"Well, you're a pretty fair judge of dogs, Miss…?"
"Dorsett, Carol Dorsett."
"Mark Cannon," he replied. "As I was saying, you seem to know dogs, Miss Dorsett. Queenie's almost three, but I've had her for only a year. They have to be fairly mature before they start training them, and that takes quite a while, as well as teaching the person they're going to be seeing for." He smiled. "Do you live in this area?"
"A couple of blocks from here. We have a small apartment on Fellows Street," she answered with a little smile of her own, the young man's warmth and good looks giving her a pleasant uplift. She wondered if he was married.
"Really? I live on Fellows too, number 1322," he said. "What's your address?"
"1315. We've only been here a week."
"Well, we're neighbors! I'm almost directly across the way from you!" Mark Cannon informed, inwardly weighing what might be a stroke of luck. Beyond that, she had a very pleasing voice, young and gentle, not the hard, expected type that inhabited this grubby area. Down on her luck, maybe… or perhaps, just a smoother operating whore. Whatever she was made little difference for his purposes… if she was cooperative… and if he could trust her. That could take time to determine… maybe too much time… Christ, if he could only see her…!
"It's not a very nice neighborhood, is it, Mr. Cannon," Carol said.
He grinned. "Not exactly the place where I'd let my wife walk the streets unescorted… if I had one. You said you've only been here a week. You mean in Westland, or Los Angeles?"
"Both. I'm from San Francisco. I rented the apartment sight unseen from a newspaper ad, never dreaming that the Westland section could be like this," Carol replied, simultaneously clocking in her mind the fact that he was not married. "It fit my budget… but as soon as I'm lucky enough to find a job, I intend to move. Like you said, I wouldn't dare walk these streets without Sultan beside me."
Hearing his name mentioned, the big animal looked up toward his mistress, then back to the female of his own kind who was completely ignoring him. If only he dared move closer and explore the smell of her, but instinctively he knew that for some reason this would not be right. There was something different about her which he could not understand, and again he whined in perplexity.
"Shhh, Sultan," Carol ordered, well aware of his interest and the natural reasons behind it. "I'm afraid you'll have to resign yourself to being snubbed. The young lady isn't interested in your attentions…"
"Does he want to get acquainted?" Mark asked. "It's perfectly okay, except Queenie won't respond unless I tell her she can. Up, Queenie! Come here, Sultan! Come on, boy! Come over here and meet my friend. That's a boy…" he said, Carol watching as he took both animals' heads and brought their noses together, Queenie immediately wagging her tail in reception.
Fascinated, the young divorcee watched Mark Cannon's strong, gentle hands manipulate the two massive dogs with obvious, inbred ability, until the usual animal-type exploration of intimate parts began and Carol sensed a tiny twinge of ridiculous jealousy ripple through her.
"Well… I think we better be getting back home, Sultan," she said, using to her feet and drawing him to her side by the leash. "It's been very nice talking to you, Mr. Cannon. I've really enjoyed it…"
"Oh… are you leaving so soon?" he asked, looking directly up at her.
"Y-Yes, I think we better. It's nearly four and I have some things to do…"
"It's not very often that I find anyone besides Queenie to talk to," he said with a smile, "and she doesn't say too much."
"I-I know what you mean," Carol replied, a warm feeling of sympathetic understanding filling her. "But maybe… maybe we can get together again soon. Do you come here every day?"
"Usually… but I will for sure if you say you're going to be here," he said, causing the warmth she felt to pleasantly increase. "Better yet, why don't we get together some evening… that is, if you'd like to?"
His proposal took her by surprise. She smiled. "Why… why yes, I'd like that very much, Mr…"
"Mark," he interrupted. "Less formal. Okay?"
"Okay. And mine's Carol, you know," she said, finding herself more and more excited by his casual charm.
"Good!" he exclaimed, getting to his feet, Queenie immediately rising to attention. "Suppose we walk along with you, Carol, seeing we're going the same way? You mind?"
"Of course not! I'd love it!" she answered; then, on the spur of the moment: "And… and suppose you come over to dinner tomorrow night? It won't be anything elaborate, but…"
"Hey! I'd welcome that with open arms!" he said, his face beaming. "And I'll bring a bottle of wine!"
"Okay! Do you like meatloaf?" she asked.
"I'm afraid I can't offer you much better, but I do make a good one…"
"Meatloaf! My favorite dish!" he said, and then they both laughed as they walked side by side along the cinder path, their team of German shepherds leading them.
They had gone only a little way, both enjoyably reacting to their new friendship, when Carol saw the other man standing beside a tree a good distance from the path, but definitely with his attention riveted on them… or rather on her! He was drinking from a beer can and though he was quite a way off, there was no question in her mind but what it was Ed White! The clammy chill at just the sight of him crept shudderingly up her back.
"Is something wrong, Carol?" Mark asked when she stopped in the middle of telling him her apartment number and what time to come.
"N-No… no, nothing," she stammered, tearing her eyes from the brutish man whose leer she sensed more than distinguished at that distance. "I-I was just remembering a certain detail I forgot to take care of today… I'm sorry."
"You were telling me what time and your apartment number," he reminded, his discerning mind detecting the falseness of her answer and wondering why.
"Oh yes, it's 1-B, and let's make it around seven for cocktails… you do like a cocktail, don't you?" she said, straining to re-capture the warm mood they had shared only moments before.
"I thrive on them!" He laughed and shook his head as if thoroughly delighted. "You know, Carol, you're taunting me right where it gets me the most!"
"Oh…? And where's that?"
"In my unbelieving head! Nothing this good has happened to me in three years…!"
He hadn't lied to her, Mark thought later, as he moved knowingly around his own small, seedy apartment, making himself a pitcher of martinis, some crackers with cheese, then settling down in his easy chair. He heard Queenie's level breathing beside him and felt the reassuring closeness of her strong body against his bare foot. He flicked on the small radio and found his favorite FM station, while his mind raced. If only he could have gotten one look at her, for Christ's sake! He turned up the radio to drown out the clattering worthlessness of the air-conditioner.
She had to be beautiful with a voice like that… and she was certainly no hooker. Single, evidently, or maybe divorced like him. He took off his eye-shades and rubbed at his sightless eyes. Opening them again, he wondered how dead or vacant they looked. Were they still the same bluish tint…? The color Nancy had told him she loved so much… the bitch.
He sipped at his martini, then popped a whole small cracker with cheese into his mouth. They'd told him the acid had never noticeably damaged the actual eyeball, only destroyed the thin lids, which plastic surgery had restored… plus his sight, but he had no way of knowing that was true.
Shit, that was hardly important anymore! In three years, a man learns to live with a horror, just as he accustoms himself to the loss of his wife after seven years, the girl he comes to believe is a part of him, for richer or poorer, through sickness and in health, till death…! Malarkey! Goddamn, what had gotten him off onto this tangent? He didn't want to think of that shallow bitch ever again! She was gone, on the other side of the continent, back in her Boston environment where she belonged, and he was well rid of her. More important things had suddenly, and so unexpectedly, happened to him!