Crazy People: The Crazy for You Stories (13 page)

So while I’m not exactly grateful to you for running off like a rat, I do think I’m almost glad it happened. At any rate, I have cut you loose from my list of troubles, since I have more than enough without you, the latest one being Mama, who thinks maybe she’d like to move into one of those condos, too, and you know Mama, she usually gets what she wants. Of course, from now on, I’m thinking I’m going to get what I want, too, so we’ll just have to see what happens.

Anyway, that’s what you missed while you were on vacation. Just wanted you to know.

Debbie

The last part of my master’s thesis was the proposal for a book called
Dog Days
that later became
Crazy For You
. If you’d like to see how a book evolves through the writing and publishing process, you can trace
Crazy For You’s
growth from the short stories in this book through the publishing proposal I sent to Jennifer Enderlin at St. Martin's Press to the final published book. The chapter below is from the proposal, which is the document a writer sends to an editor when trying to sell a book. A proposal has a synopsis of the plot, which tells her if you have a story, and the first thirty to fifty pages which tell her if you can write. Jen bought
Crazy For You
based on the chapter below. To see what the book was like when Jen was finished editing it and I was finished rewriting, check out
Appendix D
, the first chapter of the published
Crazy For You
.

Q
uinn saw the dog as she came out the back door of the high school, bracing herself against the January wind, her arms full of purse and gradebook and portfolios of sophomore charcoal drawings. She thought
No
, and then the dog skittered across the slick parking lot, scrambling away from the boom of a senior’s Mustang—Corey Possert leaving early from weightlifting, feeling pumped and macho—and she tried to be firm with herself. She was not going to rescue another dog, especially not on a cold afternoon when she had people to meet and things to do.

Then the dog slipped again as it tried to get traction on the ice before it went under the band van (NEW BERLIN HIGH SCHOOL BAND: THE BEST DARN HIGH SCHOOL BAND IN OHIO) parked against the building, and Quinn closed her eyes, knowing she was doomed, knowing she was going to have to go after it. But not alone. She was going to need help getting it out from under the van, and that would probably take two people because in her experience stray dogs that ran under cars were harder to rescue than the ones that came trotting up, sure they’d be loved. The ones that hid under things took some convincing that she was on their side.

The only person on the playground was a tramp in a red plaid hunting cap, hanging around the teacher’s cars. Not her first choice. Bill was still inside, cheering his weight-lifters on to greater groans. But if she asked him for help, she’d have to listen to practical suggestions, like maybe the dog had rabies, like calling animal control, like leaving it to find its own way home, as if it’d be out in this cold if it had a home. Darla was on her way to the restaurant, Steph was probably already there, her mother was never a possibility. And then there was Nick. The good thing about her ex-brother-in-law was that he wouldn’t make her mortgage her soul for his cooperation, he’d just say no or yes and then follow through. But he was across town at the garage, and the dog might be gone by the time he got here.

So she’d just have to do it herself. Quinn walked over and leaned her portfolios against the wheel cover, and then she knelt down in the slush and peered under the van.

The dog was little but not a puppy: wiry black body, skinny white legs, narrow head, worried eyes, everything held together with so much tension that the poor baby quivered with it.

I don’t need this
, Quinn thought, but she said, “You okay?” cooing the words to the dog for comfort as she patted the ground. “Come here, sweetie.”

The dog shrank back against the far tire and the wall of the building, its stilt-like legs stretched out in front of its body, pushing it out of the wind and out of reach. It looked cold and scared and hungry, and Quinn’s heart broke. No animal should ever look like that.

“Come here, baby.” She patted the icy ground again. “Come here. I’m sorry if I sounded grumpy. Let me get you some place warm.” She made coaxing noises, clicking her tongue, and the dog peeled its eyes back and quivered harder.

The back door to the gym slammed open to hoots and laughter and the slap of hands shoving and a shouted “fuck” countered with a muttered “dickhead.” Weight-lifting was over. The dog shrank back even farther, as if trying to disappear into the tire, and Quinn sympathized. A little weight-lifter went a long way.

“Lose something, McKenzie?” Jason Barnes said from behind her and without turning to look at what she knew would be there—six feet of grinning, clueless high school jock in a letter jacket and Air Jordans—Quinn said, “Jason, go get me two hamburgers, now.” She fumbled with her purse, not taking her eyes off the dog who didn’t take its eyes off her. “Here.” She stuck a couple of bills at him behind her back, knowing him doubly because he was in her first period intro-to-art class and because he was one of Bill’s weight-lifters. She could trust him with money. “McD’s is fine. Hurry.”

