Back After This

Chapter Five The Great Dane

Chapter Five

The Great Dane

I knew about the groundhog and the six more weeks of winter, and I knew about the black cat and the bad luck. But I can’t say anyone had ever told me that if a dog with a head like a cinder block crosses your path, you are about to have a fateful meeting.

The morning after my coffee with Eliza, I came out of my building and let myself out of the security gate. I was at the top of the steps that led down to the sidewalk when I saw movement to my left and looked over to see an enormous dog trotting at a good clip down the pavement, past the building, down toward the next corner. He was black-and-white and massive, and I figured him for a Great Dane, since my only other thought was “marauding escaped cow.” His purple rope leash bounced uselessly along the sidewalk with nobody at the other end.

A few seconds after the dog passed, a man ran by, evidently in pursuit. He was in jeans and a white tee, very ordinary-looking, except that a cape flapped from his shoulders. It wasn’t a fashionable cape, if there is such a thing, it was brown with white block print, like what they would wrap around you at a hair salon, and it crinkled when it shifted in the air. He had long legs and arms, and you could almost have frozen him in space and drawn him into a comic strip, floating, elbows and knees at right angles, cape extended straight back. You’d draw little lines to emphasize his speed, and in capital scribbles, you’d write next to him, WHOOSH! He didn’t even seem to see me.

I followed, obviously.

I was wearing my most comfortable black flats, so I settled into a purposeful stride. Near the next cross street, the dog—whose name was Buddy, according to the urgent shouts of Captain Haircut—stopped near a tree where countless dogs had preceded him. He stuck his nose close to it and began, presumably, to index them. Captain Haircut caught up to him, then paused nearby and leaned over to catch his breath, putting his hands on his thighs. He was still in this position when I got there.

“Do you need a hand?”

He stood up, looked around as if I might be talking to someone else, and then nodded, hands on hips. “Yeah, that would be great, actually.” He had dark curly hair and dark eyes, and he was tall enough that the dog almost made sense beside him. “I’ve been chasing him for ten blocks. Every time I get any closer than about like this, he takes off again. I think he’s taunting me.”

“He does look calculating,” I said, watching the dog bite off a mouthful of grass and gum it halfheartedly.

“Maybe I can get out ahead of him.” He started to gesture back and forth between us. “If we work together, maybe we can surround him.”

“It’s worth a try,” I said.

For a moment, we just watched Buddy, who began to sniff a fire hydrant. “A fire hydrant, seriously?” Captain Haircut said.

“Fine line between a cliché and a classic,” I said.

Buddy paused and hoisted his meaty hock—my first thought was that it was what a velociraptor drumstick must look like—and began to empty the tank. It went on. And on. “He could put the fire out without the hydrant,” I said, awed. Captain Haircut laughed, and I laughed back. He motioned for me to stay where I was while he tried to creep closer. He traced a wide arc in the grass on the other side of the sidewalk as Buddy finished up and went back to his determined sniffing.

But just as Captain Haircut started to pass him, Buddy turned left and headed up the street. We swore simultaneously and followed him past a couple of houses, at which point he started sniffing a low patch of flowers next to the sidewalk. “Okay,” Cap said. “I’m going to try to get in front of him again.”

“Act casual,” I said. He nodded.

Cap walked past Buddy on the sidewalk as Buddy turned his attention to some nearby ivy. “Good morning,” he said in a low voice, like an airport gate announcer. “The first thing we’re going to do is get hold of your leash. Just eat those flowers, take it easy, and understand that there is a plan.”

“I don’t think he’s going to understand the importance of the agenda,” I said as he got far enough that Buddy was between us.

“I’m trying to make him comfortable.” He pointed at me. “You said to act casual.”

“Yeah, casual, not business casual.”

He did not smile at this. He did not chuckle or chortle. Instead, he doubled over and let his arms dangle so his hands brushed his Chuck Taylors, and he laughed for a solid three seconds before he stood back up. “I like that.” He collected himself. “Okay, cover me. Tell my mother I love her.” But as soon as he took a step, Buddy turned and trotted across the street, settling into a whole different row of plants. “Ah, dammit,” he muttered.

“Why is he being like this?” I said.

