Dog Training The American Male Part 29

Now it was Spencer's face that reddened. "Cruel? Nancy, cruel is deporting an illegal immigrant without his wife and kids. Cruel is sending a National Guardsman suffering from depression on a fourth tour of Afghanistan. Cruel is abandoning a six-year-old boy in the halls of the British Art Museum for two hours while his father engages in a game of 'Hide the Wienerschnitzel' with a young RAF nurse in a janitorial closet. That, madam, is cruel!"

"Oh . . . kay."

Spencer took a long, deep breath, calming himself. "My G.o.d, where did that come from? Don't know why I regurgitated that old steak bone. I suppose some things in our past are meant to remain buried."

Nancy's eyes welled up with tears.

"Oh, dear, what have I done?"

"It's not you," she said, biting her lip. "My father . . . on his death bed-he apologized for doing something to me . . . revealing a secret he never intended to tell me."

"Sweet Jesus, not another instance of s.e.xual abuse."

"G.o.d, no. He apologized for leaving more money to my sister, Lana. He said it was done . . . because she was his."

"I don't understand?"

"He was inadvertently telling me I was adopted. My parents never told me, I'm not even sure my sister knows; we're only a few years apart."

Spencer gathered her in his arms, holding her close as she sobbed against his chest. "A horrible way to find out, still, it doesn't change anything."

Sam heard her from the backyard and started barking.

"It changes everything. Unless I keep it to myself . . . ugh, listen to that stupid dog!"

"Clearly, he's attached to you. Even though you weren't his first owner, it doesn't matter. He still loves you just the same . . . as I'm sure your father did."

Nancy broke into fresh tears as she hugged him again.

"All right, enough . . . you're mussing my s.h.i.+rt up with snot."

She laughed. "Sorry. You're the only person I've ever told."

"And you're the first person I ever told about my father's adultery . . . excluding my wife and three therapists."

"You've been a good friend, Spencer Botchin."

"And you've been a wonderful surrogate daughter, Nancy Beach." He looked up as Sam's barking reached a frenzied state. "What say we go around back and teach your dog a few manners?"

"I'M TELLING YOU, Helen, I've never seen Sam so responsive. By the third shock he was heeling at my side like a show dog."

"He didn't try to pull off the collar?"

"Spencer said the shock is instantaneous throughout the entire central nervous system, there's no way for the dog to pinpoint the source."

"Too bad we can't invent something like that for my husband."

"Why? I thought things were better?" Nancy turned into the restaurant parking lot, waiting in line to valet.

"Vinnie treated a new patient the other day-a twenty-two-year old platinum blonde named Tonja Davidson. Tonja, who happens to be a cheerleader with the Miami Dolphins, just loved her Gynnie Gusher so much that she recommended it to all her cheerleader friends . . . every f.u.c.king one of them. Vincent is like a h.o.r.n.y teenager with a subscription to Penthouse, and all of Wanda's wicked love toys won't get him to even look at me."

Nancy inched her car forward in the valet line. "Helen, I'm sure it's just a pa.s.sing phase."

"Yeah . . . so is middle age. What's the ungrateful son-of-a-b.i.t.c.h need with me when he's got naked centerfolds parading around his office like he was Hugh Hefner."

Nancy looked to her right as the valet approached-her eyes catching sight of a lighted billboard. As the man reached for her door, she accelerated out of line.

"What are you doing?!"

"Let's skip lunch; I just had a crazy idea."

"Tell me. I like crazy."

She exited onto Glades road, pointing to the billboard.

CUSTOM ELECTRONICS.

You Design It - We Build it!

THE WOMEN ENTERED the store an hour later, having bought two electronic dog training collars at the local Pet Supermarket. They were greeted at the jewelry counter by a short gray-haired Israeli man in his sixties, who gazed lazily at them from behind c.o.ke-bottle-thick gla.s.ses.

"Can I help you ladies?" he said, his accent heavy.

From a brown plastic shopping bag Nancy removed the two still-packaged electronic dog collars. "We'd like you to rig these electrical devices to a man's watch."

"Why? Are you teaching your doggy to tell time?"

"Can you do it or not?" Helen asked.

"Pay me enough, I can do anything. Where are the watches?"

Nancy and Helen looked at one another, then searched the gla.s.s display case.

Nancy pointed to a large faced watch. "That one for me."

The manager removed the watch from the case. "That's a dive-master watch. Does your doggy like to scuba dive, too?"

"The watch isn't for my dog, it's for my boyfriend."

"And you're training him to tell time? It's a little cruel, don't you think? You should try bribing him with treats."

"Get me one just like hers," Helen said.

"Two dive watches it is."

"When do you think they'll be ready?" Nancy asked.

"I don't know, I never designed a watch with a shocker before. A f.a.ggala once paid me to rig a spiked neck ring for his gerbil. Is your boyfriend a f.a.ggala?"

"No. Look, is there any way we could get the watches by Thursday? I have an important seminar that I'd like to bring mine to as show-and-tell. It could lead to a lot more business for you."

