My Boyfriends' Dogs (14 page)

 

Turned out Steve wasn't the only guy who wanted to date Amber. My Amber-prophecy about guys getting over themselves and appreciating all that Amber had to offer was coming to pass. And she wasn't even officially in college. Not just the basketball players either. I faithfully e-mailed Mom details about Amber's many suitors.

In return, Mom sent Amber and me cutesy cards in the mail. She phoned every day and e-mailed. But she said she wanted us to get
some
mail that didn't demand we buy magazines at a giant student discount. I, personally, believed she had other reasons for writing. Her first card to Amber read:

My first note said:

Poor Mom. If she'd only known. She didn't have a thing to worry about. Bailey Daley was coming up empty in the boyfriend department. Two weeks into summer school, and I hadn't had anything that even slightly resembled a date. A couple of guys flirted with me in the cafeteria and in my French class, but they flirted with other girls, too. And I refused to put on blinders. Not this time. I'd learned my lesson with Went.

But I still wanted a boyfriend.

“You're obsessing over this boyfriend thing,” Amber told me one night as we lay in our beds in the dark and tried to get to sleep. Somebody on our floor had rap blaring from speakers the size of North and South Dakota.

“You think? Well, guess what. I'm done obsessing about having a boyfriend.”

“You are?” asked my obviously skeptical friend.

“Yep. From now on, no obsession. Only action.”

Amber groaned. “I already don't like the sound of this.”

I ignored my abundantly-dating roommate's careless comment. “I've had a lot of time to think about this. I'm about to launch a new Bailey Boyfriend Plan.” I explained my plan's main objectives: to land a boyfriend who only had eyes for me, and who had eyes for more than my body and what his body might do to mine. “I admit this hasn't been a huge problem lately, but one must be prepared,” I continued. “After all,
I am seventeen, with extraordinarily large breasts, a fantastic bod, and hair to die for. I am seventeen, with extraordinarily large breasts, a fantastic bod, and
—”

My mantra was interrupted by a pillow to the head. I picked up my own pillow and skillfully defended myself. When we stopped pounding each other and laughing ourselves breathless, we fell back into our beds. After a couple of minutes of silence—if you didn't count the blaring rap in the background—Amber said, “Bailey, there's more to life than having a boyfriend.”

“There
is
more,” I agreed. “I'd just like to experience it all with a boyfriend.”

Although my job at Grady's drastically cut into my boyfriend-hunting plans, by the second week at Grady's Gas and Snack of Columbia, I loved my job. Sarah Jean would have been proud.

Saturday we were crazy busy. Wanda, my manager, made me work the cash register. Once I got the hang of it, I liked it. I even started humming to myself between customers. Then before I knew it, I was singing.

“Girl, I like that song,” Wanda said, shouldering me from the register so she could ring up her customer.

“Sorry. I didn't realize I was singing it out loud.” I couldn't have named the song if I'd been on trial for it. I felt like I'd been caught singing in the shower, which was about the only other place I sang since the unfortunate event at the Millet Movies.

Wanda turned to me and stared hard. She outweighed me by a hundred pounds and was still beautiful. Her brown skin glowed, and her eyes sparkled like she knew wonderful secrets about everybody but just couldn't tell us yet. “You have a nice voice, girlfriend. Sing it out next time!”

Wanda was my boss, so I obeyed. Each day I grew a little braver, and by the end of the following week, I'd become the singing Grady girl. Depending on the age and mood of the customer, or the type of purchase, or maybe the weather, I had a refrain for everybody who came in. Thanks to my mom's unusual musical tastes, I knew songs and lyrics from every era.

Gas-only customers usually got a Beach Boys number (Mom would have been proud), like “I Get Around.” Truckers loved country, but sometimes at night you would have been surprised how long they stuck around for blues or jazz. I didn't work off stereotypes for my customers—I tried to get a feel for the person.

