Chapter 1 Page 9

  Carmen and Berto tilted their heads.

  “Neutering,” I said.

  Carmen, who still sat on the floor consoling Noche, or vice versa, looked up, her eyes wary. “Noooo,” she cried. “You mean cut off his…cut off his bobbit?”

  I suppressed a smile. “No, no,” I said. “That stays intact. It’s only the testicles that are removed.”

  A rhyme popped into my head: The Westie with no Testes. A few years ago, our clinic had neutered a West Highland terrier. Ever since, his owner had called him that.

  “His testicles!” Berto boomed with such force I jumped back. “No way!”

  I’m working for crazy people. One minute he’s ready to get rid of Noche, and now he’s outraged at the thought of neutering him? Men.

  A vein on Berto’s temple throbbed. “Take away his manhood?”

  Berto acted downright bi-polar when it came to the dogs.

  “But…he’s a dog,” I said meekly. “It’s done all the time. He’d be given anesthesia, and he wouldn’t feel a thing. He’ll forget he even had them.”

  Berto looked at me with skepticism and squirmed. Unconsciously, he put a hand in his pocket and checked his own boys to make sure they hadn’t strayed.

  I leaned forward and spoke intensely. “Neutering should keep him from getting…so excited. There’s also less chance of cancer. Here’s something else to think about. If you don’t have him neutered, you’re going to end up with little parti-poodles on your hands. I’m surprised it hasn’t happened already.”

  “Party poodles?” Carmen asked.

  “Parti, as in parti-colored, black and white puppies. If Noche and Blanco mate, their offspring could be of mixed colors. Some might be black, some white, some even silver, but some could be like Oreos, black and white.”

  “Oreos? You mean like the cookie?” Carmen asked.

  “Blanco’s skin is pink and some of her toenails are white and others black. That’s a sign she may carry the parti gene. That would disqualify the pups from ever showing. You’d have to sell them as pet quality. But you’re missing my point. You didn’t buy the dogs for breeding.”

  Berto removed his hand from his pocket and adjusted his pants, obviously still fixated on the concept of neutering. “You mean castrate him, right?”

  “It would solve part of your problem. It should have been done sooner, when he was younger. Do it early enough, and it reduces their tendency to hike.”

  “Hike?” Berto asked.

  “His leg. Most dogs who are neutered early, squat instead of hike their leg to pee.”

  Berto’s eyes grew large. “Squat! Like a girl?”

  I was making things worse.

  Berto winced. “You’re a woman. You don’t understand men.”

  He was right about that. I chewed on a ragged fingernail. How could I get through to him? “You do have another option…a kind of reconstruction, I guess you’d call it.”

  Carmen looked interested, but the neutering discussion seemed to have drained Berto of his strength. “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “Neuticles.”

  Noche cocked one ear. Carmen and Berto furrowed their brows. “Neuticles?” they said in unison.

  “Neuticles,” I repeated.

  Behind me, a deep voice echoed. “Neuticles?”

  I turned to face Nick, determined not to lose my professional demeanor, but my eyes surely gave me away. I softened when I looked into his comforting, smiling face, but I willed myself to concentrate on Neuticles instead. “Neuticles are…well, they’re artificial testes for dogs. Implants. You can’t even tell the difference. They have the same weight and feel and shape—everything.”

  Berto scowled. “I’ll bet Noche could tell the difference.”

  I continued my mini-lecture. “They come in different sizes, from petite to large. They’re made out of silicone or polypropylene. And you can get them in different shapes. You can even have them custom made if your dog has an extra-proportional testicle size.” I glanced over at Noche. “He’d probably take a medium or large.”

  “Artificial plastic balls for dogs?” Nick was bent double with laughter. Carmen and Berto looked totally perplexed.

  “Laugh all you want,” I said. “They’ve been around since the early nineties. They’re great for pet owners who are neuter-hesitant. And they’re relatively inexpensive. Anywhere from seventy-five to four hundred dollars, depending on what kind you buy. Cats, horses, even bulls can be implanted with them.”

