Walking the Dog — Chapters 5 and 6

Chapter 5

After school Wednesday, Tracie took me with her to visit her grandmother. Mrs. Stevens was a former Family head, now retired. She lived close to the Johnstons in a small house, more a cottage.

I'd been with Tracie once before to visit Mrs. Stevens, months ago, shortly after we started going together. The house was filled with momentoes of her world travels. A story went with each item and she regaled us for hours. Normally that would be boring but Mrs. Stevens was pretty outrageous and it was easy to envisage the consternation she caused half the passengers on board a cruise ship and delight for the other half. Never a dull moment was her motto.

Today Mrs. Stevens was sitting in her living room surrounded by garden catalogs, three cats and a sleepy mixed-breed dog she called Princess. Princess was a neutered male with gray around the muzzle. He seemed perfectly happy with his lot in life.

Tracie went into the kitchen to make tea; I sat on a chair close to, but not too close to the sofa where Mrs. Stevens sat.

"She treating you right, boy?" Mrs. Stevens grinned at me. "You'll have to tell me your name again. I don't bother trying to remember until the third date."

"Jasper."

"You look familiar."

"I'm told I look like my father." She looked at me quizzically. I said, "Jerry Sloan."

She smiled. "Jerry! How's the old geezer doing?"

"He's okay."

"Didn't he marry . . ."

"Mom died a few years ago."

"Sorry, son." She cleared a place for the tray. "Thank you, dear."

Tracie sat across from me, held her teacup up and winked.

"Jerry's welcome to pay me a visit any time he wants. Tell him that." Mrs. Stevens turned to Tracie. "The boy tells me you've been stingy with your favors, so he and I will be going to the bedroom for a quickie." Mrs. Stevens turned to me. "Tracie can come along, too, can't she? You don't mind a threesome?" Mrs. Stevens crossed her legs, showing them off.

I looked at Tracie who winked again.

"Grandmother, I don't think he's interested in girls anymore."

"Is that a fact?" Mrs. Stevens turned to me. "What are you planning to do when she becomes a woman?"

I shrugged my shoulders. "Look for another young one, I guess."

"You told me you don't like girls." Tracie scowled and sipped her tea.

"Seriously?" Mrs. Stevens turned to Tracie. "All kidding aside. Do you know what you want?"

Tracie shrugged.

Mrs. Stevens looked at me. "You're what?"

"Seventeen."

"My walker," Mrs. Stevens sat back on the couch, "your mother's steady, was seventeen. Not very smart but a good kid. Innocent." She saw my eyes wander. "Tell me if I'm boring you. He was left high and dry. Your mother." Mrs. Stevens paused turning to Tracie. "She was never one for close relationships. I wouldn't call her relationship with your father close. Not like Wally and me. Standoffish and I never could figure out why. Other girls her age weren't."

Mrs. Stevens turned to me. "You never knew Wally. I wish you could have met him. Life's fluid, son, with ripples, waves and eddies. You might think you're stuck and then the current will tug you free and you're in for a wild time. Don't ever give up hope." She winked at me. "Finished your tea yet?"

She stood; Princess woke up, looked startled for a moment and then laid his head back down. "Come on son. We're going to have a good time."

"Grandma!" I think Tracie was really shocked but it was hard to tell. She and her grandmother played around a lot - skits and set pieces.

Mrs. Stevens held out her hand to me. Tracie shrugged. I rose and let her grandmother lead me. "I'm seventeen, Mrs. Stevens."

"So you told me."

Tracie stood.

"Go and run a bath for us, dear." She tugged my hand. "Come on, bashful."

"I don't think we should, Mrs. Stevens."

"That's why I'm doing the thinking for you." She shut the bedroom door behind her and faced me. "Strip."

"Mrs. Stevens."

"Strip."

"I don't think . . ."

"Strip."

I gave up. The curtains were open, a cat napped on the bed cover, next to the pillows. I unbuttoned my shirt.

"Know what you'll decide?"

I nodded. "I'm going to college."

