Dog Training The American Male Part 12

A Hispanic woman wearing a purple surgical top checked on Nancy. "You may have a concussion."

"Are you a doctor?"

"Dental a.s.sistant. I don't like the look of those gums. How often do you floss?"

Two squad cars arrived, adding to the chaos. Two policemen exited to eyewitness testimony.

"Blondie killed the woman; the chubby bearded guy shoved the body in the trunk!"

Jacob rolled over, gazing up into the barrel of a gun. "Don't shoot! No one died. There's no body!"

"Got a body, partner. Naked as a jay-bird. No pulse."

Neighbors armed with iPhones snapped photos of the naked woman.

Face to the asphalt, Jacob struggled to speak as his arms were twisted painfully around his back, the handcuffs biting into his flesh. "Jesus . . . it's a dummy!"

The Hispanic woman kicked him in the ribs. "That's my lord and savior you're talkin' about, you animal."

The cops argued over who should start mouth-to-mouth.

Nancy yelled at a third cop who was reading Jacob his rights. "Let him go, you idiot. It's a s.e.x-"

Her words were buried under another wailing siren as an ambulance arrived. Two Emergency Medical Technicians hopped out, one checking on the victim, the other opening the van's back doors to retrieve a Gurney.

"Officers, we'll take it from here. Wow, she's hot . . . oh, G.o.d, look at her face. Artie, bring a blanket, the hooker's naked."

Jacob was dragged to his feet in time to witness his s.e.x doll, now partially covered beneath a blanket and strapped onto a gurney, being loaded into the back of the ambulance.

Twelve minutes and two attempts with a defibrillator later, the Yoko Ono s.e.x doll was officially p.r.o.nounced dead.

TWO HOURS AND a coroner's examination later, Jacob was escorted from his Broward County Sheriff's Office holding cell. He was led to the front desk where Nancy was waiting, his red-faced girlfriend sandwiched between two of the arresting officers.

"Sorry, Mr. Cope," one smiling cop muttered. "Just a bad misunderstanding."

"No hard feelings, Mr. Cope," snickered his partner.

"I don't see what you a.s.sholes are laughing at. You were the ones giving mouth-to-mouth to her blowhole."

"ARE YOU SOME kind of s.e.xual deviant?"

"No." Jacob started the Volkswagen van's engine, his forehead pressed against the fur-covered wheel. "I was lonely. I just needed someone to talk to. Even if it was a doll."

She stared at him. Reaching out, she took his hand. "From now on, talk to me."

He smiled through the tears. "I love you. I'll get rid of the dog."

"No."

"No? I don't understand?"

"I'm giving him three months to straighten out, then we'll see."

Jacob bear-hugged Nancy, her blouse still harboring remnants of powder from the air-bag. "Three months is great. By then you'll love him so much you'll never want to let him go."

RUBY KLEINHENZ.

For Dr. Vincent Cope, the morning had not gone well. Fifteen Medicare patients in two hours, sandwiched around two cases of genital warts and a call from his wife reminding him their son, Dylan, had early hockey practice tonight.

He checked the chart outside Exam Room 3. Ruby Kleinhenz was one of his favorite patients a fifty-two-year-old divorcee with the body of a thirty year old. Since her divorce settlement, Ruby had had new b.r.e.a.s.t.s implants, her teeth bleached, and a Lifestyle Lift-a less-invasive face lift that had removed her sagging jowls and the last fifteen years of aging.

Wanda joined the gynecologist as he knocked and entered.

Ruby was lying on the exam table in a dressing gown, her jet-black wavy hair highlighted with a ruby-red streak.

"Morning, Mrs. Kleinhenz. My apologies for canceling our last appointment."

"It's okay, doctor. Were you able to save her?"

"Save who?" Vincent glanced at Wanda, who shot him a nasty look. "Oh, the emergency l.a.b.i.aplasty . . . yes. Looking at her now-you'd never suspect she pumped three kids out of that vag."

"Sign me up. I'm serious. I wasted thirty good years with that no-good p.r.i.c.k, Emilio, but boy did he have to pay out the a.s.s in the settlement. Let him keep the beach house, I told my attorney, I want cash. A million for every bimbo I caught him with."

Wanda's eyes widened. "Exactly how many bimbos did ya'll catch him with?"

"Enough to buy a share of an arena league football team. The Cougars-that's me. I'm a Cougar and I'm on the prowl."

"Good for you," Vince said, scanning her chart, "just take precautions."

"That's why I'm here."

"Mrs. Kleinhenz-"

"Ruby."

"Ruby, you don't need an I.U.D. While you may look thirty-five, your ovaries are still fifty-two; they stopped producing eggs years ago."

"Yes, but my thirty-six-year-old boy toy doesn't know that, and I want to keep it that way. So fit me for the I.U.D., then schedule me for that t.w.a.t lip surgery, or whatever you call it. The sooner the better."

