BOONE - Part 1 of the HMB Doggie Series

CHAPTER 7

My provisions are already stocked: a pint of ice cream waiting in the freezer, microwaveable popcorn and a chilled bottle of wine. Not to say that I always pig out after my meetings with John, but depending on what kind of mood he’s in, it’s nice to come home to some comfort food after my ass has been verbally handed to me. Usually Eric would have a full glass of wine waiting for me so I guess I have to settle with pouring it myself. Woe is me.

I’ve decided to bring Boone along for the ride as well. Frankly I could care less if John approves or not. I don’t remember any “no dog” policies being posted in the offices so I’m taking my chances. Boone may even be a nice buffer between me and John.

Boone is still small enough to sit on my lap as I drive but I can tell it won’t be long until he’s relegated to the passenger seat. I’ve cracked the window, like I always do, so Boone can sniff all the wonderful scents.

I’ve never liked driving into the city. The traffic always sucks, parking is a nightmare and frankly I’m not a huge fan of crowds either. The anxiety always sets in the night before but luckily I had Megan, Boone and a mysterious pizza to concentrate on. My mind is still reeling from what happened and I try very hard to not let it distract me as I maneuver through a sea of cars. Even though I hate driving here, San Francisco never fails to amaze me. The beautiful architecture, so unique to San Fran, always makes me smile. I’ve always thought it would be cool to have a flat in the city, a place to go if I ever found the energy for a night on the town. Maybe my aversion to crowds could be cured. Who knows.

John’s office is, of course, right in the heart of the city and I have to circle the block six times before a parking space opens up. I use up every curse word I know in those six blocks.

“I fucking hate driving in the city,” I tell Boone as I try to calm myself down.

“Is no fun. I’s like the smells though!”

“I can only imagine what you can smell in this city.”

“Must investigate!”

We get out of the car and his nose is instantly to the ground, the walls, the lamp posts. If his fuzzy head could explode I’m sure it would. I feed the parking meter all the quarters I’ve got, cursing still for having to pay for parking. Say it with me…Night. Mare.

We make our way towards the office, stopping every two feet so Boone can sniff. I hold my breath because all I smell is piss and garbage.

Entering the clean and, thankfully, oder-free lobby of the office is like walking into Mecca after the fated dredge through the desert. The noises from outside get gobbled up by the sliding glass doors and I’m greeted with the sound of elevators dinging and the occasional ring of a phone. I smile at the reception lady and walk towards the bank of elevators. She actually stands up and ogles Boone as he walks by. I swear I see his tail puff up.

We ride the elevator up to the 15th floor, a trip that just about scares the crap out of Boone. Maybe we’ll take the stairs back down.

“Sorry buddy,” I say as I kneel down to stroke his back.

“So scary! Don’t like! No more!” When the doors open he bolts out like a rocket and practically pulls me off my feet. “No more! No more! No more!”

The receptionist Lynda is smiling and trying to stifle a laugh. I can’t blame her. For a dog who isn’t afraid of ghosts he sure is a wuss when it comes to elevators.

“Good afternoon Sal,” she says, “Who’s this handsome guy?” She walks around her impressive desk and kneels in front of Boone who is instantly on his back, basking in belly scratches, the terrors of the elevator all but forgotten. I take a moment to appreciate the scene. Lynda has been with John since before he took me on. She’s probably mid-fifties, plump and has the whitest shock of hair I’ve ever seen. She reminds me of what my mother would have looked like if she hadn’t passed away a few years ago.

“This is Boone. Boone, meet Lynda.”

“I’s have new friend!”

“He’s adorable Sal. When did you get him?”

“A couple weeks ago, after…” my voice peters out as I realize what I was about to say.

Lynda straightens up and looks me in the eye, “I’m sure you’ve heard it more times then you care to hear it, but I want to say I’m sorry. Eric was a prize.” She doesn’t hug me, which I appreciate beyond reason.

For once I’m able to control my tear ducts. I give her a small smile as I say, “He sure was.” He sure is.

