Chapter 19
September 23, 2023
S_Belle:
Morning! Just checking in to see how things went with Daisy last night. Did he come home? Hope you’re okay.
I wake in the morning with Mulligan sleeping right across my legs. Apart from the little Westie, the bed is empty, and I close my eyes again, trying to give myself a second to decide what to do.
I push Mulligan off and pull the sheet around my body while I hunt for my clothes. When I find my jeans and look at my phone, it’s a quarter to seven and my shift at Dogue’s is due to start in fifteen minutes.
‘Oh fuck,’ I say, forgetting the sheet. I leap around the room pulling on items of clothing as I find them. I’m in my jeans and shoes, holding my t-shirt, looking for my bra when Lucas comes in carrying a coffee and a wonderful-smelling brown paper package.
‘Good morning,’ he says. ‘I got you a bagel.’ He leans over, and cool as anything, pulls my bra out from underneath a blanket that we obviously tossed on the ground at some point.
‘Thanks. And hi.’ I pull the rest of my clothes on. ‘I’m so sorry, but I’m due at work in fifteen ... no, ten minutes now, so I’m gonna have to go.’
He looks disappointed. ‘Oh, okay. Sure ... well, take the coffee and the bagel, I’m sure you’ll need to eat before you work.’
I pull on my coat, sling my backpack over my shoulder and take the breakfast from him. He leans in and gives me a kiss—one that’s long and lingering and makes me tingle all over, but I’m also not sure if this is a good tingle: I’m exhausted after a long, overexciting night and a bit panicked about doing a full day of work on no sleep. I’m embarrassed too, as flashes of myself moaning underneath his touch come back to me.
‘Will you come back tonight? ’Cause I’d kind of like to try this again if you want?’ he brushes his knuckles down my cheek.
‘Really?’ It’s hard to keep the surprise out of my voice. I try very hard to remember if I’d told him about my desperation for a job at his place of work and the stalking that I’d already done. ‘Sure, if you want to then I definitely want to. I get off at two.’
‘Great. Well, maybe you could take Mully with you this morning and I’ll pick you both up at the end of the shift?’
‘Yes, okay, sounds good,’ I say. He clips on Mulligan’s lead and leans in for another kiss. I seriously consider just giving up on Dogue’s now. Surely I might as well, because not only is Lucas Bennet incredibly sexy, but he’s going to get me a job.
Hilde is standing at the desk doing training with another newbie when I arrive. She raises her eyebrows when she sees I have Mulligan.
‘So, what, are you dating that guy then?’ Hilde asks. The new girl looks between us with wide eyes.
Robert picks that exact moment to walk into the shop from the dog room. ‘Who are you dating?’ he asks.
‘You, honey,’ I joke, going around to the desk and checking Mulligan in manually because I don’t have Lucas’ swipe card. ‘People are spreading rumours about us. They think we’re the next hot Dogue’s couple.’
Hilde snorts. I guess she doesn’t think I’m a good match with him. Robert chuckles and winks at me as he passes, but I hesitate while returning his smile. He’s a little pale, his shoulders a bit droopy. Like most of us, he’s been working too much.
‘I’m talking about that Lucas guy,’ Hilde corrects. ‘That pretty one who owns Mully.’ There’s a note to her voice as she tips her head toward the Westie at my feet. Robert looks curious, but I’m grateful that he doesn’t dignify her comment with a response.
‘Give me Mully,’ he says with a sigh, and I pass him the leash. ‘Brynn, I need you to move the boarding dogs out, we’re short-staffed this morning so I’m behind. Hilde, can you help out in the back too?’
I think for a moment that Hilde might stick her tongue out at me, as I move around the desk to my locker, which feels weird on so many levels. I decide that I’ll follow my mother’s best advice and kill her with kindness. I give her a bright smile. ‘Thanks so much for last night, too, Hilde. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t shown up. How’s Daisy this morning?’
Hilde’s stern expression melts into a frown as she mutters an answer, surprised by my friendliness. I stick my bag in the locker and dash into the room behind Robert.
