My Boyfriends' Dogs (5 page)

Went squinted up at the marquee. “I get it. It's retro, right? Old movies?”

I could tell he was serious. “Nope. First-run only. Are you saying you've already had these movies in Los Angeles, California?”

“Not for a long, long time.”

“Huh.” I stroked Adam's ears, and he groaned with pleasure.

Went cupped his hands to peer in. “Think they're hiring? I take a mean ticket.”

“I'm sure you do, surfer boy. But the owner, Big Barry, takes all tickets. Hey! Maybe he'd let you put handprints out front the way they do in Hollywood.”

Went sighed and faced me. “So how did
you
get a job here?”

I considered how much of the story I should tell my first real boyfriend. “I sang.”

“You what?” He was doing a terrible job of trying not to laugh.

“I'd been hounding Big Barry for a job. Then one night he was showing a musical.”

“So you sang?”

“Not onstage. See, Big Barry sits behind that table inside and sells the tickets. Only he weighs three hundred pounds and moves so slowly that the line got long, and people got grouchy. So I came to the rescue. I took over and moved people through fast. But I had to do something more to prove to Big Barry that I was indispensable.”

“So you sang?”

“They'd come for a musical, right? So I gave them one. When I made change, I sang—like, ‘Give me a twenty. I thank you, sir. Now here's the change, but I'll give it to her.'” I sang this so Went would get the idea. “We sold out of popcorn when I sang popping songs at the refreshment counter.”

“Impressive. So he hired you on the spot?”

“On the spot. Same spot he fired me on two weekends later when the musical was replaced by a war movie.”

“Show business,” Went said sympathetically.

We moved on to Main Street Millet. A couple of freshman girls spotted us and waved like they were landing planes. “Hi, Went!” He waved back.

The muscles in my neck and shoulders knotted. “You sure do get around,” I commented, ready to shove those freshmen into oncoming traffic if need be.

“I do. And in very good company.”

I felt my muscles relax. “Thanks.”

“I was talking about Adam.”

We laughed and kept walking. I reached over and took his hand. I had never done that. I mean, I'd held hands with guys before. But I'd always waited for them to make the first move. Too big a chance of rejection. This time it was different. I'd crossed the line. Went's fingers wrapped around mine, then interlocked. A shiver shot up from each hand, electrically charged. I wondered if he felt it, too.

Went broke the silence. “So, what other job opportunities are there in Millet?”

“Oddly enough, all the ocean lifeguard slots are taken.”

He chuckled. “Probably would have been a long commute anyway.”

“Eight hundred miles, give or take.” It struck me that I hadn't had this much fun in a long time. Maybe never. And all we were doing was job hunting in Millet.

No wonder everybody wanted boyfriends if this was what having one felt like.

Went and I strolled along Main, Adam prancing between us. We'd come to the end of the old part of town when Went tackled me and shoved me into the bank alley drive-through.

“Hey!” I cried, struggling to get free.

He put his hand over my mouth and jerked his head toward Main Street. I stopped struggling and looked. Carly Fields was cruising Main. Went let me go, and we flattened our backs to the bank's brick wall like we were bank robbers hiding from the cops.

“I
thought
I saw a Mercedes back at school,” Went whispered. “But I didn't believe anybody in Millet would have one. Is it her dad's?”

“Nope. He drives a big one. He owns this bank we're holding up. Carly got her Mercedes on her sixteenth birthday. She does admit that hers is used.” A twinge of jealousy, or maybe fear, invaded me. What if Went wished he'd waited for Carly?

Went was staring at me, his face close to mine. “What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking about Carly's Mercedes,” I admitted.

“What about it?” he asked softly.

I stared into those green, green eyes. No way I could tell him what I was really thinking. I didn't want him to think I was the jealous type. “I was feeling sorry for Carly.
My
mom never gives
me
used gifts on my birthday.”

Went laughed hard. Then he tiptoed out and peeked down Main Street. “Coast is clear. On with the job hunt.”

