She Took My Arm As If She Loved Me by Herbert Gold Page B

name?”
    â€œLoves that modern jazz, man. And he wouldn’t do what you said on your hardwood floors.”
    Priscilla agreed that my law-enforcement backup would never bring a non-housebroken animal into our flat. She said, “A Boy and His Dog, what a cute story.”
    â€œDon’t call him ‘boy’ to his face,” I said.
    Probably she was continually aware that he was black, as white folks usually are about black folks. He was heavy, smart, smiley, the officer who helped me in my chosen career, and my all-time buddy; we would try to love his dog, too. It so behooved us in our state of grace.
    I think both Alfonso and I liked showing off for Priscilla as we sat over drinks and continued our tales of semilegal behavior in defense of the public against illegal behavior. She laughed at the right places and had the proper response to analysis of the one-joint rule for minors. The profit motive also came under discussion as I described staying out of money laundering and narcotics transport, although someone once paid me in airline tickets that turned out to be stolen; tainted, as the prosecutor delicately pointed out when he decided not to prosecute; Alfonso had vouched for me there. That’s what friends are for. When Priscilla asked what he knew about Karim Abdullah, Alfonso said he was a smart hustler, medium big-time so far, who might even manage to keep free of the criminal justice system, and then Priscilla inquired if that would be true for those who worked for him too. Alfonso said maybe, depends, and raised his eyebrows at me. “Smart woman,” he said. “But don’t think too far ahead, it’s dangerous.”
    â€œI’m not averse,” Priscilla said, although the eyebrows had been lifted at me.
    I could feel Alfonso relaxing and happy as he tickled the nose of Mingus and told him not to bother the nice folks or eat their furniture. Mingus chewed a little at his socks, but that seemed to be permitted in this sudden romance. Alfonso mentioned his son living with the mother in Newark or Trenton, one of those places, she didn’t even like to tell him her address. It was hard on him but he was patient and would wait it out because he really didn’t have a choice. He didn’t. Someday the kid would make up his own mind about his father. Priscilla listened and said nothing and that was the right thing to do. There was a space of silence and then we filled our plates.
    â€œKids need a dad,” Alfonso said. “I’ll be there.”
    Just before dessert—I was sure she was making some sort of flan, bronzed crust and burnt cream, something domestic and sweet like that—I was discussing how Mingus tended to yip and yap a lot around our legs. “Tole you he love the jazz,” said Alfonso.
    Priscilla was in the kitchen. “You like her?” I whispered.
    â€œYou already asked me that about every time I see her. Look, you’re the guy’s in love. I’m only the guy who sees what you see in her.”
    â€œThanks.”
    â€œThe rest is your own business, pal.” He didn’t believe in keeping his voice down. “Yeah, I like her.”
    She was in the kitchen a long time. Mingus was with her, and quiet. I headed for the kitchen to help with whatever she was doing.
    Priscilla was on her knees, head down, lovely tail up, arms flailing with a dishcloth. Mingus was very quiet, whimpering guiltily. Priscilla was wiping at wettish dog doo on the floor. “Damn!” I said. “Let me get him in here to do that—the goddamn mutt—he said he’d be housebroken.”
    She looked up, her face purple, and said, “No! No! He’ll be so embarrassed.”
    â€œOught to be, come in and clean it up—”
    â€œNo! He’s your friend—”
    I stared. I was so amazed I didn’t take the wet dishcloth away from her to scrub the floor myself. Something in me may not have wanted to