Free Me and My Manny by M.A. MacAfee Page B

selected a gooey cherry Danish from the box. “Nobody’s gonna jump her with Spike along.”
    “Nobody would have the opportunity, if she didn’t have the dog. It’s not like he’s a loyal pet full of unconditional love. It’s more like he’s the master and his enslaved owners exist to provide for him. No trainer will deal with him; no kennel will board him. It’s so bad that Ruthie can’t even go on an overnight trip.”
    “You knew he was here when we signed the lease,” Harry said.
    “I didn’t sign up to be stalked by a vicious beast. Always sniffing the baseboards, always trying to escape into the hall. One of these days, he’s going to kill somebody.”
    “Or chew up your manny. By the way, my new chinos need to be exchanged for a larger size.”
    “Those are Wolfs pants.” I reached for a chocolate-covered donut filled with creamy custard.
    “What are you doing spending money on him?”
    “It’s his money. He earned it through my escort service.”
    “The dummy escort service? Get real.”
    “You knew about my plans.”
    “You can’t be serious.” For a long time, he stared at me. “You are. You’re actually going to try again.”
    “With a different marketing approach, perhaps.” I bit into my donut; the intense sweetness electrified my taste buds and shocked my imperfect teeth. “It’s an eat-or-beeaten jungle out there. You got to claim your own money tree and give it a few good shakes.”
    Harry cleared his throat. “I hate to interrupt your swing through the money trees, but would you mind dropping the vine and passing the milk?”
    I did as he asked and went on. “After all, the price of venting on a nonjudgmental dummy is way less than the cost of seeking relief from some other outlet, booze, sex, whatever.” It sounded odd, but based on client accounts— all two of them—Wolf was a wholesome companion. “Lisa never gets to spend a moment alone. And when it comes to Ruthie, the manny’s at least given her more of a respite than Jason’s pill-pushing shrink, who, for all his credentials, lectures, and public appearances, has yet to make a dent in Jason’s phobic behavior.”
    “You can’t compare a brilliant psychiatrist with a brainless dummy.” Harry sucked cherry jam from his fingertips.
    “You can in my book. Britonia charges double for the house calls he makes, whereas my manny works cheap.”
    “You get what you pay for,” Harry quipped.
    “I never said a manny could handle Jason’s disorder. But in my opinion, neither can his overpriced doctor. Or for that matter, his overburdened wife. She’d go back to work, if it weren’t for Jason’s oddball act. So I told her, why don’t you pressure him into taking the dog out once in a while. Why does everybody around here have to feel worse so that Jason can feel better?”
    “It’s best you mind your own business.” Harry paused then said, “Which from the looks of things appears to be another attempt at pandering.”
    “Minding my own business is exactly what I’m up to. It’s not my fault that customers of the manny-mate operation speak to me in confidence. That’s why I assured them, what happens here, stays here.” I gestured zippering my lips.
    “Whoda thunk it,” Harry mused. “Smart women dating a dummy.”
    Though his comment sparked another idea, I let it slide and finished the last of my donut and wiping my sticky fingers on a paper napkin, said, “Just goes to show how deceptive appearances can be. Wolf may look like a laidback malingerer. But we shouldn’t underestimate what’s going on beneath that glossy veneer.”

Wolf’s Marketable Functions
     
    The more I thought about setting up the Manny Ranch, the greater my misgivings. I knew that trafficking mannys would strike some as distasteful, but that’s not what bothered me. My reasons were more practical. On one hand, staffing brothels with Mr. Gippo-style manikins still required that the wooden inmates be hewed out and put