The Good, the Bad & the Beagle (5 page)

“Were they mad when Sylvie changed her name?” Veronica took off her striped cardigan and slid it underneath her legs. If popularity was truly in her future she didn’t want to mess it up by trying to copy the popular girls’ accessories.

“Um, yes,” Melody said.

*   *   *

“So, your mother tells me you were invited on a playdate,” Mr. Morgan said that night at dinner. Veronica helped herself to noodles in cold sesame sauce, which she was so sick of.

“Daddy, I am not a baby. It’s not a
playdate
.”

“Ah. Forgive me. What is it I should call it?”

“I don’t know. Going to someone’s house.”

“A Randolf girl named Athena Mindendorfer invited Veronica over. But Veronica says she isn’t going,” Mrs. Morgan said, obviously upset.

“That’s some name. Athena Whatsnedorfer? You’re not going? Why not?”

“Mindendorfer,” Veronica said. “I just don’t feel comfortable.” Which was true. Or at least part of the truth. The other part, which Veronica would never admit, was that she had no intention of acknowledging she was making friends at Randolf and proving her parents right.

“Of course you’re going. It won’t kill you and you might have fun.”

“Oh my gosh,” Veronica said, “as long as I don’t die, it’s okay? What if I almost die?”

“As long as you almost die, but don’t actually die, I think it’s okay too,” her father said. “I agree with your mother. Go to that girl’s house. Who’s ready for moo shu?”

Veronica’s grandmother always said, “You have to eat a peck of dirt before you die.” Veronica meant to ask how big a peck was. She wondered if in the end a peck of dirt had been what killed her grandmother. She hated being young enough to be forced into things she didn’t want to do. Mary said it was time for open windows. Randolf was supposedly an open window. She hoped when she went through the open window that was Athena she wouldn’t fall and hit her head and get a concussion. And die. Ugh.

The Goddess Athena

As they walked home toward the East River, Athena told Veronica she lived in a carriage house.

“I literally live in a hay loft,” she said. “My living room is where the horses that belonged to the rich people who owned the real house lived. It wasn’t designed for people. So don’t expect much.”

Veronica had never been to a carriage house or even heard of one before and the way Athena said it made Veronica think there was something she should prepare for. She could hardly wait.

The carriage house was set back from the street, hidden behind another house and covered in ivy. It didn’t look like New York City. It was tiny, made of wood, and perfect. Veronica could imagine Mrs. Mindendorfer placing all the objects in her little house with the same care and precision Veronica had taken while setting up her own dollhouse. She hoped Athena had a dollhouse. Veronica adored miniatures.

“Hi, goddesses. I’m in the living room,” a man said. Athena rolled her eyes. “How was your day?” the man continued. “Sarah-Lisa, I have that origami paper for you.” The man was lying on a beige couch in a haze of smoke. Athena clenched her teeth.

“Sarah-Lisa isn’t here, Billy,” she said, barely opening her mouth. Veronica didn’t get the impression Athena liked Billy much.

“I thought I heard someone come in with you.”

“You did, but it isn’t Sarah-Lisa.” Veronica waited behind Athena, looking around at the open living room. There was a balcony that went around the edges of the room. Veronica tried to imagine the room as it had been when horses lived there. She wondered what the balcony had been used for.

“Come here. Let me meet your friend,” Billy said. Veronica tried to identify the strong odor of the smoke. It must have been incense, or a candle.

“That’s okay. We have a lot of homework,” Athena said, and she took Veronica up the narrow crooked staircase. They didn’t go to the kitchen and have a snack, probably because Athena wanted to avoid Billy. Veronica was hungry, but she didn’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth, especially in an old stable. After all, she was at Athena Mindendorfer’s without Sarah-Lisa.

“Is that your father?” Veronica asked.

“No,” Athena said as they walked along the exposed hallway, which had a railing. Veronica would have liked a little more information. She half hoped Mary would come and pick her up early.

