“How about animal dentistry?” she said.
“Hey, why not?”
“I’ll give them your name.”
“Great,” he said to her. “Thanks!”
“Do you think that’s his collie?” she said when he had gone.
Madding considered. “More likely the Irish setter.”
They saw the man lean down to hook his fingers under the collar of a golden retriever. From the back, his baseball cap revealed the emblem of the New York Yankees. Not from around here, Madding thought. But then, who is?
“Close,” she said, and laughed.
The man led his dog past a dirt mound, where there was a drinking fountain, and a spigot that ran water into a trough for the animals.
“Water,” she said. “That’s a good idea. Greta!”
The kelpie came bounding over, eager to escape the attentions of a randy pit bull. They led her to the mound. As Greta drank, Madding read the sign over the spigot:
“What do you think that means?” she said. “It isn’t true, is it?”
Madding felt a tightness in his chest. “It could be. This is still wild country.”
“Greta, stay with me…”
“Don’t worry. They only come out at night, probably.”
“Where’s your dog?” she said.
“I wish I knew.”
She tilted her head, uncertain whether or not he was making another joke.
“He ran away,” Madding told her.
“When?”
“Last month. I used to bring him here all the time. One day he didn’t come when I called. It got dark, and they closed the park, but he never came back.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry!”
“Yeah, me too.”
“What was his name?”
“He didn’t have one. I couldn’t make up my mind, and then it was too late.”
They walked on between the trees. She kept a close eye on Greta. Somewhere music was playing. The honey-colored cocker spaniel led the German shepherd, the Irish setter and a dalmatian to a redwood table. There the cocker’s owner, a woman with brassy hair and a sagging green halter, poured white wine into plastic cups for several men.
“I didn’t know,” said Stacey.
“I missed him at first, but now I figure he’s better off. Someplace where he can run free, all the time.”
“I’m sorry about your dog,” she said. “That’s so sad. But what I meant was, I didn’t know you were famous.”
It was hard to believe that she knew the book. The odds against it were staggering, particularly considering the paltry royalties. He decided not to ask what she thought of it. That would be pressing his luck.
“Who’s famous? I sold a novel. Big deal.”
“Well, at least you’re a real writer. I envy you.”
“Why?”
“You have it made.”
Sure I do, thought Madding. One decent review in the Village Voice Literary Supplement, and some reader at a production company makes an inquiry, and the next thing I know my agent makes a deal with all the money in the world at the top of the ladder. Only the ladder doesn’t go far enough. And now I’m back to square one, the option money used up, with a screenplay written on spec that’s not worth what it cost me to Xerox it, and I’m six months behind on the next novel. But I’ve got it made. Just ask the IRS.
The music grew louder as they walked. It seemed to be coming from somewhere overhead. Madding gazed up into the trees, where the late-afternoon rays sparkled through the leaves, gold coins edged in blackness. He thought he heard voices, too, and the clink of glasses. Was there a party? The entire expanse of the park was visible from here, but he could see no evidence of a large group anywhere. The sounds were diffused and unlocalized, as if played back through widely spaced, out-of-phase speakers.
“Where do you live?” she asked.
“What?”
“You said you don’t live here any more.”
“In Calistoga.”
“Where’s that?”
“Up north.”
“Oh.”
He began to relax. He was glad to be finished with this town.
“I closed out my lease today,” he told her. “Everything’s packed. As soon as I hit the road, I’m out of here.”
“Why did you come back to the park?”
A good question, he thought. He hadn’t planned to stop by. It was a last-minute impulse.
“I’m not sure,” he said. No, that wasn’t true. He might as well admit it. “It sounds crazy, but I guess I wanted to look for my dog. I thought I’d give it one more chance. It doesn’t feel right, leaving him.”
“Do you think he’s still here?”
He felt a tingling in the pit of his stomach. It was not a good feeling. I shouldn’t have come, he thought. Then I wouldn’t have had to face it. It’s dangerous here, too dangerous for there to be much hope.
“At least I’ll know,” he said.
He heard a sudden intake of breath and turned to her. There were tears in her eyes, as clear as diamonds.
“It’s like the end of your book,” she said. “When the little girl is alone, and doesn’t know what’s going to happen next…”
My God, he thought, she did read it He felt flattered, but kept his ego in check. She’s not so tough She has a heart, after all, under all the bravado. That’s worth something—it’s worth a lot. I hope she makes it, the Elvis script, whatever she really wants. She deserves it.
She composed herself and looked around, blinking. “What is that?”
“What’s what?”
“Don’t you hear it?” She raised her chin and moved her head from side to side, eyes closed.
She meant the music, the glasses, the sound of the party that wasn’t there. “I don’t know.”
Now there was the scraping of steel somewhere behind them, like a rough blade drawn through metal. He stopped and turned around quickly.
A couple of hundred yards away, at the top of the slope, a man in a uniform opened the gate to the park. Beyond the fence, a second man climbed out of an idling car with a red, white, and blue shield on the door. He had a heavy chain in one hand.
“Come on,” said Madding. “It’s time to go.”
“It can’t be.”
“The security guards are here. They close the park at six.”
“Already?”
Madding was surprised, too. He wondered how long they had been walking. He saw the man with the crewcut searching for his Frisbee in the grass, the bull terrier at his side. The group on the bench and the woman in the halter were collecting their things. The bodybuilder marched his two ribboned Pekingese to the slope. The Beverly Hills dentist whistled and stood waiting for his dog to come to him. Madding snapped to, as if waking up. It really was time.
The sun had dropped behind the hills and the grass under his feet was darkening. The car in the parking lot above continued to idle; the rumbling of the engine reverberated in the natural bowl of the park, as though close enough to bulldoze them out of the way. He heard a rhythm in the throbbing, and realized that it was music, after all.
They had wandered close to the edge, where the park ended and the gorge began. Over the gorge, the deck of one of the cantilevered houses beat like a drum.
“Where’s Greta?” she said.
He saw the stark expression, the tendons outlined through the smooth skin of her throat.
“Here, girl! Over here…!”
She called out, expecting to see her dog. Then she clapped her hands together. The sound bounced back like the echo of a gunshot from the depths of the canyon. The dog did not come.
In the parking lot, the second security guard let a Doberman out of the car. It was a sleek, black streak next to him as he carried the heavy chain to his partner, who was waiting for the park to empty before padlocking the gate.