Hot Stuff

don’t need this,” Cate said. “School starts in two weeks. What will I do if Marty isn’t home by then? What will I do now? I don’t think I like dogs. I’ve never had a dog relationship. And this dog is so big. And he’s not even attractive. And listen to me… I’m talking to myself.”

Cate dialed Marty’s cell phone and got his message service.

“Marty,” Cate said, “I know you meant well, but I don’t want a dog. I don’t know what to do with a dog. And this dog is huge. You have to get Rudy to take him back.”

Cate looked at Beast. “Sorry you had to hear that, but you’ve probably been there before. I bet you’ve been rejected a lot, what with being so big and… you know, not cute.”

Beast stopped clawing at the dog food bag and looked at Cate. He shook his head, and slobber escaped from his floppy lips and flew in all directions. He tried to scratch his ear with his back foot and fell over.

Holy cow, Cate thought. This dog is beyond not cute. This is a dog disaster.

Cate called Sharon. “I have a problem. Marty bought a dog, and I’ve got him here, and I don’t know what to do with him. Do you know anything about dogs?”

“I know that the food goes in and then the food goes out, and you have to scoop it up in a plastic sandwich bag or you get a ticket. And that’s why I don’t have a dog. What kind of dog is it?”

“Bullmastiff.”

“Forget the sandwich bag. You want to go with the gallon size. I’m in the middle of something here. I’ll stop over when I get home.”

Chapter FOUR

Cate called Julie Lamb. Julie was a transplant from Birmingham, renting an unfurnished unit next to Sharon. She slept in a sleeping bag on the floor. Her small secondhand television sat on a sturdy cardboard box, and Julie sat on a lawn chair. That was the extent of her furniture. She had two pots and a fry pan, and she bought her morning coffee at the coffee shop two doors down. She was Cate’s age and had worked as a waitress since graduating from high school. She’d had a dream one night that she should move to Boston, and the next day she followed the dream. That was a little over a year ago, and she was still wondering about the dream, waiting for something wonderful to happen. She worked nights as a hostess on the party trolley. During the day she sat on her lawn chair and put her thoughts to paper.

“Hey, neighbor,” Julie said. “What’s goin’ on?”

“Marty bought a dog. It was just delivered, and Marty isn’t home, and I have no idea what I’m supposed to do with him. Do you know anything about dogs?”

“We always had an ol’ dawg at the house,” Julie said. “I’ll be right up.”

A couple of minutes later Julie was in front of Beast, hands on hips, smiling. “Jest look at this here dawg! He’s about the most adorable dawg I’ve ever seen. Look at his smushy face, and big brown eyes, and droopy ears.”

Beast gave a happy woof, put his two massive front paws on Julie’s chest, and they both went down to the ground.

“Woops,” Julie said. “He’s a biggun’.”

Julie was a honey blonde with blue eyes and an Alabama accent so thick it was like a foreign language. Her hair was straight and long and almost always in a ponytail. She was average height and had an average girl-next-door body… if that girl lived in Alabama and ate a lot of fried okra and grits.

“He’s supposed to be trained,” Cate said, wrestling Beast off Julie. “It says on his papers he’s a guard dog.”

Julie got up and plastered herself against a wall so she wouldn’t get knocked over if Beast got friendly again. “I don’t know anything about trained dogs. Mostly we jest opened the door, and the dog run out. And then when he was hungry he’d show up on the back stoop.”

“You didn’t have to walk him and pick his poop up in a bag?”

“Not in my neighborhood. We was all happy if we didn’t find old Mr. Lawson poopin’ on our lawns. We jest let the dogs do what comes natural.”

“I don’t suppose you’d want to take Beast?”

“Sweetie, I’d love to take Beast, but my landlord made it real clear I can’t have animals. I don’t know why not. I mean it’s not like the place is furnished. And what’s he gonna do to an aluminum lawn chair? I’d be happy to go walkin’ with you though.”

“When do you suppose he needs to walk?”

“My guess is this dog always needs to walk. Look at the muscle he’s got. He looks like my cousin Vern. Vern really bulked up in prison. By the time they let him out he had no neck. He looked like one of them big ol’ gorillas. When’s Marty coming home?”

“I don’t know. He said he was doing a private party in Aruba, but he didn’t say when he’d be back. Evian has him scheduled for Friday.”

The doorbell chimed, followed by a fist pounding.

Cate looked out the peephole. “Oh no!”

“Who is it?”

“Kitty Bergman.”

“That woman scares the bejeezus out of me,” Julie said. “I swear she’s the Antichrist. I know her and Marty are real good friends, but I never could see the connection.”

“I know you’re in there,” Kitty Bergman yelled through the door. “I can hear you whispering. I can smell you.”

Cate opened the door and Kitty stormed in. “Where is he? Where is that double-crossing misery of a man… or woman?”

“He’s in Aruba.”

“Aruba? What the devil is he doing in Aruba?”

“He had a private party there last night.”

“I’m going to kill him,” Kitty Bergman said. “I’m going to track him down and surgically remove his nuts, and then I’m going to kill him.”

“Ouch,” Julie whispered.

Kitty Bergman was five foot two inches tall, weighed exactly one hundred pounds naked, and had ass muscles that were so well toned they could crack walnuts. She was fifty-five years old and had been nipped, tucked, and sucked by some of the best cosmetic surgeons in Boston. Kitty was married to Ronald Bergman, heir apparent to the Bergman Corrugated Box fortune. The Bergmans owned a Back Bay mansion on Commonwealth Avenue, and while Ronald was off clear-cutting virgin forestland in a voracious hunt for yet more wood pulp, Kitty lived to fund raise. Kitty didn’t give a flying fig about the various charities she supported, but she did love to see her sixty- thousand-dollar sparkling white porcelain veneers smiling out from the society page of the Boston Globe.

Kitty was hands on hips, platinum blonde hair lacquered into a tight knot at the nape of her neck, feet planted wide in Manolo heels. A Chanel purse hung on the shoulder of her aquamarine and crystal St. John knit suit. She leaned forward slightly and narrowed her eyes at Cate.

“I’m going to be on you like flies on a bad burger until you give up your precious roomie. I know you’re in on this.”

“This?” Cate asked. “What is this? What are you talking about?”

Kitty pointed her finger at Cate. “Don’t mess with me!”

Beast pressed himself against the back of Cate’s leg, doing his best to hide from Kitty Bergman. He looked out from behind Cate and whimpered.

Kitty gave Beast a cursory glance and made a sound of disgust. “Tsk.” She turned on her heel, swung her StairMaster ass out of the condo, and slammed the door shut.

“Hoy cow,” Julie said.

Cate tentatively patted Beast on the head. “It’s okay,” she said to Beast. “She’s gone.”