‘Okay, so what is she talking about?’ he says as soon as the door is shut behind me.
‘It’s a long story. I had a bit of a disaster last night with the pet sitting and I ran into Mully’s dad, Lucas, on the street. He came back to the client’s place with me and there was another disaster with the snake and the owner’s grandchild—I had to call Hilde to come and help. So, she saw me with Lucas.’
‘That’s all reasonable. But why exactly did you have Mulligan this morning?’
My cheeks warm and I duck my head as we move three dogs from the big room into the small room and they all bark and yap happily. I don’t answer him.
Robert makes an uneasy sound at my silence. ‘Please don’t tell me you went home with a Dogue’s client last night?’
I follow him back into the big dog room and we empty the rest of the cages. My stomach is starting to tie itself in knots because, I quickly realise, I care what Robert thinks about me. He’s one of my friends here and I’m not sure what he’ll think about what I did last night.
‘So what if I did?’ I whisper. ‘Is there a clause in our contract that says we can’t fraternise with the dog owners? And technically, I didn’t go home with a client considering the dogs are the clients not the humans.’
‘That’s a loophole,’ he scoffs.
‘Well, what the hell do you care who I go home with?’
‘I don’t, Brynn.’ His tone is gentle despite my snippiness. ‘And there isn’t a clause, but it’s not a good idea. I’m just trying to look out for you.’
I separate a dog who’s attempting to hump another dog. ‘I’m not comfortable talking about this with you. It’s weird.’
Robert drags a reluctant Staffy out of his crate and pushes him into the middle section of the big dog room. He stands upright with a small groan and brushes his hands on his pants before facing me fully. ‘Sorry,’ he says, seriously. ‘I wasn’t trying to be a creep, I promise.’
‘I appreciate that,’ I say and mean it. ‘But I am a grown-up, I can look after myself.’
He nods and grins. ‘Noted. Just be careful.’
I’m touched that he cares so much, but we quickly get swept up in the busy routine of Dogue’s understaffed doggy daycare. Hours click by quickly and I’m lost in the world of dogs, dog poop, and dog food.
An hour before my shift is due to end, Robert goes off to do walks and Hilde comes in to cover for him.
‘Hey, sorry for being weird about Daisy,’ she says as we begin some of the routine cleaning. ‘And about Mulligan too.’
I glance at her profile, trying to decide if she’s being real. When her eyes flickers back to me there’s no more hostility there, just a bit of regret. ‘I’m sorry I took your job,’ I tell her. ‘I swear I didn’t know it was a regular gig for you.’
‘It’s okay. I was just salty because spending a few nights with Daisy and the animals is kind of like a vacation for me. Even if Mrs Van Der Steen does treat me like a second-class citizen.’
‘You take time off from the bar to go there when she needs you?’
‘Yeah,’ she nods, crouching down to give a Jack Russell a scratch between the ears. ‘I like working with animals more than the bar, but Mason doesn’t want me to give up the bar because I get more from tips there. He’s okay with me taking time off to sit though ’cause the pay’s, like, a week’s wages, or something ridiculous like that.’
A familiar warning bell is going off in my head. ‘Hilde, how long have you and Mason been together?’
She frowns, thinking. ‘A few years? He’s one of the first Americans I became friends with after moving here.’
I lean against the wall beside Mully and gather my courage. ‘This is going to sound weird, but I have to ask you something because I think my life would have been super different if someone had asked me this question during my last relationship ...’
She looks up at me from where the dogs surround her, the little Jack Russell now on his back while she rubs his belly; the rest of them clearly hoping she’ll give them the same attention. Even Mulligan is looking at her with hearts in his eyes.
‘Is Mason good to you? Like, is he nice to you?’
Hilde’s face softens and I’m glad she’s not immediately defensive and angry at me. ‘He’s fine,’ she says. ‘He’s just trying to help our plans work out. We’re saving so he can come home to the Netherlands with me and meet my family. We want to go for Christmas.’
‘Okay,’ I reply. ‘But if you ever need to talk—about Mason or anything else—promise you’ll call me, okay? No judgement. And I won’t tell Corey or anyone.’
