Traveling Light (8 page)

The desk clerk looked at her, shifting his weight onto another foot as he waited.

“Damage?”

He turned back to the screen. “Chewing, soiling, ripping up sofa cushions.” He paused as if having lost his place. “You can exercise your dog two blocks down at the dog park furnished by the City near the NYU campus.”

They’d just passed it on their way to the hotel. She walked past the park every day.

“Your pet is not to be left unattended in the room at any time.”

“What if I’m in the shower?”

He looked at her.

She placed her debit card on the counter.

As the elevator doors opened, Fotis shirked backward. As per the advice of her mentor the cabbie, she picked Fotis up and placed him in the elevator before she dragged in the shopping bags. As it lifted to the third floor, Fotis hit the floor splayed out from the sensation of increased gravity.

The hotel room smelled like cloves and vanilla. The décor was contemporary shades of white and beige, like a high-end spa.

Fotis was panting, his eyes wide.

“I bet you’re thirsty,” she said. Crouching down, she rifled through the bags, searching out the Bubble-Wrapped ceramic French bowls. Busting open the plastic of the first one, she carried it into the spa-like bathroom, turned on the faucet and waited, testing the water’s coolness before filling the bowl.

Fotis watched.

She tottered out with a topped-off bowl, careful not to spill as the water sloshed dangerously close to the rim. She placed the bowl onto the carpet by the bed.

The dog began drinking furiously. Water cascaded over the rim, splashed over the sides from his tongue, drenching the sand-colored carpet.

“Shit, shit, shit.” She scurried into the bathroom and grabbed a plush white hand towel and began blotting the floor.

He emptied the bowl and looked at her.

“More?” His ears twitched, brow furrowed in confusion.

She lifted the bowl—realizing she’d used the one marked “food” in French—but shrugged and stepped in to refill it. This time she lowered it down onto the travertine bathroom floor. Fotis sniffed the bowl again and then, after several more healthy slurps, looked up at her, water spilling profusely from his mouth as he walked out into the carpeted suite to explore.

“Jesus Christ.” She followed with the towel, trying to catch water dripping from his whiskers, lips. Who would have thought drinking water would be such a sloppy enterprise?

“You hungry?”

Fotis watched as she peeled the Bubble Wrap off the second bowl. Tearing open the dog food bag, she poured in kibble to the rim. She lifted the bowl to entice him. “Yum.” She raised her eyebrows. Fotis didn’t seem impressed. “Here.” She placed it down next to the water on the bathroom floor.

He didn’t move.

“Aren’t you hungry?”

Fotis looked right and left as if checking for cars and then strolled over to the bowl. With a cursory sniff, he looked back at her with an expression that made her laugh out loud.

“What?” She lifted both hands. “You don’t like it?”

He glanced at the bowl again and then turned away.

“Okay, so spanakopita it ain’t.”

He barked sharply. It echoed off the bathroom’s stone walls.

Paula startled.

Fotis stared at her with bright eyes, limbs stiffened as if ready to jump.

Her skin prickled.

She was a little frightened of this strange excitement. He didn’t even blink. Alone with a large-toothed furry creature she didn’t understand; maybe this wasn’t such a great idea. Such an intense stare, primed to pounce.

“Spanakopita?” she asked sheepishly.

He barked again.

“Okay, okay. Shhhh.” She held a finger up to her lips.

His ears stood up, even the floppy one.

“Kathe se,” she told him to sit in Greek.

His butt hit the floor, face alert as if he was proud of showing off his skills. She turned and began rummaging through the shopping bag to grab the package of hamburger-shaped treats. Ripping it open, she handed one over.

Fotis gently took it.

“Kalo skilo [good dog].”

His tail thumped the carpet.

It stunned her how obvious this was: Fotis understood Greek.

“Pa me exo?” she asked if he wanted to go out.

Fotis woofed softly and hurried excitedly to the door, rubbing the latch with his muzzle.

“Okay, okay, okay.” She chuckled. “Tha paou [let’s go].” There was a Greek food cart near the dog park. She suspected the owners were Albanian, however, since whenever she spoke Greek to them they’d stare. She often ate there when working late since the stand was open past midnight.

Grabbing Fotis’ leash, she rifled through the bags for the pooper-scooper. As she took it out of the bag, she chuckled at the dangling tag that illustrated a three-step process of how to bend down and pick up dog shit.

