BOONE - Part 1 of the HMB Doggie Series

CHAPTER 9

I’m standing under a hot spray of water.

It’s been ten months since I had my last dream of Eric. To say that I’m gravely disappointed (pun intended) is an understatement. But I also can’t negate the fact that ever since I had that dream a calmness has settled in that I hadn’t expected. I truly believe that just because Eric hasn’t visited me in my dreams doesn’t mean he’s not here.

While the holidays were a bitch to get through, I managed well enough, and that’s only because of John keeping me as busy as I’ve ever been, Megan and her Mother Hen complex and Boone.

Boone has grown exponentially. He’s absolutely beautiful and anytime I take him out around town or over the hill people literally stop and stare at what I have at the end of my leash. His tails puffs just as much as my chest.

He’s sitting in his usual spot, my bathmat, as I shower. We just got back from an early morning run on the beach. And by run I mean me doing sprints and Boone chasing after me like a fluffy maniac.

I had two more failed attempts at the gym and decided a meltdown wasn’t worth $100 a month. I quit, bought a few kettlebells and a pull-up bar and now have a handy little gym right in my garage. Boone prefers this as well, since he likes to sit in his doggie bed and watch me with this look like, “Why you do this?” Keeping up with him has become my motivation to get back into shape. I’ve taken my training seriously and I know I’ve put on muscle, which pleases me to no end.

I turn off the water and start to towel down. Boone bellies his way over to me and starts licking the water off my toes, another routine I’ve come to adore. It never seises to make me laugh.

“What do you say to some breakfast and then some writing time, Boone?”

“YES! I’s likes new book.”

“Of course you do…it’s about you,” I laugh down at him.

“I is dog. I’s special.”

“No one compares to you, buddy.” And I can say that with relative honesty. Of course I love Megan and James and even John, but Boone has taken a special place in my heart.

I throw on some clothes and we head to the kitchen for our much-deserved breakfast. I’m scrambling up some eggs when my cell phones starts singing to me. I glance at the screen. John. Of course it is. Only he has the balls to call someone before seven in the morning.

“Good morning, John,” I say as I tap the speaker button, making my voice as cheerful as possible because I know it annoys him.

“Sure, yeah, whatever. Why are you so damn cheerful?”

I stifle a laugh and say, “Because I know you hate it.”

Unintelligible grumbles come from the other end of the phone and I clamp a hand over my mouth to keep from bursting out laughing.

“Ever since Dreams of You topped the best seller charts you’ve been a real smart-ass…I like that. Now shut up and listen to me.”

It’s true. Dreams of You skyrocketed. I made more money and more fans with that one book then I have with all my others combined. I did more book signings and TV appearances then I care to admit, but I will say the publicity was great. It helped launch Wondering With You when it finally got published. It wasn’t as popular as Dreams of You but it’s doing very well.

“I need you to come with me to dinner tonight. Get this…Starlight Productions contacted me last night and they want to talk with us about possibly making Dreams of You a movie.”

I nearly drop my frying pan. “Are you freaking kidding me?!” Shock literally tingles throughout my body.

“I never kid about anything and you know it,” he scoffs into the phone, “So dinner. What time and where? And none of that tofu crap like you dragged me to in Atlanta. That shit tasted like dirt.”

“It wasn’t tofu. It was sushi.” God I’ll never live that down.

“Whatever. It’s crap. Pick something else.”

I consider it for a moment before I respond with, “What about Sam’s here in Half Moon Bay? It’s a lovely day so the sunset should be pretty and they have a huge menu to choose-”

“Sure, sure, fine. Time?”

“How about six?”

“Sure, sure. I’ll have Lynda call and make the reservations. See you there.” He clicks off before I let out my next breath.

I stare at my phone, completely dumbfounded. Did that just happen? It chirps at me with a text from John reading, “Congrats, BTW. Much deserved.”

I whoop out a laugh and start doing a happy dance in my kitchen. Boone is instantly on his feet and dancing with me. I tap my shoulders, his cue to stand and his huge paws are now resting in my hands as we gambol ourselves around the kitchen island. We’ve been doing this a lot lately and I never want to stop.

“I can’t believe it buddy! A possible movie about one of my books? It’s just too much!”

“I’s like movies!”