She gives me small smile and nods. ‘Thanks, Brynn.’ She glances out the playroom window. I follow her gaze and see Lucas at the viewing window, waving at me.
‘Oh look, your boyfriend’s here,’ she giggles but without the vitriol in her tone from earlier and I can tell she’s just teasing me the way any friend would.
‘I’ll see you later?’ I ask. ‘Maybe at Cat’s?’
‘Working there till close,’ she says, giving Mulligan a scratch goodbye.
Once we’re well away from Dogue’s, Lucas reaches out and grabs my hand. He holds Mulligan’s leash in the other and I can’t help but think we must look kind of like a little family as we walk towards City Hall Park. The wind is gusting between buildings and there’s a bite to the air, the tiniest promise of autumn and cold weather and cosy nights.
‘This is nice,’ he says, echoing my feelings.
‘It is. Except I smell like dog.’
‘Want to come back to my place and have a shower?’ He waggles his eyebrows and while every part of me is tingling and telling me to say yes, I drop his hand.
‘I would like to, a lot. Believe me. And I know last night wasn’t exactly moving slowly, but would you mind if we took a backwards step?’
He gives me a confident grin as we pause at a crosswalk. ‘Of course not. We can go back to your place so you can change, and maybe we could go and do something?’ he suggests.
‘Well, I’m all the way uptown, so maybe we could just go for a walk and grab a coffee somewhere and we can make um ... a proper date for another day?’ I wonder if I’m pushing too much after last night, and I don’t know what we are yet or even if we’re anything, but I like the idea of advancing my New York love life away from the one-night stands—as fun as they’ve been—and into some actual dates. Besides, we haven’t had the job conversation yet. I still feel a bit dirty about that, but then he takes my hand and leans over to plant a kiss on my lips and it’s so sweet that it banishes the thought.
‘Sounds like an excellent plan. There’s a great place around the corner. It’s kind of a college hangout, but I like to sneak in there every so often.’
‘For the students or the coffee?’
‘Oh, for the students, definitely,’ he says, grinning. ‘The coffee’s pretty good, but the pastries are much, much better. Are you hungry?’
‘Starving. Do you need to take Mulligan home?’
‘No, it’s pet-friendly. And anyway, Mulligan is kind of my job at the moment.’
It’s a struggle to keep my expression neutral: if he works for The Paris Review , how can Mulligan be his job. ‘Oh? How’s that?’
‘It’s nothing much,’ he says, shrugging. ‘I’m just working on some writing about Mulligan.’
I want to ask if he writes under a pseudonym because in all my Google-stalking I’ve never seen any indication that he is a writer as well. But maybe he’s an aspiring author; plenty of editors wait until they’re established to also try their hand at writing.
‘What about you? Surely a beautiful young woman like you hasn’t come all the way to New York to work in a daycare for dogs. As grateful as I am that you take care of my boy,’ he adds. We stop for a second while Mully investigates a tree, and I shuffle out of the way of people walking behind us. It seems like as good a time as any. I swallow, hard. Here goes nothing. ‘Well, I came to New York to try and get an internship at a literary magazine.’ I drop the exact magazine name off my confession, so it makes me sound slightly less like a stalker.
‘Wow! That’s so weird because I used to work for The Paris Review !’
I was all set to put on a surprised face, but my joy and relief at the ‘big coincidence’ finally being revealed is short-lived. ‘Wait, what? You used to work there?’
Not catching the squeak in my voice, Lucas looks down at Mully who is sniffing at a lamp post. ‘I, ah, stepped back last year, but I was a non-fiction editor. I sometimes do freelance editing for them though.’
While this isn’t the conversation that I’d imagined, I bluster on with the script I’d rehearsed in my head before inviting him for a coffee turned into spending the night having sex.
‘Must be fun. I really love The Paris Review. It’s the best journal in the world so you must be good. How did you get into it—do you mind me asking?’
‘The coffee shop is over there,’ he points. ‘And no, I don’t mind you asking. I did an arts degree, and I kind of stuffed around afterwards. Loved books and writing and just sort of fell into the role through friends. What about you?’
