TOTALLY CLIPS HAIR SALON

  Putting his face up against the glass, he peered through the front window, searching for Jen. He couldn’t see her. Maybe, he mused, she was in back, getting her fur groomed. Opening the door, he let himself in, sniffing as he went.

  The girl at the front desk flaunted tats, piercings, and an attitude that suggested that if a tsunami had begun rolling in off the nearby bay she would scarcely have bothered to look for an inner tube. One side of her head was shaved, the other cropped so that the hair drooped tastefully down over her left eye. Exerting maximum effort, she succeeded in raising her gaze from the tablet in front of her to the peculiar figure that had ambled in through the front door. The fact that he was continuously and unabashedly sniffing of his surroundings as well as the empty air did not unsettle her. In fact, if left up to her she would have been perfectly content to let him snuffle to his heart’s content. However, there was the small if regrettable matter of her job to consider, and other patrons of TC might not be so understanding.

  “Can I help you?”

  Though radically transformed, Stuart was as open as ever. “I’m just sniffing,” he told her. As if that explanation was necessary. “Can you smell Jen? Jen Jensen? Was she in here today?”

  “Yah. She was here, and she didn’t smell anything, either. Then she went out the door. Like you should right now.” For emphasis she put a hand on the desk phone, as if she was prepared to call someone. The police, for example.

  As a feint it proved unnecessary. Utterly missing both her sarcasm and the implied threat, he wagged a non-existent tail. “That’s great! Thanks!”

  As he departed, the receptionist took a moment to consider. She didn’t know Jensen well, but from what she could recall of that particular customer the woman did not strike her as the type to keep the acquaintance of bearded men who dressed in skin-tight track suits. With a shrug she put the encounter out of her mind and returned to perusing the string of music videos she had assembled on her tablet.

  As he walked, vertical Stuart drew only an occasional sideways glance. Offering casual greetings to passers-by sometimes sparked greetings in return. Also the infrequent dirty look. He offered the same hellos in equal measure to the small dogs he passed. Anyone observing his progress might have remarked that not a single one of them barked at the affable if oddly dressed stranger.

  There, what was that? A touch of scent on the sea breeze. Familiar, overpowering in its strength, unmistakable. Not Jen.

  Bacon!

  Following his nose led him to an outdoor café. As it was one he often visited in Jen’s company he had no compunction about stopping opposite the table occupied by a couple enjoying their breakfast. Why should it be a problem? Surely the staff would recognize him.

  His momentarily overwhelmed senses masked the realization of what he had become.

  Squatting down nearby, he gazed at the bacon on the man’s plate. There were eggs and toast as well, but their aromas paled in comparison to the perfume of pan-crisped pig.

  Although general safety concerns and common sense deem interaction with the plethora of prevalent weirdos inadvisable in Southern Cal, sometimes circumstances require that such rules be broken. The diner, who heretofore had ignored Stuart’s presence, finally felt compelled to say something.

  “Do you mind?”

  The strangely-clad visitor squatting nearby made puppy eyes at him. To the diner that proved even more disconcerting than the other man’s begging posture.

  “Be nice, Frank,” said his breakfast companion. “He looks hungry. See? He’s not even asking for money. Give him your toast or something. We can order more.” She smiled at her husband. “Be socially aware. Besides, we’re at the beach. Poor fellow probably sleeps under the pier.”

  The man let out a grunt. “Looks pretty well-groomed to me. It’s not like his clothes are hanging off him. Oh, fine.” He turned toward the eager Stuart. “Would you like some toast?”

  The crouching figure shook his head. “No. The turkey bacon.”

  Turning back to his wife, the man cast a jaundiced eye. “Denise?” Her puppy eyes were almost as effective as Stuart’s.

  “Just toss it at me,” he whined.

  The woman grinned. “Toss it at him, Frank.”

  Her husband gaped at her. “Really, Denise? You gotta be kidding me.” He indicated the remaining strip of bacon. “I wanna eat this.”

  There is a tone women employ when dealing with men that involves the slowing of time. Einstein somehow missed it when concocting his General Theory of Relativity. It belongs to the General Theory of Relatives, but that remains to be mathematically proven by an as yet unnamed scientist. The theorem carries with it implications all its own. Denise utilized it now.