He gives me a big slobbery kiss and returns to the floor. I’m all smiles as I finish making my eggs. Today is proving to be a good day.

~~~

I’m climbing out of my car with Boone in tow when I see John standing at the entrance to Sam’s, looking rather smart in a charcoal grey suit. I’m glad I had a mind to change from my usual uniform of yoga pants and oversized sweaters into a nice wrap dress the color of wine because the two people he’s standing with look just as put-together. I even thought to give Boone a little scarf, navy blue, because…well…he just looks good in blue.

John sees me first and gives me a “come hither” hand gesture. His eyes are appraising and something flickers in them that I can’t place. I smile and wave back, letting Boone take the lead like he always does. He’s the official greeter in our little two-man parade.

Both men turn to look at me. One is probably mid-thirties, with salt and pepper hair and a nicely groomed goatee. Handsome, if I may be so bold. The other is older with a bald head, pot belly and a jolly smile waiting on his face when he sees me and Boone approaching. Minus the white beard, he kind of reminds me of Santa Clause.

I plaster on a smile as I say, “Good evening, gentlemen.” John gives me a one-armed hug and scratches Boone behind his drunken ear.

“Hey, Sal,” John’s voice is a little less gruff, probably because he doesn’t want to sound like the grumpy bastard he really is, “I’d like to introduce you to Matt McCall, CEO of Starlight Productions,” he gestures to Santa, “And Alok Aveen, creative director.”

Matt extends a meaty paw and shakes my hand enthusiastically as he says, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sal. My wife is a huge fan.”

I grin back with, “The pleasure is all mine, Mr. McCall.”

Alok shakes my hand as well and offers up pleasantries but his eyes are riveted on Boone. “That is a good looking dog…God look at that coat!”

As if Boone knows he’s being talked about he stands and starts wagging his tail, tongue hanging out the side of his mouth with a huge goofy grin on his face, “I’s Boone! I’s Boone!”

“Gentlemen, this is Boone. He’s my second-in-command.”

Both men spend a good three minutes ooh-ing and aah-ing over him, something I’ve grown quite accustomed to. John gives me multiple irritated looks, like it’s somehow my fault my dog is adorable and irresistible. I suppose I could have left him home…but where’s the fun in that?

I can’t help but notice John’s arm still around me, which I find a little odd? Overprotective much?

The men head into the restaurant and I go around the side and meet them in the back patio. The whole deck is protected by windows to tamper the coastal breezes and heat lamps sit between tables, emitting a low heat that makes for a cozy atmosphere. But what’s really the eye-catcher is the view. Sam’s sits right on top of the ocean, allowing a completely unobstructed view of the sun sitting just above a sapphire blue ocean, the waves gently lapping up onto the beach below. A few stray clouds pass lazily in the sky, their underbellies just starting to turn pink from the setting sun. Matt and Alok stare in wonder, mouths hanging open. Even John looks half-way impressed…and that’s saying something. Since I’ve been here a number of times I keep my mouth closed but the view never gets old for me. Absolutely outstanding.

We sit at a round table, me placed under the heater since I’m “a lady in a dress,” as John so chivalrously points out and we order a round of drinks. Two martinis for Matt and Alok, white wine for me and *gasp* a scotch on the rocks for John. The waitress is even so kind as to bring a bowl of water for Boone.

Without preamble Matt starts with, “So, the reason we wanted to talk with you is because I don’t read.” John and I exchange confused glances and Matt breaks into a hearty laugh. “Wait…let me finish.” He takes a sip of his cocktail and continues.

“I don’t read but then my wife forced me to read Dreams of You because she couldn’t stop gushing over it. I figured I’d take a chance. And boy…am I glad I did,” he pauses for effect. “I couldn’t put it down. Normally it takes me months to read a book because I just never do it, but not this one. No. This I read in four days.”

“It took me even less…two and a half days,” Alok says with a proud smile, “The plot is unique and intriguing, the characters are wonderfully complex and the overall mood is a fun mixture of disturbing and quirky. We really want you to consider working with us to make this into a blockbuster movie.”

Since I knew this was coming I shouldn’t be so surprised and excited but I am. A movie. Absolutely amazing.

“We want the very best on this. The best actors, the best producers, the best directors. We don’t want to skimp on a thing because we feel that this has the potential to shoot everyone involved over the moon,” Matt says.

“Of course we should talk compensation,” John says in his usual John way. Naturally he would go for the money chat. I roll my eyes at him.

“Of course, naturally,” Matt says with a small raise of his eyebrow.