I bite my lip and hold back my frustration as we cross the street. Another New Yorker with a dream job that they ‘just fell into’. ‘Arts with a double major in creative writing. Master’s in editing. I finished my Master’s in July, and my mum organised a working holiday visa for me so I could come over here and try and make it in the publishing capital of the world.’ I look down at my Dogue’s uniform. ‘Obviously, I’m not just “falling into” any roles, though.’
He nods. ‘I guess it’s a lot harder to get into than other jobs. But it’s also not that great a paying job when you do get it.’
‘You seem to be doing okay.’
He smiles. ‘I do okay because I, embarrassingly enough, am a nepo baby.’
Ahhhh , the pieces begin to click into place. ‘There’s nothing wrong with that,’ I say, though I can practically hear Dotty screaming about rich white men from all the way back home.
We head into the coffee shop, and he finds us a table in the back and settles Mulligan underneath. The café is kind of crunchy with lots of burlap and brown paper. It’s staffed by people in heavy framed glasses, trendy clothes, and most of the clientele seems to be white women in activewear. The menu boasts stuff like organic green bean coffee, lentil soups, and gluten-free cakes. The whole place makes me feel very uncool.
‘Are you hungry?’
‘I could definitely eat something, but I might need to go back to uni to work out how to interpret the menu.’
He chuckles. ‘I can interpret it for you. Any particular dislikes?’
‘No.’
He’s gone for a few minutes and comes back with a huge sandwich on fresh bread. It’s got chicken, bright green lettuce, avocado, and carrot. He’s also got a plate of miniature cakes and pastries. It all looks amazing and my stomach rumbles with expectation.
‘The sandwiches here are huge,’ he says. ‘I thought we could share.’
‘Sounds good to me.’
I take one bite and it’s delicious.
Lucas smiles. ‘It’s good, right?’
‘Oh my god, it’s amazing. I just realised that I haven’t had real bread since I got to America. Everything here is so sugary and disgusting.’
‘They bake this here and it’s all organic. From what I’ve heard from some of my European friends, organic is much of a muchness outside the States, but here, it means something. It’s the difference between good, healthy crops being used or strange genetically modified crap.’
‘I think we have the crap in Australia too,’ I admit. ‘It’s just not so prevalent. And most supermarket bread back home doesn’t taste like it has nine cups of sugar in it. I’m sure it’s why you all hate the taste of Vegemite; our bread is more savoury. It’s a better pairing.’
We eat quietly for a while, engrossed in how delicious the sandwich is and the hustle and bustle of the coffee shop. But then Lucas sets his coffee down.
‘So, you seemed kind of fed-up when we were talking about jobs.’
The blueberry Danish that I’m munching on suddenly tastes a lot more like cardboard than fresh pastry with real fruit. I put it down on my plate and take a big gulp of coffee while I sort my thoughts out.
‘I came here with big, big ideas about what my life in New York would be like. I had heaps of people warn me about how tough the pandemic had hit here and, like, I saw the news, and of course I believed all those people, but I also kept seeing publishing jobs advertised, and I was convinced I’d be okay. And of course, everyone I know here has a friend who has some incredible story about how their dream job just fell into their lap at exactly the right moment.’ I give him a pointed look.
‘It is a bit of a New York thing,’ he says with a smile. ‘So, obviously your dream job hasn’t fallen into your lap yet ...’
‘Not yet. Although ... I mean, if you could get me a contact ...’ I feel so gross in this moment, but it has to be done. I cannot sit here with someone who works for—worked for—my dream magazine without saying something, even if it does make it seem like I slept with him to get a job. My cheeks flame and I lift the coffee bowl to my mouth again, grateful that it’s big enough to hide most of my face.
When I lower it again, he’s grinning. ‘Ahhhh. So, this is what the smiling and flirting was about that first day I met you at Dogue’s—you knew.’
I shake my head, relieved I can deny that. ‘No, that’s not right. I didn’t know where you worked for ages. The flirting was all about how good-looking you are and how lovely you smell.’
