Page 24 of Worst in Show

“Let’s see…”

“Tell her about the weird stuff first,” Micki says from the couch. She’s put her feet up on the table and is wiggling her toes back and forth.

“There was weird stuff?”

“Well first, I spent the morning chasing this meowing noise that was driving Tilly nuts. Leo said it was there all weekend, but he couldn’t find the source. It was like meow, meow, meow, and then it would be quiet for a long time. I found it right away, of course. Ears like a bat. Turns out it was someone’s watch. They must have dropped it during the launch on Friday.”

Micki gives me a pointed look that I ignore, turning my back to them.

“Sounds annoying,” I say, fully aware I’m going to have to make this up to Jaz.

“It was. And then lots of people kept asking when we’re planning on starting the dance class. At first I thought they had the store mixed up with the studio down the street, but no—dance for dogs. Is that even a thing?”

I cover a snort with my hand as my spiteful revision of Leo’s A-frame prompt comes back to me. I’d assumed Leo would catch and erase it right away, but maybe he was too busy tracking the meowing.

“And how did Leo handle that?” I ask as I stir the pot.

“What are you not telling us?” Micki asks. “I can hear you smiling from over here.”

“Fine.” I explain my impromptu sabotage and add to Jaz, “Sorry if it made for a frustrating day.”

Jaz looks at me with admiration in her eyes. “Not at all. I found the watch right away, and I’d much rather talk to people about interpretive dance than dog biscuits. I met an eighty-year-old lady who used to be a Rockette! She had some stories.”

“And Leo?”

“Doubt he’s been a Rockette.”

“Ha, ha.”

“No, he was extremely confused. But God that guy is a good salesman. Almost everyone who came in asking about the dance still left having made a purchase.”

“Oh.”

“Sorry.”

“No, that’s fine.” The timer for the food goes off, giving me a reason to disengage. It’s not like I didn’t know he’d have a good first day.

When I’ve cleared off my sewing stuff and we’re seated at the table with bowlfuls of noodles and pesto from a jar, Micki points to me with her fork. “You should think of some other pranks you can pull on him.”

“I should?”

“I think it will make you feel better. Small acts of resistance, you know.”

I chew slowly. Maybe she’s right.

“Does he ever mention his family?” I ask Jaz after a while.

“No, why?”

“If he does, will you let me know? I have questions.”

“Any you care to share?” Micki slurps up a wayward noodle.

I think again about the fact that Leo’s parents weren’t at the launch and that his store isn’t listed on their website. But maybe I’m making something out of nothing. “Not yet,” I say.

“I can fish around,” Jaz offers. “This is exciting stuff.”

“You’re writing about it, aren’t you?” Micki asks.

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