Jason held his ground. “McKenzie, in case you haven’t noticed, schools
out
.”

“And it’ll be back in tomorrow and you’ll be sitting in my class again. How do you want me remembering you then, Barnes?” Quinn ducked her head lower to see the dog. It was shivering, shuddering really, out of control. Its coat was so short it looked slick instead of furry; it could die of the cold; it would die of the cold if she didn’t get it home. “Will you get a
move
on, Barnes?”

“This is blackmail,” Jason said as he took the bills, and then he crouched down beside her. “Oh. You didn’t tell me it was for a dog.”

“Dogs need to eat, too,” Quinn said. “If it’s for a dog, I’ll go faster,” Jason said. Quinn took her eyes off the dog for the first time and Jason stared back, standard-issue broad-faced, brown-haired high school jock, confident, arrogant, and a little slow about the finer things in life.

Or maybe not.

“You like dogs?” Quinn asked.

“Better than people,” Jason said.

“No kidding,” Quinn said. “This one’s cold and scared and hungry. We’ve got to get it out.”

“I’ll get the burgers,” Jason ducked his head under the van. “Hold on, kid. Food coming right up.”

“Thank you,” Quinn called back to him as he loped off to find his car.

“If I’m in an accident, my parents will sue,” he called back to her but she was already focused on the dog again and barely heard him.

“Come on, baby,” Quinn crooned, and the dog watched her, not making a sound. Could dogs get so cold they couldn’t bark or growl? “Come here, baby.”

More scrunching over the ice and somebody else came to stand beside her in Nikes the size of shoe boxes. The same size shoes she’d seen beside her bed every morning for the past year, every Saturday morning for the past three years. Quinn felt her panic over the dog ease a little bit to let some exasperation in.

“Quinn?”

“Not now, Bill.” Quinn scrunched lower on the ice and reached farther under the truck to pat closer to the dog. “Come here, baby. Come on.” She felt Bill kneel down close beside her, casting a shadow over her, and the dog looked even more anxious at the darkness. It wasn’t Bill’s fault that he was huge, but he could at least notice that he cast considerable shade where ever he went. “You’re blocking the light.”

Bill leaned to peer under the truck and groaned in what Quinn felt sure was supposed to be benevolent good nature. “Not another dog.”

“I sent Jason Barnes for hamburger,” Quinn said. “I’ll get her out and get her warm—“

“I don’t suppose we could just call animal control.”

Quinn clenched her teeth. “When she’s calm and she knows she’s safe, I’ll find her a good place to live. And no, animal control isn’t a possibility, are you nuts?”

“They don’t kill them all, Quinn.” Bill put his hand on her shoulder. “Just the ones that are sick.”

If she shrugged his hand off her shoulder, he’d be hurt, and that wasn’t fair; it wasn’t his fault he was irritating the hell out of her lately. “I’ll handle this,” Quinn said. “Go home. Oh, and that Possert kid was gunning his motor in the lot again. Yell at him.”

“It’s stupid, but it’s not a crime.” Bill moved his hand and stood up, and Quinn let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. “Look, some of the boys are still inside. I’ll get them to stand around the truck and we’ll shoo it out and they can—“

“No.” Quinn tried again. “This dog is scared enough. I have this under control. Jason will be back with the burgers, and that will do it. Go home.”

Of course he didn’t. Bill stood by his woman, even if it meant kneeling in slush. After fifteen minutes of Bill’s rational explanations of why it was illogical for her to sit in ice to save a stray dog, followed by plans that involved terrifying the dog further or calling in professionals, followed by a short re-cap of the weight-lifting hour, Quinn didn’t care if she hurt his feelings.

“You’re driving me crazy,” she told him. “
Go home
.”

