The Secret Diary of Cameron Baum
MONDAY
John and I are lying in bed. It is that post-coital moment when the rest of the world seems to recede and all that matters is you and the person you love.
John kissses my eyelids. "Have I ever said you have beautiful eyes?"
"Fifteen times," I reply after a quick statistical analysis.
He kisses my lips. "Have I ever said you have beautiful lips?"
"Twenty-seven times."
He kisses my left nipple. "Have I ever said you have beautiful breasts?"
"Two hundred ninety one times."
He slides lower. I feel his lips nuzzle my lower abdomen. His voice becomes muffled.
"Have I ever said you have beautiful-"
Snowy starts barking. And barking.
Talk about bad timing!
"What's wrong with that dog?"
"He's saying there's an intruder."
We leap out of bed, each grabbing a pistol from the side cabinet. I head out the door, followed by John once he has pulled on pants.
"What's the commotion?"
Sarah Connor. In dressing robe also with a pistol in her hand.
"Snowy's saying there's an intruder."
"Take the back; I'll cover the front."
We head down the stairs and out the kitchen door. Snowy is still yapping frantically at the darkness.
"I don't see anything," John whispers. Then he stops and in his normal voice says, "Stand down. I know what it is."
"What?"
He points. Several of the plastic garbage sacks have been ripped open by something with claws. The bones of a recent meal are strewn across the yard.
Fox.
Sarah Connor loops around the side of the building. "I didn't see anything. You?"
"False alarm. A fox tore open the garbage. Probably scared Snowy half to death."
Mia appears in the doorway dressed in her 1D jammies. "What's going on?" she asks drowsily. "And why is Cameron naked?"
"A fox got in and frightened Snowy."
"Is he okay?"
"He's fine. The fox was after last night's dinner. Probably came from the reservoir a mile from here. It's pretty overgrown. And there's plenty of foraging in the city."
Snowy continues to tremble for several hours afterwards. He won't eat and refuses to go out in the yard unless one of us carries him in our arms. His misery upsets Mia. Hers upsets John. And his upsets me. And so it goes.
The fox traumatised my dog and trespassed on my turf, to say nothing of the mess it left behind.
Very well, then.
From one predator to another.
Game on...
TUESDAY
The night is dark but I am darker.
I am all in black. Boots, jeans, jacket, gloves, beanie. I am darker than the night and far more deadly.
Coming. Ready.
Or not...
I walk the mile to the old reservoir and stand before its gates. The reservoir was built during the 1920s to supply water to a thirsty city. The gates are modern: steel frame clad in chainlink and topped by razorwire. A steel stanchion attached to a pillar once supported a security camera. It was stolen and budgetary constraints meant the city council never replaced it.
Their loss is my gain.
I snap the puny padlock and enter, closing the gate behind me. I don't want anyone coming in. Or anything getting out.
The reservoir itself is brimful of water, doubtless replenished by the recent rains.
I stand on the concrete apron and use infra red to scan my surroundings. Several small blobs of white indicate signs of life but are too small to be the prey I seek.
The waiting begins.
I stand as still as any statue. Even my pseudo-restpitory function is switched off so the rise and fail of my chest will not alert anything to my presence.
Three hours pass and then I spot it. A large fully grown adult. It lopes silently through the overgrown grass, snout low to the ground. No wonder Snowy was terrified; it's four times his size with fangs the length of my fingers.
I raise the hand holding the pistol.
The creature stops and sniffs the air. I am downwind but whatever bad mojo I radiate this one has sensed. Truly, I can't take me anywhere.
Now, then. Before it has a chance to escape.
A single gunshot breaks the sepulchral silence.
The creature topples over.
I walk towards it. The bullet struck the right shoulder, tearing away muscle and bone.
The fox growls up at me, fangs bared, dragging itself with its left leg. Life's prime directive: live.
I empty the clip into the skull, reducing it to a bloody pulp.
"You're terminated," I inform the carcass. Unnecessary yet this brings a kind of closure. And it's always nice to have a catchphrase.
I turn around and walk back they way I came.
In a city full of predators, both human and other, there is now one less.
Game over.
WEDNESDAY
John is on his back, pumping.
Up and down, pumping.
The sweat glistens on his brow and bare torso.
Up and down.
Pumping.
"Spot," he gasps.
I take hold of the barbell and rack it onehanded.
"You could've used both hands," John gripes sitting up.
"Why?"
"Make me look less of a wuss."
"You're not a wuss," I assure him.
