The Good, the Bad & the Beagle (11 page)

Veronica heard the squashy sound of rubber soles and knew it was Melody. Her feet always announced her entrance. It was kind of theatrical. Veronica liked it.

“Veronica?” Melody said in her unique melodious manner, turning everything into a question.

“Hi, Melody.”

“I checked with my mother, because she is very allergic to animal dander. I think I mentioned that? But she didn’t think it would be a problem if I went trick-or-treating with you, as long as I showered afterward. Did you ask your parents?”

Two weeks ago, Melody had asked Veronica if they could trick-or-treat together, but she’d also made it clear that she had rehearsals and that her parents didn’t believe in Halloween and that they were allergic to dogs and there were so many other complications that Veronica assumed it wasn’t going to happen. But now, it was happening. And she was already going trick-or-treating with the A Team.

“Well, no. I didn’t know you definitely wanted to go with me,” Veronica said, squeezing the button with all her might. She had barely figured out her costume and now she had to decide who to wear it with. She wished she could go trick-or-treating with just Athena. And if Melody came, that would be okay. That would solve everything. Sarah-Lisa was, as usual, the problem.

The Fourth Veil

Veronica and Mary had great success the first day fitting the dogs in their costumes. The second day was a different story. Fitzy’s passion for chewing ruined three veils before Mary and Veronica invented a system. Veronica held Fitzy’s nose in the crook of her elbow while Mary attached the veil. But Veronica was nervous that on Halloween, when Fitzy was not muzzled by human hands, she would eat through her veil. Veronica tried not to think about that. Or about Fitzy biting other trick-or-treaters. Or Cadbury eating too much candy. Or who she was going to say no to: Melody or the A Team.

Veronica was gluing little lapels to the black T-shirt she’d found. The next step was sewing the gold buttons in a neat line down the front. Cadbury lay on the floor, panting like the whole experience was too much for him.

“I think he’s really getting into the part, poor baby,” Mary said. “You know? Maybe the whole idea of being with only one dog for the rest of his life is a little too much. A little too overwhelming. Maybe he wants to stay a bachelor.” Mary had never married. Cadbury coughed. “See?” Mary said. “He is allergic to the idea of marriage. Like a lot of men, come to think of it. Now, tell me your pickle.”

“It’s bad. I said yes to too many people,” Veronica said.

“The more yesses the better, no?” Mary asked through a mouthful of pins.

“Oh, Mary.” Veronica sighed. “I can’t explain. I just can’t.”

“Two words. Open windows. Open windows.”

“Mary, can I say something?”

“Yes, my baby.”

“That’s four words.”

The French Philosopher

Veronica’s parents passed the Chinese food containers around at dinner. No one had bothered transferring the food into serving dishes.

“Who do you guys think I should go trick-or-treating with?” Veronica asked them point-blank.

“Well, which party did you get invited to first?” Mr. Morgan said. He unrolled a pancake and filled it with moo shu pork.

“I didn’t get invited to any parties, Daddy.” Veronica fumed. Was her father not listening? Or was he really unable to follow even the simplest idea?

“You know what he means,” her mother said. “Who invited you trick-or-treating first?”

“I don’t know. Not technically.”

“Technically? It is a pretty simple question,” her mother said, glancing at her father.
If only,
Veronica thought. She spread hoisin sauce on her pancake. “Well, Melody invited me a while ago but she had to check with her mother and she only got back to me today and Athena confirmed with me today also—”

Her parents raised their eyebrows, which meant they had just invented a psychological theory about something. Veronica wished they would just be normal.

“Marvin, pass the watercress. Honey, technically, Melody invited you first.”

“But you don’t understand. I didn’t go to Sarah-Lisa’s party and I think they’re still mad at me about that.” Veronica carefully rolled her pancake while her parents watched. They said nothing.

As usual, when Veronica wanted their advice, they kept their mouths shut. Why couldn’t they do that the rest of the time—like when she had no interest in their opinions?

Her father was busy trying to remove a fried dumpling from its foil tray with a pair of chopsticks. “You know, there is a very famous story,” he said, chopsticks in hand, “of a man who didn’t know what to do. His mother was dying in a hospital in France and he was offered the job of his dreams in Germany. ‘If I take the job, I will never see my mother again,’ he said. ‘If I stay and say goodbye to my mother I will never have this professional opportunity again. It is the job I always wanted.’ He was paralyzed by indecision. He couldn’t move. Much like my problem with this dumpling, coincidentally.”