  “F—r—a—n—k…..”

  With a sigh he picked up the strip of bacon and swung it too and fro in front of the waiting beggar. Stuart’s head went from side to side as he followed it, until its owner tossed it into the air. Tracking its flight, he adjusted his head to catch it in mid-air. Growling softly, he devoured it in seconds, then straightened and took off. Both diners watched him go, more than a little shocked at the unexpectedly savage behavior.

  “I can’t believe you did that, Frank.”

  Her husband gaped at her, at a loss for words. He was not the first man to be caught out by such a reaction. Nor would he be the last.

  The Barkery was busy, as it usually was that time of day. Cindy served customers one after another, running credit cards and, rarely, taking cash and making change. One reason customers enjoyed their visits so much was due to the antics of Cupcake. Cindy had trained her to pick up small neatly wrapped bonus treats from a tray and deposit them in customer’s Barkery bags. The Pomeranian never deviated from her duty until Cindy gave her the command to disengage.

  Until now. Espying something outside, the dog started barking uncontrollably. Gazing in from without, Stuart met the Pomeranian’s eyes. Nearly starting to bark in response, he thought better of it. Besides, there was no sign inside of Jen. He moved off, resuming his search.

  On the counter inside, Cupcake sat up and made prayer hands with her front paws. Looking past her, Cindy frowned at the front window. Who had her dog seen to cause such a commotion? She shrugged. Whoever it was, they were gone now.

  “Who was that, Cupcake? Did you scare him away? You are so fierce!” She eyed the wall clock. “Break time. Wanna go parky?”

  In response, the Pomeranian started spinning excitedly. But not entirely for the reason her master believed.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  It had been a good morning, Jen decided. In spite of the rushing, in spite of having to listen, however briefly, to her mother’s harangue. The fact that Sylvia had been entirely within boundaries to read her daughter the terse riot act did not make it any easier to accept. What she believed to have been a completely successful meeting with the client soothed any hurt feelings or concerns. She was already imagining what she would do with the commission on the sale of the ballplayer’s manse. A new, fancier car, perhaps (it would be a tax write-off anyway). Maybe that vacation she’d always dreamed of, to the Amalfi Coast or Polynesia. After her crushing dinner with Arthur she needed a vacation.

  Still a little hung over, she winced slightly as she got out of the car. Both her lingering headache and all thoughts of vacation vanished when she noticed that the front door to her house was open. Reaching into her purse she pulled out the lavender cylinder of pepper spray she kept handy. Gripping it tightly, she tiptoed warily through the entrance.

  “Stuart?” she called. Tentatively at first, then more forcefully. “Stuart—come here, buddy.” Her voice rose to an unnatural pitch and she added, in case anyone was listening, “I have pepper spray”!

  She advanced further. “Where are you Stu?”

  Reaching the kitchen, she noticed that the food she had put out in the morning for him was untouched. Walking more quickly now, she commenced a thorough search of the house. Everything appeared to be intact and untouched. Clothes, drawer with her jewelry, the electronics: everything was exactly where it belonged. There was no sign of an intruder. There was also no sign of Stuart.

  Her voice rose once more, but it was different this time. Rather than challenging, a note of panic was creeping in. “Where are you? Stuart! Oh God—where is he? Stu, don’t play with me! I swear, if you’re hiding somewhere…. No more games, Stuart. Where are you?”

  The initial note of panic had become a full symphony. As she exited the house and slammed the door behind her she saw that one of her neighbors was watering his outdoor plants and ran to him.

  “Jerry, have you seen Stuart? I think he got out.”

  The man shook his head. “No. But there was a weird guy peeing on your lawn this morning. Naked. A friend of yours?”

  “Naked? Let me think. Oh yeah—probably my accountant. She turned thoughtful. Thanks, Jerry. If you see Stuart, please take him in and call my cell phone. He knows you, he’ll come to you.”

  Seeing her distress, he tightened his mouth and nodded. “If I see him, I’ll offer him some bologna.”

