Getting Rid of Bradley. Jennifer Crusie
1/2 Off!’ and it was this!” With a flourish, she pulled a box out of the bag. “So I bought it.”
Einstein squinted at the box, decided it wasn’t biscuits, and collapsed with disappointment. Maxwell contemplated the air. Heisenburg rolled over onto his back.
Lucy ignored them to study the photo on the box: the model’s hair was a rich cloud of midnight curls and she looked sultry and provocative. “This is the new me,” she told the dogs. “It’s time I changed. I just made a mistake with this blonde mess because I didn’t think it through. I’m not the blonde type, you know?”
Maxwell and Einstein looked at each other. Heisenburg stayed on his back.
“Oh, you may laugh. But I’m changing my hair and I’m changing my life. No more mousy, timid brown or brassy, tacky blonde. I’m going to change into a whole new Lucy. I’m going to be a brunette. Dark, fascinating, dangerous. Independent. All men will desire me. All men will fear me.”
Einstein sighed, Maxwell scratched, and Heisenburg stayed on his back.
Lucy looked back at the picture on the box. “Well, maybe not. But they won’t ignore me or stare at my hair in disbelief. And I’ll feel tougher with this hair. I’ll take chances. I’ll date exciting men.” She remembered the last exciting man she’d been attracted to, the one who had mugged her in an alley. “Well, maybe not. You know, I don’t have very good taste in men. Maybe I’ll hold off on the dating for a while.”
Like maybe forever.
She looked down at the dogs who were staring at her now with adoration. Even Maxwell’s usually glazed eyes were shining with puppy love, and Heisenburg had let his head fall back so he could worship her upside down. “I should just stick with you guys. You’re the best.”
Okay. No men for a while, no matter how lonely she felt. But she could still change. She could still be independent and control her life. She could do it.
“I’ll tell you something else,” she told the dogs. “I’m really being independent. I’m even taking back my maiden name. In fact, I already did. I just signed a note with it. And not only that, later, when I’m done, we’ve got real fun. Do you know what we’re going to do?”
Einstein and Maxwell cocked an ear at the lilt in her voice. Heisenburg lay doggedly on his back.
“All right, all right,” Lucy said to him, giving in to canine blackmail. “Dead dog?” Heisenburg jumped up, delirious at finally being noticed.
“You are spoiled rotten,” Lucy told him. “Now as I was saying, do you know what we’re going to do?”
The dogs waited.
“We’re going to get rid of Bradley!” Lucy said, flinging her arms wide.
The dogs went wild with joy.
“My sentiments, exactly,” she told them and went upstairs to start transforming herself.
AN HOUR AND A HALF later, Zack pulled up in front of the address Lucy Savage had left on the patrol-car windshield.
It was in an older neighborhood, close to the university and in the throes of gentrification. Some of the big old Victorians were completely restored, some hadn’t been touched, and some were in transition. The Savage house was one that someone had begun to make an effort with.
Zack sat in his car and checked the place out. The three-story cream brick house, like all the others around it, was on a hill bisected by the cracked concrete driveways that consumed the narrow side yards separating the houses. A small blue Civic, its windows rolled up tightly in the February cold, sat in the driveway to the left. The drive to the right was empty.
There was no one in sight.
Great. This is why he needed a partner with him so he could say, “It’s quiet…too quiet.” So where was Anthony? Chasing brunettes. You couldn’t trust anybody these days.
He got out of the car and climbed the concrete steps to the house.
He twisted the knob on the antique doorbell, and its hellish scream echoed through the big rooms of the house, followed by the barking of what seemed like a thousand dogs.
His grandmother had once had a doorbell like this one, and he remembered how wonderfully godawful it had sounded, the kind of ring that went right up your spine and out the top of your head. Then one day, his grandmother had had enough and put chimes in instead, and he hadn’t felt the same way about his grandmother’s house since.
Or his grandmother, for that matter.
And now Lucy Savage had the same godawful doorbell. It figured. Savage woman, savage doorbell.
He twisted it again. A thousand dogs barked again.
The door opened.
She was a brunette, sort of. Actually, she had the blackest hair he’d ever seen in his life on anyone. Or anything. It was the kind of dead, dull black that seemed to absorb light and air, and her face was surrounded and overwhelmed by it. For a moment, he wasn’t even sure it was the same woman, and then he recognized the pointed chin and the big eyes, now widening in startled recognition. She started to slam the massive wood door, but he put his foot in it to block her. forgetting that he was wearing canvas shoes, not leather. She slammed the heavy door into his foot and yelled, “Go away. I have vicious dogs. I’m calling the police!”
“I am the police!” Zack clenched his teeth against the pain. He shoved his badge in against the shoe-width crack in the door. “Do you know the penalty for assaulting a police officer?”
“What?” She stared at his badge and then slumped against the doorframe, letting the door fall open. “I don’t believe this. I just don’t believe this.”
“Believe it, lady. Can I come in, or do you want to beat on me some more?”
She stood back so he could go in, her eyes wide in her woebegone face, and Zack would have felt sorry for her if he hadn’t been in so much pain.
“Thank you.” He limped past her into the vestibule. She closed the door behind him and then opened the vesitbule door, and the dogs attacked.
The big sheep dog was the first to reach him. It immediately leaned heavily against his leg, shedding all over his jeans and drooling into his shoe. The little skinny brown one draped itself over Zack’s uninjured foot and stared off into space at nothing in particular. And the one that looked like a floor mop barked at him once and then rolled over onto its back with all four short legs in the air and lay there, motionless.
“These are vicious attack dogs?”
“I thought you were a mugger.” She shoved her impossible hair out of her face. “And they sound vicious.” They both looked down at the dogs. “Sort of.”
“What’s wrong with the mop?” Zack asked.
“He’s not a mop. That’s Heisenburg and…Never mind. Am I under arrest for beating you up?”
“You did not beat me up, lady. The only reason you hit me at all is that I wasn’t defending myself because I didn’t want to hurt you.” Zack looked down at Heisenburg. “Is he sick?”
“No,” she said. “It’s a dog joke. It’s the only one he knows.”
“A dog joke.”
“Yes. You feed him the setup, and then he does the punch line. Like a knock-knock joke.”
“You taught this dog a joke?”
“No.” She looked down at the mop with pride. “He thought it up on his own.”
Zack looked around the spotless vestibule and through the open door. The next room was spacious, with high ceilings and hardwood floors covered with worn Oriental rugs. It was full of sunlight and comfortable, threadbare, overstuffed furniture, and he could hear a fire crackling