The Art of Wag (13 page)

Joel stepped out of his office, leaned on the doorjamb, and surveyed the commotion. “It looks like the convoy is ready to roll.”

“Wanna come?”

He glanced toward Kat’s office, where the sound of the sewing machine was winding back up to full motorized-power whirring. “Sure.”

Kat opened the back door and all of the dogs shot out toward the forest trail. Tessa and Linus ran out first and Lady and Lori followed, playing and chasing each other through the trees. Roxy and Chelsey strolled alongside Kat and Joel as they walked through the sodden brown leaves and pine needles that coated the ground. The vibrant green of the pine trees was muted by a cloak of cold fog that hovered over the forest.

Kat reached out to take his hand. “So how’s your arm?”

Joel looked down at his free hand as he flexed his fingers and then made a fist. “Much better. It doesn’t hurt when I move my hand anymore. Now it’s just my forearm that has a dull ache.”

“Does that mean you can do things like use tools?”

“Among other things.”

Kat squeezed his hand. “I’m glad you’re just about fully functional again. It’s getting cold and I’m hoping you’ll have time to fix up the door of the Tessa Hut before Swoosie and Rosa get here.” The Tessa Hut was a somewhat dilapidated outbuilding that had a chain-link enclosure inside, but only a marginally functional door. Although it had been used to house Tessa and other dogs, it probably wasn’t usable in the winter without significant improvements to the door.

“Yeah, it’s on my list. I should be able to get started on that soon.”

Kat stopped and waited for Roxy to complete a complicated sniffing ritual near a particularly interesting shrub. “There’s one other thing.”

“Did something else fall apart while I was gone?”

“Other than me, no. But I was thinking that it might be good if you maybe cut your hair.” At the expression on his face, she raised both of her hands in front of her. “I know. I wasn’t lying when I said I like the long hair. And the beard. There’s a lot to be said for no razor stubble. I really do enjoy the softer-faced you. And your hair is so wavy and sexy. I wish my hair was that good. Men always have such great hair.”

Joel grinned. “I suppose. Until they have no hair. Is there a point here?”

“Would you be willing to shave and get a haircut? I think it might help matters with my mom. She’s sort of prickly about stuff like that.”

“Prickly?”

“Um. Critical? Nasty? Mean? You know how I’m kind of insecure about what I look like? Well, now you know why.”

Joel nodded. “Okay. I get it. If you think it would help, I’ll go over to Joe’s barber shop after we get back. Maybe your mother will like the clean-cut me better.”

“Probably not, but it couldn’t hurt. And if nothing else, Tracy won’t be worried about you going native for a while.”

“Hey, I told you. I’ve still got all my real teeth. And I even floss regularly!”

Kat wrapped her arms around him. “I’m sure your dentist is very proud of you.”

Traffic was good and Tracy got to Shelby’s apartment without any more unfortunate stalling incidents. It was a relief to park The Turd at the curb and slam the tin-can-like door in disgusted finality. She had plenty of time before Rob got there to make herself look like a professional, instead of a hick who had just rolled down off the mountain.

The interview suit was easily the nicest article of clothing Tracy had ever purchased. It was a gorgeous blue that matched her eyes and fit her perfectly. She put her blonde hair up in a French twist and spent far more time on her makeup than usual.

Billy Bob decided to hang out in the bathroom with her and supervise. He sat on the toilet until he fell asleep and rolled off with an ungraceful thud onto the tile. Sometimes it wasn’t easy being an oversize cat. He stood up, looked around, and sauntered off, trying to pretend nothing mortifying had just happened.

Later, Tracy stood in front of the full-length mirror, stretched out a leg, turned her ankle, and admired her handiwork. Thanks to her matching blue pumps, her legs looked fantastic. Realistically, she didn’t ever look much better than this. Rob couldn’t accuse her of not trying to look the part, anyway. Perhaps today she’d adopt the persona of Annette, a fabulous artiste from a chi-chi LA neighborhood who lived in a loft with huge windows that let in perfect light so she could create important paintings that gallery owners fell all over themselves to sell. What would Annette say about the design of the Alpine Grove web site?

Tracy was interrupted from her artistic fantasies by a knock at the door. She sashayed over, opened the door, and leaned seductively on the entrance with her arm coiling up the side of the doorway. “Hi, Rob.”

Rob’s eyes widened as he took in the view. “Uh, eh, wow. Hi.”

Tracy giggled, put her arm down, and waved him inside. “Come on in. Try not to drool on the floor. Shelby wouldn’t appreciate that.”

Rob walked by her, put down his briefcase, and turned to face her. “You look...fantastic. I mean really, really good.”

“Thank you. And I hope you’re going to be more eloquent at this meeting.” She bent to grab her bag off the sofa, noting his admiring glance. Men were so predictable. But it was nice to know he appreciated her efforts. She held up the bag. “I brought a whole lot of photographs. I hadn’t looked at them too closely in a long time, since they’ve been hanging in my mom’s store forever. But it turns out my father was a fairly good amateur photographer. Even though I’ve seen these places a million times, some of the photos are really gorgeous.”

Rob covered his mouth with his fist and coughed. “That’s great. I knew you’d have some pictures.” He sucked discreetly on a lozenge. “It’s such a beautiful area—you’d just have to take photographs.”

“I suppose.” Tracy tilted her head. “Are you feeling okay? You’re not sick, are you?”

“No. Not really. I think I just have the beginnings of a cold. It’s no big deal. Probably just the smog getting to me.”

“Before we head out to lunch, can I make a suggestion?”

Rob swished the lozenge around in his mouth and nodded. “What?”