Veronica and her mom couldn’t take their eyes off Mr. Morgan struggling with his chopsticks.

“So,” Mr. Morgan continued, “the man sought the advice of a famous French philosopher.”

“Marvin,” Mrs. Morgan said.

“Marion,” Mr. Morgan said.

“Use a fork.”

“Good idea,” he said, spearing the dumpling. “Yummy.”

Veronica tried not to watch the pork juice dribbling down his chin, heading for his tie. Mrs. Morgan handed her husband a napkin, which he placed on his lap.

“Your chin,” she said, and threw her hands in the air.

“Ah, thank you,” Marvin Morgan said, and dabbed his chin. “My story reminds me of Veronica’s predicament. Should she go with the one girl? Or should she go with the other girls? Veronica, do you see the connection with the story your wise and wonderful father is telling?”

“Yes, Daddy, duh. The man doesn’t know what to do. Neither do I.”

“Excellent. So what do you think the man should do?”

“I don’t even know what I should do. How do I know what that man should do?” Veronica found herself rubbing her finger on the caning of her dining room chair a little too hard.

“Marvin, tell your daughter what the philosopher said.”

“Thank you, Marion. The philosopher said: ‘It doesn’t matter what you do. Just do something.’”

“That’s it?” Veronica and her mother shouted, in unison.

“Daddy! That is totally unsatisfying and completely unhelpful and I still don’t know what to do.”

“That is because, my dearest daughter, you can’t be two places at once, so just keep your word.”

“Or, what if you tried to all go together?” Mrs. Morgan said.

“No, Mommy,” Veronica said.

What a ridiculous idea. No one told Athena and Sarah-Lisa what to do. They told you.

*   *   *

And yet, the next day, in the cafeteria, that is exactly what she found herself doing.

“My parents will probably like a bigger group,” Sarah-Lisa said. “With four of us they’ll think it’s safer. How many apartments are in your building?”

Veronica couldn’t believe it was so easy.

“Well,” she said, “fourteen floors and three apartments on each floor—”

“Are there really fourteen floors?” Athena asked. “Or are there actually thirteen floors and they call the thirteenth floor fourteen because they don’t want to give anyone bad luck by living on the thirteenth floor?”

“I hate when they do that,” Sarah-Lisa said. “Don’t the people on the fourteenth floor know they really live on the thirteenth floor?”

Veronica had wondered this before too. Her apartment building did actually only have thirteen floors but, like Athena said, they called the thirteenth floor fourteen.

“There’s only thirteen floors,” Veronica said nervously.

“That seems dangerous. On Halloween, I mean. Couldn’t we just go in my neighborhood where it is all brownstones?” Melody said. “I am afraid of the number thirteen? And black cats? And spiders?”

“Geez, Melody, Halloween doesn’t sound like your holiday,” Athena said. “Come on, let’s trick-or-treat at Veronica’s! We’ve never been to a real thirteenth floor on Halloween!”

Sarah-Lisa pouted. “But my building has so many more apartments, you guys. There are four wings. There will be so much more candy.”

“Yeah,” said Melody. “I don’t want any bad luck—”

“Please,” Athena begged. “We always trick-or-treat at your house. Let’s do something new.”

The idea that the A Team was coming through an open window, right into Veronica’s house, was thrilling. But because Veronica was Veronica, her joy was eclipsed by a scenario more terrifying than thirteen floors, black cats, and spiders combined: her mother acting out while her father told idiotic jokes.

She never should have asked everyone to come over.

Progress

On Halloween, Mrs. Morgan piled Veronica’s hair up and slicked it back with pomade and carefully drew two brown lines above her daughter’s lip. “God forbid, you look like Hitler,” she said before adding dramatic curls to the ends. “Although now you look like a nineteenth-century villain about to tie a young lady to the railroad tracks.”

Veronica peeked at the mirror nervously. “No, it’s good. I like it!” she said.

She didn’t look like herself. She looked like a man. It was a good costume. She picked up the book she had turned into her Holy Bible prop and put it under her arm. Maybe the Bible would protect them from thirteenth-floor bad luck. At least she wouldn’t be far from home if and when something unlucky happened.