Armed with the scooper in her purse, they raced down two flights of stairs to the lobby and over toward the square. As they neared the food stand Fotis started pacing, excited by the smell; a thread-like line of drool seeped out of his lips. Paula ordered two rounds of souvlaki and a double spanakopita. Fotis stood tall as the food was being assembled, watching as Paula paid and the paper dishes were handed over. She quickly pried lamb chunks off the wooden skewers and set them along with half the spanakopita pie into the paper dish. He quivered as he watched her. She chuckled at how sincere he looked, like a man vying for a first kiss.

She set down the paper dish. Fotis wolfed the pie down in seconds and looked up at her. She was amazed. He’d eaten in the shelter, but then again he’d vomited in the cab. She set the rest of her food down and Fotis finished it off. She went back and bought another souvlaki. He eyed it as she started to eat.

“Hey, I need to eat, too,” she said, but then conceded, “okay, okay.” Yanking off half of the lamb cubes, she arranged them in her palm. Cautiously, she lowered her hand.

Gently he vacuumed up each cube and then licked her palm.

After, they walked a block down to the dog park. She’d never had a reason to enter before but would see dogs chasing and playing in the grass, their owners congregating and chatting as they seemed to enjoy watching. She looked around. There was one other person and dog in the park. Paula sat down on the bench. Fotis watched the other dog. The owner waved from the other side of the park and started to approach.

“Hi,” he said. “Haven’t seen you here before.”

“Yeah, it’s my first time,” she said. Fotis pulled to the e nd of the leash, sniffing toward the other dog.

“Cool dog. What is he?”

“Don’t know. Just got him today.”

“You’re kidding,” he said. “He seems so comfortable, like you belong together. That’s a good sign.” He gave a thumbs-up.

“Thanks.” She didn’t know what to say.

“You can let him loose. Minnie’s a Lab. Totally friendly, is he?” he said as the two dogs sniffed each other.

“Not sure,” Paula said. Looking at the owner, she unclipped the leash,

“She’s an old girl, going on fourteen. Old for a Lab. Think we’re heading home now; she’s tired.”

After sniffing Fotis, the man’s dog squatted to poop. Paula watched as the owner skillfully used one of the plastic bags furnished by the park.

“You make that look easy,” she said after he dropped the bag in the waste container.

He winked. “You’ll get the hang of it.”

He gave a little whistle and clipped on his dog’s leash. “Good luck with your dog.”

Paula watched as Fotis explored the park. He sniffed carefully around the bases of several trees and then would look over in her direction, searching out her figure on the park bench. Once reassured, he’d dash off. At one point he rolled over onto the grass, wriggling with such delight it made her laugh.

Then he stood and circled before assuming the position the other dog had assumed to poop. Paula looked toward the wastebasket, weighing the option of using the scooper or using the bag like the previous owner had. “Please clean up after your dog!” the sign said in four languages. She pulled out the scooper and walked over. Flies had already discovered the pile; holding her breath, she squatted and reached for the load, shoving the turd onto the spoon before gingerly carrying it over to the waste container. Stepping on the pedal, she lifted the lid and shook off the spoon. Most of it just fell off. But then she looked at the plastic scooper. How would she clean it off before bringing it back to the hotel room? She hadn’t thought this through.

“Shit.” She looked around the park for paper towels or something else to wipe the thing off. She bent and tried wiping it on the grass.
Damn.

“Eh, fuck it.” She chucked the damn thing in the trash and walked back to the bench. Crossing her legs, she leaned with her chin into her palm. Funny how there were so many benches in New York, but she rarely sat down to look around. Fotis was amusing to watch, like a bear sniffing and lumbering about. She thought of the view from her office window around the corner in Washington Square Park and how last year she’d spotted an older, well-dressed woman sitting down on a bench. The woman was tearing up a loaf of bread and scattering it for pigeons and crows. Not far away sat a homeless man with a dog, watching. The woman ignored him. Paula had begun to feel agitated and then angry. But as the woman left, Paula noticed two paper bags on the bench. One appeared to have a loaf of French bread. Days later she noticed the same two people as she sat reading e-mail, the same little ritual of each not acknowledging the other. The woman fed the birds before leaving two grocery bags. The man would wait until she was far enough away before making a move. Sandwiches and tubs of deli food and always something for the dog, too.