She pats my shoulder as she says, “I’ll let John know you’re here.” She returns to her desk and I go to sit in one of the lush chairs adorning the reception area. I’m waiting a whole of two minutes when John bursts through the double doors and marches over to me. I stand as I say, “Hi John. Good to see-” he pulls me in and gives me a fierce hug, practically crushing my ribs and startling Boone out of his fur. Between the elevator and John’s outstanding presence I’ve probably taken a year off my dogs life.

“Good to see you Sal. You look thinner. Are you eating?” Leave it to John to start in on me before I even enter his office.

“Yes sir. I am eating.”

“Well eat more. You look like crap. And don’t call me sir.”

He steers me towards the inner sanctum. Lynda winks at me and gives me a knowing smile. He hasn’t even noticed Boone which I find rather insulting. Look at the cutest dog in the world, you bastard! I could easily turn into a helicopter mom.

We make our way into his office, an impressive corner room with windows that look out over the city, an overly masculine desk with overly masculine chairs and awards and certificates hanging all over the walls. John sits behind his desk with a huff. He’s always been a conundrum to me. He’s built like a linebacker, all broad shoulders and thick legs. His hair is jet black and jelled to within an inch of its life. His eyes are just as dark as his hair and his face is a chiseled piece of perfection. Or at least it would be if he wasn’t constantly frowning. He looks more like a prison guard then a literary agent.

“That your pup?” He gestures with his chin towards Boone, who is sitting next to my chair staring at John with weary eyes.

I clear my throat. “Yes. His name's Boone.”

“Good looking dog.” He picks up a pen and starts tapping it against his desk, a habit I’ve come to rely on. It’s a signal that the beating is about to commence. I sit quietly, like I always do, waiting for the ball to drop.

“Before we get started I just want to say I’m sorry about Eric. He was a good guy.” Niceties and pleasantries do not come easily to John and I can see that he’s extremely uncomfortable. I wish I could squeak out a few tears just to see him squirm.

“Thank you sir, eh, John. I appreciate that.”

He nods his head once, officially closing the topic.

He doesn’t rip into Wondering With You like I thought he would. Either my writing has improved or he’s taking it easy on me because of Eric. I can’t tell. Irregardless his notes are succinct, well thought out and, dare I say it, complementary. He gives me some rewrites and that’s it. Looks like I won’t be needing that ice cream tonight.

“Now…as for this piece you sent me yesterday,” he pauses for dramatic effect and it works. My blood pressure spikes and my hands go sweaty. I hear a soft growl from below and I pray Boone doesn’t attack my agent.

“When did you write that?” His expression is giving nothing away, much to my chagrin.

“I started it three days ago.”

This takes him by surprise. His black eyebrows are up at his hairline and his mouth is hanging open. “No shit? Three days?” I think I’ve surprised John once in my career and that was with my second book because it was that terrible. I’m praying to Baby Jesus this isn’t the second go-around. I just nod my head because I don’t what to show pride in a piece of work he may hate.

“Well…shit. That’s something else,” he pauses again *ARG* and starts his incessant pen tapping. If I was prone to hives I’d look like a lobster right about now. “What brought on the inspiration?”

Can’t you just tell me you love it or hate it already?!

“It’s actually based off a dream I had from the night before.”

“That’s fucked up.” Yes…thank you John. Just what I wanted to hear. I hear another soft growl from Boone so I reach down and start scratching his head.

“I is dog. I take him out.”

“It’s okay buddy,” I whisper down to him.

“Am I pissing your dog off?” Nothing delights John more than pissing anyone off, canine or otherwise.

“He’s just a little on edge,” I placate rather pathetically. This makes John smile because second to pissing people off comes making people uncomfortable. Just another reason Eric had words about him.

John swivels in his chair and spears me with his eyes as he says, “Nothing like a good guard dog though.”

Oh. My. God. Just make your point already so I can go home and eat ice cream! I’m on the edge of a panic attack so I barely hear the words come out of John’s mouth.

“I love it.”