He turned and looked at me with his eyebrow cocked. “See? I told you he was taunting me, and you didn’t believe it.” He put his hands on his hips and looked around. “Do you see any rope lying around?”

“What for?”

“I was thinking I’d lasso him.”

“You want to lasso him?” I said. “Like lasso him, like ‘yippie ki-yay’? Do you have any kind of lasso experience?”

“No,” he admitted. “Do you?”

“No. I mean, my sister watches Yellowstone. And I saw City Slickers on DVD when I was a kid. Oh, and there’s an episode of The Brady Bunch where they have to get the key—”

“Off the wall of the jail,” he said. “Right.” He considered this thought as Buddy considered disrespecting a Drive Like Your Kids Live Here sign as he had the hydrant. “It doesn’t seem that hard.” He turned to me. “I feel like, you know, you just…” He traced circles in the air with his hand. “You just need a little finesse.”

“I admire your optimism, but honestly, I think it seems very hard.”

He made the air circles a couple more times, then he put his hands back on his hips. “You’re probably right. Maybe we’re thinking about this wrong, maybe we need to figure out how to get him to come to us.”

“It won’t work to call him?”

“I’ve been calling him for ten blocks,” he said. “I’m pretty sure I could yell at him for hours, and all he would do is eat plants and run.”

“Oh, wait,” I said. “Eating. Eating is the idea.” I reached into my bag and pulled out a jar of chunky peanut butter. Walking slowly toward Buddy, I unscrewed the lid. “Do you want a snack?” I asked. I dug two fingers into the jar, pulling out a golf ball–sized glob. Behind him, Cap watched.

Buddy looked up from the ivy. He saw me, saw the peanut butter. Saw me, saw the peanut butter. I waved my fingers in a figure eight pattern, in case I could get the scent to waft in his direction. He began to close the distance between us, one cautious step at a time, as I did the same. When we met, he gently touched my hand with his velvety muzzle, which was like being tenderly caressed by the bumper of a Humvee, but when his fat tongue emerged and started to pull at the peanut butter, it wasn’t that different from feeding a baby. Or, from how I supposed feeding a baby would be, given that a baby can bite you on the boob at any time. I reached out and took hold of Buddy’s purple leash, and Cap walked up to us. “That was riveting,” he said, crossing his arms across his chest. “You should have a TV show where you feed animals peanut butter exactly like that. I would watch ten seasons of it.”

I held the leash out to him. “Nah, I’m not ready to go pro yet. I want to hang on to my Olympic eligibility.”

“Hey, truly. Thank you,” he said, taking the leash from me.

“You’re welcome. I’m just glad everybody is safe. I guess you have to hold on pretty tight to a guy this size, huh?”

“Oh, he’s not mine.”

“He’s not?”

“No, no.”

“You chased him all the way here and he’s not your dog?” I screwed the top back on the jar and shoved it down in my bag, pulling out a cylinder of wet wipes and cleaning the peanut butter off my fingers.

“No. I was getting my hair cut at this place up on Rhode Island. You know, where the chairs face the big front windows?”

“Sure.”

“I was kind of people-watching, everybody’s going by on their way to work, and I see this woman walking with him.” He pointed to Buddy. “And right as they pass the window, a guy goes by on a scooter. Just some dude, khakis and a messenger bag and the…” He gestured at the center of his chest.

“Lanyard.”

“Lanyard, exactly. Anyway, he practically runs into her, but he keeps right on going, total prick. The dog barks, she tries to keep her balance. But, well, do you know how the sidewalk goes up like a little A-frame house when there’s a crack in it, like—”

“Right, I turned my ankle in Dupont Circle that way, right in front of the bookstore.”

“Oh, the hell with ankles,” he said sympathetically. “You know, one of mine still puffs up when it rains because I messed it up practicing backflips in the backyard with my brother when I was ten.”

“Yeah, I messed mine up practicing looking at my phone while I was walking.”

“Ouch.” He shifted Buddy’s lead in his hand. “Anyway, anyway, the lady fell, and she dropped the leash. She was on the ground yelling, ‘Buddy, Buddy, come back.’ So I figured somebody had better get the dog. If he got lost, it’s not like he was going to call her later and tell her where to pick him up. And his legs are really long, so he covers a lot of ground.”