Athena was leading them to a cross between a set of stairs and a ladder. The two little rooms on the second floor must have been where they kept feed a long time ago. Or saddles. Or supplies. The house was interesting enough, but what really surprised Veronica was Athena’s bedroom. She had never seen a girl’s room like Athena’s. There were no toys in it. Instead of a normal bed, Athena slept on a daybed against the wall. There were more books in there than Veronica had ever seen in such a small space. Athena must be an avid reader, or else this room had been a library at one time. Dried flowers hanging upside down from black ribbons were all over the place, which Athena said she got at her father’s opening nights. He was a theater director.

The main attraction of the room was a swinging rope chair. It was suspended from big hooks screwed into the ceiling. It hung in front of navy blue velvet drapes tied back with colorful tassels. They were definitely not curtains. They were too fancy.

Athena put her bag on a little velvet chair (she called it a slipper chair) and, instead of sitting on the daybed with all the pillows, sat in the rope chair. Veronica figured Athena was relaxing, but it wouldn’t relax Veronica to sit on a chair that looked neither safe nor comfortable. Occasionally Athena put her feet on the ground so she could turn herself around and around until the ropes on either side got twisted.

Veronica used to do that on the swings in the park. She and Cricket would twirl the chains of their swings until they were tight and all the way twisted, and on the count of three, they would lift their feet and let the swings unwind in wild abandon. It always made Veronica dizzy.

She climbed up on Athena’s bed. She couldn’t get over the fact that Athena did not have a single stuffed animal. What had Athena done? Grown out of stuffed animals? How could a person not have a single soft thing from childhood in their room?

“My aunt brought me this from Paris.” Athena reached over and handed something round and heavy to Veronica. “Have you been to Paris?” she asked. Veronica examined the glass paperweight in her hand. It had a butterfly suspended inside. The poor butterfly looked like it was trapped and flying.

“No,” Veronica said. It figured that Athena went places like Paris.

“My aunt goes for work all the time and she took me. She always travels first class. Have you ever been first class?”

“No,” Veronica said, again.

“Oh my God, it is the most amazing thing. They have real glasses and real china and real silver and they bring you hot towels for your face and little dishes of warmed nuts before the plane even takes off. You get a menu and they actually bake cookies on the plane for you!”

Veronica was nervous about Billy falling asleep on the couch downstairs and setting the little wooden house on fire. What if she and Athena died on their first playdate? She would love to see the look on her parents’ faces when they discovered the playdate they’d forced upon her had in fact killed her.

“Do you like Randolf?” Athena asked.

“Yes,” Veronica said. “Because you guys are so nice. I was never that nice to a new kid.”

“I would love to be new. At Randolf, we’ve known each other for so long. Maybe I will go somewhere else for high school, but I doubt it.”

“I don’t like changing,” Veronica said. In fact, that had been a major selling point about Randolf. She wouldn’t have to apply to a new high school after middle school. Athena wound the swing chair tighter. Then she pushed off and turned and turned and turned, really quickly. Veronica tried not to look at the hooks she was sure would come loose from the ceiling.

“What would you want to change?” she asked. Wasn’t being Athena Mindendorfer the greatest thing in the world?

“Almost everything,” Athena said. “Anything. Everything. I wish I lived in an ordinary apartment instead of this. Wait till you see Sarah-Lisa’s house. That’s a nice house. And I’d like to live in another country. When I’m older, I will. I’ll be an au pair in France.”

*   *   *

Mary showed up at exactly five. Billy never got off the couch, and they saw themselves out. Veronica felt like she had been on a long trip.

“I think is going good! Your new school!” Mary announced.

“What makes you say that?” Veronica asked.

“Open doors, my baby. Open windows.”

“Speak English, Mary.”

“I am speaking English. Don’t make fun of my accent, my baby.”

“I’m not making fun of your accent. I am making fun of you,” Veronica said, following Mary inside a bodega. They picked up milk and sponges. Veronica eagerly took the bag from the Indian man behind the counter so Mary wouldn’t have to carry it. She loved helping Mary and whatever Mary did, even if it was ironing, seemed so appealing.

Athena and Sarah-Lisa were like that too.

Veronica felt years behind girls like Sarah-Lisa and Athena who were ready for foreign travel. When Athena left for France she’d probably go by ship and all her luggage would match. Veronica wasn’t going anywhere. Everything she wanted was at the pet store three measly blocks from her house.