We ruled out applying to Carly's dad's bank and continued up Main. The street jogged, then shot uphill to the highway. The town changed as sharply as the road curved. Behind us lay a tiny bridal shop, an ancient pharmacy, a photo shop, a used-book store, and a candy store. Ahead lay twenty-first-century America. Fast-food joints lined both sides of this stretch. Gas stations sprang up faster than a blinking stoplight.

“Now this looks promising,” Went commented, “if a little crass.”

“I heard that,” I said. “And second it.”

We struck out in every fast-food joint, but not because of Went. He charmed each manager. But when they refused to re-hire me, Went told them we were a team. It was the same story everywhere we went. At Millet Markets, Went had the owner eating out of his hand. “More than anything, Mrs. Hales,” Went said, concluding his job pitch, “I really want to get to know the people of Millet. And what better way is there than working in the heart of the town, the center that meets people's basic needs? ”

“We could use a few more like you around here,” Mrs. Hales said.

Went smiled over at me. “Great! Then you have room for my friend, too?”

Mrs. Hales frowned at me so hard I took a step back. “Bailey?”

“Afternoon, Mrs. Hales,” I chimed in, wishing I'd stayed outside with Adam.

She turned back to Went. “You, yes. Bailey, no.”

I understood. She liked me. She just hadn't liked my bagging methods. I'd gotten so bored after a week bagging items exactly the same way that I mixed things up for fun—yellow with yellow, red with red. It wasn't my fault strawberries and tomatoes had to go with canned tomatoes and red meat. “It's okay, Went,” I whispered.

“Mrs. Hales,” Went said, “if Bailey can't work here,
I
can't work here.”

Without the slightest hesitation, Mrs. Hales said, “Nice meeting you, Went.”

Outside, I kept apologizing, but Went laughed it off. Our last stop was Grady's Gas and Snack. Halfway there a dachshund, Bertha, waddled out of a bush and ran to greet me. Adam tried to get between Bertha and me.

“So you're, like, the Pied Piper of Dogs? ” Went asked.

“Something like that.” I sent Bertha on her way. But before we reached the top of the hill, two more dogs fell in behind me.

Grady's Gas and Snack looked like a million other quick stops—red awning over two rows of pumps, a handful of parking spaces out front, and a one-room snack shop inside. Sarah Jean Kinney was sitting behind the counter reading the
Millet Messenger
. She'd gone to school with my mom. If there were “good ol' girls” the way there were “good ol' boys,” Sarah Jean was one.

She looked up at us, then folded her paper. “Well, look who we got here. How you doing, kiddo?”

“Fine, Sarah Jean. How are you? How's Rudy?” Her son, Rudy, was still in elementary school. He'd been born with some kind of syndrome that kept him from holding on to skills he learned. Everybody loved Rudy.

“That boy's got it into his head he wants a horse. It's all he talks about.” As if she'd just noticed I wasn't alone, she turned to Went. “Who's your friend?”

Went introduced himself and explained that he needed a job. “I guess I'd like to show my mother I've changed since she moved to St. Louis. Before I see her again—it's been two years—I'd like to be able to tell her I have a good job.” He smiled at Sarah Jean. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have gone on like that. You're just so easy to talk to.”

By the time he was finished, I thought Sarah Jean might quit her own job just to make a place for Went at Grady's. She promised to talk to the owner.

When we left, I wasn't sure what to say to Went. “Listen, I'm sorry about things with your mother. I'm sure she'll be really happy to see you, no matter what.”

His forehead wrinkled. “Are you talking about that job stuff? That I need a job to prove myself to Mom?” He laughed and put his arm around me. “Bailey, I just made that up. I saw Mom last week. We're cool.” His arm tightened around my shoulder. “You're pretty cute, you know that?”

I wasn't sure I understood what had just taken place in Grady's, and I didn't really care. Went's arm was around me, he thought I was cute, and all was right with the world.

I had no idea what time it was when Went and I strolled up Ukulele Lane toward home. I'd lost track of time. Maybe there was no such thing as time on the other side of that universal line I'd crossed. To me, it felt like Went had been my boyfriend forever.

“I thought you were kidding when you said you lived on Ukulele Lane,” Went said when we walked under the green street sign.

“Didn't you notice Guitar Drive and Harp Road when we crossed them? We're a very musical neighborhood.”