For our older customers, I'd sing something from the forties with lots of heart and memory. One grouchy old man, who had the face he deserved, was about to storm out of Grady's one morning, swearing that the doughnuts weren't fresh. But when I started singing “I'll be seeing you in all the old familiar places”—I'm not sure what the name of that song is, but I know the lyrics—he stood in the doorway as if frozen. He stayed that way through the whole song, three verses. And when I stopped singing, he turned around with tears streaming down his face, and he thanked me.

Groups of high school or college guys got purchase-appropriate rock. Hand-holding couples earned “I Want to Hold Your Hand.” It was fun. And could Wanda dance! Her favorite songs were blow-the-roof-off gospel. Sometimes, with the old spirituals, Wanda would join me singing. She couldn't help herself, even though customers usually headed for their cars at that point. Like I said, Wanda was a great dancer. I would have worked at Grady's for nothing just to hang with Wanda.

It was usually light when I walked back to the dorm after work. But one Friday night I volunteered to stay late and close so Wanda could keep her big date. When I left and walked up Broadway, the stars were already out. I hadn't gone far when I got the feeling someone was following me.

Bailey Daley, you are imagining things,
I told myself. But I didn't believe me. My heart sped up, and my legs moved faster. I definitely heard footsteps behind me. I shouldn't have been out alone that late. I should have called campus security to walk me home. I could have asked Amber and Steve to come get me.

I ducked up a side street and fumbled for my phone, hoping I'd lose whoever was following me. Heart pounding, I pressed my back against the brick wall until I heard the footsteps pass. Suddenly, I remembered Went that first day when I'd snatched him out of the jaws of Carly and she'd come looking for both of us. We'd hidden by the bank, pressed against a wall just like this.

My thoughts spiraled backward.
Went.
My first real love. I fell so hard, and I hadn't fallen that hard since. I could still see him, tanned, smiling, so at ease in every situation. I remembered how excited I'd been on that drive to Six Flags, how passionate Went and I were at his mother's empty apartment. I hadn't felt that way since Went. What if I never did again?

The pain came back, too—not as sharp, but there, like a shadow. I closed my eyes, and I was back on that wooden park bench, crying my eyes out, with kind Goofy sitting silently next to me, his furry arm around my shoulder.

At least I'd gotten Adam out of the deal.

All at once, something rushed out at me.

“Help!” I cried, not sure whether to run or stand there and pray myself invisible.

A big dog came bounding out of nowhere. It galloped straight at me, then lunged. Its giant paws landed on my shoulders. I opened my eyes and stared into the face of a king-sized Dalmatian. “Easy, boy,” I said. “Or girl. Sorry. Too dark to tell.” The dog licked my face. “You're just a sweetheart, aren't you?” It felt so good to be with a dog again. Only a dog could greet me so wholeheartedly.

I managed to get the dog's paws off me so I could check around for its owner. “Show me where you live, big guy.” We moved on down the side street until I could read the big sign over the brick-arched entry: FIRE STATION II.

“Dotty!” A man came running out of the firehouse as if it were on fire. He looked left, then right, until he spotted us. “Dotty! There you are.” He jogged up and grabbed the dog by her collar. “Sit!” he commanded. Dotty sat. “Bad dog,” he scolded.

“Dotty's okay,” I said, scratching the dog's ears. “She's beautiful.”

“I can't believe she ran off like that. That's never happened before.” The man looked a lot older than my mom. He was short, stocky, balding, and cursed with the longest chin I'd ever seen on a human. He wore an armpit-stained white T-shirt with tan pants and suspenders that made him look like a fireman.

“Is Dotty a real firehouse dog?” I asked.

He patted his dog's spotted back. “She's more of a mascot, aren't you, Dotty ol' girl?” He frowned over at me. “Still can't believe she went for you like that.” Dotty stretched her neck toward me, but kept sitting.

I reached over and scratched her. “I do love dogs. I miss mine.”

“You a Mizzou student?” he asked.

“Only for the summer.” We introduced ourselves, and Larry and Dotty walked me back to the dorm, even though I told them I'd be okay.