“Open windows. You never heard that? It means
yes
. Not
no
. I think you know exactly what I mean. Walk through where there is an opening.”

“Well, I went through the open window at Athena’s house and nothing happened.”

“We will see, my baby,” Mary said. “Sometimes it doesn’t matter what really happens, only the way you remember it.”

Live from New York, the Esme Weiner Show

Simon was hunched over the register the next afternoon, digging in the cash drawer like a dog after a bone. “Veronica,” he said when he looked up, “I’m running a business. Not a petting zoo. When are you going to take that dumb beagle off my hands?” Cadbury was alone again in the back. She wanted to punch Simon in the face for calling Cadbury dumb.

“Simon, don’t you have somewhere to be? Like the bank or at a meeting with your accountant or something?” Esme said. She was cradling a labradoodle puppy in her arms. In addition to her usual assortment of safety pins she was also wearing a plastic smock. Some dog must be getting a bath today.

“Snap,” Ray said. Ray might wear his pants low like a thug but Veronica thought he was a chicken. He’d never talk back to Simon. He probably didn’t even have the guts to talk to Simon in the first place, let alone talk back. Esme, on the other hand, wasn’t scared of anything.

“I do have somewhere to be, as a matter of fact,” Simon said, surveying the three of them. He held a crisp twenty-dollar bill up to the light, admiring it fondly before putting it in his wallet. “And when I return there better be a lot more money in that drawer. Capiche? You got three hours till closing. I want one more big sale.” He grabbed his keys and walked out the door.

Ray glanced at Esme and Veronica thought if he could, he would tell Esme how much he admired her moxie. “You look like a shower cap,” he said instead.

“Really? You smell. Like you need a shower,” Esme said. Her smock squeaked when she walked and Veronica giggled. “Cadbury’s still in the back, Veronica. You can take him out if you want to.”

Veronica scooted to the back of the store.

“You know another reason labradoodles are a stupid breed?” Esme called out to anyone who would listen. “Their ears are so woolly they always get ear infections. It is practically cruel to create a dog that is going to be so uncomfortable. Mutts, I tell you. Mutts are where it’s at.”

“Why you always got to say something about everything? Why can’t you just, like, be happy or something?” Ray turned up the radio, getting lost in a song declaring life an endless dance party.

Veronica sat with Cadbury, who tried, enthusiastically, to get some good sniffs of Veronica even though his cone was in the way.

“Ray. Have you learned nothing from me?” Esme asked. “America is falling apart. There is no affordable housing. No middle class. No attention to infrastructure. It is just consume, consume, consume, waste, waste, waste.”

Ray gave Esme a look and turned off his radio. He walked toward her and stuck a rubber bone under her mouth like a microphone. “Please join us tomorrow for another hour of
Everything Wrong with the World
, with your host Esme Weiner.”

Esme laughed. So did Veronica, even though it seemed like Esme really should have a radio show or some platform somewhere so she could expound on all her favorite topics.

“Seriously,” Esme said, “we should be taking care of what already exists instead of just always inventing and buying new things. The earth and its well-being should be the religion we organize around. Don’t get me started on honeybees. Do you know that there is a village in China that had to pollinate the trees themselves? It took, like, a whole year.” She fussed with the hose and the knobs, feeling the temperature of the water.

“But, Esme,” Veronica chimed in, “aren’t you kind of saying that since puppy mills are so bad, dogs in pet stores shouldn’t be bought? What about Cadbury. You know how much I wish I could buy him.”

“Oh, my poor sweet innocent child,” Esme said. Veronica waited for the rest of that thought, but Esme turned to the puppy instead. “Here, how is this temperature?”

The labradoodle licked Esme, which Esme seemed to take as an indication that the temperature was good. She sprayed the puppy and managed to pay perfect attention to his shampoo as she went back to addressing Veronica. “Of course, Veronica, this is no life for Cadbury. I am just saying if I were God, there would be no pet stores, no puppy mills. There would only be a way to rescue and foster animals. Okay, my little hypoallergenic friend, you are clean.”

A wet labradoodle is not a pretty labradoodle. The little puppy looked ashamed. He shook himself off with a force that was impressive.