"A waste of time. All of it off."

It felt strange. Mrs. Stevens was gray haired, wrinkled and in her sixties. I lowered my shorts.

"Turn around."

I did a slow turn.

"You'll do."

She took a robe off a hook on the door, tossed it to me. "Put it on."

I held the robe. It was flimsy and see through. A woman's robe.

"Put it on."

I put it on. The fabric was soft and light.

"I think you should change your mind about college. I'm assuming your equipment is working or my granddaughter wouldn't be passing the time of day with you. Do you like walking my daughter?"

I nodded.

She took my hand, led me out of the bedroom, into the living room. "Is the bath ready?" she shouted.

"Yes, grandma." Tracie stood by the bathroom door. It was hard to tell from her look what she was thinking.

Mrs. Stevens pulled me into the bathroom, shut the door. "Trish is the smart one. You know that, don't you?"

I shook my head.

"Get in the tub. Take that silly robe off first. Tracie's smart, but not smart like Trish. Trish knows what she wants already and she's fifteen. Going on thirty. Get in."

I stood in the water.

"Relax. Lie in the water. I want to watch you. I haven't watched a man in the tub since Wally." She sat on the seat. "Trish is looking for a steady already. She's like that slut," Mrs. Stevens looked at me and smiled. "What's her name?"

I hadn't the slightest.

"Your friend Frank's girlfriend. Surprised? They come over sometimes and visit me. Relax. So Trish is raring to go. Tracie isn't quite sure, probably never will be, like her mother in a lot of ways. Am I ugly?"

I stared at her, started to sit up.

"Relax. Age doesn't make a woman ugly, son. Remember that. It will come in useful one of these days. I wish someone had told me. What do you think of Lori?"

"She's nice."

"She's nice." Mrs. Steven's minced her shoulders. "No wonder Tracie chose you to be her steady. Lori isn't nice. She's fantastic. She's exceptional. She's a delight to be with. I can talk to Lori. Or with Trish. Tracie's not so easy. Splash. Go ahead, splash the water."

Mrs. Stevens began to moan, gave a gasp, whispered, "You stop splashing son, I'll climb in there with you and we'll do it for real." She grinned, screamed, "Oh God. Oh. Like that. Oh God." She laughed. "You could have overdone the splashing, damn the floor and walls."

I lay back in the tub and watched Mrs. Stevens. She smiled down at me. "Just like Wally except he had a cock two feet long. You shouldn't do whatever anyone tells you, boy. With me, it's okay. Relax. I'll watch you for a few more minutes and then I'll send in Tracie to finish the job." She sat back and shut her eyes. "You don't know what it's like to be alone. Come visit me. Maybe I'll even begin knowing your name. Tell Jerry to come visit. He knows my bite is worse than my bark." She laughed, opened her eyes, and watched me. "I'm a crazy old fool. You change your mind, come on by and I'll get you started out right." She slapped her knees, stood and left the bathroom.

Tracie came in and shut the door. "What did grandmother say?"

"Just stuff. She misses her husband."

Tracie looked at me for a second, took off her clothes.

Tracie was beautiful. Each day I learned how beautiful.

"Make some space for me."

I slid up to a sitting position, pushed back to leave room.

Tracie climbed into the tub, sat slowly, testing the water with her butt. "Grandmother said you need to be scrubbed."

"I'm okay."

"Sure? Want to?"

"Not really. Is that okay?"

"It's kind of creepy here."

"I like it."

"So does Trish. Like it here. I don't always trust grandmother."

I didn't know what that meant but kept my mouth shut. I took Tracie's hands, leaned back against the cool porcelain and watched her. She leaned forward, her spine against the spiggot.

Chapter 6

Wednesday was a hard night. Tracie and I didn't leave Mrs. Steven's until after six, had dinner and few minutes alone afterwards. Too few minutes.

Tracie was nervous about Saturday though she tried not to show it. But I could tell she was nervous which made me nervous.

