Dirty Work - Regina Kyle Page 0,7
me up.
Forty-five minutes, one epic battle to get Roscoe’s leash on, and a harrowing cab ride later—the first three that stopped bailed once they realized how damn big the dog was, and I had to bribe the fourth with the promise of a twenty-dollar tip—and Roscoe and I are in Times Square, an area of the city I usually avoid like the plague. It’s crowded, touristy and as an added disincentive Dale’s office is half a block away. Not that I’m likely to run into him in the throng of Broadway lovers lining up for discount tickets at the TKTS box. Dale is to theater as my mother is to the discount rack at Bergdorf Goodman. A total no-go.
Or at least he was when he was with me. Lord knows what he and Una do for shits and giggles. I mean, she was his secretary, for God’s sake. Excuse me. Administrative assistant. Either way, a total freaking cliché. But at least he can’t complain he never sees her because she spends too much time at work. Lord knows I heard that refrain often enough. The fact that it was true didn’t make it any easier to hear. Long office hours are a given when you’re trying to make partner at a prestigious New York law firm.
I give myself a mental bitch slap for letting my mind wander back down the Dale-and-DK&G road as Roscoe and I take our place in line. My life has taken a complete one-eighty in the year and a half since Dale dropped his bombshell on me, breaking our engagement. And while I’d be lying if I said it doesn’t still sting a little, I don’t regret it one bit. Getting unceremoniously dumped on the eve of my wedding was exactly the wake-up call I needed.
Despite what my bitterly disappointed parents think.
“Can I pet your dog?” the girl in front of me in line asks. She looks to be about eight or nine, her Aladdin T-shirt a dead giveaway as to what show she’s hoping to see. A woman who’s obviously her mother hovers over her shoulder.
“She loves dogs,” the woman says. “But I’ve taught her always to ask before petting one. You can’t tell just by looking if a dog is friendly, right Hannah?”
“Right.” The little girl—Hannah—nods vigorously, her pigtails bouncing.
“Go ahead.” I step to one side and nudge the dog forward with my knee. He’s almost as tall as she is. “Roscoe’s as friendly as they come.”
Sure, I haven’t known him long. But it doesn’t take a rocket scientist—or the hours I’ve spent on the internet researching Irish wolfhounds—to figure out this guy wouldn’t hurt a flea. My first impression was way off. He’s more of a gentle giant than a vicious beast.
“Hey there, Roscoe.” Hannah holds her hand out to him, palm flat. Her mother really has taught her well. He sniffs it, then licks, and the next thing I know the two of them are thick as thieves while Hannah’s mom and I chat about shows we’ve seen and want to see. It makes the hour or so we wait to get up to the ticket window—during which another fifteen or twenty people stop to pet my big, slobbery, overly friendly companion, drawn in like flies to honey by his dopey doggy grin and fiercely wagging tail—fly by.
I have definitely underestimated the power of the pooch. I start thinking of other errands that might be more enjoyable with Roscoe along. Going to the farmer’s market in Union Square for Mrs. Black. Dropping off Mr. D’Ambrosio’s library books. Depositing Mrs. Matos’s Social security check. (No matter how many times I try to convince her, she refuses to sign up for direct deposit. Says she doesn’t trust computers. I don’t have the heart to tell her I usually go to the instant teller machine.) Maybe it won’t be so bad having a dog in our care after all.
When I’m ten people from the head of the line, I text one of the Ackerman twins, and she rushes over from Restaurant Row, where she works as a hostess, to take my place. I say goodbye to Hannah and her mom, check my phone and see I’ve got about forty-five minutes before I’m due to meet my mother. Rather than risk another cab ride, I decide to walk the High Line. Yet another one of Manhattan’s many pleasures I hadn’t had the time to experience when I was chained to my desk at DK&G. The elevated