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Puppy Love
Robert Motley
"Mom, Cynthia's booting me up."
Mom shifted about on her black leather sofa as she put her glass of white wine on the coffee table. "Just what does that mean?"
"She's been giving me the eye at school."
"And who is this Cynthia person?"
"She sits beside me in sixth grade homeroom. She's been acting kinda funny lately."
"Don't be so dense. I mean who are her parents? Where does she live?"
" Her parents? Beats the heck outa me. I think she lives on Park Circle."
"Well, then, any normal male idiot would know what to do next. Wake up and turn on."
Next evening I went into mom's dressing room. She was preparing herself for an evening with Reginald, her boyfriend, who had appeared a few months after dad left. "Off into the hills, like an antelope," said mom. "But life must go on."
Mom sat in front of her dressing table, applying mascara. "Haven't I told you not to bother me while I'm dressing?"
"I gave Cynthia the eye."
"Well, don't just stand there. What happened?"
"She took off a shoe and wiggled her toes at me."
"My God! Wild goings on at Princeton Middle. What's the teacher doing while these mating routines go on? Stripping in front of the class?"
"Mrs Phillips was explaining the Bill of Rights to us."
"Sounds more like liberties than rights. Look, you've got ten toes. Now put them to work and move out of here, pronto."
There was no way I was going to wiggle my toes in class. First, I'd have to take off my shoes and socks. Usually one of my socks had a hole in it. Cynthia had an unfair advantage. She wore loafers with no socks.
Mom lay on the sofa reading Valley of the Dolls. I reported to her on the latest episode with Cynthia. "I just stuck out my tongue, but she wiped her tongue around her lips as if she were really enjoying it."
"Such a depraved young snip--possibly a neo-Neanderthal. You really should talk to your father about girls, but he bolted; he's abdicated. Let's see now. The animals have developed must beautiful and intriguing mating rituals. Suppose we watch Richard Attenborough tonight on PBS. Trust me, he knows more about sex than it's really decent to know."
That night we watched the Animal Kingdom on PBS. Whenever the animals were eating each other, mom squeezed my arm. "Close your eyes now, Alfred. The poor dears are badly brought up; their table manners are atrocious."
I learned a lot of cool things. Frogs croak to attract mates, crickets chirp by rubbing their wings together, peacocks spread their wings, doves bill and coo, worms curl around each other, rams bump their horns together. Lions and elephants, on the other hand, just get on with it. I'm not sure it helped me out with Cynthia, but mom thought it was great.
"Very, very informative, Alfred. Does that give you some insight into the mating rituals of men and beasts?"
"I'm confused mom. Should I bill and coo, spread my wings, or butt my head with the rest of the boys."
"Don't get fresh, you rascal. Every species has its own method of courtship. People communicate orally. They whisper words of encouragement and endearment to each other.
"You know, Reginald will pick me up tonight about seven. I'll ask him to give you a few words of advice. You can rely on him; he has exquisite savoir faire."
That evening as the sun set below the horizon, Reggy rang the doorbell. I let him in. He was a very sharp dresser, sporting a dark suit, a rep tie and a nervous manner.
"Hi, Al, old buddy. Tell her ladyship I'm here. What's up?"
"She'll be down in a few minutes, Reggie. Sit down. She said you'd give me some tips about girls. How to handle them, that sort of thing."
"She did, did she? Well, let's see. They're, they're, you know...."
"Different?"
"That's it, exactly. Yes, they're different. Never forget that."
"How different?"
"In lots of ways--they dress different, they think different."
"But Cynthia wears jeans and swears like a trooper."
"Just a passing fashion, Al. They differ in more suble ways. For instance, they love jewelry and hate to go to sleep without a roof over their heads."
"Not great as camping buddies, I guess."
"You'd better believe it. Just try to get one of them to spend a few nights in a sleeping bag on the ground, and what'll you have?"
"Lots of tick bites?"