Imagine knowing that at a certain time, traditionally seven p.m., on Tracie's birthday, both our lives would change. Neither of us could say whether the change, in and of itself, was good, regardless of what the change entailed. We could pretend, attach certain values to outcomes, different values to other outcomes. But we wouldn't know until years later what the whole thing meant and if the choice was the right one.

Being in the here and now wasn't possible either. We were both torn apart by a host of other obligations - school, family, friends. Most of the time, the here and now was a feeling of inexpressible absence.

And I had to admit I'd never really thought that Tracie would say yes. Daily the possibility of what I saw as an irrevocable rift was looming larger. But, I'd remind myself, Tracie isn't like that kind of person. Not like Lori, was she?

Then it was time to walk Mrs. Johnston and it seemed Tracie's mother and I had to go everywhere - the itinerary was a mile long.

Mom always was self-possessed but I think she too was becoming absorbed into the tension of the event. I could never tell what she thought, not by her words at least. She seemed elsewhere.

Walking the dog meant I saw a lot and the dance Barbie did each night with her various partners was predictable until recently.

And now the problem is how to describe distraction. When a woman orgasms she is thrown into a moment where she has no defenses. Her face is as it really is. Barbie's glowed. Tracie's became childlike. Barbie looked like she was in the throes of a holy ecstasy, not sexual at all. Tracie could break out giggling.

Lori? Lori showed intense concentration like she was solving some complex puzzle. The solution pleased her. She glimpsed what it was, could see it dimly, but pressed, she couldn't precisely explain what she saw. That didn't matter. Her whole spirit was shouting (or about to shout) Eureka!

The past week Barbie's face was closed, the glow was almost gone. Barbie looked determined, not ecstatic.

I felt like a drudge, my bookbag was heavy and useless, I'd finished my homework hours ago and Finnegan's Wake was beyond my capabilities. And the week's calculus, hours spent with Tracie, hours not spent with Tracie, was deadly. I was spending more time with Tracie's mother tonight than I could reasonably expect to spend with Tracie before 12:01 a.m. Saturday morning. I could spend the night Friday in the Johnston's guest room but I might not be back from walking Barbie until close to dawn.

Of course I'd also be there Saturday night and traditionally the head of a Family didn't walk on the day a child of theirs reached eighteen. Traditionally the night before was sort of a communal party, where the head of the Family, and possibly several others, entertained the town. I'd be there, but not as a participant.

We eventually were down to three stops. One was to a place I'd never been to before, the other two were fairly predictable - the all-night laundromat at Langston and the last stop was down at Fairfield Avenue, a block from Langston, where the community theater was. A cast party. At least the locations were close together and perhaps someone would give us a ride back to the Johnstons afterwards.

I knocked on the door at the first place, in the suburbs; the porch light was on.

House calls are always iffy. In a group situation there's emotional wash but it is predictable and generally unified. Oners have a reason to call and that reason can be anything. Literally anything.

I could tell the guy was sad when he opened the door and I saw his face. Sad, a little frightened, nervous though there was no reason to be.

We went in, I unleashed Barbie, and he offered drinks. Barbie was thirsty so we both had water. It's best for Family to stay away from alcohol, absolutely necessary as a walker.

He drank his glass of wine quickly; the bottle was on the coffee table. His hands shook as he got his cigarette and lit it. He took a puff, realized we were watching him, said, "Would you like one?" He pushed the cigarettes and lighter across the table. His leg was jumping and he could barely keep his fingers still, using two hands to hold his cigarette. "What do I do?" he asked.

Barbie normally doesn't say a word. Some Family heads are different. I couldn't imagine Barbie's mother, Mrs. Stevens, keeping her mouth shut for five minutes.

"Whatever you want," I said. Barbie nodded, reached out and touched his hand.

He took a puff, stubbed out his cigarette. He stared at the ashtray a moment longer, looked up and I was surprised. I could see he was angry. He turned at Barbie and was about to speak when she said, "Where is your bedroom?"

I looked at Barbie. She was relaxed in her seat, hands open in her lap, legs together, robe closed. Her hair was a mess but she didn't look bad. She looked like she'd been driving with the window open.

