Earnest (11 page)

C
HAPTER
19

A
nna had expected Sheldon “Mad Dog” Horowitz to remind her of a pit bull, or at least a Rottweiler. He'd be muscular and menacing. He'd foam at the mouth and lunge at throats.

But what she met across the broad expanse of his oak desk was a Chihuahua of a man—short, slight, skittish. He had a small snub nose and translucent ears; from the window behind him, the sun shone through his ears and exposed small veins.

This is Mad Dog? Is Joy crazy?
The dissonance between his name and appearance jolted Anna. Nevertheless, she poured out her fears about Jeff 's demanding phone messages. “I'll do anything for custody of Earnest,” she said. She'd brought him so that Mad Dog could understand why this fight was so important.

Earnest had stationed himself at the door in his tripod posture, his front legs propping up his torso, the easier to bolt and run. The tension he picked up from Anna had put a grim look in his eyes. His preliminary verdict of this meeting was unmistakable:
Get me out of here. I have no wish to consort with a Chihuahua.

Mad Dog stopped taking notes and tossed his gold fountain pen on his yellow legal pad. “We need to talk about what could happen with a case like this,” he said. “First, tell me, where did you and Jeff get Earnest?”

“We adopted him from Seattle's Second Chance Shelter.”

“Do you remember in whose name?”

“Jeff filled out the form, so I guess it was his.”

“He also paid the fee?”

“Yes.”

Mad Dog seemed to prick his translucent ears at this information. “That could be a problem.”

“Problem” jangled Anna's nerves. “Jeff earns more than I do so he usually paid for extra things like that.”

“Hmmm.” Mad Dog leaned back in his leather chair, which swallowed up his small frame. “If Jeff signed and paid for the adoption, he's got ownership papers. They make your case more complicated. If you get a judge who views Earnest as personal property, like a sofa, he could rule that legally he's Jeff 's dog.”

At this shattering news, Anna's heart drooped like a parched prayer plant. “It didn't occur to me that we should adopt Earnest together. I never dreamed Jeff and I would break up.”

“Most couples say that. It's why lawyers recommend a prenup for pets. Sadly, dogs and cats outlive the average relationship, which is only about two years and nine months.”

About the length of Jeff's and mine
. Anna shrank back in her chair. “Doesn't it count for anything that Earnest comes to work with me every day? I'm the one who feeds him. I bathe and brush and walk him. He's nearly always with me. He's like my child.”

“Who pays his vet bills?”

“I do once in a while, but mostly Jeff.”

“What about food?”

“We feed Earnest the most expensive kibble and canned food. So Jeff always buys it.”

Mad Dog made a quick note on his pad. “Okay. You're responsible for Earnest's care, and you spend more time with him. But Jeff's responsible for him financially. A judge could conclude you're equally important to him.”

Back to the prayer plant droop. “I guess you could put it that way.”

“Let me tell you how things work.” Mad Dog pressed his fingertips together, forming a peak. “If you go to court, a lot depends on what judge you get. They're all over the map with pet-custody cases. Judges who see dogs as property could rule that you have to sell Earnest and divide the proceeds.

“Some judges acknowledge a dog's emotional value. Some consider what's best for the dog. A few hate these lawsuits and rule as quickly as they can, in which case Jeff 's adoption papers would give him an advantage. But more sympathetic judges might rule in your favor as Earnest's main caretaker. Or they could make you and Jeff share custody.”

Anna's feathers ruffled. “I'll
never
let Jeff have Earnest, and I won't share him.”

As she made this angry decree, she glanced at Earnest, and his feelings were as visible as the veins in Mad Dog's ears. He was pressing his body against the door as far as he could get from the unsavory Chihuahua. The ridges in Earnest's forehead said he'd been listening to the consultation, and it had upset him:
Do not sell me! I want fresh air. Take me to the dog park!

“How do we know what judge we'd get?” Anna spoke quietly so as not to stress Earnest more.

“We don't know. And the hearing isn't always pretty,” Mad Dog said. “One judge I know makes the dog come into court, has the parties call it, and rules in favor of the one it goes to. A poodle got so scared it went to the judge. Could be difficult for a dog.”

And a nightmare for Earnest, who tries so hard to do the right thing.
“I could never put Earnest through that. Maybe I should forget custody.”

“Absolutely not! We'll handle whatever comes up. That's what
I'm
here for.” Mad Dog seemed to puff up into a Doberman. He jutted out his jaw, and a vicious glint shone in his eyes. When he smiled, he exposed teeth too large for his face—strong, pugilistic teeth—snatchers, rippers, and grinders.

“I'd like to take on Jeff. You can't let a former boyfriend push you around. We can win!” he said.

“So there's hope?”

“
Certainly,
there's hope!” Mad Dog barked. “You said Earnest was like your child?”

“Yes.”

“I'd argue that he's your child substitute, and he should be considered according to child custody laws. As his major caretaker, you're his mother!”

“But maybe that's not enough to counter Jeff 's adoption papers.”

“Don't worry. We'll get around them,” Mad Dog said.

