Klutzy Love (10 page)

When I told Mr. Kettle he shook his head while saying, “Sorry, that’s probably not a good idea, but I’ll let him sniff the smoke occasionally. I won’t be responsible for being the first owner of  a dog  with emphysema.” That was the last time I’d spoken to him, until now.

He explained why he was calling after all this time. “Legs passed away last year and I haven’t been able to think about getting another pet until recently. I decided to go visit the local pet store and see if they had a pet who would love and appreciate an old man. At first, all I saw were puppies and kittens and I didn’t think I had the energy or lifespan for that kind of commitment. As I was leaving the pet store, I heard the saddest whimper from behind the counter. It was a shivering, skinny, hairless dog. The little dog was wrapped in a checkered fleece blanket and tucked away in a small metal cage. What could I do but take the sweet thing home with me?”

Mr. Kettle was such a sucker—I mean, he had a big heart.

“Corny, I’ve grown extremely attached to Simon and want to make sure he’s happy. He has a few peculiar habits that I want to discuss with you. I would prefer that we talk in person. Your mom says you usually came over for Sunday dinner. Can you stop by my house when you’re done there?”

“Sure. I’ll see you Sunday. Do you still bake those awesome chocolate chip cookies?”

“I do and I’ll make sure there’s a fresh batch for you.”

“Yum!”

***

It was strange, Kari should have been home from her honeymoon and I hadn’t heard from her. I bet Pete was right and she thought I’d keep him. She was right—he had grown on me. If she changed her mind later, tough luck—she wouldn’t get him back.

Steve didn’t seem to mind if I brought Pete over for extended periods of time. We spent the whole weekend in and out of bed and I thought I caught a glimpse of Pete in the bedroom a few times. But I couldn’t be sure. I left Steve’s on Sunday afternoon and dropped Pete off at my place. I had a family dinner to attend and Steve had to work.

***

Sunday dinner at my parent’s house was always a big production. After a wonderful pork chop, mashed potatoes, and gravy dinner, with a few green beans thrown in for color, I waddled over to Mr. Kettle’s house. He promised me chocolate chip cookies so I refrained from a slice of my mom’s oh-so-creamy coconut cream pie. If he hadn’t baked the cookies, I still could go back and eat pie. Life was good.

Everyone in the neighborhood wondered why he hadn’t married and there were lots of rumors. I didn’t care; he was always nice to me. He always kept a meticulous yard and it hadn’t changed in all these years. It was strange, but I hadn’t heard a dog bark when I knocked on his door. He answered in a red, silk Kimono and I wouldn’t have recognized him if I had run into him in the store. He had the most spectacular head of curly auburn hair I had ever seen. The hair he had in seventh grade couldn’t compare to this.

In a split second, I scanned him from head-to-toe and noticed a few other things he changed in his appearance. There was a sign of Botox injections, maybe liposuction in the chin, and possibly a tummy tuck too.

I had given him a big squeeze and his mid-section felt exceptionally firm. He must have a man-girdle on. That was the topper and I couldn’t keep my big mouth shut any longer, “Holy cow, what kind of work did you have done? Tell me everything? Don’t leave anything out.”

He chuckled. “Corny, you haven’t changed at all. You still say whatever’s on your mind.”

He avoided my questions—bummer. “Go right in and meet Simon. He’s in the family room. I’ll be right in with a warm plate of chocolate chip cookies and milk.”

There was the saddest excuse for a dog in front of the TV I’d ever seen. He hadn’t sensed my presence. To the trained psychic eye, it seemed as if Simon spoke along with the TV announcer. I interrupted his dialogue, “Hey there little guy, what are you watching?”

“Lady, could you lend me $200.00 bucks? The TV advertised that Rogaine would grow my hair back.
I’ve never had any hair, but I’m desperate.”

I was stunned; this wasn’t what I had expected. “Why do you want hair—you’re a hairless dog?

“I’m skinny, bald, and cold.”
He looked at me as though I was nuts.

He had a big attitude for such a tiny dog and he was right about the skinny and bald part. “Tell me what’s going on. Maybe I can help.”

“Isn’t it obvious why I want hair? I want to be warm and a have the dignity that comes with having full, luscious hair. Look at my owner; he puts on that wonderful, soft mop every morning before he takes me for a walk. Everyone looks and comments on what great hair he has, then I see them snicker at me. The worst part is, I’ve been cold my whole life. The only time I’m warm is when my owner let’s me sleep with his mop. I love that mop, but it’s his mop, not mine.”

“Rogaine is made for humans, not dogs. It could make you sick and you’d still be bald. I’ll talk to Mr. Kettle about getting you warm dog clothes. That should temporarily help you with being cold, but I’m not sure about your hair.”

