ARIA
The early morning sun warms my skin as we head to the dog park. Me, and all seven of my four-legged friends. It’s Sunday, which means Taffy is in the lead, her speckled Spaniel butt wagging with each excited step. Frank, middle name Andbeans, is jockeying for the central position with Dakota, the Albino husky. Never mind that the little dachshund is about one twelfth the size of his rival.
Fitz, the black schnauzer, trots by my side, ignoring the group politics in favor of looking dashing. Loki is bringing up the rear, using those border collie instincts to make sure Daisy, the feisty chihuahua, keeps up.
The seventh isn’t walking. Clancy, the older-than-dirt French Bulldog, is in my backpack carrier, with the sunshade pulled over him and a fan keeping him cool. Frenchies are notoriously prone to overheating. And getting a chill. And breathing problems. And tender feet. And drowning if they get near anything deeper than half an inch of water. Clancy is very much an inside dog, but his owner likes him to get fresh air a couple times a week. Hence, the backpack.
We get to the dog park, and I set them all loose, unclipping the leash belt from my waist. I keep an eye on my troublemakers as they sprint off to find their friends and generally raise hell. Clancy and I find a bench in the shade, and I brush him while his compatriots play.
Something scratches at my ankle and, when I look down, I see a Yorkie with a distinctive red bow situated between her ears. She yaps at me. “Helloooo, Cara.” She lets me scoop her up and set her on the bench next to us. She’s my weekdays-at-4pm girl, and anytime I have a brush out, it’s all she wants.
When I turn the brush on my favorite little yapper, Clancy turns his squashed-up, graying muzzle to give me a baleful glance over his shoulder. “I’ll come back to you, don’t sulk,” I say with a laugh. He’s so damn cute. I think it’s the big bat ears that get me, but the little fat rolls don’t hurt either.
“Hey Aria!”
I glance up to see Cara’s person, Aaron Munroe, and wave back. He perches next to me on the bench and gives me a long, expectant look.
“Yessssss?” I don’t know what he’s up to, but he’s excited about something.
“Did you get a phone call today?”
“No…” It’s only 8 am. Most of LA won’t be up for hours.
“Ugh,” he sighs, slouching against the back of the bench. “Girl, James and I got you a gig.”
“A gig?” I laugh. “What kind of gig?”
“I can’t tell you,” he says, staring up at the sky. “But trust me, okay?”
“Mysterious much?” I’ve always liked Aaron. He has a real flair for the dramatic and a heart as big as they come.
“I literally signed an NDA.”
“What? I don’t know if I should laugh or be terrified.”
Aaron turns his face on me, giving me a very long, very intense stare. I wonder if he’s trying to use telepathy to tell me the secret. I don’t know where to look, so I just stare back, making my eyes as wide as I can.
Finally, he cracks, laughing as he scoops up Cara and stands. “Be excited. And when you get a phone call from a private number, promise me you’ll answer it.”
“Oooookay. I promise.” I always answer my phone. You never know if someone needs an extra walk, and I can’t pass up a single penny.
“Talk soon!” Aaron waves one of Cara’s paws at me and heads for the parking lot. He’s barely out of sight when my phone rings, crackling through my ancient bluetooth earpiece. “Unknown caller,” the robotic voice says over the ringing.
“Answer the call,” I mutter to myself before pressing the button. It takes two tries, but then it connects. “Hello, this is Aria.”
A distinctly poised voice comes through. “Hello, my name is Sandra. I’m calling on behalf of a client of mine. He’s looking for someone who can handle a… difficult dog.”
The way the word seems to drag itself out of her, leads me to believe that ‘difficult’ might be putting it lightly.
“I generally don’t work with aggressive dogs, but—"
“Oh, lord no. She’s not aggressive, just very destructive. My client has worked with multitudes of trainers, but the results have been… less than satisfactory. Would you be willing to meet the dog?”
She’s obviously beating around the bush, but if the dog isn’t going to rip my throat out, I’m sure I can handle it. “Absolutely, when did you have in mind?”
“Immediately. My client needs to find someone today.”
“Okay, um—" I stall, trying to remember if I have anything else on my plate today, but Sundays are slow. I don’t have appointments scheduled after I drop this motley little crew back with their people. “I’m out with clients at the moment, but I’ll be free in an hour after I drop them off.”