"Said the girl who just benched two-hundred pounds onehanded."
One of the spare bedrooms has been converted into a home gym. There is a weight bench. Barbells and dumbells. A rowing machine that simulates rowing without the need for water. Or a boat. And a treadmill for running. This was once Snowy's, though he now refuses to go near it after an unfortunate accident with the speed controls flung him across the room like a small furry cannonball. He remains convinced the machine did it on purpose. This is untrue. Machines are many things but vindictive is not one of them.
John sits on the edge of the bench and picks up a dumbell, curling it up to his shoulder and back down. This repetitive motion will over time enlarge the muscle and add strength. How much easier to use hydraulics. Mother Nature really dropped the ball on that one.
I lift the barbell off the bench stops and lower it to the floor, again using just one hand.
"Seriously, use both hands. Suppose Mia passes by and sees you doing that?"
"Unlikely. She is out in the yard with Snowy."
"Still? They've been out there all morning. What are they up to?"
"They're designing a new dog house."
"What's wrong with the old one?"
"Mia says it's too small. And Snowy has expressed a wish for a larger domicile, one with a guest wing."
"A guest wing? Who's he gonna invite over - Rin Tin Tin? The Brady Bunch?"
"There is also talk of adding a second storey."
"To a dog house? Seriously? How come you know so much?"
"I have agreed to help with construction. Mia has never used tools before. And Snowy can't grip a hammer to save his life."
"What do you know about building dog houses?"
"Very little," I confess. "However, I have experience in constructing missile silos and nuclear fallout shelters."
"You sound like the ideal person for the job."
"I thought so too."
"How'd they come up with this crazy idea?"
"I believe from watching Keeping Up with the Kardashians."
"Right. Stupid question. And does mom know about this?"
"Negative. We felt it prudent to adopt secrecy lest your mother suffer an emotional episode."
"You mean, you're keeping schtum so she won't blow her stack?"
"Correct."
"Okay, but if Snowy asks for chandeliers and a steam room just say no."
"Duly noted."
John stands up. "Think I'll go wash this sweat off in the shower. Care to join me?"
"Do you have to ask?"
" You can scrub my back and I'll scrub your front."
This sounds like a fair division of labor.
-0-
THURSDAY
I am wearing dungarees. Dungarees!
My hair is tied back. I have on heavy work boots and there is a tool belt around my waist. A club hammer dangles from it. I have to use this when I'm hammering nails. Not my fist, which would be more convenient - albeit more revealing of my true nature.
Snowy's new dog house is taking shape. The foundations are in and the main load-bearing joists and in position. So far everything is going to plan, though occasionally there are setbacks.
Snowy.
He insists on trying on trying to help yet does nothing but get in the way. Then a splinter lodges in his paw and he whines piteously for several minutes until John extracts the sliver with a pair of tweezers. My suggestion to amputate the limb is deemed excessive. Pity. I have a sharp saw perfect for the job.
"Wow. It's certainly...big." John says having locked Snowy in the main house for his own good.
"It is the exact size as specified in the blueprint."
"Yeah but seeing is on paper is not quite the same as the real thing."
I concede the point.
Mia pokes her head out of the second storey window, the room on the plan designated the meditation room. "Isn't it great!"
"You're covered in paint!"
"It's not paint; it's varnish. Snowy wanted a natural look that highlights the wood grain. He's very zen.
"A zen dog. Y'know, I've a feeling we've overindulged that mutt. Come down and wash that stuff off."
"In a minute. After I've done the bannisters."
"Mom is going to explode when she sees this. I told her it was just a regular kennel."
"It is."
"Sure. And Versailles is just a tract house."
Finally the interior is complete and the shingles go on the roof - red cedar naturally.
I climb down the ladder. "Project Dog House is complete," I pronounce.
"Yea!" Mia claps her hands. "Can I go and get Snowy? I bet he can't wait to move in."
"Sure. But I bet you fifty bucks he's back sleeping on your bed in a week tops."
Snowy is released and disappears into his new home. He explores every room with his snout low to the floor.
"I think he likes it," Mia beams happily. "Look at his tail wagging."
"He better like it. This amount of lumber wasn't cheap."
The lights go on. And off. And on. And off. And on. And off.
"I see he's discovered the light switch," John grins.
"Cameron designed them so he just has to touch one with his paw. And they have dimmer controls."
"Mood lighting," John grins. "Perfect for a romantic evening."
Since everyone helped - even Snowy in his way - John orders takeout to celebrate. Snowy insists on eating his in the dining room. The rest of us sit on the porch in the sunshine.
"When will Sarah be back?" Mia asks.
"Late this evening."
Sarah Connor has travelled to Encino to support Doug Bartlett who is competing in a 15Km road race.
"That's why we built it today, isn't it? Because she's away."
"It's what called a fait accompli."
"What's that mean?"
"It means with any luck it'll be too late for her to stop us."
Inside the dog house comes a loud crash. The foolish dog has knocked over the windchimes.
"If Sarah marries Mr Bartlett will that make Paige my step-step sister?"
"Just your step-sister. And no one's marrying anyone."
"I like Paige. How come she doesn't come round much any more?"
"Well, she's busy. She works at the newspaper. And she's got college next year."
This is only part of the reason. It is no longer necessary for me to 'hang with the homey'. Paige has spent several fruitless visits to interview Diamond Joe, who is still away on vacation. On her last visit she was mugged by three youths and had her watch and cellphone stolen. This has spooked her sufficiently to discourage any more return journeys. And elsewhere the trail has grown cold. The local police are no longer interested in tracking down the perpetrator of the double homicide. The newspapers no longer print updates. Even the scene of the crime is no longer accessible. The old video store has been sold for development.
Snowy emerges from the front door. "All finished, boy?" John asks. "Hope you washed the dishes."
"A dishwasher! We forgot a dishwasher!" Mia laughs.
"We should name the house," John suggests. "A little sign above the door."
"You mean, like 'Snowy's Place'?"
"We can do better than that. Some people when they retire name their house 'Dunroamin'. Get it? Because they're done roaming."
I make a suggestion. John and Mia laugh. "We can't call it that - can we?" Mia asks.
"Why not?"
Mia rushes inside the main house and returns with her paintbox and brushes. She carefully inscribes my suggestion over the door in black paint.
Dunpoopin
Done pooping.
That'll be the day.
MONDAY
Mia is seated at the kitchen table, her laptop computer in front of her. She alternates eating spoonfuls of breakfast cereal, sipping from a glass of chilled OJ, and tapping the keyboard with a spare finger. This is called multi-tasking.
Sarah Connor frowns when she sees this and says, "I hope you're not leaving your school assignment to the last minute."
"I'm checking my emails. Look - I got one from Angie. Remember Angie from Michigan?"
"How could I forget the rudest girl in the world. And why is she emailing you?"
"We're email buddies. Plus she helps out with my math assignments."
"I hope 'helps out' doesn't mean she does it all for you?"
"No. Yes. Whatever."
"Mia, you're never going to learn if someone does it for you."
"Yeah yeah. Look - Angie got her degree. There was a big ceremony and everything. And she sent pictures."
Mia turns the laptop so we can all see the slideshow.
The first picture shows Angie has abandoned her grunge look for a shiny ballgown. She looks surprisingly pretty, though you wouldn't know it from the scowl on her face. Beside her are eight older men in dark dinner jackets. The campus faculty presumably. They are as smiley as Angie is scowly.
"Doesn't look happy, does she," John opines.
"Because she's surrounded by gross old men," Mia explains.
"Yeah, that'd do it. Anyone over thirty should be made to wear a bag over their head."
Sarah Connor frowns but says nothing. She obviously doesn't need reminding she is over thirty but I do so anyway. Always happy to help.
"Angie says the whole thing was a nightmare. She had to make a speech, drank too much champagne, and threw up over the Dean."
"Don't suppose the Dean enjoyed it too much either."
"Angie's sent a message for John."
"For me? What's she say?"
"She says she's not wearing khaki. No way. What's that mean?"
"It means one day I'll have an insubordinate soldier on my hands."
The pictures scroll. They show men in smart suits and ties, holding glasses of alcohol. Women in flowing gowns and much jewelry, hair coiled artfully on their heads like so much fancy french pastry. In none of the pictures is Angie smiling.
John says, " Wait a second. Go back one."
A picture flashes on screen. Angie in conversation with another man, both unaware they're being photographed.
"Okay, it was nothing. Carry on."
It wasn't nothing. I saw it too.
Rubin Creed.
Rubin Creed talking to Angie Navarro.
-0-
Think Snowy's dog house is a bit OTT? A firm in England will build you a bespoke dog house replete with underfloor heating, double glazed windows, aircon, window boxes and mood lighting. Mood lighting! Truly, it's a dog's life.