Stepdog by Mireya Navarro Read Free Book Online Page A

security at the dam, a popular tourist attraction, in the post-9/11 world. I wandered around as Jim interviewed visitors, some of them still visibly drunk from their gambling all-nighters, others killing time before their flights home. As I watched Jim taking notes, I was on a buzz of excitement and possibility. I wanted this man who looked and felt so right. It’d be tricky to get to know each other long-distance, but dating is never effortless. We could make it work if we wanted to pursue a relationship badly enough. And we did. We both realized that Vegas, hookup heaven, was the start of something more serious. We were so ready.
    From then on, we sustained a bicoastal courtship. Phone calls every day. E-mails every few hours. Some were no more than symbols for kisses, deep as we were in lovey-doveydom. A few weeks after our Vegas reunion, Jim arrived at my apartment late one Friday night with a bottle of California chardonnay. I had a checkered past in the kitchen but welcomed him with a supper culled from recipes from
Gourmet
magazine. Prosciutto-wrapped asparagus with mint dressing. Grilled tuna salade Niçoise. Smoked salmon and egg salad sandwiches with capers. As we nibbled, we made plans for the two romantic days that lay ahead. He would take the red-eye back to L.A. Sunday night. My turn to visit would be up next in a few weeks. Arielle and Henry awaited.
    It was all going to be perfect.

Five
    The Big Galoot

    I arrived at Jim’s town house in Los Angeles all frazzled. It was a hot summer evening, and I had just spent four hours crawling north from San Diego on the freeway. On that hellish Friday I had been attending, again, the National Association of Hispanic Journalists conference. The traffic was not the only thing making me sweat. I was about to meet Jim’s gang for the first time.
    Jim invited two good friends his kids liked, Angel and Michael, as buffers so the focus wouldn’t all be on this new “friend.” I had invited my own little security blanket too. Rose drove in half an hour from Long Beach. At his front door, I took an anxious breath, and pushed the doorbell. And there he was, my smiling boyfriend along with Greeter #2—the Barker. Jim had mentioned Eddie in passing so he wasn’t a complete surprise. The dog seemed excited to see me, barking in a nonthreatening tone as Jim and I kissed chastely. At the touch of lips, Eddie jumped on his master, his big paws reaching to Jim’s waist, seeking his attention.
    â€œThis is Mia. She’s nice,” Jim said, using the tone most of us reserve for toddlers.
    Woof-woof-woof.
    â€œYou big galoot,” Jim cooed as he held his pooch to keep him from leaping on my silk blouse.
    â€œHello, doggie,” I said, careful not to touch him just in case he was overdue for a bath.
    Eddie was covered in dark spots interrupted by a wide brown saddle wrapped around his muscular back and rump. He had a cute boxy face, but the spots were by far his most distinctive feature—not uniformly smallish spots like a Dalmatian’s, but smallish, medium, and big patches, like a fabric print with defects. Any of his victims (more on this later) could easily pick him out in a lineup. He calmed down after a few seconds, took a few quick sniffs around me, and looked up at Jim for his next cue. A scratch-fest involving impressive contortion followed.
    â€œWhat’s a galoot?” I asked as the dog monopolized precious moments.
    â€œA big tough guy,” Jim said.
    As he petted Eddie, the dog lay down and turned over with no sense of decorum to reveal a pink belly and God knows what else. With his four paws in the air, squirming from side to side as Jim rubbed away, Eddie didn’t look so tough to me. I was relieved when Jim finally moved us on to the galoots that really mattered—Arielle and Henry. At eleven and nine, Jim’s kids were still little, shy, polite, and monosyllabic to my questions. I felt as shy as