"What a blessing," the Israeli man said, the sarcasm dripping. "Okay, Wednesday it is. But you have to pay for the watches now."

Nancy reached for her purse, only Helen stopped her. "This one's on Vincent." She handed the manager a credit card.

He glanced at the name. "You're a doctor?"

"It's my husband's card."

"Your husband's a doctor and he can't tell time? No offense, but I hope he's not the same schmendrik scheduled to remove my prostate next week."

RUBY TUESDAY.

Jacob was en route to his second service call of the day when his iPhone reverberated in his s.h.i.+rt pocket. "Ruby, I can't talk now."

"Then just listen. I spoke to the booking agent who handles the Improv at City Place. If she likes you, she said she'll commit to two Tuesday nights a month beginning next week."

"Wow. That's excellent."

"She wants to see your act right away; did you bring the Bush dummy with you like I advised you to do last week?"

"Yes, but-"

"Good. I'm going to text you the address."

"No need, I know where the Improv is."

"The tryout's not at the Improv, it's at a private home in Lake Worth. I'll meet you there in an hour."

"An hour? Ruby, I'm en route to a service call."

"That's a job, this is your career. See you in an hour."

MAYBE IT WAS the positive vibes coming from his meeting with Zev, but Jacob felt like his luck was improving -- the private home located in a gated community less than three miles from Jacob's second service call. Having fixed the client's computer in record time, he arrived only a few minutes late.

The driveway and adjacent curbs were lined with vehicles. Locating a parking spot, he gargled the remains of his bottled water to lubricate his throat, then grabbed the case with the Bush dummy and hustled up the driveway.

At least I'll be performing to a real audience this time. He rang the bell.

The door opened, revealing Ruby Kleinhenz-who was wearing a squirrel outfit-her long gray wig adorned with cute squirrel ears, her arms and legs in furry gray boots, sleeves, and paws. What was not concealed was her bare mid-section and b.u.t.tocks, the revealing gray-thonged undergarment quite s.e.xy.

Jacob stared at her, baffled and strangely aroused. "Ruby?"

"You're late. Hurry up; we need to get you dressed."

"What are you talking about? What is all this?"

She dragged him inside where he caught a glimpse down the hall of a dozen guests-all wearing furry animal costumes.

"It's a furry party," Ruby explained, dragging him inside a guest bedroom. "We need to get you on stage before the furry festivities begin."

"What the heck is a furry?"

She pushed him down onto the bed, tearing off his shoes and socks. "Furries are people who dress up like anthropomorphic animals. It's part fetish, part hidden persona. They're quite a creative bunch-just go with the flow. And they like to throw parties, so take this seriously." She unbuckled his belt, pulling off his dress pants.

"Hey!"

From an open closet she removed a brown and white puppy suit hanging on a hook. "Put this on."

Jacob slid his legs into the suit. "Wow, it's soft inside."

"You need a cute furry name."

"Rock-a-poochie."

Ruby smiled. "Where did that come from?"

"It was my favorite stuffed animal when I was growing up. What's your name?"

"I don't have one; I'm just dressing like this to help you get the gig."

"Come on, you need a name. How about Nutcracker Jones."

"Fine. Now stick your head on, grab Bush, and kick some furry a.s.s."

THERE WERE FIFTEEN of them, seated around the living room and lying in colorful cl.u.s.ters on the floor. Most were in full costume (fur-suitors), a few of the more provocative entries revealing thonged underwear or jock straps. There were tigers and a s.e.xy Siamese cat, a bear named Snuffy, a red fox and his lamb, a pink pony, a black and white cow (complete with udder), a purple beaver, and an a.s.sortment of dogs-each furry evoking the noises of their particular species.

Men and women, gays and straights . . . who could tell? All Jacob knew is that it was his most receptive audience ever.

Feeling giddy, he decided to end with an animal joke. "Mr. President, what's the most frightening experience you ever faced? Was it 9/11? The shock and awe of the Iraqi invasion?"

"There were two experiences that stand out, Rock-a-poochie. The first was when I choked on that d.a.m.n pretzel. Saw my life flash before my eyes . . . frightening. But the scariest experience had to be when I was lost in the woods back when I was governor of Texas."

"What happened?"

"Gave a speech on illegal immigrants, got lost on the drive back to the mansion and ran out of gas. Had to walk. Figured I'd take a shortcut and ended up in the woods. I was lost for three days-hungry . . . exhausted. In the middle of a dark and stormy night I came upon a farmhouse. I knocked on the door and a farmer and his wife answered. 'Please,' I said, 'I've been lost in the woods for days. I haven't rested. I haven't eaten. If I could just rest in your barn for the night . . .'

"The farmer said, 'Nonsense. We're good Christians; you'll sleep in our guest room tonight.' Well, they took me in, fed me, and then I fell asleep in their guest room. When I woke up the next morning, the farmer's wife cooked me a great breakfast. Good people. Solid Republicans."

"You must have been very grateful. How did you thank them? Money? Political favors?"