I looked at Cap. I could see now, up close, that the right half of his dark hair was neatly trimmed and the left half was longer. He looked like a one-man before-and-after picture. “And you got up and ran out the door?”

“Yes.”

“Of the hair salon.”

“Yes.”

“Did you say anything?”

“Like what?”

“Like, ‘I’ll be right back.’ Or maybe, ‘I have to go catch that dog.’?”

His eyes narrowed. “You think I should have?”

I nodded. “It probably doesn’t happen every day that somebody jumps up in the middle of a haircut and runs out the door with the cape on.”

He reached around his back and felt for it. “Oh, damn, I forgot I even had that. They probably want it back, huh? And Buddy’s mom is probably wondering whether I ever caught up to him. I hope she’s not too worried.”

“Hey, you still did your good deed for the day.”

“Well, I was just running after him until I ran into you.” He looked down at me. “Imagine if he’d run down some other street? What would I have done?”

“Chased him all the way to the Capitol, I guess.” I pointed up ahead of us. “I get the bus up on Fourth. Near your hair place.”

“Oh, great,” he said. “I’ll walk with you.”

We fell into a slow stroll, with Buddy pausing every few steps to stick his face in something new. “So I followed Buddy, and you followed me,” he said. I nodded.

He leaned over to peek into my bag. “Peanut butter, huh? You always that prepared?”

“Yeah, I work late a lot. I get stuck at my desk. I always have peanut butter in my bottom drawer, and crackers, maybe half a cookie or something. And a couple of squares of dark chocolate for late at night.”

“Ooh, yeah, you’ve gotta have that night chocolate.”

“Exactly, night chocolate. Like, the kind so dark it’s a little bit punishing? Your mouth rejects it, but it’s so good? That’s what keeps me going when I’m editing at three in the morning. Oh, and I should say, there’s always an apple, although it’s usually old enough that I don’t want to eat it, I just think about how I should eat it.”

“You look at it.”

“Right, it’s aspirational.”

“What do you edit?” he said.

“I edit audio,” I said. “Podcasts and stuff.”

“Oh, cool,” he said, in exactly the way people do when they are wondering whether you work for a noxious political show or a rich celebrity who gets paid a million dollars a year to try to be interesting, which are the two kinds of podcasts I am commonly asked about.

“How about you, what do you do?” I asked.

“Little of this, little of that,” he said. With my luck, it was probably a little murder for hire and a little light environmental pollution.

We passed my gate, where two women who lived down the hall from me were just coming out, and they waved at me as they passed. “That’s my building,” I said. “Do you live near here?”

“I live by Harris Teeter, on that block with the little coffee shop and the big coffee shop.”

“Oh, by the store with the glass lamps and wall hangings and stuff.”

“Yep.”

“Okay, I have to ask you. Do people ever go in there and buy things? I don’t think I’ve ever seen anybody going in or out, I just see fancy stuff in the window.”

“No, you’re exactly right. I was telling my sister the other day, I think it’s money laundering. There are probably seven guys in the back, putting cash through those automatic bill-counters, you know, ftt-ftt-ftt-ftt .” At the sound, Buddy turned briefly before continuing up the street. For all his dawdling and wandering, it occurred to me that Buddy was a well-behaved leash walker, which was a good thing, since he could have pulled Cap off his feet just by leaning the wrong way.

“What do you think this dog weighs?” I asked him. “Hundred pounds?”

Cap looked down at Buddy. “Oh, way more than that. I bet it’s a hundred fifty. I know how much my girlfriend weighs, and he’s a lot bigger than she is.” Of course. “Or my ex-girlfriend, I guess.” He narrowed his eyes at the dog. “She walks on two legs, though. And her head is smaller.”

“Would you rather fight one Great Dane–sized ex-girlfriend or a hundred ex-girlfriend-sized Great Danes?” I asked. And then I suddenly had the horrifying sense that I had stepped off a conversational cliff and was about to hold up a sign that said Help . And so I hastily added, “I’m sorry, it’s a weird internet—”

“No, I know, with the ducks and the horses, a horse-sized duck or a hundred duck-sized horses. I know the thing, I just got this picture in my head of myself dancing with Buddy at my cousin’s wedding, and it’s really…vivid.”

“Are you both in tuxes?”

“Just me. Buddy’s in Meredith’s green dress, strapless, with the laces in the back.”