“Come again?” Did I hear that right?

“I said I love it. There’s not one damn thing I would change about it. It’s creepy, it’s funny, it’s emotional. It’s probably the most intellectual thing I’ve ever read from you,” *backhand the crap out of me,* “And I want to see more of this kind of stuff from you.”

I visibly sag in my chair, much like I did with Megan. Relief washes over me in waves. He likes it. I can’t believe my ears.

“I’m sending it for publication today. I just need to know what the title is, what kind of cover you want…you know…all that mindless crap.”

“What about editing?” I’ve never had a book go to publication so fast and my head is kind of spinning because of it.

“Did it myself last night. Couldn’t put the damn thing down.”

I’m well and truly floored.

We proceed to go over specifics. He agrees with almost all my suggestions, another detail that rarely happens. I feel like I’m floating out of my skin and I rather like it.

An hour later John is walking me to the elevators. I’m so pleased with myself I can hardly stand it. This calls for a celebration. I’m thinking wine, popcorn and a Scrubs binge.

John turns me to him as we stand at the elevator and says, “I’m proud of you Sal. You did amazing work.” John has never told me he’s proud of me. I didn’t think he was capable of such an emotion. But his eyes tell me he isn’t yanking my chain.

“Thank you John. That means more to me then you could possibly understand.”

He slaps me on the back and smiles as he says, “No. I think I have a pretty good idea.”

Cocky bastard.

“Go home. Get some rest and give me more of what you’ve got. And for Christ’s sake, eat something.” The elevator doors have opened and he shoves me inside. I kneel down to pick up Boone since he’s started shaking like a leaf.

