It's About Your Husband by Lauren Lipton

Author:Lauren Lipton [LIPTON, LAUREN]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9780759568679
Publisher: Grand Central Publishing
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

SIXTEEN

Rocky and I walk Simon to the corner, where he hails a cab. I put his spare keys in my purse, even though I suspect he will be back from his house call long before Rocky and I have expended my pent-up shopping energy. But no sooner do I set off down Columbus than Rocky swoons operatically onto the sidewalk. He’s so exhausted, the pose suggests, he can’t possibly make it another inch.

“He’s thirsty,” a giant, lumpy-faced man grunts from behind me. “You do know that if that animal isn’t properly hydrated, he won’t reach his full intellectual potential, don’t you? You need to carry a collapsible water bowl at all times.” He wipes his hands on his stained shirt and lumbers away. “There oughta be a law.”

“You must be pleased with yourself,” I whisper to Rocky as I haul him up and carry him under my arm, his legs scrabbling in the air, for two blocks until we reach a restaurant with outdoor tables set off from the sidewalk by a row of low planters. Gratefully I set him back down. He’s got to weigh fifteen pounds.

“Adorable boy!” A fresh-faced blond waitress, who could have been teleported directly from an Iowa cornfield, seats me at a prime people-watching table next to the planters. She hands me a menu but speaks only to Rocky. “Are you thirsty? Are you thirsty? Are you? Look, we have our own doggie drinking fountain.”

Running along one side of the building at Rocky’s chest level is a narrow water trough, tiled with a mosaic of dog faces.

“Don’t worry,” the waitress informs Rocky. “We have a special system that circulates and triple-filters the water to get out all the nasties. It’s cleaner than the water in Mommy’s kitchen!”

I watch Rocky slurp at the trough, his curlicue tail twirling in delight, and long for an intelligent human with whom to discuss the new depths of absurdity to which this city seems to sink on a daily basis. That dog water probably is cleaner than the water out of my tap. I’m sure it never comes out looking brown.

Rocky jumps up—the trough must in fact contain the healing waters of Lourdes—and makes a beeline between the planters for a dog passing by on the sidewalk.

I’m learning, though. I’ve already thought to loop his leash around my chair leg. Rocky reaches the end of the line and slingshots back toward me like a furry tetherball.

“Ha!” I shout exultantly.

“Woowoowoowoowoo!” he protests.

“I’d know that bark anywhere,” remarks the man walking the other dog.

I’d know that voice anywhere. It’s too bad Val and Kevin aren’t here to chant, “It’s nothing but a big small town.” Because the other dog is a Jack Russell terrier. And the man is Steve.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Iris and Rocky. Are you two following me? Never mind; don’t answer that. Mind if we join you?” Before I can utter a word, he squeezes through the planter-wall, drags over an empty chair, loops Jack’s leash under its leg, and makes himself at home.

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