Paula had done the same with Sophie, a homeless woman who lived in the alley adjacent to Roger’s brownstone. Sophie used the alley as a latrine and changing room. Paula would leave tubes of toothpaste, rolls of toilet paper and old clothes in a plastic bag. She’d left food in the beginning, but Sophie never touched it. For ten years they’d never spoken—except once when the woman issued a grunt that gave up her name. Paula had done the same and reached out to shake hands, but Sophie ignored it. That was all the help Sophie wanted.

Fotis sniffed around the entire perimeter of the fence, taking particular care in some spots. After a while he came back and sat on Paula’s foot; craning his head all the way back, he looked at her upside down. She laughed. “You’re so funny,” she said in Greek. Her heart rushed open like a child’s embrace.

“Ella, micro mou,” she said endearingly; “come here, my little one,” surprising herself by kissing his muzzle. His tail thumped the dirt and he licked her face.

“Ready to go back?” she asked, so tired she could barely move her legs. It was after nine by the time they got back to the hotel; her cell phone rang as she opened the door.

It was Celeste.

“Hey,” Paula said. “I think I’ve left you a hundred messages.”

“Sorry, I’ve been swamped.”

“I figured. Did Eleni locate Theo’s nephew?”

“I’ll have you know Eleni stepped right up to the plate, pit bull that she is. Peter Fanourakis came forward and claimed the body and all is arranged.”

“Thank God.”

“Tell me how you made out with the dog?” Celeste asked.

“I’m sitting here looking at him.”

“You took him home?” Heavenly hooted.

Paula moved the phone away.

“No. You know Roger with his allergies. I’m staying at the Soho.”

“You’re staying at the Soho Grand with a dog from the pound?” Heavenly shouted.

“Why’s that so funny?” Paula asked.

“It just is; you’re such a goof,” Celeste said, and Paula heard her shouting the information across their apartment to Tony.

“Heav, he got a bath at Pets du Jour.”

“It’s still hilarious. So why didn’t you just take him home, ply Roger with a couple of Benadryl? Maybe it would help him find some new Law of Relativity.”

Celeste had no clue. No one did.

“I fed him Greek food. You know that stand by my office—souvlaki, spanakopita. He wouldn’t eat dog food—”

“Would you? Why do you think the Hump turned into such a fat wad?”

They both laughed.

“Seriously, what are you gonna do?”

“I—.” Paula looked at Fotis. “I’m not sure.”

“I’d take him, but with the cats and the Hump we don’t have room. Hey—I’ve already begged.” It sounded like she was cupping the phone with her hand. “Tony gave me the death stare.”

“That’s okay. I’m thinking of keeping him.”

“You’re gonna keep him?”

Paula moved the phone away from her ear.

“I’m thinking about it.”

“With Mr. Roger’s allergies?”

“Yeah, well, I’ll stay here a few days, think about things. Maybe I need a break.”

“A break.”

“Yeah.” The idea just came to her as she said it. “A break.”

“From Roger?”

“Among other things.”

“Does Roger need a break?”

“I don’t know what Roger needs.”

Silence.

“Which means…”

“Which means I don’t know.” She thought of Roger’s car sitting in the garage on Lexington. Too bad she didn’t have the keys, or maybe it was better that she didn’t. “Tomorrow night he’s off to France, Cern, the Collider. Another eight-week project. So—call it a natural break.”

“Okay…,” Celeste said slowly. “So why not just take your break at home?”

“I won’t stay in that house,” Paula cut her off. Just being able to see the corners of the hotel room was relaxing.

Neither said a word.

“I need to go on a drive, Heav.” The idea took form the instant Paula said it. “Out of the City, maybe even out of state. Go visit some friends in California from grad school.”

“I’m not saying you shouldn’t.”

They were both quiet with their thoughts.

“What’ll you do with the dog?”

She looked at Fotis. “Take him.”

She was still in contract with friends from Berkeley, including Bernard Kalgan, her major professor, and had driven back and forth to California so many times she’d come to know the I-80 exits by heart. She’d heard Bernie was getting ready to retire. Talking to him was soothing, not to mention helpful; he had a way of asking the right questions.