Anna wound her fingers around Earnest's leash, lying in her lap. “If we went to court, how much would it cost?”

“Depends on how long and hard we have to fight. Litigation's not cheap,” Mad Dog said.

“Do you have a ballpark number?”

“I can give you an example. Ten years ago a Phoenix couple spent over a hundred grand. They called in animal behaviorists to testify. The husband commissioned a study on canine bonding, and the wife hired a camera crew for a video of her walking and playing with the dog. It was the Cadillac of pet-custody trials, but you get the picture.”

Yes, Anna got the picture. The astronomical expense was as far out of her reach as the top of a hundred-year-old fir tree—if a termite were giving her a leg up.

Her expression must have revealed her dismay, because Mad Dog tucked his killer teeth behind his lips and disguised himself again as a Chihuahua. “You'd better think about this. Going into litigation is a big decision. Clients have told me that fighting over their dog emotionally drained them more than fighting over their kids.”

“I don't want anything to upset Earnest,” Anna said.

Apparently, Mad Dog's lust for combat
had
disturbed Earnest. He'd turned his back to them and pressed his nose against the door. His body said in the starkest terms,
You can't trust a Chihuahua. This is unseemly. I want to go home.

“Is there anything you can do to keep Jeff from calling me all the time?” Anna asked.

“He
is
the one who signed the adoption papers.” Mad Dog hung the threat over her like Damocles's sword.

“You can't make him back off? File a restraining order?”

“I'll write him a nastygram. It'll take some of the starch out of him.” Mad Dog chuckled, the glint back in his eyes. “Some bushwhacking will soften him up before we close in for the kill.”

C
HAPTER
20

O
ver the phone, Randy Grabowski sounded like the imperious despot of an inconsequential country. “You have to do a more detailed traffic impact study,” he said.

“Why?” Jeff asked.

“Because cars will turn off Rainier to park behind your building. They could hit pedestrians.”

Hardly likely.
“I see,” Jeff said.

“If the study finds a problem, you'll have to come up with another parking plan. We also want a traffic count.”

Are you joking? Our traffic engineer will fall asleep waiting for passing cars.
“Given the location, do you think the count is necessary?”

“If I didn't think so, I wouldn't ask.”

Grabowski's demands irritated Jeff, itches he couldn't scratch. He thought,
Go ahead, Grabowski
.
Jerk us around. It's part of my job
.

Jeff glanced at Anna's photo on his desk. He'd let her jerk him around about Earnest, but that was about to end. This morning he'd left her the voice mail he'd thought about all week. He'd told her that at eight tonight he was going to sit at her door till she let him in, and, once and for all, they'd end their misunderstanding. “I love you,” he'd said.

Jeff told Grabowski, “I'll get back to you with the traffic study. Six weeks?”

“I'd say more like three. A month, tops.”

You say, “Jump,” and I ask, “How high?”
“We'll do our best.”

Jeff was hanging up the phone when his assistant, Kimberly, set a certified letter next to his phone. From Horowitz, Mason, and Drudge, Attorneys-at-Law. It wasn't Mrs. Blackmore's firm, but maybe she'd changed lawyers.

Expecting a complication from Mrs. Blackmore, who was an expert in making Jeff 's job harder than it needed to be, he opened the letter. Expensive stationery typical of lawyers. The smell of ink. Letterhead in bold black print that bristled ego.

As Jeff read, his gaze became intense enough to slice the paper. He couldn't be reading right. He started again. Each of Sheldon Horowitz's words could have been a bullet Jeff was biting—and he was cracking teeth: “Harassment.” “Stalking.” “Over the line.” “No contact.” “With Anna
or
Earnest.”

No contact with Earnest! Some lawyer dared tell Jeff he couldn't see his own dog? Who the hell did Sheldon Horowitz think he was? What lies had Anna told him?

Jeff turned Anna's photo around to face the wall. Suddenly, it sickened him to look at her. All week he'd thought of her with tenderness, and he'd just left his loving message, which he'd regret to his dying day. Never would he have believed she'd sic a lawyer on him. And the preposterous claims! Harassment? Stalking? Where had she come up with those? She'd gone beyond the realm of decency into the land of ambush.

Reeling from shock, Jeff buried his face in his hands. He'd been a fool to trust Anna. To love her, he'd been out of his mind. He was embarrassed to have been so stupid. And to think he'd wanted to marry her!

He may have been wrong to leave that damned message, but, come hell or high water, he was going to get Earnest back. Slowly, Jeff 's shock expanded like combustible gas. It seeped into his mind, filled its darkest corners, and blazed into fury.

As his face turned fiery red, Jeff muttered, “This is war.”

 

From the sideline, Jeff clapped his hands and shouted, “Go, go, go!” His tyke soccer team of five-year-olds, the Mini Kickers, ran around the field, their skinny chests heaving under small green jerseys. From brightly colored camping chairs along the sidelines, mothers and fathers yelled, “Control the ball, Duncan!” “Behind you. Look, Joey!” “Kick it! Kick it!” Alan Biggs, an attorney and Jeff 's co-coach, who was even taller than he was, encouraged from the other side of the field.