“Thanks again,” I told Larry as he tugged on Dotty's collar. The sweet girl didn't want to leave me.

“You come back to the station and hang out with Dotty anytime you like,” Larry called over his shoulder.

 

I stopped in to visit Dotty a couple of times after work. It helped me not miss Adam as much. Meanwhile, I tried to work on the dress-for-success part of my Bailey Boyfriend Plan. I didn't have the cash to buy new clothes, and Amber's didn't fit me. But she taught me the power of accessories—belts, scarves, ties, jewelry. Thanks to her, I was growing into a semi-funky style all my own—part retro, part fun.

The first Saturday I didn't have to work at Grady's, Amber had promised to watch Steve's basketball game and go out with him afterward. “Are you sure you don't want to come with us? ” she begged. “Or I could break my date with Steve, and you and I could do something. Steve would understand.”

“You are too good for your own good,” I said, checking out my semi-funky self in the mirror—denim Capris with the perfect braided leather belt, two neon camis layered strategically under a V-necked, shirred black top, and a beret. “What do you think? ” I turned to Amber for fashion approval.

Amber tilted her head and gave me two thumbs-up. “Funky. Love the high-tops, by the way.” Amber wasn't afraid to tell me when I missed the fashion mark, so I knew she meant it. “You could at least go to the game with me.”

I shook my head. “Not in the plan. I've decided I want a brooding, deep-thinking boyfriend who will challenge me intellectually, and not physically.” Amber laughed, but I ignored her. “So, I'm off to Beaman's Musical Instruments store. I walk right by there after work all the time, but I've never gone in.”

“Could it be because you don't
play
a musical instrument? ” asked Amber the Smart Aleck.

“Exactly. But that doesn't mean I wouldn't like a boyfriend who does. I've always wanted to go with somebody who played the guitar, or maybe the sax.”

“I played clarinet in middle school,” Amber offered.

“Have fun with the bouncing-ball boys, Amber. I'm off to find a deep, sensitive boyfriend.” I tipped my beret and strolled to the music store. It was the perfect day for finding a gloomy boyfriend. A dark gray sky promised a rain that refused to fall. A few sun-dried leaves tumbled to the sidewalk, too eager to give up their lives to wait for autumn.

I rounded the corner, straightened my beret, took a deep breath, and practiced my opening line in my head:
Do you think the world will ever see another Lester Young?
I really did listen to jazz, and I loved Young and Coltrane and Miles Davis. So I wasn't being a fraud. I could hold my own in music conversations, even though I couldn't play anything myself. So, one might ask, what was I doing in a store that sold musical instruments? I had my answers at the ready:
I keep thinking I have to learn to play the guitar sooner or later, because I play it in my head constantly.
Or
I just like being around drums. Doesn't everybody?

I was crossing the street to Beaman's when I saw the Dalmatian sitting out in front of the store. I walked over to her, and she wagged her spotted tail. “Dotty, what are you doing here? Where's Larry?” Something about the big dog didn't seem quite right. Maybe she was lost. Maybe it was the dark, threatening storm. “You wait here, Dotty.” She wagged her tail and danced around, ready to follow me. “Sit.” It always worked for Larry, but apparently not for me. “Stay?” I tried.

I slipped inside the music shop and looked around for Larry or one of the other firemen. The store was crowded, and I couldn't help noticing a nice array of guys scattered throughout the three rooms, and not a single girl in sight. “Larry?” I called.

A few guys frowned over at me, then went back to stroking drums and guitars.

I had to get Dotty back to the fire station fast and return to this boyfriend mecca. I dashed out of the music store as the owner was heading my way. The man probably thought I'd shop-lifted something, although I couldn't imagine what.

The Dalmatian greeted me heartily when I came out, almost knocking me down.

“Come on, Dotty. I've got to get you home. Larry will be worried about you.” The dog trotted along beside me as I back-tracked up the street and finally down the little road to Fire Station 11. I took hold of her collar in case she decided she didn't want to stay in the firehouse. Larry would have to start tying her if this kept up.