He bursts out laughing and flashes me a bright smile. ‘But that just then was about the job, right?’
‘I’m not that conniving, I promise.’ I look into his eyes and relax a bit when I see them sparkling with humour. ‘Could I buy you a coffee and ask your advice on my application though?’
He looks thoughtful. ‘Well, I have lots of publishing industry contacts. I think I could probably connect you with some people who might be able to help.’
‘Are you for real? That would be amazing.’ Then my gut twists. ‘But is that fair? Because of ... well, you know. Last night.’
He grins. ‘No, it definitely wouldn’t be like that. Not at all. I can’t make any promises, but I’ll see what I can do. But I don’t think you should let yourself get too worked up over this. Believe me, working in publishing is not everything you’re hoping and dreaming it will be. No money, long hours ...’
‘Yeah, and not a great place for People of Colour,’ I say, horrified that I feel tears of frustration welling in my eyes. ‘Look, I know. I saw the strike stuff last year, I’m an avid follower of the xoxopublishinggg Instagram, and I think Yellowface reads more like fact than fiction. But I spent so many years of my life working towards this because I believe that I have to be in it to make change and I’m not making much industry change working in a doggy daycare, am I?’
He presses his lips together and I can’t exactly tell what he’s thinking. ‘The thing about New York is that if it’s meant to be, something will come up.’
His words hit a button in me and my tears turn to anger. ‘Do you know how sick I am of hearing platitudes like that?’ I lay my palms flat on the table to steady my racing heart. ‘New York is amazing but it’s not responsible for making people’s dreams come true. It doesn’t magically decide that one person is going to succeed over the other.’
He reaches out and covers one of my hands with his. His palm is warm and soft and the gesture says more than any platitude ever could. The tears I’ve been holding back spill over and, in a gesture that makes me giddy, he reaches into his pocket with his free hand and passes me a neatly pressed hanky.
‘Sorry,’ I say when my tears have stopped enough for me to talk. ‘I never do that.’
‘I should be the one apologising,’ he says. ‘You’re right about platitudes, they’re rubbish. But if you’ve only got limited time on your visa, why don’t you also try to have fun as well as work hard at your job? So that if you have to go home, you can go with some good stories as opposed to stressing over a job that might not come?’
I sigh. ‘I’m trying to have fun, but it’s just so expensive to do all the fun stuff in this city. And Dogue’s doesn’t exactly pay well.’
He leans back. ‘Tell me what your idea of fun in New York is.’
I look up at the ceiling and grimace. ‘Shoe shopping,’ I say, starting with the obvious. ‘I’ve never been much of a clothes girl, but I definitely lust after Carrie Bradshaw’s shoe collection. And that shit is expensive .’
‘Okay, so shoes. That’s one thing. What else?’
‘I want to see Broadway shows and the ballet; eat Tavern on the Green; ice-skating—stuff like that.’
‘I can help with those things,’ he says, looking thoughtful.
I shake my head. ‘Nope, no, you can’t. I’m not telling you because I want you to use your trust fund to take me out to expensive places, I’m telling you because we’re friends and you asked.’
‘What if I want to be more than friends?’ he says and at that moment, truegod, a lock of his fringe falls into his face like he’s some kind of bloody romcom star. Shit , I think. Like he’s bloody John Cusack himself. Mum and I loved watching him in Serendipity , and for a moment I’m back there on the couch with her. I pull myself into the present.
‘Well,’ I say, thinking. ‘Here’s the deal: if you want to help me with finding fun in New York then it has to be without opening your wallet.’ I don’t like the idea of him both helping me with publishing contacts and spending his money to show me a good time. Dotty would say I was crazy: she’d want me to use as much of the white man’s money as I could.
‘I don’t understand why,’ he says. ‘But you’re the boss so leave it with me for a few days.’
‘Okay,’ I agree, a warm feeling sliding up my chest.
He reaches out and touches my face, sending jolts into places directly connected with my love of John Cusack in Serendipity . ‘And for now, how about we go back to my place and I can check my address book for some publishing contacts for you?’
I’m pretty much out of my seat before he’s finished speaking.