Usually, Earnest, as team mascot, watched from the touchline. However, for the fourth Saturday in a row, he hadn't come to Heron Harbor Park. “Not feeling well” to explain his absence no longer cut it. His missed games were more reason for Jeff to be angry.

Both teams ran to the center of the field and clumped together. Jeff and Alan's boys were trying to get the ball and score with only forty seconds left in the game. They were behind, but another goal would win it. Jeff yelled, “Come on! You can do it! Let's go!”

Alan's son, Bobby, broke away from the others. He had the ball! He kicked it with the power of his entire forty-five pounds—but in the wrong direction, toward his own team's goal.

“Stop! Stop!” Alan shouted.

“Go back!” Jeff yelled, and pointed to the field's other end.

The Mini Kickers' parents wailed, “Turn around! Wrong way!” Pandemonium reigned.

Bobby kept kicking the ball toward the wrong goal. Clearly, he did not realize his mistake. He must have seen glory ahead, and he was determined to reach it. He closed in on the crossbar, took careful aim, and with one last triumphant effort, he sent the ball into the Mini Kickers' net and scored for the opposing team.

Bobby jumped up and down and waved his arms in victory, but slowly it seemed to register on him that he was the only person cheering. He looked at his father, then Jeff, then his teammates' sullen faces, and Bobby's grin slumped in confusion. As a sun of understanding rose in his vulnerable brain, his lips rounded to a small
O
of horror. He seemed to shrink, then crumble into small, embarrassed pieces.

Jeff ached with sympathy for him. When the referee blew his whistle to end the game, Jeff hurried down the field to assure Bobby that we all make mistakes, nobody gets it right every time in life, lapses of judgment happen every day. As Jeff himself had just learned by going along to get along with Anna and telling her he loved her in his damned voice mail message. He'd headed for the wrong goal and run the wrong way. His mistake had been far worse than Bobby's.

 

After Alan's wife took Bobby home and everyone had left, Jeff and Alan leaned back in their camp chairs with Cokes for a postmortem about the game and a last shot at sun before the autumn rains.

“I'll give Bobby a pep talk when I get home.” When Alan set the heel of his size-fourteen running shoe on his chair's seat, his long, thin leg looked like a collapsible yardstick.

“I was proud the other kids didn't make Bobby feel bad. Maybe all our talk about good sportsmanship is paying off,” Jeff said.

“I wish Earnest had been here. He'd have made Bobby feel better.”

“Yeah . . . well.” Jeff flicked sweat off his Coke can. “I think I need your help to get Earnest back.”

“Where is he?”

“Anna's holding him hostage.” Jeff let out a long and angry breath. He explained the whole miserable business, starting with his move from the condo and ending with Sheldon Horowitz's letter.

Alan's nervous laugh surprised Jeff. “What's so funny?”

“Horowitz. Anna's not messing around. He's a hard-nosed bastard. People call him ‘Mad Dog,'” Alan said.

“Great.” Jeff 's fury heated up a few degrees. “He accused me of stalking. Can you
believe
that?”

“He's setting up a paper trail. He's warned you. He'll be waiting to see if you do something stupid.”

Jeff shook his head. “But Earnest is mine. I want him.”

“If it means a legal fight?”

“What choice do I have? Anna's brought in Mad Dog.” Jeff spat out the name through contemptuous lips.

Alan fixed Jeff with his intelligent eyes. “You'd better think carefully. Litigation costs you.”

“I have deeper pockets than Anna does.”

“There's also a big price to pay in time and energy,” Alan said. “You'd be asking for more sleepless nights than you can imagine. If you think you're angry now, wait till Mad Dog goes after you.”

“It'll be worth it when I get Earnest back.”

“But you might not. That's the thing. Mad Dog's a diabolical genius at finding creative ways to screw people.”

Dismayed, Jeff looked at the harbor. On the beach, a heron was scratching fleas, and a golden retriever scared ducks into flight. The water was rough. Small white caps bobbed in the waves.

“So Anna has a maniac to represent her. What am I supposed to do?” Jeff asked.

“I'd go to mediation. You and Anna could meet with a neutral third party who'd help you figure out what to do with Earnest. It'd be a lot cheaper than a trial.” Alan rolled his Coke can between his palms.

“Anna and I could never compromise about Earnest,” Jeff said.

“You'd be surprised. When push comes to shove, people usually work out their differences.”

“What if we don't?”

“You declare an impasse. And you have the pleasure of watching Mad Dog grind you up and spit you out in court.”

Perish the blasted thought
. Jeff took his last swallow of Coke and crushed the can in his fist. Maybe mediation was the wrong goal. He could end up as vulnerable as Bobby Biggs, running in the wrong direction. But what choice did Jeff have?

“I don't know.” He wiped his hand over his face, covered his mouth.

“You don't have much to lose.”

“Can you set it up? Go with me?” Jeff asked.

“If you want. The trick is to get Anna there,” Alan said.

“She won't talk with me. You'd have to track her down.” Jeff watched the golden chase another duck.

“I'll give it a try,” Alan said. “No guarantees.”