“Okay, but what if he thinks I’m too much trouble and gets rid of me like my last owner did?”

“Mr. Kettle loves you and that’s why he brought me here to talk to you.”

This was either an easy fix or a very hard one. It depended on how Mr. Kettle reacted. I found him in the kitchen, wringing his hands.
“
Corny, break it to me gently—I’m an old man. What did Simon say?”

“If you want to keep him happy, then you’ll have to make adjustments.”

“Absolutely, that’s why I called you. I love the little guy, but he seems sad.”

“For one thing, you need to buy him a wardrobe of warm doggy clothes because he’s cold and that’s only part of the reason why he’s not happy. The other part is he’s embarrassed because he doesn’t have any hair.”

Mr. Kettle was confused. “But Simon’s a hairless dog; it’s a breed thing.”

“Simon watched a commercial on Rogaine and wanted to buy a case. He’s desperate.”

“Oh my, it makes sense now. He likes to sleep with a particular item of mine. A
special
friend of mine opened a unique dog store in Bellevue called Pampered Pooches and it caters to the devoted dog owner. I can buy him all kinds of cute doggie clothes. As far as the hair goes, I could get him fitted with his own hairpiece. If he wants, we can have matching red hair and I bet two- sided hypoallergenic tape would secure it to his little head.”

“Simon, what do you think about his idea? Would it make you happy?”

That was a no-brainer. Simon jumped up and down. “You got your answer Mr. Kettle; he’s excited about shopping with you tomorrow. Red would be wonderful. It’s his favorite color.”

For my efforts, I got a plate full of chocolate chip cookies and a firm girly-hug. The evening was a success.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

It was time to face the self-defense specialist who Steve had strongly suggested. Since I wasn’t sure how I’d feel when I was done with my class, I stopped and picked up a 6-inch tuna sub and barbecue potato chips. I needed to give Pete at least a half hour of playtime before I left for class.

I had put on my most comfortable outfit. I didn’t need to be cute or sexy this time. The class was held at the Kingston’s Gym, which is about a ten minute drive from my apartment. Steve told me my instructor was female and was a take-no-prisoners kind of gal.

There were six other women in the class, all with about the same skill level as me, which amounted to zip. We learned practical moves that any woman could perform—information that would have been helpful a couple weeks ago, when I was assaulted in my bedroom.

***

My muscles felt used, but not abused, when I got home. I ran a bubble bath and ate my tuna sub and chips, while the tub filled. As I took off my sweaty clothes, I heard a knock at the door. I checked the peep-hole before I opened the door. It wasn’t like anyone would have, ‘Hey let me in; I want to steal from you’ written on their foreheads, but you never know when you might come across a stupid criminal. It better not be a criminal, because I wasn’t the least bit lethal yet.

Instead of a malfeasant, it was Steve with a loaded pizza and a six-pack of beer—my dream man. When I opened the door he immediately noticed my partly naked body and went on instant sexual alert. “You’re naked. How did you know I’d be coming over, baby?”

“I’m psychic. Take off your clothes, Stud and join me in the bubbles.” I got a pinch on my ass as he walked by me. In record time, we were naked and sated. We were both so tired from the long week, that after another quick romp, we ate our cold pizza and fell asleep.

I got up early the next morning and made coffee and six slices of toast for Steve, smothered with butter and strawberry jam. That was a gourmet breakfast to him.

***

By Wednesday afternoon I severely missed Steve’s company and luscious body parts.

“Call him. You’re not getting any work done and you won’t let me play with Ralph anymore. He’s serious about this job business now, isn’t he?”

“Yes, he’s going to do great. My resignation might throw him for a loop, but he’ll bounce back. You know, Ralph thinks the widow had a hand in his dad’s death. I might look into it for him and then charge him an enormous amount of money.”

“You’re ruthless, you know that?”

“I’m a savvy business woman. Since we won’t be here much longer, here’s a tack. Go knock yourself out.”

“Corny, you’re so good to me.”

“I know. I’m going to call Steve. Take your time.”

I wanted Steve’s hot muscular body on top of mine. I thought about the way he rotated his hips and then his love-stick would hit the
spot
—it drove me wild. And when Steve was about ready to blast off, he pumped his hips like there was no tomorrow.

All of a sudden my nipples pointed at the phone and I was out of control. I called Steve and immediately started in with raunchy smut, “Oh baby, I’m incredibly wet thinking about you inside me. I want you to do that thing you do with your tongue right now.” I was disappointed when I didn’t hear anything on his end of the phone. Could I have called the wrong number?

