This is Just Exactly Like You by Drew Perry

Author:Drew Perry
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Penguin USA, Inc.
Published: 2010-04-07T16:00:00+00:00

Rena calls him on the cell, and he explains it to her. “You did not,” she says.

“I did.”

“I’m impressed,” she says. “That’s impressive. I’m coming over.”

“OK,” he says. “But we don’t have much over here.”

“I’ll bring supplies.”

It’s Rena’s idea to move to the back yard. She says there’s something that doesn’t taste right about sitting on the front porch, watching for something to happen, waiting, maybe, for Beth to come by. Says wouldn’t the back yard be a nice, fine middle ground, instead. Rena as the voice of reason: There’s one way to measure. So he drags a couple more deck chairs out from the garage—there are twenty or thirty in there, fake plastic wood grain pressed into them, stacked up like a pool party might at any moment break out—and they’re set up out back now, the little radio tuned into the rock station. It’s a No Repeat Work Week on 104.7, The Wolf. Hen’s inside, reading his phone book and watching television. Jack brought the TV over, tried the cable for the hell of it, and it was still hooked up. A little miracle. Hen’s watching the Dead Dog Channel, which is what Jack and Beth call the local access show put on by the animal shelter. Hendrick loves it. Loves it. It comes on basically every day, but at different times. They can never figure out what the schedule is, so when they’re flipping through and it comes up, it feels like a gift. Fade in to the same guy, every time, standing in a beat-down grassy run with, say, Cleo. Female voice-over: Cleo is a lab mix, happy and playful. She’s great with kids. She needs some room to run. If you’re interested in Cleo, mention number 476C when you come to the shelter. Fade out and in again, and it’s the same man, same weather, same angle of the sun: It’s five minutes later. They’ve leashed Cleo, taken her back to her pen, brought out the next one. Shasta is a mature dog, so she’s calm and likes to lie down with her toys. Shot of some ruined red stuffed animal in Shasta’s mouth, shot of Shasta wagging. She loves to have her belly rubbed. If Shasta seems like the perfect companion for you, call about number 556A. Next up are two German Shepherd–mix puppies named for sodas and chips. Frito and Pringle. They run out of names at the pound.

He figures there’s at least another half-hour of the Dead Dog Channel to go, and Jack refills their drinks from a small cooler they’ve got between their chairs. Rena brought it. Ice, bottle of gin, a couple of liters of tonic, a lime they’re mauling into pieces with a box cutter he found in the truck.

Rena says, “So he’ll just sit in there? He won’t get into anything?”

“Like what?”

“Like he won’t stick his head in the toaster or anything?”

“I didn’t bring a toaster over,” Jack says. “But no, I don’t think so. He seems OK.” Somebody down the street is getting a little work done, maybe roofing.

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