  She brightened. “That’ll do it. He loves bologna.” Turning, she hurried back to her car.

  In twenty minutes of driving up and down the streets where they usually went for walks she saw three cats, a dozing owl, numerous children, other pet owners happily walking other dogs, and a renegade chipmunk. But no Stuart. She was about to retrace her steps for the third time when a new thought struck her.

  “Of course!” she muttered aloud. “Where else would he go?”

  Flipping a U-turn, she headed west, driving slowly as she leaned out the window calling to him. Occasionally she drew the odd glance from other drivers.

  “Stuie Lou! Potato head! Horse boy!”

  None elicited a response save for one man going through a dumpster at a construction site, in whose proximity she rapidly accelerated.

  At the dog park, Jim the guitar man and his Boston Sweetie Peters were picking up bottles and cans and depositing them in municipal recycling bins. Well, Jim was picking and tossing. Sweetie Peters mostly watched. As he performed this charitable public duty, Jim sang along to the music coming through his headphones. Sang softly, so as not to rattle the good citizens of Newport who often frowned on solitary men wandering about singing to themselves.

  He stopped as he saw a figure running toward him, then braced himself when he recognized her. On the previous occasion when she had run toward him it had not ended well. But this time Jen slowed before reaching him. At the expression on her face his initial uncertainty turned to worry. She was frantic about something, and he doubted it was him.

  “Hey Jim! Oh my God, I’m gonna….” She stopped in front of him and bent over, resting her hands on her knees as she struggled to catch her breath.

  “Are you okay?” Confident now that she wasn’t going to run him over, his initial wariness turned to concern. “You look like you’re going to pass out.”

  She straightened, took a deep breath. “Stuart’s gone. He got out this morning, I don’t know how. I was sure I closed the door when I left. Sure! But—I had a lot on my mind. Big sale potential and my mother on my back about it and…and…I can’t find him. I’m gonna have a heart attack.”

  The guitarist was appropriately shocked. “Oh no, that’s horrible! You’ve asked around? Nobody’s seen him?”

  She shook her head. “No, and enough of the regulars around here would recognize him instantly if they had. Please call me if you see him. You know how friendly he is. He knows you and Sweetie. He’d probably come to you if you called him. I’m a nervous wreck.”

  “For sure. I have your card. If I see him, I’ll try to get a hand on him. Either way, if I see or hear anything, I’ll call you.” His tone changed. “You work with Townsend Realty, right?

  “Yeah, why?” She was still working at breathing.

  “They posted a sign this morning.” He pointed to the far end of the greensward. “They’re building a shopping center here at the park.” Confused, she gave him a blank stare. “Where the park is now? Where we are? It’s going to be a shopping center?”

  “Really? That can’t be right. I’ll look into it.” She peered around wildly. “Right now I gotta find Stuart.” Without hesitating, she reached out to give him a quick hug. A presence at her feet caused her to look down and back off. “’Sweetie Peters’, right? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to ignore you.” Kneeling, she stroked the terrier and rubbed her head. The dog responded enthusiastically. Just as Stuart would ha….

  The unexpected close-up of Jim’s footwear gave her pause. She’d seen exactly the same pair in a shop in the Newport Mall. They were Gucci sneakers. Nine hundred bucks the pair if she was remembering correctly. That couldn’t be right. Must be knock-offs. Really good-looking, first-quality knock-offs. And why was she studying a guy’s shoes when she needed to be scanning the park and the nearby beach?

  Not all that far away from the anxious Jen and the enigmatic sneaker owner, Stuart had located Cupcake, Gizmo, and Marley as well as their owners. Ignoring Cindy, Wanda, and Nina, he was making a mess of the pink jogging suit as he cavorted on the grass with the three dogs. They were all over him: licking, pawing, barking and whining for attention. Something had drawn the canine trio to him, and it wasn’t his beard.

  Sitting at a nearby table, Wanda looked on with amusement. “You watching this guy rolling around in the grass? I hope he knows a good dry cleaner.”

  “Gizmo seems to like him,” Nina commented, “or he’d be growling his head off. He’s usually wary around strangers, unless he’s luring them in with treats?

