Chapter 9
It’s one week later, one long week with a soul-atrophying stint sleeping on Adam’s couch, before my brother texts me an address and price. I call him immediately. “Is this for real?”
“A studio with its own private patio. Did I come through, or did I come through?”
“That depends on what it looks like.” Even I recognize I’m being a bit of a diva about this. As gracious as Adam has been, I’m desperate to get out of his apartment, out of his space, and into my own. I should take any hovel. “When can I see it?”
“Anytime. How’s the new-gig hunt?”
I toggle through the slew of job-search apps on my phone.
While grocery delivery is a bridge I’m not willing to cross at the moment, FroggoDoggo is a different story.
I put myself into the app as a dog walker yesterday.
Nothing sounds better than being outside, walking around San Diego with a dog I’m paid to spend time with.
Fools don’t realize I’d do that for free.
Too bad this app, like all social media, favors well-networked, established accounts.
“Slow,” I say.
The front door opens. “Starting up a new business is not for the faint of heart,” I watch Adam say into the phone and hear in my ear at the same time.
He hangs up, tosses his keys on his kitchen counter, and pulls out a carton of kefir from his fridge.
“If cash flow is a problem—and when is it not in the beginning—I’m happy to book you for a few shifts at the escape room.
It’s really taken off since Comic-Con.” He pulls out a bowl of eggs. “Can I make you an omelet?”
I don’t have the heart to eat another burnt omelet with too much spinach and not enough cheese. I also don’t have it in me to cheerfully do any more dishes. “I had no idea you love to cook so much.”
“It’s so fun. Half the stuff I make doesn’t turn out.”
I’d put that number higher than half. Three-quarters of his baked goods end in flames or in the trash or both.
Adam chops a red bell pepper. “But it is so satisfying when it comes together. Totally worth chasing.”
He’s grinning and whistling the theme of Mississippi Bake-Off and is probably one diced pepper away from setting off the smoke alarm.
My phone pings. I pick it up and squeal. FroggoDoggo tells me I’ve got a potential gig. “Yes. Pick me!” I confirm my availability and interest before someone else can snag the walk.
“Changed your mind about the omelet?”
“Nope. I gotta go walk a pooch. I’ll check out the apartment after. Thanks, Adam.”
He shrugs. “I owed you one.”
“You totally did. You want me to bring back pizza or something for lunch?”
“I’m going to be on campus all afternoon. TAing for Dr. Birnbaum.”
Grad student as well as entrepreneur. Talk about burning the candle at both ends. But he’s not miserable doing it. Must be nice. “You need me to take any ‘first day back’ pictures?” I ruffle Adam’s hair. “Do you have a chalkboard sign we could letter? First day of eighteenth grade.”
“Don’t you have a dog to walk?”
I grab my keys. “Later.”
“Text me when you get to the place. The entrance instructions are a little quirky.”
Ordinarily, I’d be put off by quirky but not for a rental so close to the beach at that price point.
I drive with the windows down on my 1977 Porsche, not caring that I am a cliché. I can taste the salt in the air, even if I’m too far away to hear the surf, when I pull up to a smart two-story in the hills of Pacific Beach.
I double-check the address before I knock on the door.
Lots of barking ensues. The door cracks open, and a big black wet nose sticks out through the crack.
“You must be Heraldo,” I say to the dog, who is barking and whining and desperately trying to paw his way outside.
“Goodness gracious, would you just stop?” A petite woman with gray hair streaked with a few dramatic black lowlights shoves past the mutt and closes the door.
“Lorraine? Hi, I’m Beatrice from FroggoDoggo.”
“Oh, thank heavens. I’d invite you in, but then, Heraldo.” She gestures to the closed door that is muffling lots of barking. “How in the world do you put a dog that weighs a hundred and nine pounds and won’t sit still into a harness? Whatever happened to dogs wearing collars?”
The dog scratches at the door and whines. “Did you recently adopt?”
