THE WHITE MALTESE

 

Don’t get me wrong. It’s not the dog’s fault. The dog was in the way, that’s all.

Gees, Lady, I understand you’re upset…

I know. I understand.

You have my sympathies…

He’s in a better place…

Too far? Okay, I’ll play it straighter. Not so contrite, but would you, please…I know…I am….I tried to….okay, I don’t give a shit about your dog. Happy?

He’d been driven there by her persistent, wailing attack, and although he truly felt terrible for the event itself  had the dog not “scampered” in front of the car… a white maltese…if only, it had been leashed… 

But yes, he was distracted, and to quite a degree, the result of  phone call from Marie. A phone call, ending it all. 

Could it be his life was starting to unravel? First the job, then Marie, and now the dog. 

He was on his way home after fetching his belongings at the office. They had ordered him to wait in the lunchroom while they went through his things. When he returned they had everything boxed and ready to go. He signed a receipt for six binders and a stack of papers, which he will be leaving behind, (…all deemed “eye’s only”).

The call from Marie came out of left field, which is to say it was totally unexpected, which is why he can’t believe what she’s saying, “…it’s just that, things aren’t the same with you, without the job, and I was thinking of leaving anyhow. I’ll grab my things and be gone.”

NO! Wait…

Then the dog dashed out, followed by the woman, still in her robe at this late hour, wailing and flailing her arms about. 

What was I to do? It was not as if I had a choice in the matter. But her voice…the shrill drill of it, it was just too much. I snapped. It happened. You can guess the rest. 

 Escorted ‘downtown’ by L.A.’s best.

V