Dogrun by Arthur Nersesian

Author:Arthur Nersesian
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: SOC035000
Publisher: Simon & Schuster
Published: 2000-08-25T04:00:00+00:00

chapter 11

I took doggie home, sat in my most comfortable chair, and started reading. After four pages, though, I fell fast asleep. This was not entirely the fault of the book. I was addicted to prickly, mile-a-minute audiovisuals. If sexy hulk courtroom lawyers weren’t prosecuting the only women they ever wanted, or hot ER doctors weren’t using internal paddles on the heart of the only lover who ever jilted them, I quickly got bored.

I was awakened by Carolina and her gay boyfriend, Dorn, opening the front door. This caused the dog to spring to his feet, which somehow incited the phone to ring. I answered. Alphonso invited me for a walk. I told him I couldn’t; I had work to do. Besides, our last episode had freaked me out, and I had decided not to see him again.

“Can’t I drop by your home?” he asked.

“I’m just walking out the door.”

“Where to?” he pressed, unable to get the hint.

“Some coffee shop in the area, probably,” I said, free as a condor.

“How about dinner?” he cut ahead.

“I’m already booked,” I explained.

He finally took the clue and said that he hoped we could get together again soon. Hastily I threw on a blue shirt and a black skirt, pulled on my pair of Kenneth Cole shoes, and went out to read the manuscript. Initially, I headed down to the Cobalt Colt, but dreaded the idea of bumping into Zoë. I couldn’t get over what a hypocrite she was, dating that bore Jeff, repressing her wonderfully assertive nature.

I deviated to Limbo on A. Feeling rich from the manuscript money I was about to earn, I ordered a latte and started reading. Within five minutes though, a fortyish, sinewy blond woman stopped before me. Her tightly defined muscles looked like thick branches of ivy swirling around the trellis of her tall, bony body. She was holding a cup to go.

“You’re not the Mary Bellanova who dated Primo Schultz, are you?” she asked stylishly.

I virtually dropped the manuscript I was reading. Anonymity was all I really had. “How did you know?”

“It’s on your shirt.” I looked down and realized that, without thinking, I had thrown on the stupid Kinko’s shirt, complete with my name tag pinned to it. In other Kinko’s stores, employees only had to display their first name, but Jeff, going over the top in his quest for managerial posterity, made us list our full name, which left us vulnerable to obscene phone calls from disgruntled customers.

“I’m Lydia. We spoke.” This was Minnie Belle’s friend, the tiny-brained dancer who initially gave me Sue Wott’s number.

“Hi,” I said, instead of shoo!

“You’re so pretty, which I have to confess is not what I expected from our conversation.”

“How kind.” Sarcasm.

“Did you scatter Primo’s ashes yet?”

“I’m still conducting my investigation,” I replied without even thinking about what I was saying.

“Did you ever speak to Sue Wott?”

“In fact, I did,” I said, wishing I could delete all files of my existence from this person’s cerebral hard drive.

“You know I meant to call and tell you, you should speak to Norma,” Lydia advised.

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