How was I supposed to know Steve was in a cop class held by the FBI? They were there to learn about new high-tech surveillance equipment and he left his cell phone on. Only officers from specialized units were selected to attend. He made a bigger mistake and answered his phone. As punishment for his cell phone faux pas, they had him answer it when it rang again and let the whole class listen in. Of course, I called Steve’s cell phone again. He answered on the second ring and I heard him take a deep breath. “Hello.” He sounded worried.

“Steve, I miss your luscious love stick and I’m going to suck it dry when I get a hold of it.” This time I heard him gulp and then he hung up on me again. But before he did, I heard someone ask, “Is that Corny on the phone?” Then the guy laughed. I didn’t recognize the voice because it all happened incredibly fast. I was tempted to call back, but the small, sane part of my brain said, “Stop now.” I wondered if Steve would call me anytime soon.

Since sex was out of the question, I needed a fast food infusion. I buzzed through Jack-in- the- Box and picked up a Jack’s Spicy Chicken Sandwich, onion rings, and strawberry milkshake. I was a stress-eater. The deep fried onion ring scent enticed me to grab one and take a bite before I left the parking lot. Owe! I burned my fingertips; those suckers are smok’n-hot. My cool milkshake seemed like a fast way to stop the burn. I pulled the lid off and stuck my fingers down into the soft, pink, milky concoction.

I happily sucked dairy nirvana through my straw, as I drove. Unfortunately, I wasn’t as alert as I should have been. I didn’t see the pimple-faced teenager in a beat-up Subaru Legacy, until he clipped my front bumper and sent me into on-coming traffic. My vision was severely impaired, due to my airborne milkshake, but I was still able to see another car head toward my passenger door at a high rate of speed.

That jackass had sent a text message right before he bulldozed me into the front plate glass window of the perfectly named, ‘Double Delicious Cupcake Shop.’ Glass shattered around me and my body was shaken like a rag doll.

My airbag deployed and smashed my pink milkshake into every crevice possible. After the shock wore off, I realized I was trapped in my Mini Cooper, although now it was a Micro Cooper. Uh-oh, Steve would be mad again. I woke up to the Jaws of Life, as it removed the driver’s side door of my car.

The fireman asked, “Uh ma’am, are you okay? Can you tell me if you have any possible injuries? We’ll get you out of there as soon as possible.”

“I think I’m okay.” When he saw the Jack-in-the-Box sack, I could tell he made the wrong assumption. I quickly defended myself. “The wreck wasn’t my fault,” I said, tears running down my cheeks.

Luckily, a witness dressed in a beautiful cupcake costume came forward. “I was outside advertising for our cupcake shop and saw this cute Mini Cooper driving down the road and then two stupid cars smashed into her and she smashed into our shop. It wasn’t her fault.”

The medics loaded me up in the ambulance and off I went to the hospital again. Hospitals should give out punch cards. You should get a discount for multiple rides in an ambulance. If you ride more than six times in a year, your seventh ride should be free. I was halfway there—what a sad state of affairs.

The cop on the scene must’ve run my name through the cop-girlfriend database. Because by the time I got to the hospital, Steve was already there. He sniffed me like a puppy and then swiped pink goo off my nose, tasted it, and sadly shook his head. “Corny, your car’s toast, but at least your noggin is fine.” He held my hand and stroked it.

An hour later, an impatient, tired emergency room doctor shuffled into my cube. “You’re lucky. There are no broken bones, but you have multiple contusions everywhere. Take it easy for a few days and try to stay away from my hospital.”

I couldn’t wait to hear what Ralph had to say about my new bruises tomorrow morning. Did I dare order more flowers for myself? No, because he’s trying…

Steve drove me home and by mutual agreement we didn’t call my family. I managed to get out a pitiful, “It wasn’t my fault.”

“How did you manage to crash into that cupcake shop, of all places? We’ve been staking it out. The department thinks it’s a front for drugs and prostitution.”

My mouth hung open the whole way home.

***

The crash had demolished my dinner. “Steve, I’m hungry. Will you make me a grilled cheese sandwich and heat up a can of tomato soup, please?”

“Yes. Does Pete need food too? He’s over in the corner chuckling like crazy.”

“He’s high maintenance, but I love him. Please bring him to me, that way I can keep my throbbing head still.”

“Here you go Pete. See Corny’s okay, she’s slightly banged up—again.” That was a direct hit.

“Steve, dinner was great, thank you. Would you mind if I took my Vicodin and passed out now?”

“I’m going home to get my clothes. I’ll be back in an hour. I’ll drive you to work tomorrow, since your car’s toast.” Another direct hit.

“I’ll be a drooling fool in twenty minutes. I’ll go to bed, that way you won’t have to carry me when you get back.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN