Chapter 2: A Charming Soirée.
Tod treaded out of the concert hall, through those two massive double doors, gloriously plated in silver, the fading sounds of applause followed closely behind him. He stumbled his way down the stairs and into the bustling New York streets. Broadway was quite crowded for this time of day (about 9 PM). At the base of the stairs, Tod caught a glimpse of a familiar face, two in fact. Scott Harrison, the short, fat performance manager who was previously mentioned sat nervously at the foot of the stairs, twiddling his thumbs in anticipation. His black wool overcoat danced playfully. It was a windy night.
The other face was quite distinct. His ears poked high above his head, the left ear slightly tilting to either side. His deep brown eyes seemed to gleam outward, amiable and friendly, yet ever pensive. His fur was of a dirty gray shade, indistinct and rather mangy. This of course was Tramp, Doyle as Tod often preferred to call him as he found the name "Tramp" unsuitable for someone of his immense talent. Tramp sat attentively, chasing cars with his eyes, ever the childish spirit. Scott continued his aimless twiddling.
"Doyle! Is that you?" Tod sat up and extended his paws in greeting. "It's good to see you!"
Tramp turned about and smiled, extending his paws in a friendly embrace, chiding "How many times do I have to tell you, it's just Tramp, hm?" he continued after suppressing a chortle, "The concert was excellent, and you told me you were going to stop performing!" he grabbed him Tod the shoulders, "Your off to a good start." He said sarcastically.
"Well, you know, the man over there always gets what he wants, it was a bit impromptu." Tod sat along the steps.
Tramp continued, "Yes, but why so short! Just the sonata, surely you could have done more?"
"Well, you see…" Tod began.
"He's got other more important engagements to worry about," interrupted Scott huffily. "Doesn't have time to play 20 requests for the audience." He folded his arms close to his torso and stood up, bending forward slightly. "Good morning America wants you there promptly at 7 am. So get home right quick and don't complain about it…"
"Ah, yes, right after a drink or two, me and Doyl…er Tramp and I have a bit of catching up to do. ya?" Tod cocked his head to the side. He knew he didn't require approval but merely sought to annoy the already unnerved Mr. Harrsion.
"Whatever," Scott flailed his arms to the sides, then returned them to his pockets. "I'll come by at 5 tomorrow morning. Don't be asleep…" he said curtly as he turned his body stiffly to the right and continued along Broadway.
"So how goes your practice Doyl…Tramp? Any major progress with that Sonata?" the two pattered as the walked along 23rd street.
"Oh, you know, just great, yea…" Tramp struggled to change the subject. "So what's this about you leaving performance, I heard you might even be leaving the academy?" Tramp's voice grew in pitch and concern.
Tod feigned a laugh initially, but then began to sigh. He stopped walking and looked upwards, towards those towering statues of metal and glass. They cast their haunting silhouettes over the avenue. "Come on, let's get something to drink, we'll talk then."
Three blocks away from where they had left there was a fine restaurant, Tony's, that prided itself as being the first official establishment which granted access to any potty-trained, sentient, tetra-pedal beings without accompaniment of humans. In other words, Tony's was one of the few human establishments a Mutt and a Fox could walk into without being escorted out with a truncheon. Since the discovery of cognitive thought outside the human species about a year ago, many owners were apprehensive regarding the service of most tetra-pedal creatures. Understandably so.
The two turned to corner to Tony's and walked inside, greeted by the cheerful jingling of the three entry bells attached to the access. Things were evidently very slow at this hour. Aside from a random drunk, nearly passed out at the bar, the place was vacant. Displaying evident desperation, Tony ran up to greet his guests, arms outstretched, face beaming.
"Well look whata we got here, ah?" Tod, howa you been ah?" he stroked his peculiarly large moustache accentuated only by his triple chin as he spoke.
"Tony. Always a pleasure." He gave a slight nod to Tony, who did not seem to respond. "Could you get me and my dear friend a table?"
Tony did not speak but motioned for them to approach the table to his near left. He patted the seat playfully, dusted off a crumb or two, smiled and extended his arms in presentation. The pair sat on all fours in the available chairs.