Bill nodded, understanding. “At least let me put your stuff in the car for you.” He stood and picked up her portfolios, gradebook, and purse without waiting for her answer. “You stay here,” he said, as if she’d been planning to follow him, and while Quinn watched exasperated, he walked across the icy lot toward her aged CRX as if slipping weren’t a possibility. It probably wasn’t for him; Vikings loved ice, and at 6’5”, 243 healthy blond pounds, Bill was a Viking’s Viking. New Berlin loved him, a coach in a million, but Quinn was having doubts. And it was so unfair of her to have doubts. She knew he’d warm the car for her, first opening the door with his key instead of hers, another thing about him that irritated her, that he’d had that key cut without her permission three years ago, but since he’d had the key cut so he could keep her gas tank filled, it was completely illogical that she should be annoyed.

“He fills your gas tank every Saturday morning?” Darla had asked after Quinn had been seeing Bill for a couple of months.

Quinn had nodded. “He gets up, goes out for doughnuts, and fills the car with gas. I haven’t bought gas since January.”

“Maybe it’s for services rendered,” Darla said, grinning, and Quinn rolled her eyes.

“That’s what I’m worth, a tank of gas and a couple of doughnuts?”

“Times are hard,” Darla said. “And of course you get all the football and baseball games free. There’s a plus.” She’d stuck out her tongue to show how much of a plus she thought that was, and Quinn had laughed and told her how nice Bill was. And the sex was good, she’d told Darla, clean, healthy, athletic, coach-like sex. At the time, she’d really thought it was a plus.

Three years later, he was beginning to seem like a curse, but it was hard to complain about a man who was unfailingly generous, considerate, protective, understanding, successful, and who’d shelled out hundreds of dollars in fossil fuel for her since 1982. Really, the dumbass was the perfect man.

“As soon as I get you out from under this truck,” Quinn told the dog, “I’m taking a serious look at my love life,” but she knew even as she said it that it was cheap talk; she’d have to be demented to dump a good guy like Bill. Behind her, she heard a car start, and knew Bill would be warming it up for her, cleaning off the windshields, tidying up the trash in her front seat. Why did all that good stuff make her want to scream?

The dog relaxed a little, and Quinn wondered if maybe she’d been taking the wrong tack, cooing and patting. Maybe the dog could sense the condescension in her voice the same way she could sense it in Bill’s. No wonder it was cowering under a truck.

The cold crept through her coat and the knees of her gabardine pants, and Quinn shifted on the concrete, trying to find a warm place. There wasn’t one. “You know,” she said to the dog, “we could be having this conversation in my car. With the heater going.”

The dog cocked its head at her, still tense but photogenic as hell.

“I’m freezing my ass off here,” Quinn said. “Why don’t we go be cute in the car?”

“You owe me. McKenzie.” Jason called as he jogged up beside her and dropped the bag on the ground. “Change is in the bag. I pass art for this, right?”

Quinn unwrapped the first burger, breaking it in half and then in quarters as she talked to the dog. “Look, see, I’m a good person. Food.”

She shoved the first piece under the truck as far she could and then moved her hand back, so the dog could come forward. It stared at the food, but it didn’t move. “It’s okay, it’s good,” she said, and felt Jason kneel down beside her.

Jason peered under the van again. “It’s too scared to take the burger. We’re going to have to go get it.”

“No,” Quinn said. “We can’t scare it more—”

“Look, McKenzie, sometimes nice isn’t the way to go.” Jason talked to her like an equal, which should have been insolent but wasn’t. They were equals. They were saving a dog. “If it was hungry enough for the food to get it, we’d have it by now. This part isn’t working.”

“So what’s your plan?” Quinn said.

Jason ducked his head to look under the van again. “It’s cornered against the wheel and the tire. It can run out the front or this side, that’s all. We toss it the burger pieces, I go under and grab it while it’s distracted, and you stay down at the end in case I miss and it shoots out the front.”

It wasn’t all that different from Bill’s plan, Quinn knew. But it was. Jason cared about the dog. “You got it,” she said and handed over the rest of the burger.

Jason squirmed his shoulder under the van to throw the pieces toward the dog, and Quinn stumbled to her feet on the ice and went around to the front of the van. She looked under it in time to see the dog lean toward the meat. Jason’s hand shot out and grabbed the dog’s leg, and then all hell broke loose.

This was one dog that didn’t want to be caught. The shrieking and yelping echoed under the metal van, and Jason cursed as he pulled the struggling dog out by one leg. Quinn caught the dog just as Jason yanked it all the way out. She scooped it into her arms and cuddled it to her as it squirmed. “Did you get bit?” she said, and Jason stood up, brushing ice and dirt from his letter jacket.