  “Maybe he is.” Cindy was studying the man-mutt interaction more closely than her friends. “He kinda looks like the guy who was peeking in the window at the Barkery today. Have you guys seen him before?”

  “Not me.” Wanda made a face. If he was wearing the same outfit the memory would’ve stuck with me.”

  “Same here.” Nina felt herself softening toward the stranger and his antics. The beach area was a rest home for weirdos, but anyone who got along this well with her dog was worthy of tolerance in her book. “His beard is all over the place but the track suit isn’t a Goodwill special, so maybe there’s more to him than appears.”

  “Naw.” Wanda gave an airy wave of her hand. “This is Newport Beach. You never know what you can find in a Goodwill.”

  “Oh so?” Cindy’s look was arch. “You know that for a fact?”

  The ensuing argument momentarily took their attention away from the visitor and their dogs. Had it not, they might have noticed that the stranger was mouthing words at the three pets. That in itself might not have piqued their interest further. The responses of their pets certainly would have.

  “I knew it was you, Stuart!” Cupcake chortled. “There’s enough of your smell, no mistaking it.” None of them were shocked at Cupcake’s avowal. To a dog, smell is a far more important source of identification than sight. She didn’t even have to whiff his human butt.

  “How is it even possible?” Flabbergasted, Marley walked slowly around the man lying on the grass. Cupcake was right: though it looked human, there was enough of the scent that was unmistakably Stuart.

  “I don’t know.” The subject of all the sniffing was still in a daze. “I went to sleep with four legs and woke up with two.” Holding out his hands, he gazed at them in renewed amazement. “Instead of my front legs I’ve got these human things.” He reached tentatively for Cupcake. “I bet I can pet you.”

  “Whoa!” She retreated a couple of steps. “Let’s not presume on our friendship, Stu. Besides, I’m not sure how I feel about this whole transformation thing.”

  “You’re not sure.” Stuart rolled over onto his back. The sky, at least, was unchanged.

  Gizmo decided to probe further. “So, you can talk human? I saw you talking to our humans over there. They understood you?”

  “Yeah. I’m getting used to it. It…,” he rubbed his jaw, “it kinda hurts my throat.”

  “But you can still talk to us,” Marley observed sagely.

  “Obviously, flea house.” Advancing, Gizmo put his face close to Stuart’s, took a couple of sniffs, and murmured, “Can you hook us up with some tacos? She-who-fills-the-bowl only lets me have a taste when she buys them for herself. Habla Español?”

  Stuart turned his head toward the chihuahua. “Huh?”

  Marley explained patiently. “He’s asking if you speak Spanish.”

  The human’s brow furrowed even as his head turned quizzically to the side. “I don’t think so. Wait, let me check.” Sounds came from his mouth. They were garbled and unintelligible. “I don’t think so,” he concluded. “Jen doesn’t. At least, I’ve never heard her speak it. I did listen while she tried to speak French to a potential client. It sounded like cat-speech.”

  Gizmo was plainly disappointed. “Hijole. Then you won’t be able to get the good tacos for us. They don’t sell them to gringos.”

  Abruptly, Stuart rose and headed toward the table occupied by the three women. The trio of dogs watched him go.

  “Well now, what do you make of that?” Cupcake murmured wonderingly.

  “’There are more things in Heaven and Earth than you ever dreamed of in your philosophy, Horatio’,” Marley intoned solemnly. His companions eyed him askance.

  “Who’s ‘Horacio’?” Gizmo wondered aloud.

  “Sounds like that hoity-toity Pekinese whose human only brings him here on Sundays, and that just for an hour,” Cupcake opined.

  “Where did you pick that up?” Gizmo eyed Marley questioningly.

  “There was a Russian wolfhound in the park one day when you guys weren’t around. Huuuge sucker, but kinda glum. You know the type. We sniffed, we barked, we chased a ball, we chatted. He started quoting some of his owner’s reading material to me. Shakespeare, and Dostoevsky.”

  “Doesto—what?” Gizmo asked, frowning.

  “I didn’t get it all, but apparently it translates perfectly into Dog.” As the stranger approached, the three women tensed in anticipation.