“Will do John. Thanks again.” The doors close to his smiling face and I head home in a cloud of bliss and dog hair.

~~~

I stop off at the pet store because apparently not all my provisions are stocked. Boone and I are celebrating tonight and he deserves some special treats just as much as I do. I grab some chewy treats, some bones, some raw hides *GAG* and anything else that looks like it might make Boone happy. Lisa is one hell of a sales woman. I can only hope this book does well because I end up spending $200 just on doggie treats. Money well spent, in my opinion.

I pull into the garage and Boone and I practically skip into the house. I turn on some soft jazz and change into my cozy sweats. There’s a nip in the air as the sun starts it’s decent into the ocean so I strike up a fire.

I pour myself a hearty glass of wine, debating on whether I want popcorn, ice cream or some of the leftover pizza from Eric. And yes, I am assuming that he ordered it for me. At this point I’m almost giddy with the prospect of Eric haunting me. I’ve already been talking to my dog and getting apt responses so I figure either something larger is happening in my life or I’m descending into the murky depths of dementia. I can only assume both will be pretty entertaining so I’m not too concerned as to which one it is.

I’m reaching for a bag of popcorn to stuff in the microwave when the doorbell rings and Boone starts yapping and prancing around my feet.

“Visitor! We have visitor!”

I laugh down at his happy face as I say, “I know buddy. Today is a good day for guests. Let’s go see who it is.”

It’s Megan and James, naturally. Megan is holding a huge bag of Chinese food and James has two bottles of champagne tucked under his arm. I’d texted them when leaving the city saying I had good news but I hadn’t expected them to drop by with libations and empty calories. Whatever, I’ll take it.

After giving Boone ample amounts of love, they charge at me with hugs.

“Tell us this good news, woman. I’ve been on pins and needles all afternoon,” she holds up the Chinese like a trophy and says, “And since Eric screwed me last night I figure we could celebrate my way.” With that she swings her hips into my kitchen and starts unloading container after container.

James leans in and whispers, “I couldn’t stop her. She’s all bent out of shape about the pizza. Speaking of, I need every freaking detail. That’s some crazy shit, girlie.”

I nudge him with my shoulder and whisper back, “You have no idea, dude.”

“Stop whispering like fucking schoolgirls and come get some grub!”

James and I look at each other in unison, smiling the same smile we reserve for moments when Megan is exceptionally happy but pretending to be annoyed. It’s pure Megan, plain and simple and my heart grows fonder for her every time she pulls her little stunts.

We load up plates of fried rice, chow mien, beef and broccoli, spring rolls and wontons and make our way towards the living room. We sit around the fire and I tell them about my meeting with John. Boone sits on the couch next to James and uses every cute puppy trick in the book to try and finagle some food out of him. Due to my stern looks, he fails horribly and relegates himself to the far corner of the couch, huffing unhappily as he circles, circles, circles and plops down with a grunt. My little diva boy.

Megan and James can’t believe the response about the new book. Since they know everything about my life, they certainly know how harsh John can be. Megan has gone so far as to threaten suing or dismemberment, both of which she’s absolutely capable. They toast me about ten different times and I must say, having their approval feels just as good as having Johns.

We talk about the new book and all of it’s subsequent material aka Eric’s ghost.

“So you really and truly believe he’s haunting you?” James asks.

Megan and I look at each other and nod in unison.

“Have you had anything come up since yesterday, Sal?” Megan is twirling her chopsticks around between bites. Finger dexterity was never my strong suit and I’m oddly riveted by the patterns they are making. Or maybe it’s the ten toasts of champagne kicking in.

“No. Nothing. If it is Eric I’m not seeing some kind of ghostly schedule. Random stuff happens at random times.”

“I wish there was a way to test this theory that Eric is back,” Megan ponders. She’s always looking for logic. Cause and consequence. It’s one of the reasons she’s such an esteemed lawyer.

“We could use a Ouija board,” James suggests.

It seems like such an elementary thing to do, like when Megan and I were in high school looking for cheap thrills. But short of hiring some kind of ghost whisperer, I’m not sure what else we could do.

“I’ll think about it,” is my noncommittal response.

I’m sitting on the floor with my back to the fire and all it takes is one look at Boone for him to hop off the couch and snuggle up at my side. His nose is straying dangerously close to my plate, so I push it towards the center of the table.

“You don’t need Chinese food, buddy.”

“I’s good dog. I’s Chinese.”

“You’re not Chinese, babe. You’re German Shepherd,” I whisper in his drunken ear.

“So, Sal…I need to address the elephant in the room,” Megan says over the rim of her champagne glass. “You do realize that you’re talking to a dog, right? And what’s more, you speak like you and him are having a full-on conversation.”

“That’s because we are.” I don’t bother lying. If I’m going into early dementia I may as well give my two best friends a heads-up.

Megan and James give each other slightly concerned glances.

“Okay, honey, I’m gonna give it to you straight. It’s only because we had a random pizza delivered yesterday that I’m on board with a possible Eric-ghost lurking around the house. But now a talking dog? And let’s not forget these black-out sessions where you evidently cut yourself-”

“Which happened once,” I interject with a poised finger in the air.

“All I’m saying is that while I see improvements in you since you got Boone, there are still some tell-tale signs that things aren’t firing right.”

I sigh heavily and try to stomp down the annoyance that’s creeping up. She’s right, after all, which probably makes it all the more annoying. James is on the edge of the couch, ready to interject because he’s seen me and Megan come to blows before and it’s not a pretty sight. What can I say? She’s like a sister to me and sisters fight.

“I see what you’re saying, Megan, I really do. And I’ll give you the cutting thing. But Boone…I don’t know. He’s different. He’s helping me heal. And if that means I talk to my dog, then fuck it. I’ll talk to my dog. And it’s not like I’m totally nuts…I did just write a possible best-seller in three days and have another one in the works,” I pause, taking a moment to let the words come out right, “And besides, I’m a writer. We’re all crazy. It’s an occupational hazard.” This gets the smile I was hoping for.

Megan slides off the couch and comes to sit beside me by the fire. She wraps her lean arm around my waist and rests her head on my shoulder. “You really are bat-shit crazy.”

James barks out a laugh and raises his glass as he says, “Here’s to bat-shit crazy. May it forever work in your favor.”

We clink glasses and Boone lets loose a happy yip…since he can’t drink.