  “Wait, wait…I have an idea,” Carmen said. “Couldn’t he just have one of those things Berto had instead?”

  Oops. I had the feeling Berto wasn’t going to like what was coming.

  I was right. Berto glared at her and snarled, “Carmen.” He’d have slapped a muzzle on her if he’d had one.

  Carmen ignored him. “They didn’t have to remove Berto’s.” She smiled innocently. “You know, a bastectomy.”

  Berto crossed his legs awkwardly, a pained look contorting his face.

  I sucked in my cheeks to keep from laughing. “Dogs can have vasectomies, but it’s not normally done. For one thing, it doesn’t prevent aggressive behavior. So if you want Noche to calm down and be less likely to mount, then neutering is the best solution. According to research, after thirty days or so, the testosterone will leave his system, and he’ll quit marking his territory and be less likely to roam, like he did today.” Unless Berto chases him out of the house again.

  Nick gulped between guffaws. “How long does it take...to attach them?”

  Difficult as it was, I kept a straight face. “Two to three minutes.”

  “Will he get a bumper sticker that says, I’ve been Neuticled?” Nick asked.

  His laughter was infectious. I ducked my head and faked a cough. “Neuticles will help his self-esteem,” I said, looking directly at Berto.

  Noche, missing the attention, chose that moment to bark, startling all of us. When we turned to look at him, he whined and buried his head in Carmen’s lap. It didn’t help my case.

  Carmen squeezed Noche to her, trying to soothe him with a sing-songy voice. “Mijo. My poor Noche. My pobre lost Noche.”

  When Nick saw the look of despair on my face, he quit laughing, and his voice took on a serious tone. “You look tired.”

  “No kidding. Sleeping on the floor at an airport isn’t exactly the same as Hotel ZaZa in Dallas.”

  “You did have a choice.”

  “Huh,” I muttered. But I could have licked his hand for what he said next.

  “Hey, everybody, why don’t we call it a morning? Noche is safe, Julie and I are back, so let’s all get some rest. This afternoon, Julie can get on with the training. Berto, how about a cup of coffee? I’ll tell you all about New Orleans.”

  No one protested. We were too exhausted.

  With that, the men moved into the house, unless you counted Noche, who’d be less “man” before long if I had any say in the matter. I gave Carmen a weak goodbye wave and headed back to my rooms, but as I started down the path, I had second thoughts. I was curious about the other apartment. What was it for? Though it was none of my business, I turned back. Carmen’s dark head still rested against Noche’s dirty black one. “Say, Carmen. Can I ask you a question?”

  She looked up, her eyes weary. That’s when I realized how much was at stake—her marriage, these dogs’ lives, and life as Carmen knew it. “Okay,” she responded listlessly.

  “The guesthouse. I didn’t know until this morning how big it really is. I’ve heard water running on the other side. Is Ramón working there? Does he live there?”

  She looked puzzled and shook her head. “No, what made you think that?”

  “The singing. Someone was singing in Spanish on the other side of my bathroom wall.”

  Her lips curved up in the hint of a smile. “That would be Nick,” she said, her eyes twinkling. “I thought you knew.”

  Now I was the puzzled one. “Knew what?”

  “Nick has be
en staying on the other side.”

  “Ah.” I tried to sound nonchalant. “Does he live there?”

  Her laugh was clear and girlish. “Oh no. Nick has his own place. But he asked if he could stay there the night he flew you in.” Her eyes looked amused. “We built it several years ago in hopes our children would be more likely to visit if they had their own place, but…” her voice trailed off and her eyes grew distant. “The apartments were built as reflections of each other. Like our children…twins…a boy and a girl.”

  Like Noche and Blanco. Now I understood her fierce attachment to the dogs—surrogate children.

  Carmen’s eyes narrowed in thought. “What do you call them? I forget. Twins who are separate in the womb. Maternal?”

  “Fraternal,” I answered.

  “Yes, that’s it. And now they live far away. From me and from each other.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She smiled sadly. “But I have my Noche and my Blanco.”

  “Yes, you do.” And you’re going to keep them. Somehow I’m going to see to that.