“How about we do something about your hair? It’s sort of, well, everywhere. Did you comb it?”

He looked a little irked as he ran his fingers through his wavy brown hair. “Yes. I always do. Every morning. But this week, I didn’t have time to get around to getting a haircut. When my hair gets past a certain point, it starts to have a mind of its own.”

Tracy studied him. “That’s obvious.” It looked like Shaggy had been zapped with a stun gun. She said evenly, “I have some hair junk that might help calm it down.”

“I’m not going to smell like a girl, am I?”

“No. It’s supposed to be unscented. The scented stuff tends to be too interesting to animals, which can be a problem if you’re a vet tech.”

“You’re a vet tech? You never told me that.”

“Well, I’m a veterinary assistant, actually. I’m not certified. Now you know that I’m a woman of mystery and intrigue who also spends a lot of time covered with dog hair.” She took his hand. “Come with me.”

He followed her into the bathroom, sat as directed on the dainty wire chair in front of the makeup mirror, and took off his glasses. Tracy squirted some gel onto her hands and ran it through his hair. Even if his hair was out of control, at least it was soft. He managed to sigh only once as she worked over his hair. Tracy turned to the sink and washed her hands. “There. All better.”

Rob leaned closer to the mirror and touched his hair. “Well, I guess it looks better. But yuck, I can’t wait to wash my hair.”

“It’s one afternoon. Do you think I like wearing these heels?”

“No.” He looked down at her legs and then back up at her face and grinned. “But they make you look hot.”

She tapped him lightly on the shoulder with her index finger. “Oh pshaw. You’ll give me a swelled head. Let’s go eat, so you can show me all those geeky diagrams.”

Rob smiled at her reflection in the mirror. “You’re gonna love it. This site could be so cool!”

“Whatever. Let’s go.”

After lunch and going over Rob’s web site diagrams, which he referred to as “wire frames,” Tracy was more than ready to get the meeting over and done with. It was time to earn her five hundred bucks and get back to her real life.

On the way to the meeting, Tracy determined that she was completely in love with Rob’s car. It was a newer Honda Prelude with every possible option. Power everything. And even a moon roof. The seats were plush, the stereo worked, and it didn’t stall out in intersections. There really was something to be said for modern technology.

Tracy snuggled up to the upholstery. Maybe he wouldn’t mind if she just hung out in his car for a while after the meeting. As she watched him shift gears, she so wanted to drive the car. Really fast down a winding road out in the country somewhere. With the moon roof open and the wind in her hair. In Alpine Grove, the Farm to Market Road would be just the place to really open it up.

She laughed and Rob took his eyes away from the road to glance at her. “What’s so funny?”

“This car is wonderful. Can’t we just drive around instead of going to the meeting?”

He patted the steering wheel. “Yeah, I got it not too long ago. It’s not one of the brand-new ones, but I like this body style better and it was more affordable. But no. We’re going to the meeting.”

Tracy crossed her arms in front of her and made a pouty face. “Okay, fine. It was worth a shot.”

Rob parked and got out of the car. Tracy ran her hand across the sleek lines of the Honda’s roof. “I love this car. I want this car.”

Rob bent down to grab his briefcase from behind the seat. He stood and looked over the roof of the car at her. “I’m sure she loves you too. Are you ready?” He pointed to a tall steel-and-glass building. “The office is over there in the Walsh Building.”

“I think the car would love me more if I got to drive it.

“Let’s just get through this meeting first. Then we’ll talk.”

Tracy and Rob took the elevator up to the eleventh floor. They were directed to a conference room that had floor-to-ceiling glass windows that looked out over the street. An easel with a pad of oversize paper sheets was in the corner.

Tracy sat down and fiddled with the handle of her bag. The huge gleaming mahogany conference table was intimidating. It probably cost more than everything she owned combined. Rob sat next to her and started lining up his charts and pencils, much as he had done in class. He certainly was organized. Good thing he didn’t know about the level of disarray in her apartment. The poor guy would probably have a coronary.

A tall gray-haired man with a crew-cut and military bearing walked into the room. Tracy and Rob stood up. Rob shook his hand and introduced Tracy to Ben Walsh, the owner of the firm. The older man smiled at her politely. “You look somewhat familiar. Have we met before?”

Tracy gave him her most dazzling smile and said she didn’t think so; however, she was pretty sure she’d seated him at the Italian restaurant. It would be seriously embarrassing if he figured that out. Maybe because he was seeing her out of context, he wouldn’t remember that in her real life she was a hostess. Or had been before she was fired.

Several other people came in and sat down. Ben introduced them as members of the marketing committee. Tracy mentally forced herself to embrace her imaginary Annette persona and not to be nervous about the fact that there were way more people in the room than she had expected. She thought the presentation was going to be for just one guy, not a
committee
. But Annette wouldn’t care. She would relish the challenge because she was a brilliant artiste with legions of adoring fans.

Rob spread out his diagrams on the table and started explaining how the databases would drive the web site and display information about Alpine Grove. Along with the real estate information, he planned on including a classified section and business listings, which could be updated easily using online forms.

After Rob had regaled them with nerdy stuff for a while, Tracy could sense the audience’s attention waning. Plus, Rob seemed to be losing his voice, which was distracting. At the restaurant, if customers started looking anxious or unhappy, they referred to it as a “bread-stick situation.” Back in the kitchen, shouts of “bread sticks on table two
stat
” meant “feed those people some bread sticks
now
before the mood turns ugly.” Tracy didn’t have bread sticks, but clearly something had to be done here. They were losing them.