“Ha! My daughter and grandchildren are visiting for the week and brought their mutt with them.”
I check the app. “He’s a goldendoodle pitsky?”
“I think that’s what they said. It was hard to hear with all the barking.
” Lorraine takes out her phone. “I sent them off to the Birch Aquarium, hoping to sneak away for just a little peace and quiet before we head off to whale watching, but Fido here cannot be left alone, and the kennel will not take him until noon. A walk would serve, but how am I going to walk a dog that weighs more than I do?”
“I’ve got it. You go enjoy your morning, and we’ll be back whenever—”
“Quarter to noon. I’d rather not spend the rest of the day stuck on a boat discussing how I could have just taken the grandkids to the aquarium and left Marcie at home to walk Buster.
” Lorraine puts her hand on my arm. “Grandma needs to make her ten o’clock massage, and then she needs to read her book with a slice of chocolate cake and an espresso. ”
“Eleven forty-five sharp. They’ll never know.”
“I’ll leave the door unlocked.” Lorraine hesitates. “I’m a fantastic grandmother. Really. I’ve looked forward to this visit for ages.” Heraldo barks loudly on the other side of the door.
“But even grandmas need their me time.” I pat Lorraine’s hand.
Wrestling a hundred and nine pounds of overgrown exuberance into a harness isn’t easy, but, happily, Heraldo is a very friendly pup. We take off for the hills. I may not have ever had a dog, but how hard can this be?
Luckily, there are some fairly steep hills in this area of Pacific Beach. We sprint up some, walk up others. Wind our way through many a cul-de-sac. Heraldo is big, and by the ninety-minute mark, he lies down in the middle of the sidewalk, panting and placid, and refuses to move.
“Dude.” I tug on the leash. “We’ve got another forty-five minutes. Let’s go.”
Heraldo will not budge. He’s found a bit of cool concrete, thanks to the dappled shade of a jacaranda tree.
“I’m not carrying you home.”
Heraldo whines and lowers his chin onto his paws.
Oh gosh, did I break this dog?
Maybe two hours and fifteen minutes is too long of a walk. I sit next to Heraldo and scratch his ears. I give him ten minutes while I google “goldendoodle pitsky stamina” and also “help my dog won’t walk.” I spend another ten trying to persuade Heraldo to get on his feet.
“Come on, dude. Just up this last hill.”
Nothing doing.
“Fine, you want to head home?” The dog immediately perks his ears up, stretches, and heads down the hill, tail wagging.
“How did it go?” a much more relaxed Lorraine asks when we enter her home.
“He pooped twice,” I say. “And then he refused to move for a solid twenty minutes.”
“What a monster. Yes, aren’t you, boy? Yes. A complete and total monster.”
Heraldo looks up from his water bowl with adoring eyes before dropping to the floor.
“Would you like his harness off?”
“A saint and a Berkeley Law graduate. Thank you, dear.” Lorraine’s phone chimes. “They’re leaving the aquarium now.”
“Is that at SeaWorld?”
“The Birch Aquarium at Scripps.”
“I’ve never been,” I say as I unbuckle the harness and wiggle it off Heraldo.
“Not a local, then.”
“I hope to be. I’m looking at an apartment in La Jolla this afternoon.” I can’t contain my excitement. “It’s across from Windansea.”
“Ah. A famous surf beach. Dangerous. I wouldn’t take my grandkids there, but if you drive north, there’s a gentler strip between the tide pools that is always a safe bet.
I call it the bathtub.” Lorain draws on a napkin and hands it to me.
“I bet it’s a seven- or eight-minute walk from your new place.
Tell me what you think about it Wednesday? ”
“Wednesday, as in tomorrow?”
“Or Thursday or Friday. Heraldo is here all week, and I like the idea of sending Marcie out for a massage while the grandkids and I head to the tide pools.”
“Great. Tomorrow it is.” I am officially a professional dog walker.