Chapter 19

A dispirited Tess left the Beacon-Light at 4:30, sick of the media, only to arrive home in time for the tail-end of a press conference at Women and Children First. All four local television stations were crowded into Kitty's bookstore, along with the reporter from the East Baltimore Guide, a neighborhood paper, and someone from the city's alternative weekly. The object of their attention was a quivering Esskay, whom Kitty had brushed to a high shine and beautified by intertwining a green velvet ribbon through her collar. It was a toss-up who was going to lose control of her bladder first-Esskay, or Tess, who couldn't believe Kitty was pulling a stunt like this.

"Yes, this dog was an outstanding racer," Kitty was saying, in response to someone's question. "The top earner at her track in Juarez last year. But her owner decided to let her retire at the top of her game and become the official mascot of Women and Children First. Esskay-that's her nickname, her full name is Sylvia Quérida-will also serve as a model for a children's book I plan to write and illustrate about the greyhound rescue movement."

Illustrate a book? News to Tess. Kitty couldn't draw a stick figure with a ruler.

"How's a high-energy dog like that going to get all the exercise it needs when you don't have a real yard?" asked one reporter, a hard-nosed skeptic by television's standards.

"As some of you know, residents near Patterson Park take their dogs on patrol every night, in an attempt to discourage prostitution and drug-related crimes. We'll walk Esskay as part of the patrol at night. As for her morning walks, some old friends of mine have volunteered to take her out."

Kitty waggled her fingers at two muscular men in Spandex leggings and tight T-shirts. "These police officers plan to jog with Esskay as part of their conditioning program. But if this wintry weather doesn't go away, we'll have to get Esskay a sweater-she doesn't have any body fat to protect her. Then again, neither do the officers."

The reporters laughed as the officers blushed a bright, happy red. Kitty then fished a dog biscuit out of a box propped next to the cash register, climbed to the top of the counter, and held the treat straight out from her shoulder, about eight feet above the floor. In one graceful movement, Esskay leaped up and snatched the bone from Kitty's hand.

"Beautiful visual," Tess muttered to herself. "That's going to be on every channel tonight."

So it was. But the stations cut away from the next shot: Esskay, crouched over her treat, looking up to see four television cameras approaching her. The overwhelmed dog made a strange yodeling noise deep in her throat, lost control just as Tess had thought she might and, profoundly humiliated, bolted from the room at top speed.

"That which you cannot hide, proclaim," Kitty expounded to Tess and Crow that night, after a dinner designed to chase away the winter blues while it packed on pounds: corn chowder with sherry, a chicken-and-rice casserole, Crow's home-made rolls, and gingerbread with a heated caramel sauce and fresh-whipped cream. Stuffed and contented, they sat in Kitty's kitchen, listening to the wind whipping around the building as if looking for someone it had a long-standing grudge against. Kitty and Tess sipped coffee with healthy slugs of Kahlua, while Crow settled for straight-up caffeine. He still had to take Esskay out for her first jaunt with the Patterson Park patrol.

"Okay, so we've proclaimed Esskay," Tess said. "But we've also taken out an advertisement for our friends in the shit-and-salmon car. Hey guys! Come and get her. The dog you're looking for is at the corner of Bond and Shakespeare Street."

"They would have found you eventually, if they haven't already," Kitty said. "Now that Esskay is famous, those men who have been dogging you-if you'll pardon the expression-will have to be much more careful. They won't go after two police officers jogging with a dog. And they're not going to wade into that pack of dogs who roam Patterson Park with their civic-minded owners."

"What about the stuff you made up, like her racing record?" Crow asked. "What if the reporters check?"

"Even if they do think to call a dog track in Juarez, I think there's going to be a slight language problem."

Crow laughed, but Tess sighed. "Still, I wish you hadn't brought the cops into it. Remember, we don't know how Spike came to have this dog, or what he has to do with her altered tattoo. The less the cops know, the better."

"I thought of that, too," Kitty said, her voice a smug purr. "The ‘officers' are actually bartender friends of Steve's. The reporters think they're police officers because I told them they were. Perception is more important than reality."

"My, you're just full of aphorisms tonight. When do we get to hear the one about the penny saved? Or how about the early bird, Aunt Kitty? Will you tell us that one, pretty please?"

Kitty bounced a leftover roll off Tess's head, which Esskay caught neatly on the rebound and devoured. "I was thinking more of gift horses and the bodily cavities you're not supposed to inspect, a train of thought that leads me directly to your uncanny impersonation of another part of the horse's anatomy."

"Ladies, ladies." Crow still didn't know what to make of the way Tess and Kitty bickered with one another, even if it was all in good fun. His parents, onetime Bostonians who had fled the winters and settled in Charlottesville, Virginia, were almost painfully civilized in their affection for one another. Esskay, however, liked the mock yelling and rushed to the fray, eager to see if more food bits might fly.

Crow snapped a leash to the excited dog's collar. "I hate to leave this warm kitchen, but we might as well get this over with, girl. Maybe you'll make friends with the other pooches."

"Don't talk to strangers," Tess advised, half-serious.

"We won't. And we won't take any dog biscuits from strangers, either."

Almost an hour later, Tess was stretching on the bedroom floor when she heard Crow and Esskay clattering up the stairs. Her muscles were tight-she hadn't been cooling down after her workouts and the lapse was catching up to her, a sure sign of age. Only twenty-nine, and yet twenty-nine was old in some ways. By twenty-nine, for example, it was too late to improve one's bone density; all you could do was protect what you had with high calcium food, exercise, and daily doses of Tums. By twenty-nine, baby-oil sunbaths from high school had already damaged your skin irreparably. And by twenty-nine, it was too late to have a baby to reduce one's risk of breast cancer. Tess imagined she could feel the engine of her body slowing down, burning fewer calories every day. Eventually, she would have to work out more or eat less. The first option seemed impossible, the second highly undesirable. She calculated quickly: running one extra mile a day burned an additional 100 calories, which could offset a weight gain of ten pounds over a single year. One mile, not even ten minutes. She could probably squeeze it in.

Esskay, fur cold, nose colder, pounced on Tess, ending her aerobic reverie. Tess wrapped herself into a tight ball and the dog took her braid in her mouth as if it were a toy, shaking it with surprising vigor.

"Boy, she's revved up," Tess said, rescuing her hair as Crow flopped on the bed with a groan. "She must have had a good time."

"Too good a time. I never noticed how aggressive she is with other dogs. She tried to pick a fight with a Rottweiler, for God's sake. He snapped at her and she backed down, but I still had to choke up on her leash."

"Did you see any prostitutes working the park?"

"A few brave ones, but they weren't doing any business. I don't think the Pooch Patrol can claim credit, though. You take anything out of your pants tonight and it's going to snap off."