What the Dog Ate (15 page)

“Nice to meet you?” Natalia said,
shaking Maggie’s hand with all the authority of a butterfly.
Oh dear, she’s got Olive Oyl’s voice and upper body strength too
.

Russell fetched everyone a beer and
asked if they’d help cut up veggies for the skewers.

“Sure,” Helen and Maggie answered
together, and the four of them gathered in the kitchen around the butcher block
island large enough to function as a helipad.

“We’ve got a bit of time,” Russell
said, pulling a plate of raw, cubed beef from the refrigerator. “The Mark won’t
be here until around five.”

“Stop calling him ‘the Mark,’”
Maggie said. Russell had been teasing her all week via email, causing her to threaten
to not show up. “It’s not like we’re out to con him. Are we? Am I that awful
that we have to try to pass me off on this unsuspecting man as something I’m
not?”

“No, you’re not that bad,” Helen
said, lopping the top off a zucchini. “I mean, come on, if they can put a man
on the moon, we ought to be able to put one in your bedroom.”

Russell laughed while Maggie glared
at them both. “Real nice, you two,” she said.

“We’re just messing with you,”
Russell said.

Maggie pointed her knife at him,
“Well, knock it off. You’re making me nervous.”

“There’s nothing to be nervous
about. Drink your beer and chill out.”

“He’s right,” Helen said. “Chill.”
She clinked her beer bottle against Maggie’s.

Maggie decided to ignore them. She
surveyed the gleaming counters and appliances. Either Natalia was a clean freak
or the kitchen didn’t get much use. Judging by the way Natalia methodically
dissected a bell pepper, Maggie figured it was the latter.
At
least Russell won’t have to worry about her fattening him up
.

Helen and Maggie finished chopping
their assigned veggies and watched Natalia wipe her slender, French-manicured
fingers on a towel and then drag a basket of cherry tomatoes to her cutting
board. She held one up, examined it and laid it down as if about to operate.

“I think you can leave those
whole,” Maggie offered.

“Yeah?” Natalia said in her
sing-song voice. “OK. Maybe one of you could help with the salad?” Maggie had
noticed Natalia’s tendency to end every sentence as a question. OK, but maybe
you could cut her some slack, she chided herself.
That one
really was a question
.

“I’ll help,” Helen said.

Maggie went to open the screen door
for Russell as he headed out with the tray of meat. Since the salad prep looked
under control, she followed him outside. She heard Helen ask Natalia how she
and Russell met and heard her reply, “Rollerblading?”

She stepped out into the warm
September evening air and the smell of jasmine.

Russell lowered his voice as he lay
the skewers on the sizzling grill, “So, what do you think of my gal? She’s
gorgeous, isn’t she?”

“She’s almost as pretty as you.”

“Hey, be nice.”

“I am. She’s beautiful. And she
seems nice. But I haven’t talked to her all that much yet.”

“Well, you should because she’s
sweet.”

“She’s got a sweet house, that’s
for sure,” Maggie took in the large yard with its inlaid stone patio and
built-in barbecue. A fountain gurgled in the corner and a wind chime that hung
from the redwood pergola overhead struck a single low note as a slight breeze
passed.

“Divorce settlement,” he whispered.

“Oh. Does she work?”

“Yes, she works. She’s not just a
pretty face, living off her alimony. She’s a sales rep for a pharmaceutical
company. And she used to be a Charger Girl.”

“Oh. Cool.” Maggie peeled at the
label on her near-empty beer bottle.

“Is that how you’re going to wear
your hair?”

Her hand went to her bare neck.
She’d twisted her hair up into a loose French knot and fastened it in place
with a banana clip and a serious dose of hair spray.

“Well, obviously I’d planned to
wear it this way. It’s hot... I thought it’d be cooler this way. Why? Do you
think I should take it down?”

“I just think you have really
beautiful hair. You should show it off.” They heard voices inside. “Gotta go
welcome The Mark.” He left her, twirling a loose tendril around her finger.

Does this look
stupid? Maybe he’s right. Maybe I should take it down. God, I never wear my
hair up. Why did I try a new style tonight?

She pulled the clip out and bent
over to shake the style out of her curls. They resisted, having been lacquered
into place with too much spray. She heard the back door open and Russell say,
“Mark, I’d like you to meet Maggie.”