"No, you'll have one very unhappy camper. Another example: suppose you take them to a cozy little diner like Joe's Crab Shack instead of to the Bistro at the Hyatt. What will you have then?"
"A stuffed date?"
"Not at all--you'll have an outraged diner. And another thing, they love elegant, back-breaking furniture. Just look around this room." His gaze took in mom's Corbusier sofa, the Mackintosh chairs, and the glass table.
Reggie's complaints were interesting, but I didn't see how they related to Cynthia at her age, namely twelve years. Meanwhile, a new front opened up at school. I ran into Fritz in the boys locker room after PT training. He was one of the tougher yoyos who lurked in the back of the study room.
"I seen you and Cynthia carrying on in the homeroom. She's my girl. You'd better back off and get lost, pal, or you'll be sorry."
"Sez who?"
"Sez me."
"Stop pushing me or I'll knock you into the middle of tomorrow."
"If you don't evaporate, I'll do more than push you."
Maybe Attenborough has more to say about mating rituals than I realized.
A few days later Mrs. Phillips showed that she was not as oblivious as I had thought. I sat in her office after classes as she examined a report. "I've noticed your attentions to Cynthia. Very inappropriate behavior, indeed. I will not countenance disruptions in my homeroom."
"I didn't notice any disruptions. I kept my shoes on at all times."
"Don't be sassy with me, young man. Do you know what I'm looking at?"
"A few pieces of paper."
"Those pieces of paper, as you call them, are the preliminary guidelines for sexual harrassment in our district. I admit you haven't yet gone beyond the bounds, but you're rapidly moving in that direction."
"May I see these guidelines?"
"Of course. You should study them carefully and memorize them word for word. Maybe they will show you the error of your ways."
I studied the guidelines carefully. They were full of phrases like party of the first part, party of the second part, and consensual. I couldn't make anything out of them. What I needed wasn't Richard Attenborough or Reginald Robins; I needed a lawyer.
Aunt Millie, dad's sister, was the perfect choice. She had been a successful corporate lawyer for many years, but had given up the rat race, as she called it, for life as a pro bono lawyer, doing good for poor people. Mom had severed relations with Aunt and her side of the family when dad left. "Flighty and frivolous people, Alfie. Don't have anything to do with them."
A phone call got me a lunch with Aunt Millie . She had an office up two flights of stairs in a rundown location in town. Dressed in a loose soft beige dress, she sat behind a desk filled with law books and a computer. She rose and give me a squeeze.
"It's wonderful to see you again, Alfie. Sorry about the take-out lunch." She motioned to the plastic packets on her desk. "I'm working under a tight deadline on my latest case. Any news of your father?"
"Not a peep, Aunt. Say, I want to get your advice on some trouble at school."
"Oh, oh, nothing serious, I hope."
"No, no, I've been playing footsie with Cynthia, so our teacher gave me these guidelines on sexual harassment. I can't make head nor tails out of them. Would you look them over and tell me what they mean?"
"My God, you're just twelve! Are you sure that's all you've done?" She glanced over the papers. "The guidelines seem straightforward to me. What do you want to know?"
"Would you call footsie quid pro quo harassment or peer harassment?"
"Definitely not quid pro quo. That happens when a person in authority, like an employer, forces his attentions on an underling. I'll never forget my first summer job as a secretary. The boss chased me around the desk every morning. I stayed a week just to make some money. Now with Title Nine, I'd have that sex maniac over a barrel in a couple of days."
"What about peer harassment?"
"That's harassment among people at the same level of power. Every employer or institution must be careful in this area. Not to respond to a complaint leaves the institution open to substantial penalties. That might explain your teachers reaction."
"And footsie?"
"Was your conduct so severe, persistent, and persuasive that it limited the other student's ability to benefit from the educational experience?"
"Only a couple of times, but, heck, she started it all."
"Can you prove that?"
"Well, no."
"Then, I would suggest that you limit your future footsie operations to extra curricular activities. Enough of this. What's going on at home? How is your mother taking her loss?"
