Free Jackie's Week by M.M. Wilshire Page B

acres and train the dogs. We could
live like country folks. Once in a while, we’d get in the pickup
and go into town and browse around the Rexall Drug. I’d probably
buy you some candy."
    "That’s it? That’s your big plan? A dog ranch
in Dos Palos?"
    "It’s not as bad as it sounds. Dos Palos is
quiet. No hustle and no bustle. It’s a respectable farming hub east
of Interstate 5, in the middle of nowhere. The main crops out there
are mosquitoes and whiteflies, I think. They don't even farm
anymore, since the Enviros shut off their water to protect some
kind of fish. Then you have the weather. The summer heat is
absolutely blistering. Then you get a nice fall season followed by
about three months of dense fog, followed by a spring full of
allergens."
    "And there we would be, waiting to sell a dog
so we could buy groceries," Jackie said.
    "No," Johnson said. "Because there is decent
money in police dogs. There’s a good demand not only in Los
Angeles, but also in the Bay Area."
    "Just suppose we were living in that double
wide," Jackie replied. You, of course, would be busy with your
dogs. But exactly what the hell would I be doing all day?"
    "I don’t know. You could vacuum all day,
drink vodka and watch court TV same as you do now. Or you could
become a country girl. Learn to ride a horse. Join a crafts club
with the other farm ladies. You could even learn to work with the
dogs."
    "That ain’t going to happen. By the way,
Johnson, I can’t believe how fast you gobble up your food. You eat
like a dog. You don’t chew, you gulp. It’s not an appealing
sight."
    "I think it’s a cop thing," he said. "A
rookie learns to do it. I can’t count the meals I’ve tossed out the
car window when a trouble call came in."
    "I can cook," she said.
    "Oh really?"
    "It used to be my passion. So there’s
something, at least. After a hard day of working the dogs, you
could come home and find me in the kitchen wearing nothing but an
apron and cowboy boots, whipping up something divine."
    "That certainly puts trailer life in a new
light."
    "Yes it does. And after dinner, we could fold
away the dining table and trip the light fantastic. But before we
get to that point, you’d have to learn to eat like a human being,
slowly, and not try to talk with your mouth full."
    "I suppose I could take a class or
something," he said.
    "I’ve never dated an older man before," she
said.
    "I’ve been waiting for that to come up," he
said. "But we’re only eight years apart. It’s not that big a deal,
is it?"
    "I don’t know. I really don’t. Do you still
have your prostate?"
    "Yes," he said. "Oh hell. I knew it wouldn’t
work out," he said. "Right now, I’d give anything to be younger. Or
at least have more hair."
    "That’s very sweet, Johnson."
    "No. Not sweet. Desperate is more like
it."
    "I’ll spill another secret," she said. "Every
night, I have this terrible dream. I have to re-live Bout attacking
me. But quite often, in that very dream, you appear and attempt to
rescue me."
    "I do want to rescue you," he said.
    "Well I hope you do better in real life,
because in the dream you always fail."
    "I won’t fail in real life."
    "Well, I have just learned something,
Johnson. This is not Casablanca, final scene. We aren’t walking
into the mist at the start of a beautiful friendship. What we have
here instead is an L.A. classic movie. Two very lonely people,
entirely wrong for each other, who want to shamelessly use each
other and damn the future consequences. I want to use you to feel
safe, and you’re a lonely old fart who wants to stoke the fires one
last time. I should walk away right now, but in spite of your
terrible table manners, I am not going to flat out reject you. I
will give it some serious thought."
    "Do you mean that?"
    She took a final sip of iced tea and stood
up. "Yes I do. And to prove it, I’m going to do something really
stupid right now. Brace yourself."
    "I’m ready."
    "Johnson, would you like to go out with