Big Swiss(48)

Cut this short? Never see each other again?


BS:?Can we be… dog friends?

G:?What’s that?

BS:?Dog friends.

G:?I don’t know what that means.

BS:?Like, can we hang out at the dog park together.



Big Swiss looked slightly queasy. Obviously, she didn’t want to go to the dog park alone, but did she think Keith would show up there, of all places? His obese chocolate Lab couldn’t possibly still be alive, eight years later, and who gets a new dog immediately upon getting out of prison?

Well, Greta might, actually. It might be the first thing she did. But a man? A man would try to get pussy first, followed by… revenge? Big Swiss must have filed a restraining order, but maybe it wasn’t in place yet, or maybe she was afraid he’d hire someone to come after her.


BS:?None of my friends are free in the middle of the day, and—I mean, I realize you “work,” but it seems like—

G: ?Yeah, sure, I’ll go to the dog park with you.

BS:?I’ll buy you coffee afterward.

G:?Would you be willing to give me a hysterectomy at some point?

BS:?Sorry?

G:?I need my uterus removed.

BS:?Do you have heavy periods, or something more serious?

G:?I have PMS. My periods are like bad jimsonweed trips.



A flicker of recognition crossed Big Swiss’s forehead. Greta waited, hoping to hear exactly how jimsonweed had brought her to orgasm.


BS:?My dog ate jimsonweed once and barked at the wall for seven hours. Apparently, the walls melt like butter if you ingest it. [PAUSE] To get rid of PMS, I would have to remove your ovaries.

G:?Fine.

BS:?But I can’t do that, Rebekah. Sorry.



Greta didn’t like being addressed by her fake name. Why on earth hadn’t she chosen a name she’d always wanted? Carmen, Isabelle, Piper—


BS:?What are your symptoms?

G:?Obsessive thoughts. Like, I’m pretty sure one of my feet is significantly bigger than the other, but people tell me they’re roughly the same size.

BS:?Do you wear different-size shoes?

G:?Well, no, because imagine all the shoes I’d have to buy. Imagine all the leftover shoes, all mismatched. I wouldn’t be able to donate them, so they’d all end up in a landfill. I’m also oddly obsessed with my dog’s paws.

BS:?You seem really in love with your dog. Almost as if he were a human baby.

G:?Yes, well, I forgot to have children.

BS:?How old are you?

G:?Thirty-eight.



Greta was forty-five.


G:?I’m not aging well.

BS:?Were you focused on your career?

G:?I forgot to have a career.

BS:?What else did you forget?

G:?Tattoos. I forgot to get tattoos.

BS:?Are you still transcribing our conversation?

G:?Indeed. I’m exhausted.

BS:?I bet I know how to keep you from doing that.



Like a boss, Big Swiss didn’t utter another word, not even “goodbye” or “good to see you.” She simply placed two twenties on the bar, gave Greta’s shoulder a gentle squeeze, waved to Gringo, and then slipped out the door.

Greta immediately ordered another Sazerac, just to get ahold of her nerves. Being deliberately obnoxious had been more stressful than she’d realized, but she also hadn’t anticipated enjoying herself so much. It had been years since she’d made a new friend, even a dog park friend.

Big Swiss was clearly looking for a bodyguard, though, not a friend, and Greta didn’t even work out. Nor did she have any weapons. Perhaps she would start lifting weights, or at least larger logs of wood. She was good enough with a hatchet, but maybe it was time to pick up the axe.

If they walked their dogs together on a regular basis, Big Swiss was bound to bring up Rebekah in therapy again. But what did Om really know about Greta? He didn’t even know her dog’s name, or his breed. He only knew Greta’s age, where and with whom she lived, and that she sometimes slept in the closet.





8


Now that winter was well under way, the fires had to be fed and maintained around the clock. This involved Greta’s trudging outside to the woodpile, loading up her arms, trudging back, dumping the wood onto the hearth, stacking it, making sure she had enough kindling. If she went to bed at midnight, it was necessary to set her alarm for three, four at the latest, to pack the stove, and again at six or seven, and then every five hours, all day long. If the fire died, she started from scratch, and the wood was often wet or frozen, or the fire didn’t catch. If there was a back draft, her room suddenly filled with thick black smoke, which in turn filled her with rage, and she beat the air with a towel like a demon. She’d nailed drapes over the windows because Sabine didn’t own a drill or curtain rods, and it was less drafty, certainly, but staying warm was its own part-time job, and she wasn’t getting paid. In fact, she was the one paying. Her only compensation was not freezing to death.

Big Swiss had texted every day for two and a half weeks, which meant they’d walked their dogs together for a total of seventeen hours. Since Greta felt like she was performing a role, she wore the same thing every day: waxed canvas coat and work pants, in monochromatic green. She looked and felt like the groundskeeper at a cemetery. The other day Big Swiss had asked for her last name.