"So whata will you be eating tonight?" he hastily pulled his menu from his apron and placed the pen firmly upon the paper awaiting an order.
"Nothing to eat tonight, just a coke for me…"
"And a small diet sprite." Tramp finished.
With a twist, Tony turned to the kitchen and returned a few moments later, drinks in hand, still wearing the amiable smile. He placed them in front of the pair and bowed slightly. Tod acknowledged this gesture and placed $5 on the table. Tony took the bill without a word and returned most hastily to the kitchen.
"So, about your career, what's going on?" Tramp inquired as he folded his paws on the table.
Tod drew a breath and began.
"I don't know, things have just become, you know, monotonous, just life in general." Tramp nodded his head for Tod to continue.
Tod suddenly placed his hands upon table, "I mean like, what do I do with my life anyway? Play a concert, teach some students, do another damn talk show. It gets tiring."
Tramp shied away from the table a bit, he tried to hide his shock regarding Tod's sudden outburst.
Tod suddenly brought his voice to a hush and leaned in towards the table, his hands raised slightly, his nose nearly touching Tramp's.
"For once, I want things to be normal, I want to wake and say "Hey, maybe I'll take a walk," or, or something like that." "I just want to sit back for a second, take a deep breath and live."
Tramp gather his thoughts, roll them about in his head, and spoke "Well, take a break, a vacation, a hiatus." Tod's ears perked. "Yea, humans do it all the time when they get stressed out, so…"
Tod rolled his eyes "We'll yea, but its more than that. All my life I've been treated as a human, as a person and thus a certain part of my life has always seemed to be missing, like a lost childhood or something." "I want to get out there, meet someone, you know."
Tramp thought for a moment, hesitated, then asked, "But what about the school? Your academy? What about all the students? You can't just up and leave in the middle of the semester?"
"I though about that," explained Tod, "And I figure I can take leave during the winter vacation. Either that or have Scott take care of the school while I'm out."
"NO!" Tramp snapped spontaneously, and then catching himself, he hushed his voice. Not like the unconscious drunk would care much anyway. "No, I think a winter vacation would be good for you, really."
"I'd prefer that you didn't tell anyone about this little soirée of ours. I don't want to see it in the news…yet." "I need to get going, the talk show tomorrow is an early one and Scott is a bit testy lately."
"More than usual?" Tramp smirked.
"You know him…yea, do give Lady my regards, alright?"
Tramp blushed a bit with a smile and reeled in his seat. "Yea, I will…"
Tod trudged home blearily, the cacophony of Time square's horns and chatter enveloped him. His mind was a pool of thought and anxiety but he felt somewhat at ease knowing he may have some respite in the following months. He turned towards 5th avenue and pattered along the sidewalk, acknowledging the passer-Byers with subtle nods of his head and ignoring the few vacant stares he received.
His apartment stood alone at the end of the avenue with a distinctly shaped "doggie door" in the front complete with lock, embellished handle and visually stunning stained-glass window, depicting a rather romantic pastoral scene. He fumbled with the lock using the tip of his nail to activate the specially made tumbler. He stepped inside and turned on the light. The glare forced him to shield his eyes as he stumbled through the door. The apartment was intelligently designed for easy access by any tetra-pedal life form. The kitchen was lowered a full two feet from the human standard as was the wash room complete with gold-plated toilet seat (upon special request).
The carpet was plush and conformed to the shape of the paw with each step. A lone fireplace sat in the corner adjacent to a smallish bookcase. On it, a copy of The Hitch-Hiker's Guide to The Galaxy, a dictionary, two David Rosengarden cookbooks, a world atlas, Mannix's "The Fox and the Hound," and assorted pieces of sheet music by no composer in particular. Tod, often preferred to sleep on the floor in a specially made "doggie bed" with the letters TF adorned on the center (letters whose meaning he never chose to explain to the public).
It was on this bed, that after an evening of performance, teaching, banter, and drinking, Tod finally retired for the night, him mind still swirling with images of something better.