Melody and Mrs. Jenkins arrived fifteen minutes early, which Mrs. Morgan said was indicative of a form of social anxiety. Fitzy, who also suffered from social anxiety, barked at the door like a crazy dog four times her size. Veronica put her leash on and held tight. You could never be too careful. She opened the door and almost fainted. Melody was breathtaking. She wore a long, many-layered white gown, a jeweled crown, and had silk flowers braided in her hair.

Fitzy chomped down on the hem of Melody’s gown. No one noticed until the animal began swinging her head back and forth, violently, like she had a stuffed animal in her mouth she was trying to kill.

“Oh! Melody! Don’t let her do that!” Mrs. Jenkins said.

“I’m not doing anything!” Melody cried.

Veronica was horrified. It was a matter of seconds before Melody’s whole costume would be in tatters. She’d be naked.

“Fitzy! Drop it,” Veronica commanded. She pulled Fitzy closer. Poor Fitzy. Her costume, which Veronica had worked so hard on, was awful compared to Melody’s. “Your dress is so pretty, Melody,” Veronica said, trying to reattach Fitzy’s veil. “Are you a bride?”

“Sort of. I’m Adalgisa,” Melody said, beaming. Veronica had never seen Melody so happy.

“I am sure she doesn’t know who that is,” Melody’s mother said from the vestibule. She sounded embarrassed. Whether about the lavish costume her daughter was wearing or that Veronica had no idea who Adalgisa was, Veronica couldn’t be sure.

“Adalgisa is the high priestess from Bellini’s
Norma
,” Melody explained.

“Oh,” Veronica said.

Mrs. Jenkins, meanwhile, had backed away from the front door and was covering her mouth and nose with her scarf. “Melody,” she said, her voice muffled, “your dad and I will pick you up downstairs at
nine p.m.
sharp. Okay?”

“Okay,” Melody said.

Mrs. Morgan sauntered in from the living room. Why couldn’t she just walk in and meet Veronica’s friends like a normal person? That was obviously her own form of social anxiety. “Hello, I’m Marion Morgan. Come in! We’ve heard so much about Melody.”

“I am extremely allergic to dogs,” Mrs. Jenkins said.

“Oh no!” Mrs. Morgan said. “And we have two tonight!”

That information sent Melody’s mother several feet farther away, and when the elevator doors opened she couldn’t get inside fast enough. They waved goodbye and the elevator doors closed. That was the end of Mrs. Jenkins.

“This is very special for me. To be here. With you? I will shower for twenty minutes when I get home to remove the allergens from my body,” Melody said.

“Oh my,” Mrs. Morgan said. “Well, what a beautiful costume! Marvin, come look.” Mr. Morgan appeared, making high-pitched sounds, which Veronica could only assume were meant to express delight.

“Oh! The opera friend! That is really a terrific costume! Just wonderful!” Marvin said. He encased Melody’s fragile hands inside one of his enormous ones. “Pleasure to meet you, Melanie.”

“Daddy, her name is Melody.”

“That’s what I said. Didn’t I?”

“No, you said Melanie.”

Mr. Morgan looked sheepishly at his wife for corroboration.

“You did. You called her Melanie,” she said.

“My name is Melody,” Melody said. “Melody Jenkins.”

“Yes, dear, most of us know that,” Mrs. Morgan said.

*   *   *

Minutes later Veronica opened the door for Sarah-Lisa and Athena. She was confused. They both seemed to be stuffed into a pair of khakis and a giant sweatshirt.

“We’re
conjoined twins
,” Sarah-Lisa said. “No one gets it, Athena. Why don’t people understand us?”

Veronica looked more carefully. Athena and Sarah-Lisa were wearing one costume between them. One oversize hoodie and one three-legged pair of pants. They were still getting used to their new girth and struggled to fit through the door. They thought this was hilarious. When they finally pushed their way in, they knocked Veronica into the hall table. Everything on it fell to the floor: keys, mail, magazines, and dog leashes. Sarah-Lisa and Athena apologized, promising to pick everything up.

“Sarah-Lisa!” Athena cried. “You have to bend with me! One, two, three … bend,” she said. But they were so giddy, all they could do was laugh.

Veronica had invited them, hoping this night would cement their friendship, but they showed up as
one person
. How much more left out could they make her feel?

“Athena, we are being so rude,” Sarah-Lisa said. She flashed a perfect smile and shook Veronica’s mother’s hand. “I’m Sarah-Lisa Carver. Such a pleasure to be here.”