“I bet it looks great on him. The perfect complement to a fifteen-pound tongue.” It was time for me to turn left to get the bus. “I go this way,” I said, jabbing my thumb down the street. “This was fun.”

He was suddenly holding his phone. “Hey, can I call you or text you or something?”

“Why?” I knew why. Why did I say “Why?”

“Well, I like talking to you.” He grinned. I might have asked why, but he knew I knew why.

“Oh,” I said, using all the powers of articulation that made me a good editor.

“But, you know, also…I feel like I should let you know that Buddy got back to his mom okay, right?”

I nodded slowly. “I do think that would make me feel better.”

“Besides, what if next time I’m running after a monkey and you have a banana in your purse? I gotta have your contact info.”

It obviously wasn’t anything, he was just going to tell me about the dog. It was business. It was kindness to animals. So I gave him my number. We did the thing where you trade phones and you add yourself as a contact, and maybe you use your real name, and maybe you use your real number, and maybe you don’t. And I put in “Cecily,” and he put in “Will,” and they were both our real names, and they were both our real numbers, and that’s how we met.

—

I thought about him and the dog all the way back to the office, and when I walked through the door, it was like I’d been whomped in the face with my own choices. Because despite this serendipitous meeting, an entire project, involving a good number of people, was now taking shape, wherein I would meet men via the least serendipitous method ever devised by humans.

My progress through Eliza’s program would stay a few weeks ahead of what was airing, but it still made me terrifically nervous that we’d start airing the season without knowing the ending. Toby kept telling me it would be okay, people made shows this way all the time. I bit back the urge to tell him they were shows I often ended up not liking.

Later that day, as Julie and I waited for Miles so we could retrack something where he said “Chernobyl” instead of “Three Mile Island,” she took out a notebook. “Oh, I meant to fill you in on the production meeting you wisely didn’t attend.” She adjusted her glasses. “You want the details on the schedule?”

“Sure.”

“So you know this part: The preview is the sixteenth of next month. First episode is November fifteenth. We’ll run six episodes, then we’re on pause for Christmas week and New Year’s week. And on top of not having episodes come out, that’s when Toby wants everybody to take whatever vacation they want over the next five or six months, and Eliza’s going to Hawaii for New Year’s anyway. So I think we’ll be…not totally dark for those two weeks, but that will be our break, and then we’ll do the final push to Valentine’s Day.” She looked up at me. “Good?”

“Good. Did they say what these episodes are actually going to be?”

“Yeah.” She looked back down at her notes. “After the preview, we’ll have two that are background, one on you and one on Eliza. Then we figure we can probably cover twenty dates in six episodes, so that means we’d have four left. And what happens in those would depend on…what happens, I guess. Hopefully they’re all about you going on second and third dates with some really awesome guys. And presumably we come up with some kind of ending.”

I rubbed my eyes and said, “Self-help.”

“I know.”

“I’m better at help-help. I help-helped save a dog this morning.”

“How did that happen?”

“I walked out of my building, and there was this giant dog running down the street, and this guy was running after it. So I helped. He returned the dog to its owner, and all is well.”

“What did you do?”

“Fed him peanut butter off my fingers.”

“The guy?”

“The dog.”

“Oh. What did he look like?”

“The dog?”

“The guy.”

“Oh,” I said. “I don’t know, I’m terrible at describing people, you know that.”

“Well, what famous person does he look like?”

“Why does everybody have to look like a famous person?” She just stared at me. “Okay. Okay, imagine a very, very good-looking celebrity. Like, someone who’s famous for being extremely handsome, light shines from his eyes, eerily symmetrical face, all that.”

“Well, you have my attention,” she said.

“You know how you sometimes see a photo of somebody like that, and next to him is another guy? And like, he’s handsome, but he’s a normal amount of handsome. And you find out that this guy is the celebrity’s brother. And you think, yes, this guy is exactly the right amount of handsome to be an unmanageably handsome man’s brother. You know what I mean?”

“Oh, sure.”

“There you go. And I helped him, and now an enormous dog is safe because we went and stopped him before he could become a menacing stray knocking over trash cans with his head.”

“Well, I’m proud to know you,” she said.

“I’m just here to help the gargantuan-dog community,” I said. And we went back to waiting for Miles.