Chapter 8
Eight
-MILO-
I check my phone and see Grayson has texted saying he’s not far away.
I tap my camera icon to take a selfie. I’m wearing a Star Trek t-shirt I chose specifically for Grayson.
It has a colourful sixties-inspired design with fabulous alien women holding stun guns.
The words ‘Join the Academy’ in old sci-fi font are emblazoned across the top.
I upload the selfie and let my followers know I’m meeting a man.
Oh shit. Summer will call as soon as she reads this post.
Yep. She has but I ignore her. Tonight is about Grayson and not about my lovestruck bestie.
I join the line in front of the museum, knowing Grayson will soon be here.
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The line to go into the exhibition is a lot shorter now, so I check the time. Grayson is only ten minutes late so there’s no need to fret. Summer is more than fashionably late all the time.
I recall Grayson’s features the way we all do at the start of a romance.
He has cool black framed glasses and I love how stylish they are.
How stylish he is. And I love his wayward smirk which he wears when he doesn’t believe what’s been said.
And, of course, there’s that cute but ill-thought Robin Hood outfit. Grayson is one of a kind.
There’s no line now. The girl who was inside checking the invite list has come outside to vape. She looks at her phone. Disbelief is written on her face.
I check my socials. Hashtag Dogman is trending. What the hell is in this picture?
It’s hideous.
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I’ve been ghosted. There’s no response from Grayson and an hour later, not showing up is just plain rude.
But a fan invited me to this and I need to stay popular with my followers. I must share pictures of the exhibition. Put my discontent aside.
Shit. I’ve already posted my outfit, mentioning I’m meeting a man. Maybe someone inside will pose for a selfie and pretend to be my date so I don’t look like a loser.
I wander to the front desk, say my name, mention I’m alone. And I’m the only person not ticked off the list.
The receptionist smiles that way people do when a dead relative comes up in conversation.
As I take several steps inside, I decide I should give Grayson one last chance. I pass on his name to the woman. She nods and says she’ll remember it, before telling me to enjoy the exhibit.
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I’m gazing at an ancient headdress from Peru without really seeing it.
Grayson may not be into me but at least he could have called to cancel. What type of guy leads you on like that?
Summer was right. Grayson is a loser. A cute loser, but a loser nonetheless.
But I really want this relationship. Mum keeps telling me to dispense with my socials and live life in reality. Make memories. Not content.
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-GRAYSON-
It’s twenty minutes before I have to meet Milo, and even though I need Penelope with me in case I sneeze, I really want to go on this date alone. Besides, who wants to be hampered by a chaperone?
She left my place after a one-hour snooze. Her head was thumping and before I could offer her a painkiller, she conjured one up and swallowed it with a fresh martini.
I spent the day watching television, but it was hard to concentrate. I was getting excited about seeing Milo.
And now, I’m in a quiet laneway after taking a shortcut to the museum, staring at Penelope. She is here. She kept her promise to look out for me. But she is smashed. There’s a Cosmopolitan in her right hand and a champagne flute in her left. Her eyewear is askew and her breath could feed a flame.
“Don’t you want to know whose pah-tee I wath at?” She exhales a little, causing my nose to twitch.
“Do you remember whose party you were at?” I pinch my nose and stop myself sneezing. “Penelope, I’m depending on you.”
“I’m here, ahn’t I?”
There’s a tickle in my nostrils. I cover my mouth and expect the worse.
“Ah. Ah. Ah choo!”
The road looks very different from this lower standpoint.
“You’re a dog.” Penelope states the obvious. “Here Fido. Chase a car.” Her words don’t slur when she’s being cheeky.
“This is not funny,” I bark, my voice all scratchy and harsh.
“Hold on.”
She accidently drops her champagne. The glass cracks near my paws. She brings her thumb to her middle finger but she can’t snap. Her fingertips just slide off each other. She tries again. No luck.
“You need to do something, Penelope!”
She places her Cosmopolitan on the footpath and claps instead.
I change. My body seems right but I see my canine nose and mouth extend in front of me, just as they had when I was a dog. I touch my face to feel the fur because I’m finding it hard to accept this transformation. Shit. My hands are still paws.
“Well, it’s a new take on doggy.” Penelope chuckles.
I reach for my phone but my paw can’t grab it. “You have to text Milo on my behalf.”
People have entered the laneway. Several are gawking. Two are taking photos. And there’s nowhere to hide.
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I’m running on all fours as it’s faster than only using my hind legs. I’m not sure where Penelope is. I’ve got to get out of sight.
People take photos, or scream, or scream and take photos. And a few utter ‘Dogman’ from time to time.