She stood straight, knowing her
hair must be sticking out like some sort of Vegas showgirl headdress.
Blond-haired, green-eyed Mark moved toward her, his hand outstretched. She
stuffed the banana clip in the front pocket of her long rayon skirt, where it
stuck out like an appendage no woman should have.

They shook hands and she heard
herself saying hello and nice to meet you, while her mind screamed:
Well, this is going great. And he’s cute. Make up an excuse to
get in the house. Hurry; come up with something
.

“I need to go to the bathroom.” Her
mouth folded under the pressure from her brain.

“Oh. OK. Uh—” Before Mark could say
anything else, she left him standing there with Russell and bolted for the
house. She ducked into the powder room, avoiding Helen and Natalia still in the
kitchen.

Her imagination had been too kind.
Her hair stood out in tufts as if a bird had built a nest in it. In fact, it
seemed possible the bird might still be in there somewhere. She blinked several
times at her reflection, then pawed at her insane headdress. There was no
helping it; it was going to have to go back in the clip. She fought the stiff
locks back into place and reinserted the clip with such ferocity it felt like
she’d put an industrial clamp into her hair.

“Hey,” Helen said through the door,
“What’s going on? Come out; ‘the Mark’s’ waiting.”

Maggie yanked the door open and
glared at Helen. “Not you too.”

“Sorry. I was trying to lighten the
mood.”

“You couldn’t lighten my mood with
a thousand-watt bulb.”

“How about this then?” Helen pulled
a sweating beer bottle from behind her back. “
Una cerveza
pour vous
?” She held her free hand under it like Vanna White displaying
a prize.

“I was thinking of something a
little stronger. I hear Natalia’s a pharmaceutical rep.”

“Yeah, she told me? That that’s
what she does for a living?”

Maggie had to smile at Helen’s
impersonation. “What do you think of her?” she said.

“She seems harmless, I guess.”
Helen lowered her voice. “I’d like to have her on all my cross-Atlantic
flights. In the event of a water landing, she could double as a flotation
device.”

“Shhhhhh.” Maggie stifled a giggle.
“Seriously, though, do you think she could maybe set me up with something? Like
a Valium or twelve?”

“Malted courage is all you need.”
Helen pressed the beer into her hand. “Come on, let’s go outside. He’s just a
guy. He puts his pants on feet first like every other man. We hope. I mean,
maybe he prefers skirts at home. Let’s go feel him out, so to speak.” Helen
winked and Maggie followed her outside.

Throughout dinner, Mark told of his
harrowing adventures: rock climbing, caving, back country camping. Stories
flowed one after another, each with a greater risk of imminent death. Rising to
the challenge, Russell wedged in a few stories of his own: caught in a sudden
storm while deep sea fishing, a close call while scuba diving in Belize. The
three women barely got a word in edgewise.

Maggie asked Helen to pass the
salt. As Helen handed her the shaker, she and Maggie exchanged, “Can you
believe this guy?” glances.

This is a total drag, Maggie
thought.
It started off so semi-promising. He’s good
looking. He’s definitely not a nerdy accountant. But good grief, the dare devil
routine is getting old. I’d take a nice, quiet dork over this guy any day
.

Mark cut off the end of one of
Russell’s stories and addressed Maggie. “So, Russell tells me you’re into
biking.”

I thought
Russell said he didn’t tell Mark anything about me?

“Yeah. I am. Russell and I ride
along the coast every weekend.”

“Oh. Road biking. I didn’t realize
you guys were gutter bunnies.” He laughed and cut a piece of meat vigorously.
Maggie noted that when everyone else cut theirs it didn’t require quite so much
bicep action. “You ever mountain bike?” She shook her head and he continued,
“My friends and I were in Moab last year on this epic ride, and about five
hours in, my buddy totally bonks and does an endo off this ridge.” He told of
climbing down, rescuing his friend with his now broken leg, and scaling the
ridge again with his friend riding piggy back. He went back a second time for
the bike. Maggie noticed he never mentioned the height of the ridge, but told
the story as if it were a fifty foot drop.

