoping they are going to get more time in this world and a lot of them won't. Maybe Gloria is right," Linda felt some part of herself deciding. "It's the same for every one of us. We run out of time unexpectedly and you never know what's around the next corner."

"What have y'all got to lose, Girl?" Honey Pratt insisted.

"Dignity," Linda answered to herself. She had been afraid all these years to express to Malcolm how warm her feelings toward him were.

"What if he actually verbally refuses to become more than a friend." Linda realised she would feel personally humiliated as well as embarrassed. "But if he responded positively her private fantasy could become reality."

Something deep inside her made Linda put out her hand. Gloria took it.

"And you Beatrice?"

Everyone turned to stare at the last member of the ladies dog walking group. The ex-professor walked with the aid of a cane.

"What do you expect me to do?" Beatrice laughed. "Hit some man over the head with my cane?"

"Well, none of our single seniors need to lose any more brain cells. Besides, you are the youngest of the group at sixty. You are just a Junior Senior. You'll think of something."

Linda reeled as Beatrice put out her hand.

"We'll need to figure out which of the single male members of our dog walking club besides Malcolm Brooks are still into sex," Gloria directed. "I think there will be enough of them for all of us."

"Like before," Esther interjected. "We need to eliminate the smokers, heavy boozers, those who have had prostate operations, and those who are in poor health."

Gloria nodded. She told the others that particularly smoking heavily over a number of years finished the sex functioning in men.

"What about Gus?" Esther Goodenough asked.

"He's a possibility," Gloria threw in her eighty-year-old, larger-than-life, movie producer husband. "I told you. We have an agreement."

Gloria pulled out a pen and sheet of paper from her fanny pack.

"OK ladies, give me some names."

Linda jumped up suddenly as a large Rottweiler came charging into the group of ladies. The dog went toward Beatrice Broughton's cane as it leaned against the large log in front of her.

"Christ!" Beatrice screamed as the huge beast grabbed her cane in its powerful jaws and took off toward the water.

Linda realised that the Rottweiler likely thought that the cane was a throw stick. She was used to large dogs of the breed picking up huge pieces of wood, even logs and heavy boulders to play with.

"Do something!" the retired professor's voice was frantic

as the dog stopped, shook the cane at the ladies and then moved toward the water again.

"He wants us to chase him," Linda interpreted. She jumped up and started to chase the huge beast but this only moved him even closer to the water. She moved back toward her friends and the dog approached them again. But this time he shook the cane savagely in the air and pieces of wood came showering at the ladies.

"God, he's destroying my cane."

Linda moved toward the dog again but was interrupted by a sharp whistle from the Dog Park walkway. Linda turned and said a prayer of thanks as the dog's owner blew his whistle one more time and the large Rottweiler dropped to the sand as if he was dead. The cane dropped from his mouth into the sand. The dog's owner walked over to the animal and picked up the cane in his hand.

Six pairs of eyes stared at the man. They realised he was a senior, he had a dog, and he was drop dead gorgeous.

Linda recognized one of her clients from her Veterinarian practice. She wondered if he was a member of the Dog Walking Club.

"Terribly sorry, Ma'am," Linda listened closely to his accent as he was apologising profusely to Bea Broughton. He had a New York sound to his words.

"This cane will never be the same," Bea glared at the man. Linda realised that the others were staring at him too but in admiration. It had occurred to Linda before that the man was a Paul Newman lookalike. Except that he was slightly more muscular.

The man pulled out a pocket knife and cut off the ragged edges from the cane that his dog's large, white teeth had scarred.

"I'll pick you up a new one, Ma'am. Where did you get this one?"

Bea gave him directions to a medical supply store. He promised to pick up a cane that very day, called his dog and started to make his way to the ocean.

"You're one of our new members, aren't you?" Linda grew amused as Gloria charged after him.

"That's right Ma'am. Name's Turk. Turk O'Brien."

Gloria put out her hand and as Linda watched gave the fellow a very warm hug.

"Welcome to the club."

Gloria turned and then moved back to her friends. She waited until he was out of earshot.

"Turk O'Brien ladies! Anyone know if he is single? Or if his prostrate is all right?"

"Mr. Muscles," Linda Daniels told Gloria what she knew about Turk O'Brien. "With a tattoo of a naked lady on his arm. He's single, in good health and doesn't smoke."

"How do you know?"

"He brings in that Rottweiler all the time for routine visits. No trace of booze or tobacco on his breath."

"He has a swagger and a big penis."

"Turk O'Brien?"

"No, his dog. But I suppose the man could have them too."

'What's his dog's name?"

"Dogzilla," Linda supplied.

"I'm going to include him in the bet."

"Dogzilla?"

Gloria laughed loudly.

"No. His owner."

Linda smiled as Gloria gave them all a look.

"He's mine! One of you others can have a shot at Malcolm Brooks."

"Come on ladies, we need some more names."