He looked down, pushed the ashtray an inch, stood, not looking at us, and walked away.

Barbie rose and followed him. She motioned me remain; I sat back in my seat.

Usually when Barbie is called there is a party. The parties aren't loud with stuff being smashed or anything. Just a lot of excited people. Kind of like Lori under the bleachers during a game. Barbie isn't the main event.

"I can't do it," he said from down a hall. Emphatic and lost, he'd given up all hope. I could hear him crying, Barbie's voice, not her words.

The way he cried, all his soul was in his voice and lost. Barbie could call if she needed help but still. Barbie wasn't going to be hurt by him. He was beyond hurting anyone. I was afraid his sorrow would swallow us all. There was nothing I could do. Nothing.

He stopped crying and I could hear them talk. They talked for half an hour almost. It was quiet and Barbie came into the room. She was naked, without her shoes. She knelt by my seat. "I'm staying the night. Call Marge and have her make arrangements for the rest of tonight and call Mike and tell him I'll be late." She watched me. "Then go home. Everything's okay here. His wife died and he's alone. Okay?"

"Call Marge and call Mike. I think that guy in the laundromat can manage to wash his clothes one week without some . . ."

"I'll be coming to school in the morning at nine or so. I'll be walking tomorrow. I meant to tell you earlier." She smiled, did a little shrug. "Okay?"

"Sure." I exhaled. "I'll make the calls and go on home."

Barbie stood, looked at me for a moment, no grin on her face, but I could tell she wasn't pissed at me, turned to go back. She stopped. "You don't need a night cap, Jas."

"I know that."

"Good."

She left.

I put the wine in the refrigerator, made the calls. The phone's usually in the kitchen. I'm always having to report in and sometimes there's no one to show me. I'm good at finding the bathroom too.

I turned out the lights, left the front door unlocked, there's not a lot of crime in our town, took a moment on the doorstep orienting myself. I figured out the shortest way home.

I wondered how brave I would be if I married Tracie, we raised a family, and somehow she died without me. Which is the way it usually is. Mrs. Stevens lost Wally, this guy his wife though he was younger. I wondered if they had kids and if so where the kids were. Having busy lives, no doubt, of their own.

Mr. Johnston worked out the itinerary so it was a circuit that ended close to home. We were on foot; it didn't make sense darting here, darting there, darting back to close to here.

I walked to Langston, turned and walked past the theater on Fairfield. I could hear the party upstairs and wished I could have gone. There probably would have been somebody my age, too young, and we could have talked while those who weren't too young either did or didn't do what Barbie came to do. Usually adults didn't talk with walkers at events, which was a shame.

Would the party be a bust if no one showed up at all? Probably not. Parties that depended solely upon Barbie's presence weren't that common for reasons I assume are obvious.

I didn't look at my watch, I'd see the clock at home soon enough. Walking during the day would mean I'd not get a nap, but I would get to see Tracie. Not at lunch, though. The calculus was terribly skewed and not in my favor.

I climbed into bed, too horny to be tired and too tired to be horny, an exasperating state. On top of everything the image in my mind was of Barbie kneeling and looking at me. She was slightly lower in position, almost like a supplicant. Tracie was there too. It wasn't entirely Barbie on her knees, but it wasn't nearly enough Tracie.

I didn't see the note to call Lori until morning, on the floor where it had fallen off the bed. I was in a rush for school and wondering why the hell Lori wanted me to call. Tracie pulled me out of the apartment before I had a chance to talk to father, only say goodbye and be off.

My eyes were open but I was about as much human as those Greek ships. They have eyes too but they're made of wood.

Read the next two chapters

Walking the Dog Page
Chapters 1 and 2 | Chapters 3 and 4 | Chapters 5 and 6
Chapters 7 and 8 | Chapters 9 and 10 | Chapters 11 and 12
Chapters 13 and 14 | Chapters 15 and 16 | Chapters 17 and 18
Chapter 19

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