“I see that,” he agreed.

Music blared from the corner house, where the four Johnson kids lived. I used to babysit for them, the worst job of my career. Our street was nothing to brag about. The houses were all small, like ours. Nobody paid much attention to lawns, not like they did in Amber's neighborhood.

“Ukulele Lane,” Went repeated for the fourth time. “So that makes you—” He cracked up, unable to finish the thought.

I confirmed it. “Bailey Daley of Ukulele Lane. I know. I sound like a Dr. Seuss story. Amber says that with this name, I have to be a songwriter when I grow up.”

“Or a stripper,” Went added helpfully.

“I hadn't thought of that.” But I liked thinking of Went thinking of Bailey Daley of Ukulele Lane as a potential stripper. What if my boyfriend was thinking of me as a sex object? Too cool. I could hardly wait to tell Amber.

Mom's van was parked in the driveway, and I spotted her inside it, wrestling with the garbage-pick table we'd scrounged that morning.

For a second I wanted to keep on walking past our house. It was pretty early in our relationship to have Went meet my mother. But sooner or later, a boyfriend has to meet his girlfriend's mother. “Hey, Mom,” I called, turning up the drive.

“Bailey!” she cried from inside the van. “I need help. Hurry!”

Went and I ran to the rescue. Mom was stuck between table legs, and the table was lodged in the van door. “Get me out of here, Bailey.” She tried to duck under the table, but even my tiny mother couldn't fit.

“How did you get in there?” I asked, thinking what goes in must come out.

Went brushed me aside and put one foot inside the van, under the stuck table. Grabbing the tabletop in both hands, he said, “I'll lift it, and you can duck out.”

True to his word, my boyfriend lifted the table.

Mom, in her bright-green-and-teal pantsuit, rolled under the table legs and out of the van. “I'm free!” she cried, lifting her arms to the heavens.

“You okay, Mom?” I wondered how long she'd been caged by the table, but I didn't ask.

“More or less.” She leaned in and whispered, “So that's Went.”

“How did—?” Then I remembered Sarah Jean at Grady's. “Man, news travels fast around here.”

“Where do you want the table?” Went asked, backing out of the van.

“I sure hope you didn't scuff it,” Mom said.

Went let go fast and stared at the table. “Wow. I'm sorry if I—”

“She's kidding, Went,” I explained. “Have you gotten a good look at that table? It's all scuffs.”

“Yeah,” Mom said. “How on earth did you manage to scuff up the whole thing in such a short time?”

Went's grin was a match for Mom's. “It's a family secret.” He stuck out his hand. “Went Smith.”

Mom shook his hand. “I know.”

“And you're Bailey's sister?”

I rolled my eyes. “Sorry, Went. She gets that all the time.”

“But it never gets old,” Mom admitted.

“Apparently, neither do you.”

Mom laughed. “Where did you find this boy, Bailey? Honestly, my daughter has been bringing home strays her whole life.”

As if on cue, Adam barked from inside the van.

“Adam?” I ran to the little dog's rescue. Somehow he must have jumped inside while we were rescuing Mom. I picked him up, and he licked me in great thanksgiving. “Poor baby,” I murmured. “Mom, this is Adam. I've known Adam longer than I've known Went.”

“That long?” she quipped. “I don't know about you guys, but I'm starving. Went, would you like to stay for dinner? What do you think, Bailey? Pepperoni and extra cheese?”

I could have hugged Mom for inviting my brand-new boyfriend to dinner. This is how it was meant to be. My boyfriend and I, my boyfriend's dog, and my mom, all having dinner together. “What do you like on your pizza, Went?”

His cell phone rang.

“Fancy California boy,” Mom commented when Went pulled out a slimline iPhone with enough bells and whistles to launch satellites.

My old-fashioned cell had three more weeks of probation remaining from the cruel and unusual punishment meted out by my equally old-fashioned mother, simply because the poor, hard-working cell phone had put in overtime—about one thousand minutes of overtime. Our phone bill, said my mother, the only witness and the hanging judge, equaled the national debt of half a dozen Third World countries. Man, I missed my phone.