"You're the boss." He worked a pair of rubber gloves over his hands, then helped Ruby secure her feet into the table stirrups. "Wanda, hand me the speculum."

Wanda was about to pa.s.s him the instrument when they heard a commotion coming from the outside corridor.

"Mr. Cope, you can't go back there! Your brother is with a patient."

"It'll only take a minute . . . Vince?" The door swung open and Jacob barged in.

"Jacob, get out of here, can't you see I'm with a patient."

"Oh, I don't mind," Mrs. Kleinhenz said, straining in the stirrups to look at the bearded young man. "Hi, there. I'm Ruby."

"Jacob. Vince's brother."

"Are you a doctor, too?"

"Ventriloquist. Vin, can I talk to you a minute?"

"No!"

"Dr. Cope, he's your brother. Whatever you have to say, Jacob, you can say it in front of me."

"Thanks. Vin, I need to borrow some money-twenty-five hundred. I'll pay you back as soon as I can."

"It's not for an abortion, is it?"

"What? No! It's for Sam."

"Who's Sam?"

"My German Shepherd."

"You named the German Shepherd Sam? Jake, seriously, you need help. What's the money for?"

"I need to fence-in our back yard. Maybe get Sam a dog house."

"Get one with a spare bedroom so you have a place to stay when Nancy throws you out."

"This was Nancy's idea; part of a three month reprieve for Sam. You'd be saving the dog's life."

"Speaking of saving a life, I saw an interesting video on YouTube this morning of two cops scrambling to give CPR to a naked Asian chick. Turns out it was just a s.e.x doll."

Wanda turned to Jacob. "Asian? I hear you like Asian women?"

Jacob's neck flushed. "I happen to enjoy the company of all women, thank you very much. Vin, can you spot me the money or not?"

"Not. This is a medical practice. Not a bank. And the next time you interrupt me while I'm with a patient-- Ruby slapped Vincent on his wrist. "What's wrong with you? Your brother needs your help to save an innocent animal's life." She turned to Jacob. "Are you really a ventriloquist?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"I'm hosting a black tie affair next Friday evening at the Ritz Carlton. We're still looking to add local entertainment-is your ventriloquist act entertaining?"

"The cops thought so," Wanda muttered.

Jacob smiled nervously. "I do a lot of policemen's b.a.l.l.s. I mean, I perform comedy for the cops . . . they laugh a lot . . . it's funny. Uh, how much does the gig pay?"

"Enough to take care of your dog. The show's on the fourteenth at six p.m. You'll sit at my table for dinner, then you'll perform during dessert."

"Sounds amazing . . . wow. Thank you."

"Very generous, Ruby," said Vin. "Jacob, if you'd leave now so I can treat my patient."

Ruby reached out and grabbed Jacob's hand. "Stay. These things can be tricky. You seem like the well-adjusted, supportive type."

"Yes. I've been told that."

Vin rolled his eyes at Wanda, who was holding her mouth to keep from busting out laughing. "All righty then. Slight cramping here, Ruby, while I take the pap smear . . ."

ANITA.

Nancy checked the time on the white foofie dog clock. Nine-oh- eight . . . she's late. Not a good way to start her first day with a new client.

Sam was out back, whining to come inside.

"Forget it, flea bag. Your days of sleeping on my sofa are over."

The doorbell rang, sending the dog into a jumping frenzy.

Nancy left the kitchen, heading down the hall. She paused to check her face in the hallway mirror, then opened the door.

Standing on the front stoop was a gum-chewing white woman in her mid-thirties, her short, mouse-brown hair spiked, her slender neck tattooed with three j.a.panese letters. She was wearing a black strapless tube-top, silver Capri pants and high wedge heels. Slung over her shoulder was a leather backpack.

"Anita Goodman."

"Don't we all. Sorry, I'm Nancy Beach."

"Nice ta make your acquaintance." The accent was a nasal Bronx, the handshake firm. Anita entered, looking around. "So where's the puppy?"

"The puppy? The puppy's out back." Nancy led her to the kitchen where Sam was pawing and scratching at the sliding door, muddying the gla.s.s as he attempted to gain entry and greet the stranger.

Anita's expression dropped. "That's not a puppy. That's a dog."

"No s.h.i.+t."

"Okay, here's the thing: Dogs are like people-the younger you get them, the easier they are to train. This dog's gotta be what? Four or five? In doggy years, that's like thirty. Ever try to teach a thirty-year-old a new trick?"

"As a matter of fact, yes. But I'd still like to try."

"Not try-do. In order to do, I charge thirty-five dollars an hour, plus any necessary supplies."

"Agreed. Uh . . . how many lessons do you think he'll need?"

"We'll know when we know, won't we? First, let's see how trainable he is. You said on the phone your husband picked him up at the pound?"

"My boyfriend, yes."