  Back in my apartment, I stood in the shower under a blast of hot water, ridding myself of the grime left over from New Orleans and Noche. No matter how tired I was, I had a training session this afternoon I couldn’t miss. In the meantime, Nick had better set things straight with Berto and Carmen. I told myself she needed me too much to fire me. She’d said herself I was her last hope. And we had been making progress.

  I collapsed on the bed, pulling a blanket over my head to create my own little womb. But my sleep was fitful. I kept thinking about Nick. Now I understood his comment that first night: “Where we’re staying.” But why was he staying here instead of his own place? And why did I care? I’d taken my vow of celibacy, and I intended to uphold it.

  Mirror images. That means…ohhh. That means Nick’s bed and mine share the same wall. We’re sleeping mere feet from each other.

  That was my last thought before I conked out for the next few hours. The phone woke me. Groggy, I struggled to say hello, but Carmen’s voice was distinct and loud. “I need to talk to you about a matter of great importance.”

  Something told me I was in serious trouble.

  Chapter Seven

  Carmen met me on the patio and motioned me to sit. “What would you like? Tea, diet soda, Corona?”

  I still loved the way she rolled her r’s. But I could also hear her saying, “You’re fired,” using two rolled r’s. I considered the Corona, since I might need fortification but opted for a diet Dr Pepper instead. If a Dr Pepper museum was good enough for Waco, then the drink was good enough for me.

  “Did you know that Dr Pepper was originally called a Waco?” she asked.

  Why was she was prolonging the agony?

  “It’s the world’s oldest major soft drink,” she added.

  She left to get our drinks, and I stretched my neck to ease the tension, bracing myself for termination. When she got back, she placed a paper napkin in front of me and set a frosted mug on top of it. Then she settled herself across from me, her eyes sparkling with excitement. She must get off on these “Trump” firing moments. She looked up at me over the rim of her glass as she took a sip, while I nervously poked a hole in my wet napkin.

  “You ready?” she asked, not pausing for me to answer. “I have an idea. When the month is up, we’ll have a graduation ceremony.”

  She waited, but no sound issued from my lips.

  “Are you okay?” she asked, leaning over and touching my arm with her fingertips.

  I hugged myself and swallowed hard.

  “We can decorate the ballroom, invite everyone, and show how much mis niños have learned.”

  I took a big gulp of Dr Pepper and began choking.

  Carmen jumped up and pounded my back, but that only made it worse. “Julie! Are you okay? Do I need to hindlick you?”

  I waved her away before she could grab me around the chest and break my ribs in her enthusiasm. “I’m okay. It just went down the wrong pipe.” I coughed a few more times and took a slow sip of my Dr Pepper to ease my throat.

  So I wasn’t getting fired after all. Much worse. She wanted me to attend a party. A dog party. “Don’t you think that’s a little much?”

  “No, I do not.” She leaned back and crossed her arms over her chest.

  I grimaced. “To tell you the truth, I’m not much into parties.” I was thinking of all the fancy events my mother had dragged me to over the years. She’d never understood I hated large functions, especially the kind requiring me to dress up.

  “Oh, don’t be a pooper,” Carmen said. “I love big parties. It will be fun. We’ll invite Nick and our friends in San Antonio and our parents in Mexico.” She continued, mentally checking off what sounded like a few hundred people. “Of course, you’ll want to invite Philip. You can ask anyone you want.” She clapped her hands and bounced up and down in her chair like a little kid.

  My hand flew to my heart, but Carmen mistook the gesture. “Oh, you miss him, don’t you?” Her voice was full of sympathy.

  I drew a deep breath. “How do you know about Philip?”

  Carmen laughed and rubbed her hands together. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

  I sat frozen, staring at her. Did she know? And did that mean Nick knew?

  When I didn’t speak, she relented and smiled. “I can’t keep a secret. It was Nick.”

  My heart thumped. “Uh, what exactly did Nick say?”

  Carmen pooched her lips out and drew her arched brows together as she tried to remember. “That you have a boyfriend back in Abilene, and his name is Philip. And he lives with you. Nick said it sounded serious.”

