Charm City Read Free Page B

food pyramid, and who was Tess to disagree?
    Tommy unlocked a storeroom and stood on the
threshold, peering into the darkness.
    "There," he said
finally, pointing to what appeared to be a black bag.
    "What?" Tess said.
Alarmingly, the bag began to move, rising on four sticks and walking
toward her, into the light. "What the hell is it?"
    It was a dog, a bony, ugly dog with dull
black fur and raw patches on its hindquarters. The brown eyes were as
vague and glazed as Spike's, the shoulders hunched in an
uncanny impersonation of Richard M. Nixon.
    "It's a greyhound? Spike
just got it this weekend?"
    "But it's black ."
    "Most greyhounds ain't
gray, and you call 'em blue when they are." Tommy
spoke confidently, sure of himself on this particular subject.
"Some are kinda beige, and some are spotted, and some are
black. They say gray ones don't run so good, but
that's just a super-supposition."
    "Was Spike going to race this
dog?"
    "No, this dog is retired .
And she wasn't ever much good? Spike got her from some
guy?"
    "What guy?"
    "The guy he knows from the place
he goes sometimes?"
    The dog looked up at Tess and her droopy
tail moved ever so slightly, as if she had some vague memory of wagging
it a long time ago. Tess looked back. She was not a dog person. She was
not a cat person, fish person, or horse person. On bad days, she was
barely a people person. She ate meat, wore leather, and secretly
coveted her mother's old mink. Fur was warm and
Baltimore's winters seemed to be getting worse, global
warming be damned.
    "Why can't you take her,
Tommy?"
    "Can't keep a dog in the
bar, health department will close us down? Name's S.
K.?"
    "What do the initials stand for,
S. K.?"
    "No, Esskay .
Like the sausage?"
    "As in ‘Taste the
difference ka-wality makes?' and Cal Ripken, Jr., touting the
role of bacon in his athletic endeavors?"
    "Yeah, it's her favorite
food, but she only gets it for special treats. Rest of the time, she
eats this special kibble Spike got her."
    Five minutes later, Tess was in her
twelve-year-old Toyota, the kibble was in the trunk, and Esskay was
standing stiff-legged in the backseat, sliding back and forth with
every turn and whimpering at every pothole, which came roughly every
fifteen feet. Baltimore's streets, never in the best repair,
had suffered as much this winter as anyone. It didn't help
that the car behind her, which had its brights on, seemed intent on
tailgating her all the way to Fells Point. She ended up running a red
light on Edmondson Avenue, just to get away from that inconsiderate
driver.
    "Sit! Sit down!" Tess
hissed at the dog, but Esskay just stared back at her forlornly and
resumed skidding along the vinyl covered backseat, hitting her head on
one window, then slipping back and smacking her rump on the other. But
she never barked, Tess noticed, never really made any sound at all,
except that almost imperceptible whine from the back of her throat.
     
    The sun had just come up, weak and feeble,
when Tess opened her eyes the next morning. Strange, she usually
didn't wake this early in the winter, her one season to sleep
in. Spring through fall, when she rowed, she was up with the birds.
"And now you're down with Crow," her
friend Whitney had joked frequently, a little too frequently, over the
past few months. It wasn't clear if Whitney resented the
presence of a boyfriend in Tess's life, or simply found the
boyfriend in question somewhat ridiculous. A little of both, Tess
suspected.
    But it was not Crow's long, warm
body next to her this morning. She rolled toward the middle of the
too-soft bed and found herself staring into the faintly cross-eyed gaze
of Esskay, the dog's untrimmed toenails digging into her arm,
her hind legs twitching spasmodically.
    Tess propped herself up on one elbow and
glared, and the dog shrank back, averting her mournful gaze.
    "Don't take this
personally, but you are the ugliest dog I've ever
seen."
    The snout was reminiscent of a
dinosaur's, the long-jawed