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The feel of his arms around me stays on my skin long after I’ve watched him walk off in that expensive suit.
I catch the subway to Bryant Park.
Feeling a sense of purpose and familiarity since my world was upended last week, I step into Midtown Guide Dog Institute. I started volunteering here a few hours each week after I stopped working at Prada.
Since Michael’s arrest and getting kicked out of the apartment, I called the general manager saying I’d be gone for a week or so while I got my life together.
“Hey, you’re back!” Zara, one of the trainers, says to me.
She’s my only real friend in New York.
“Hey, Maverick.” Seeing the six-month-old black Labrador makes me feel better. I give him a pat on the head, but he tries to gnaw off my hand. “He’s still biting?”
“His home trainer isn’t working out.” Zara sounds concerned. “I worry Maverick won’t pass.”
I found Maverick as a ten-week-old puppy running in Central Park, his leash dragging behind him. The home trainer showed up a few minutes later, apologizing.
I saw Midtown’s name on Mav’s vest and stopped by to see what this place was about. I never told Zara or anyone what happened. But I developed a soft spot for Maverick’s well-being.
That’s when I decided to volunteer. I’d just stopped working at Prada, but I didn’t have the year required to become a trainer. I signed up to help with the puppies, instead.
Help = clean cages. But I also get to bathe them and play with them. And it got me out of Michael’s apartment.
I didn’t want him to think I’d beensitting on my fat ass all day, even though he accused me of it anyway.
I follow Zara and Maverick further inside until we reach the puppy center.
Maverick is so full of energy, and Zara gives him basic commands, trying to calm him.
“He missed you.” She hands me the leash once she removes the training harness.
“Come on. Bath time.” I tug the leash, and he tries to jump on me when I say bath.
For a puppy his size, he gets hosed down in the stand-up shower.
That means I’m getting wet.
A FEW HOURS OF HARDwork and chapped hands later, I’m happier than I’ve been in a week. Except when Ford touched or looked at me.
I can’t stop thinking about the man.
Or how he suggested I auction myself.
I need another opinion on this to make sure I’ve not completely lost my mind.
“How about we get a macchiato?” I suggest to Zara who’s putting on her coat.
“I’d love one.”
As we leave, we greet other trainers coming in. Each dog sniffs me with approval. They love me. I’ll take my wins where I can find them.
Most of the time, I feel so incredibly alone and beaten down.
At the nearest coffee house, Zara and I order and wait for our drinks.
“So, where were you?” she asks, rocking on her heels.
I wait a beat, and with my eyes closed, I confess, “Michael got arrested.”