"She locked herself in her room for weeks, but she's come out now and seems to have made a new friend or two."
Actually, we were in the throes of cutting back, or 'retrenching', as mom put it. The Mercedes had gone, replaced by a Honda Civic. The maid was history, but the cleaning woman lingered on. "Couldn't bear to part with Mrs Smithers, Alfie. She's an absolute magician with dirt and dust. A wave of her duster, and poof, it's gone." More ominously, I had heard her talking on the phone with real estate agents.
That night, as I listened to Dr Dre on the stereo, I thought over my options regarding Cynthia. Obviously, Mrs Phillips did not have any case against me. The guidelines were meant just to scare me. On the other hand, she might send me to the principal, who was a much tougher bozo.
Was Cynthia really worth a punch in the nose from Fritz? She wasn't the prettiest girl in the class, but she was the only girl who had taken any interest in me. On the other hand, could I back down from Fritz's challenge and keep my self respect? Wouldn't Cynthia be very disappointed if I did not continue our relationship?
Cynthia and I strolled along the canal towpath. The sun shone brightly, the leaves in the trees and an occasional jogger whispered in the breeze. An idyllic scene? Yes, except for one flaw--the presence of her beloved Prince Charles spaniel, Goya.
I was unaware that she was a dog person--not just an ordinary dog person, who occasionally allows a mutt to follow her around, but a certified canine nut. Bad-tempered little Goya had nipped at my heels as I led him on a leash along the canal. Cynthia gathered him into her lap as we sat down on a bench. "How is my little lovey-dovey today?" she asked as she kissed his wet nose. "I could just eat him up." The little monster sent out waves of hatred as it bared its teeth at me. Dogs are so different from people; they never mask their emotions. I was able to keep my cool until Cynthia deposited Goya on my lap.
"Here, Sweetie Pie. Give Alfie a nice little kiss."
"Ouch! The little bugger just bit my finger."
She glanced at my finger. "Oh, don't be such a baby. It's hardly bleeding at all. Come here, Goya my pet. Has mean old Alfred hurt my sweetums?"
Who was that genius who wrote that the pain of love endures a whole life long? He knew what he was talking about.
"Pass me my Nok," said Cynthia. I flipped the switch and handed over the cell phone.
A week later I was invited by Cynthia to a birthday party in the Sourland Mountains. She and her mother picked me up in their Ford Explorer. As we drove north on the Great Road, terrorizing a couple of deer who jumped across the road in front of us, Goya began barking from the back seat. "What are you going to do with the dog?", I asked. "Don't you know? said her mother, "The party's for Goya. It's his second birthday."
The parking lot at the Doggie Home was completely filled, so we had to park along the access road, blocking part of the roadway. From the kennel came loud shouts from people and incessant barking from the dogs. Obviously, Goya had invited a lot of his pals.
The kennel owner was a jovial middle aged woman in brown tweed skirt and jacket. "Welcome to fido dot com. Ah, here he is, the star of the evening. Goya, my darling. Give big momma a juicy smootch. Still loves his kennel mother, doesn't he? Why don't you take him into the Play Yard, over there beyond the Dog Condos. He'll find all his pals there. Every dog he ever met here." The Play Yard was alive with Goya's pals and their owners; all of them were rushing about, barking and shouting. .
In the lunchroom the following Monday I was surprised to see Fritz and Cynthia having lunch together. They were giggling together over their hamburgers. As I passed, Cynthia looked away and Fritz barely hid a smirk.
I've just had the last of my rabies shots. Mom said it was a valuable experience for me in the vagaries of human relationships and that I would just laugh at it when we move to a cozy little apartment near the Shopping Center.
I say phooey on Sally May. Let Fritz take care of her, her hellhound Goya and Title Nine, whatever that means. Throw in Title Ten and Eleven, too, for good measure. Baseball practice for the Little League starts up next week. I've already salvaged my catcher's mitt from the back of the garage.
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