Page 6 of Men or Paws
Was she kidding?
If not, why was she telling this to a stranger?
“Are you there?” Beth added.
I nodded, a little caught off guard. “Yeah—I’m here.”
“Stop talking like that.”
I blinked. “Like what?”
“Like you’re Rocco Romano. What a horrible impression. You don’t sound like him. Well, okay, you sounda littlelike him, but it needs some tweaking before you try it in front of a live audience.”
A live audience? Did she think I was her brother, the comedian? Yes, he was known for his impersonations, but nobody can sound more authentic than the real deal!
How could Beth say I didn’t sound like me?
I hesitated. “But this is really—”
“Seriously, work on that accent,” Beth said. “Rocco’s voice is much more whiny than that, like his tighty-whities are a little too snug, you know what I mean? Pretend you’re constipated and then add a dash of desperation to your voice, like you just found out you’renotGod’s gift to womankind.”
“Uh . . . for your information, I don’t actually wear tighty-whities. I was an actor in a TV commercial that I got paid to be in. I was showing off the product, not endorsing it.”
“Yeah, you were trying to show off something all right . . .” Beth laughed. “Nice try, but I wasn’t buying it. It was pretty obvious Rocco stuffed a socko in his jocko.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re excused,” Beth said. “That’s a little better with the voice, by the way, even though it still needs more work. Add more constipation. Speaking of being full of crap, it’s impossible for Rocco to have ten-pack abs. The special effects department on that commercial must have worked overtime to make them look so realistic. Anyway, I have to go. Love you.”
Love you?
She hung up before I could respond.
Why did she think I had a special effects department for my abs?
Was she trying to be a comedian like her brother?
She wasn’t funny.
At all.
She obviously didn’t think I was really Rocco Romano. Either that or she was playing hard to get, so she could squeeze more money out of me for watching Houdini.
I was already prepared to offer her fifteen thousand dollars for three weeks of work, on the condition that she stayed out of my hair and signed a non-disclosure agreement for complete privacy. Nobody makes that kind of money for dog sitting, but she would need to be available twenty-four hours a day.
One thing was for sure, if she continued to display symptoms of psychosis, the deal would be off the table.
I immediately tapped her phone number to redial it.
Beth answered on the first ring this time. “Am I stuck inGroundhog Daywith you?”
“This is Rocco Romano. Really, it’s me.”
“No offense, but I prefer Bill Murray. I’m sorry you and your fake abs had to hear that.”
Why was this woman obsessed with my abs? Okay, maybe that was a dumb question since there were pictures of them all over the Internet. Still, I had no clue why Beth was acting off-kilter. All I wanted was to have a normal conversation with her and get her to watch Houdini. Was that too much to ask? She seemed rather hostile, considering we were going to work together.
Did she not want the job?