  Relief flooded through me. Whenever I’d talked about Philip, I’d been careful to call him my little boy, so Carmen was none the wiser. Though I was curious why I’d been the topic of conversation, I didn’t want to appear interested, so I didn’t ask. She’d just said she couldn’t keep a secret. I decided to continue my subterfuge. “Well, I care about him, but he’s not the marrying kind.”

  “Then you need to find someone who is.” She reached up and tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re too pretty to go to waste. I’m surprised you aren’t married already.”

  “You sound like my mother.”

  “Mothers often know best.”

  “Well, I’m looking. Just not having much luck. There’s also this matter of a trust fund. My father set it up so I couldn’t touch any of the money unless I got married.”

  “He sounds like a wise man. Husbands are good. Money is good. I know. I’ve been without both.”

  I didn’t tell her about my born-again virgin status. Somehow, I didn’t think she’d understand. “It’s not just the money. I’m also tired of the dating rat race.”

  “I understand. My daughter feels the same way, so I’ve been helping her.”

  “How are you doing that?”

  “Easy. Like everyone else. Mr. Gore man’s invention.”

  What was she talking about? “Mr. Goreman?”

  Carmen laughed. “The Interweb, silly.”

  A few days later, Carmen called me again, saying to come quickly, she had important news. I raced up the hill, hoping Berto had agreed to neuter Noche. She was waiting on the patio. She took my arm, guided me into the library, and shut the door. The dark wood paneling, stone fireplace, and built-in bookcases filled with leather-bound books made me feel as if I were walking into Sherlock Holmes’ study.

  I pointed to the fireplace. “Does it ever get cold enough here to use it?”

  The corner of her mouth turned up, and she snickered. “It’s not for heat. I told the man who put in the gas logs I like the atmosphere of a fireplace. You know what he said?”

  I waited for enlightenment.

  “He said—” She lowered her voice an octave, pretending to be the fireplace man. “‘Like I told my ex-wife. You want atmosphere? Hang a picture. It’s cheaper.’”

  She giggled, and I co
uldn’t help joining in. In the past few days, I’d discovered Carmen had a sense of humor. Not only that, she was much smarter than people gave her credit for. She might get words mixed up, but that was part of her charm. She’d read several of the books that lined the walls, and they weren’t all romance novels.

  She propelled me to a corner and stopped in front of a large armoire. Though we were alone in the room, she whispered. “Don’t tell Berto. He’s afraid I’ll do something wrong and someone will steal our identity.”

  Instead of Casa del Lago, they should have named their house Casa de Secretos. Carmen opened the doors, revealing enough electronic devices to keep Bill Gates the richest man on earth another year. Though I was no technophile, I identified a monitor, CPU, printer, two modems, a fax machine, and a scanner. No telling what other gadgets Berto had stashed inside.

  “You say you want a husband. Okay, José, we’re going to find you one.”

  “I don’t think my prospective husband is in this cabinet.” But I knew what she had in mind.

  She commandeered a chair from the game table, pulled it up to the computer, and pointed at it. “Sit there.” Then she plunked her butt in the pneumatic desk chair. “Just wait. I’ve watched Berto, so I know all about how to surf the Interweb. When he’s gone, I come in here and look up stuff.”

  I glanced toward the door, expecting to see Berto walk in any minute.

  “Don’t worry,” Carmen said. “He’s out of town.”

  I felt uneasy with the whole situation and tried to rise, but she grabbed my arm and pulled me back down.

  “Look, Carmen. I’m not sure we should be doing this. Berto might have confidential information in there he doesn’t want me to see. Like financial records. You said he doesn’t like you messing with his equipment.”

  Carmen giggled again, then turned to me and winked. “I mess with his equipment whenever I want, and he never complains.”

  “I’m talking about his personal stuff.”

  She gave me a sly grin. “So am I.”

  I stood.

  “Sit,” she ordered, rising from her seat and bumping her hip into mine till I sat. “We’re doing this together.” She’d scooted the chairs so close to each other we were almost touching. I tried to tell myself she was the boss and I had no choice but to comply.