The following morning she went to her local AA meeting, the only social life she had. She still couldn’t rid herself of the feeling of isolation: it didn’t make her want to drink, but it made her think, and face the fact that she had no friends. She started thinking about her ex-husband and his family. She had not seen her two daughters for a long, long time, and though they knew where she was, they had made no contact. She often thought about going to see them, but always talked herself out of it. She didn’t want to disrupt their lives any more than she knew she had already.
She was glad when Tiger’s trainer, Alan Pereira, called to say that the dog training was now complete, he would bring Tiger home. Lorraine perked up, even put on some make-up, then laughed at herself. Some weekend date, the return of Tiger.
Tiger was returned, subdued, wearing a collar in rainbow colours, his coat freshly washed, and his teeth cleaned. She had not realized how big he was, or how thick and beautiful his coat. She’d also forgotten his piercing large blue eyes.
‘You got one stubborn son-of-a-bitch here,’ Alan said, and Tiger’s blue eyes were doleful as he first sat, then went through sit, stand, stay and heel. Lorraine was even more impressed when, on the command ‘Bed,’ Tiger slunk to a flower-printed foam basket and lay down.
He remained quiet, head on paws, as she cooked her supper, came like a lamb and sat when she slipped on his lead to take him for his evening walk. He performed his necessary functions, returned, ate his meal and even returned to his bed. It was about twelve o’clock when Lorraine was woken up by something tugging at her sheets. She sat bolt upright to be met with Tiger’s face, and to see his two massive front paws on her bed. ‘Bed. Go to bed now.’ He slunk to the door, tail between his legs, nosed it wider open and disappeared.
In the morning she woke to find the dog’s prone body stretched out beside her, with just six inches between them, comatose and snoring gently. Lorraine nudged him and, still with eyes firmly shut, he gave a low growl, his jaw opening a fraction to reveal his cleaned white fangs. She thought of Rooney snoring, and smiled, but then said with great authority, ‘Bed, go to your bed. Now.’ The tail thumped, just a fraction. ‘I mean it, you’re pushing your luck. Step out of line, pal, and it’s the big kennel in the sky, you understand me? You’re only on remand, Tiger.’
He was motionless, eyes closed, just a flicker of his tail. ‘Okay, you can stay... just for a few minutes, you hear me?’ She lay there, feeling the huge weight of him beside her, then squinted at the bedside clock. It was six o’clock. ‘You know what time it is?’ she said, turning on her side. She went back to sleep and at some point between the hours of six and seven thirty, that six inches closed. When she next opened her eyes, he was sleeping nose to nose with her, one paw gently resting across her chest.
‘I don’t believe this...’ But she couldn’t resist rubbing his ears. Cleverly, he never opened his eyes, just gave a long, satisfied sigh.
Before they went out for a morning jog, Lorraine discovered that Tiger had chewed two of her new shot-silk cushions and destroyed his floral bed. On returning, he was not interested in dog food, but devoured her cereal, nuts and fruit with natural yogurt. He followed her into the bedroom, nosed open the shower door, and padded after her while she dressed. He remained at her heels throughout the day, sat close to her on the sofa watching TV, and no amount of loud yells made him return to the living room when she got into bed. He wasn’t a fool, and instead of climbing onto the other side of the king-size bed, he lay down beside it. But he was right next to her in the morning, his breath hot on her neck.
‘Hey, this has got to stop, pal,’ she said, but then blew it by hugging him close, and he knew he had got her. She just could not resist his love, because that was what she felt from the giant animal — love, pure, unadulterated love — and by Monday morning they had, although she hated to admit it, already got into a routine. All his training, with the exception of allowing her to slip on his collar, had gone out of the window. Tiger had moved in on Lorraine as no man would have dared to, and he loved her with a passion. He sat in the passenger seat of the Cherokee, his nose out of the window and his ears blown back by the wind.
Decker was overwhelmed by Tiger, who growled at him, teeth bared, until Lorraine shouted at him, ‘Shut up! This is friend, this is Decker.’
‘Jesus Christ, Mrs Page! He’s enormous. What on earth kind of breed is he?’
‘Mixed, wolfhound and—’
‘Donkey?’
Tiger was not too sure about Decker or the office. He made a slow tour of each room and cocked his leg on one of the ficus trees.
‘You sure as hell aren’t a poodle,’ Decker said warily, but when the telephone rang his attention was distracted. He snatched it up — this was the first call that had come in.
‘Page Investigations,’ he said coolly, as a pair of ice blue eyes stared him out across the desk top. ‘May I have your name? Mrs Page is on the other line right now.’ Decker jotted down ‘Cindy Nathan’, glaring back at Tiger.
‘Who is it?’ Lorraine whispered, from her office doorway.
‘A Cindy Nathan, just wait a second.’ Lorraine watched as Decker flicked the phone onto speaker and held it for one beat, two beats as he grinned and gave her the thumbs-up sign.
‘Cindy Nathan, that is N-A-T...’ said a low voice, spelling out the surname.
‘I have that, Ms Nathan,’ said Decker, ‘and may I ask what your enquiry is about?’
‘It’s not an enquiry, I want Lorraine Page — is she there or not?’
Tiger gave a lethal growl, but as Lorraine pointed at him, he shut up.
‘I’m sorry, Ms Nathan, but, as I said, Mrs Page is on the other line. If you could just tell me what your enquiry is. I am Rob Decker, Mrs Page’s secretary.’
‘Really? Well, Rob, as soon as she gets off the other line, get her to call me. It’s urgent.’ She dictated a number, and hung up.
Decker swore, scribbling down the numbers.
Lorraine threw up her hands. ‘Jesus Christ, did you get the number? If that was our first case you just lost it.’
He leaned back in his chair. ‘You don’t know who Cindy Nathan is?’
Lorraine was furious. ‘No, I don’t. There’s a lot of people I don’t know, Decker. I had a long time when I didn’t recall my own name. So who is she?’
‘She’s Harry Nathan’s wife.’
‘Really, and who the fuck is he?’ she snapped.
‘The head of Maximedia, the movie studio, though they do a lot of other stuff too. He used to be married to Sonja Sorenson.’
Lorraine leaned on his desk. ‘I never heard of her either.’
Decker rolled his eyes to the ceiling. ‘Lorraine! She’s big in the art world — she owned a gallery on Beverly Drive but moved back to New York after they divorced. Harry Nathan used to do spoofy, goofball comedies — Killer Bimbos Ate My Neckties kind of thing, though lately it’s been more like Ate My Shorts, if you get what I mean.’ He gave her a meaningful look. ‘Not exactly family entertainment, shall we say? So, you want to call her? Or would you like me to connect you, ma’am?’ He jotted the number on a yellow sticker holding it up on the tip of his forefinger. Lorraine snatched the note and banged her office door closed — only to have to open it again as Tiger threw himself at it barking.
‘Get out,’ she yelled. Then she sat down at her desk. ‘She said she wanted me to call her?’ she called to Decker.
The intercom light flashed. ‘Yes, Mrs Page, and she seemed a trifle hyper. Shall I get Mrs Nathan on the line for you, Mrs Page?’