The story ended, greeted by a “wow”
from Natalia and a “No way, man” from Russell. Maggie stood and offered to
clear plates. She took Mark’s and he smiled at her. She escaped to the kitchen.
I can’t believe I was so looking forward to this. I even
bought new eye shadow and lip gloss, for Pete’s sake
. She unloaded the
dishes into the sink.

“It’s nice to finally get a minute
alone.” Mark’s voice startled her and she spun around to see him leaning
against the butcher block island. “Now we can really chat a little.”
You mean I might get to speak?
“So, Russell tells me
you’re divorced.”

“Yes.” She nodded. “Or, well, it’s
in the works anyway. You too, huh?”

“Yeah, twice. It gets way easier
the second time.”

“Oh?”
I don’t
plan to have a second time. Maybe by your third, you’ll hardly notice
.

“So, I was serious out there,” he
said.

“Sorry, about... ?”
What the heck is he talking about?

“About taking you mountain biking.
I could show you the ropes.”

“Oh, uh—”

Before she could answer he added,
“It’s great for the love handles.” He pointed at her.
Does
he think I have love handles?!
He mimicked crouching over handlebars and
twisted this way and that as he descended an imaginary hill.
Hope he does an “endo” over an imaginary rock
.

“Sounds a little scary.”
Maybe if he thinks I’m a chicken he’ll drop the idea
. “I
better stick with riding in the gutter.” She turned and stacked plates, hoping
he’d get the hint, but he moved closer, backing her into the corner formed by
the L of the counter.

“It is a little scary, but that’s
the thrill of it. I could show you some thrills.” He reached into his back
pocket and pulled out a card. “You should know something about me.”
No, really, I don’t need to know anything more about you
.
“I’m the kind of guy who goes after what he wants. I can’t help it. It’s my
Scandinavian ancestry. Got a little Viking in me.” He raised his eyebrows at
her.
Well, you should keep him in there. Don’t let him out
.
“And I think we had a little connection out there...”
What
connection? I’m pretty sure what you’re referring to is called passing the salt
.
“Which is weird, because I’m usually not into redheads. They can be so freckly,
you know? Anyway, I’m going to give you my number.” He still held the card
aloft between them, like she might hold out a treat for Kona. “And I’ll expect
to hear from you by, let’s say Wednesday. I don’t go for all that game playing,
so don’t think playing hard to get is going to work with me. Unless you get hit
by a car while you’re out on your bike or something, if I don’t hear from you
by Wednesday, all bets are off.”

She was spared having to answer
when the screen door slid open. They both turned to look. It was Russell,
carrying the rest of the dirty plates.

“Hey, you two.”

“Hey,” Mark said. He turned back to
Maggie. “Wednesday,” he mouthed. Then he set the card on the counter and went
back outside.

“You two are hitting it off, huh?
What’s that? His card?” Russell came over and picked it up to check. “I knew
it. Suh-weet.” He waved the card in front of her.

“Oh, no. Not suh-weet. Stoo-pid.”
She plucked the card out of his hand and ripped it in two. She lowered her
voice and glanced out the kitchen window to the backyard. “Seriously, what the
hell were you thinking? Why would you think I would like a guy like that?”
Do you know me at all?

“What’s wrong with him? He’s good
looking; he’s fit.”

“Some of us are interested in a
little more than what a person looks like. The guy is so full of himself I’m
surprised he had room for the shish kabobs!”

Russell laughed. “He’s just
confident. And he’s showing off a little. You should call him.”

“No thank you. I’d rather be
alone.” She tossed the pieces of the card into the trash and went back out to
whisper with Helen about how soon they could leave.

~~~

On the way home in Helen’s canary
yellow Beetle, Maggie asked, “Why did I let myself get so worked up over a
blind set-up with such a pompous jerk? I shaved my legs. I ironed. I went
online and looked up small-talk tips—as if there was a chance for anyone else
to talk. I even tried this stupid new hairdo.”

“That hairdo’s not stupid. It’s
cute. Besides, welcome back to the wonderful world of dating. This is what it’s
all about: dashed expectations.”

“Swell.”

Helen laughed, “He was something
else. I never heard the words ‘spelunking’ and ‘belay’ so many times in one
night. My favorite was that one rock-climbing story: ‘There I was, hanging by
two fingers and I said to myself, Mark, you’ve got too much to live for!’”