There’s a public toilet up ahead. I bolt in and bark at the men at the urinal. They rush out in fear with one still pissing on the concrete as he exits.
I hide in a cubical. The toilet seat is grubby which is fine because I have no desire to sit. Yet I pace like the animal I am inside this tiny space.
My phone chimes again.
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Public toilets aren’t the ideal place to hide from your problems. I’ve heard people pee and smelt the odours which come with the territory.
I wiped the seat about twenty minutes ago and am sitting, leaning forward with my elbows resting on my knees and my paws nestled under my snout. I laugh, remembering how Penelope once gave her niece a snout. This joyful distraction is fleeting.
Milo hates me. I’m certain of it. There’ve been several texts in the sixty minutes where I should have been strolling and admiring oddities with a man I’m fond of.
I still try to read his texts even as my claws scratch the screen. My doggy eyes water. Teardrops coat my fur.
I lost my chance at love before our second date.
Hugo runs under the gap in the door. I sniffle, wondering if I've gone through the looking glass but haven't realised it yet. He smiles at me with childlike joy, aware I’ve been sad.
And he does cheer me up although his size and his fairy floss colour are more proof I'm losing my mind.
I peer at my paws, confirming this fact.
Hugo lifts his trunk and waves at me, then bolts away.
And by the silence, it's clear no one is in this toilet block. Otherwise, there’d be a reaction to Hugo.
“Grayson!”
It’s Penelope.
“In here,” my raspy voice barks.
“It smells like someone lied in here.”
I open the door of the cubical. Penelope shuffles in.
“How did you find me?” I really hate my raspy throat.
“Hugo helped me. We thought of the places you’d find privacy.” She shows me her watch. “And as you can see, we’ve been searching for a while.”
“You’ve both been searching, or just Hugo?”
She doesn’t respond, yet she’s surprisingly coherent. Not totally, but it’s clear she’s made a habit of getting drunk, then finding some way to sober up when duty calls.
“Are you sure you can help?” I ask.
Penelope frowns. “I’m here, aren’t I? I told you I’d help.”
I stick my paws in her face. “This isn’t exactly helping.”
“I’ve drunk water and coffee and a couple of energy drinks. And I’ve grabbed a pizza slice from a fast-food joint.”
“But—”
“But listen. Did you bring your wand?”
I nod, then tap my jean pocket. She reaches in, extends it and places it in my mouth.
“You can do this,” she says. “I believe in you.”
I shake my head in frustration, not convinced I can. Yet this exasperated movement turns me back into myself.
I don’t have time to take pride in this triumph. I need to salvage this date so I shove the wand in my pocket, say a quick goodbye to Penelope, and bolt out of the cubical.
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-MILO-
I’m leaving when Grayson’s sneakers screech to a halt. I’m not kidding. I don’t know if they need new tread or what, but he skidded a bit.
“Where were you?”
Grayson pants, catching his breath. “Uber.”
“You’re blaming your no-show on an Uber? Not very original.”
“Well...” Puff. “...what...” Puff. “...excuse...” Long puff. “...should I use?” He wipes his brow.
I don’t want this conversation, even though it’s clear something was wrong by the way Grayson’s gasping, and maybe an Uber could have partly been the cause, but I don’t care what happened.
He gives me an insecure stare. The same look he gave Summer at the restaurant.
“Where are your glasses?” I ask.
Grayson’s breaths are longer now. And as he attempts an apologetic look, with sad eyes and a half-frown, I’m in awe how handsome he is without face furniture. Replace the sweaty shirt with a fresh one, and tidy up the hair a bit, and Grayson could be the next big social media star.
Or a sexy supporting cast member in my posts. Grayson’s sure to bring in new followers.
I instantly feel bad for thinking this.
“So, did the Uber get lost for ninety minutes?” I ask, playing along, even though I’m not in the mood for bullshit.
“It didn’t show up so I had to rely on public transport.”
“But it shouldn’t take that long to get here by train.” I point my phone at his face. “And you never texted or called.”
Grayson shows me the scratch marks on his screen. “I dropped it. It won’t respond to my touch.”
My stare must show mistrust. Grayson’s reaction is proof. He’s looking back at me like he’s weighing up his next move.
“I’m here now. We can go into the museum and have our date.”
I shrug. “I’ve seen the exhibition. And the museum closes in half an hour. What’s the point?”
“A drink then? There’s a bar just around the corner.”
“Grayson, forget it. You missed out.”
“Nice t-shirt by the way. Star Trek. Cool.”
“I said forget it. Glad you like my T, but you’re obviously not interested in me.”
But my dud date inches closer. “Okay, Milo, I owe you the truth. Ever cared for a friend with a drinking problem?”