"Gus Gustafson," Esther volunteered. Gloria gave her a searching look but her husband Gus's name down.

"Frank Simpson," Virginia said.

"Frank! Are you sure? Except for walking Mozart, his Blue Healer, all he does is come out of his mansion on the hill on Sundays and play the organ at the Anglican Church."

"He is a professional organist," Virginia insisted. "And such a handsome man. Doesn't smoke or drink and as long as I've known him he's never been in the hospital for any kind of operation."

"You know, I happened to see him in one of those sex toy and erotic video stores the other day."

Linda stared at Esther in amazement.

"What were you doing in there?" Virginia demanded.

"Never mind!" Esther joked "but be aware that Frank Simpson may be into erotic videos for all we know."

"You must have been mistaken," Linda caught herself laughing as Virginia gave Esther a look of death. "He is a practising Christian you know."

"No matter!" Linda realised that Gloria was ending the argument. "He's likely still sex minded. That should make the task of seducing him easier if anything."

Linda watched with fascination as Gloria put Frank Simpson's name in with Gus in an envelope.

"Tyler Thompson," Honey Pratt volunteered.

Linda started. Tyler Thompson was ninety, had never been married and was very wealthy.

"The Funeral Director," Gloria laughed. "Honey you have a wild imagination hiding somewhere. What about his prostate? Does anyone know?"

"He's one of our Church members as well. As far as I know he's never missed a Sunday by being in the hospital? You know, someone told me he's still a virgin. Lived with his mother all his life until she died at one hundred years old."

"Uh, you've got some of the facts all wrong, Virgie. I could tell you a few things about Tyler Thompson but I'll leave you to figure him out yourself."

"What's his dog's name?"

"Inferno."

"Art Maloney," Esther volunteered.

"The stock broker. He strikes me as being pretty upright. You ladies do like a challenge. But he is a nonsmoker."

"What's his dog's name?"

"Bookkeeper, you know, the Greyhound."

"Malcolm Brooks is still the perfect challenge for you Gloria," Esther laughed.

"Certainly. If that new fellow proves resistant to my charms."

"Malcolm's in, then!" Linda Daniels felt an all too familiar pain in her heart. "What have I done?"

"Ok ladies, a new love affair. You know the candidates. Anyone who appeals to you? Think of a strategy to get to know them better."

M
alcolm Brooks and Turk O'Brien arrived at the edge of the beach facing the sand bar in the river at about the same time and took a good look at Malcolm's one year old dog, Trump, harassing a white French poodle. Malcolm could hear the poodle emitting yelps as his large, hyperactive, Sheep Dog lunged at her time after time.

Malcolm yelled at his dog to come and became quite angry as the dog ignored him as he always did.

"Damn!" the tall, wealthy industrialist cursed. He realised that his habitual way of solving problems was not working with Trump. He had thrown money at dog trainers but none of them had successfully conditioned the affectionate but stubborn animal to obey oral commands.

"He's a crime wave on four legs," Malcolm realised as he continued to evaluate the action going on in the water. Gigi was in the lead, yelping frantically, with Trump and Dogzilla hot on her pursuit. The three dogs appeared to be followed closely in the water by a slow-moving Pit Bull. Malcolm watched as things got worse with the arrival of some more of his friends in the dog walking club. Their dogs that were off the leash spotted Trump, Dogzilla, Pegasus, Cleo, Gigi and Bourbon in the river mouth.

Malcolm and Turk watched with increasing anxiety as Frank Simpson's Blue Healer, Mozart, Tyler Thompson's

Rhodesian Ridgeback, Inferno, and Gus's second dog, the Malemute, Inuvik, plunged enthusiastically into the water to join the dogs already cavorting about. Malcolm realised that the dogs were heading straight for Trump, Dogzilla, Bourbon and Gigi.

Gus Gustafson, Gloria's husband, recognized his wife's dog Gigi being pursued and sighed deeply.

"God, Gloria will have a hissy fit. Gigi's just been to the pooch parlour and that ocean water glues her fur together. Not to mention what the sand does when dogs knock her into it."

As Malcolm and the rest of the men followed their progress, Gigi spotted the flotilla of large pooches approaching, emitted more high-pitched, shrieking barks, and headed out to the sand bar in the distance. Trump and Dogzilla splashed after Gigi and the newcomers plunged after Trump with the Pit Bull, Bourbon, following in the rear. Cleo and Pegasus, now exhausted by their long frolic, headed ashore.

Malcolm Brooks became even more alarmed as Gigi, Dogzilla and Trump reached the sand bar and myriads of sea gulls few up in the air fearing for their lives. He got even more worried as Bookkeeper, Inferno, and Inuvik reached the sand bar moments later and joined Trump and Dogzilla in chasing the large, white poodle round and round in circles on the sand bar. With increasing trepidation Malcolm and Gus noticed the Pit Bull, Bourbon, reach the sand bar shortly after and commence trying to intercept the others by tackling the lead dog every time the dog pack rounded his corner of the sandbar.