“We can chat about that later…why don’t we start talking about production,” I give an encouraging smile to Matt, which allows that eyebrow to come down from it’s high perch. I give John’s knee a squeeze, telepathically reminding him to freaking behave.

We give a quick gander of the menu and decide on what to eat. I go for the sea bass. Matt orders the ribeye, gleaning me more information as to where that belly came from. Alok orders a pasta and seafood dish, a wise choice. And John goes for the most expensive thing on the menu…literally. He’s not paying for this dinner and I know John well enough to take full advantage of that perk. I can only roll my eyes again.

We spend two hours, multiple cocktails and dessert talking about the movie and all the specifics of the book. Boone spends those two hours enticing someone to give him their plate. I have to repeatedly push his nose down from the table. For all his wonderfulness, Boone is a food-whore and unabashed beggar. I can’t really blame him though because the food is delicious and I break down, allowing a few mortals to fall into his mouth. We can all just blame me for him being a beggar because he always, always gets what he wants.

When the meeting is finally over, I’m high on the fact that I am going to be involved in the production of a movie. Matt is well on his way to being drunk. I’m assuming Alok is driving because he only had two drinks. John looks a little unsteady on his feet, but I guess the alcohol worked some magic because he’s surprising jovial. He’s smiling and laughing and clapping everyone on the back as we exit the restaurant.

“Thank you so much for everything. I can’t believe this is actually happening,” I say as I give handshakes to Matt and Alok, along with the customary kiss on the cheek.

Matt gives me a watery smile as he slurs, “We are so excited, Sal. This is going to be a billion dollar movie.” He claps John on the shoulder (is it a guy thing?) and starts to lumber toward the car.

Alok sidles next to me and says, “We will be in touch. Don’t mind Old Man McCall. He’s Irish.”

I stifle a laugh as I hear a loud belch followed by, “I can hear you, Aveen. Shut the trap and lets go home. Lots of work to do.” Alok gives me a sly smile and meanders off.

John stands at my side, mindlessly scratching behind Boone’s at-attention ear. “That man sure can drink.”

“That’s a pot calling the kettle black,” I snort, “I’d say the scoreboard is even on who had the most drinks.”

“I was celebrating, shut up,” he gives his head a little shake as he continues with, “Welp…I’m gonna head home.” His eyes trail up my dress and again, there’s that flicker of...something, that I can’t place. “Great job tonight, Sal.” He starts to walk towards his car, a noticeable wavering in his step.

I grab his arm and exclaim, “Are you serious, John? You can’t drive back to the city! You’re shit-faced.”

“I’m not shit-faced. I’m fine.”

“Said every drunk driver EVER. No, forget it. You can stay with me for the night. I can’t let you drive home like this.” His huge frame is literally pulling me and Boone across the parking lot.

“Stop being so…so…girlie. I’m fine.” His good mood seems to have vanished. I can only assume that’s because I’m clinging to him like a wet piece of hair.

“Oh my God, John! Would you fucking stop!” Something in my tone gives him pause because he stops and actually looks at me, a fever in his eyes. I take advantage and go for the low blow because I know it’s the only way to get him to see clearly. “How did Eric die, John? HOW?”

Understanding seeps into his eyes like watercolors over a wet canvas. His shoulders kind of slump and he takes my hand from his arm and gives it a squeeze. “I see,” he sighs heavily, “You don’t have any scented candles or any of that crap burning do you? Wrecks havoc on my allergies.”

I roll my eyes and start to ease him towards my car. “No, John. The house is scent-free.”

~~~

John fell into the guest bed with little more then a mumbled thank you. I can’t say I’m surprised. Ungrateful bastard.

Boone and I tuck in for the night, me wearing sweats and a tee because I haven’t had another man in my house and I don’t need any unexpected flashings happening.

I’m laying down when Boone looks at me, “John sad.”

“Why do you say that, buddy? Why is John sad?”

“Lonely.” His drunken ear twitches and ten seconds later I hear it. A sound like a chainsaw is emanating from the guest bedroom downstairs. Holy Christ…how does he snore like that?

“You think John is lonely, Boone?” I stroke the side of his face as we commune over the pillows.

“I’s smell it.”

“You can smell sadness?” I’m not horribly shocked since Boone has pulled me out of more then one slump since I got him, but it’s interesting to find out he can smell feelings from other people.

“You smell. But I’s here. It better now.”

I kiss his nose as I say, “You have no idea how much better, buddy.”

“John need a Boone.”

“Yeah…yeah he does.”

My eyelids are just falling shut when I catch one more glance of Boone, “And you.”