"God, Malcolm, call off that dog of yours. Inuvik is very possessive of Gigi. I hope he doesn't get in a fight protecting her."

"I've tried that. Trump never listens."

"Might as well join the ladies." Malcolm sighed as Turk O'Brien, a sixty-nine-year-old retired race car driver, suggested taking a break, pointing at Linda and her friends on the logs near the Dog Park walkway.

"Those dogs won't head in until that poodle of your wife's reaches an exhaustion and heads back."

"You guys go," Malcolm decided in his usual business executive voice. "I'll wait here in case a dog fight breaks out."

"So what are you going to do if that happens?" Malcolm started as Turk challenged his decision. He was not accustomed to others questioning his commands. "Swim out to the sand bar?"

Malcolm looked at the distance to the sand bar and figured he could make it easily. His trainers kept him in excellent physical condition.

"If necessary. It's my dog's fault, I think. He's the one that appears to have started it all."

"That water's frigid, Malcolm," Turk warned.

"Get him fixed!" Gus Gustafson suggested.

"That wouldn't be natural."

"Natural be damned. You're risking a lawsuit if my wife's poodle gets injured. Believe me, Gloria has a temper and a lawyer."

Malcolm groaned. He recalled that Gloria had already threatened him with a lawsuit when his boa constrictor, Raptor, had chased her Siamese cat, Ming, up onto the top of a telephone pole. It had only been the fact that Raptor had just been fed, a Fire Department ladder was available and Gus was able to reason with his wife that had saved the day.

Malcolm motioned the others to go join the ladies and stared out at the sandbar in dismay. Trump and the other dogs were still causing havoc on the sandbar. Malcolm did not even

notice as his friends shrugged and moved off to the logs near the pathway.

He spread his expensive, leather jacket on the rock and barnacled encrusted sand and settled down into a resting position to wait for the canines to return.

"Surely, one of those highly paid animal trainers of mind can find a way to cool off Trump. He's got to get more obedient."

"It's not normal to castrate male dogs," Malcolm thought to himself.

A pitiful howl turned Malcolm's thoughts back to the dogs on the sandbar. Trump had Gigi down from the front, Dogzilla was attempting to mount her from behind, and Bookkeeper, Inferno and Mozart were disagreeing about who was next in line. Inuvik and Bourbon were barking and growling fiercely at each other.

"A remote shock device when Trump doesn't listen," Malcolm decided. "To heck with these modern ideas of the owner becoming the Alpha dog himself by picking the animal up and throwing it down on the ground to show who's dominant. Trump just thinks I'm playing when I do that."

More sharp barks, growls and shrieks from Gigi let Malcolm know he was going to have to do something. He could see the white poodle cowering on her back on the sand fending off both Trump and Dogzilla. He took in a deep breath and plunged into the water. Malcolm forced himself to ignore the frigid water and plunged in further. He managed to get his arms and legs to coordinate in his usual powerful swimming stroke. Within a couple of minutes he reached the sandbar.

Malcolm staggered onto the sand, stepped in between Trump and Gigi and pulled the determined Sheep Dog off the now thoroughly muddy and frantic poodle. Gigi ran for the water.

"Down," Malcolm yelled. Trump ignored him and tried to follow Gigi. Malcolm picked up the dog, threw him down and attempted to hold him. He cursed as Trump immediately broke free and ran off in pursuit of Gigi. Unfortunately so did the other dogs. Malcolm had just managed to stand up when he felt the sharp collision of the Blue Healer, Mozart, the Pitbull, Bourbon, and the Malemute, Inuvik, as they crashed into both of his knees. He went down with a bang. The wealthy industrialist felt the pain in his knees drowned out as the huge Rottweiler, Dogzilla, and the Rhodesian Ridgeback, Inferno, stormed over him grinding his head into the sand and barnacles on the sandbar. Malcolm felt himself scream involuntarily and panicked as he realised he could not see properly. He staggered onto his feet and took several halting steps into the water hoping to wash the sand and debris from his eyes. Unfortunately Malcolm felt his injured right knee snap, his legs give out from under him and within seconds he realised he was submersed in the water without being able to see.

Malcolm thrashed about in the cold water trying to free the sand from his eyes.

"Christ, I hope I'm not moving into deeper water. I can't tell which way I'm going." Malcolm felt his breathing became even more agitated as the pain and frigid water took their toll. He panicked further as he still could not manage to see which way was toward shore.

"Lord, I hope I'm not heading out to sea."

For the first time Malcolm thought about his upcoming birthday. He would be eighty, though personal trainers kept him in the shape of a sixty-year-old or younger. The thought really depressed him.

"It's the start of these decades," he said to himself as he

started to suppress the knowledge that there was no way he was going to make it back to shore by himself without help. "You just get used to the decade you've reached and then suddenly you're at the next one."