What am I doing here?
I glance up at the sign that reads: Doggy Style, and I know this is a mistake right off the bat. I knew she seemed quirky, but this already sounds like a bad episode of COPS. Police officer stumbles unknowingly into a prostitute parlor.
Walk away.
I take another step up the stairs.
This is a mistake.
I knock on the door and am greeted with the baying of dogs and nothing else. No sound of a normally functioning business. No phones ringing. No customers talking. Just a yellow clapboard house I’ve probably driven past a hundred times and never noticed before.
Good. She’s not here. Curiosity satisfied. Time to go.
And just as I begin to walk away, I hear the pad of footsteps on the raised floorboards followed by the sound of a woman’s voice shushing the dogs.
“Officer Sexy,” Desi says, giving me a wide smile when she opens the door.
“Ms. Whitman.” I nod.
“To what do I owe this pleasure? Let me guess. You came here to convince me that beards and tattoos are out and clean cut and uniforms are in and that we’re running away and eloping. Screw our parents and friends, because all we need is each other and the clothes on our backs because love is the currency of life. Is that right?”
I stare dumfounded, trying to process all she just said before laughing and shaking my head. “I was going to say hello, but I think your story is much more entertaining.”
“So, you’re telling me I can still like tattoos and beards?”
“You can like whatever you want.” I turn down my patrol radio as dispatch talks. “Hello, Desi Whitman.”
“Hello, Grant Malone. What can I do for you? I know I’m a law-abiding citizen, so I’m not in any trouble, unless you like to use those handcuffs for other purposes.” She waggles her eyebrows.
The woman is hilarious. “A real man never kisses and tells,” I say with a wink.
“But he does spank and flog,” she comes right back without batting an eyelash, making me choke on air.
“Jesus.”
“Would you like to come in? I promise all of my clients are locked up tight.”
“Should I be worried about that statement?”
“Didn’t you know I’m a Dominatrix? Wanna come check out my dungeon?” I just stare at her until she cracks a smile and laughs. “Dogs. They’re all dogs. I’m a groomer and pet sitter.”
“Ahh, and now the company name makes sense.”
“I love a little tongue-in-cheek mixed with innuendo.” She shrugs. “It gets clients to call, and why be serious? Life’s too short not to laugh.”
“Ain’t that the truth?”
“In all seriousness, what’s up? Although, I seem to think I already know.” She motions for me to come in, and I shake my head.
“I can’t. Thank you, though, I’m about to start my shift.” We fall silent as she stares and waits for me to say whatever I’ve come to say. “It’s about Emerson.”
“I assumed.” She crosses her arms over her chest and leans her shoulder against the doorjamb.
“Is there any way I can get her number or you can contact her and give her mine? I’d really like to see her again.”
“Why?”
“To catch up.”
“To catch up, or to pry?” she asks.
“Look, all I want to do is see for myself that she’s happy.”
“I already told you she is. Why would you think differently?”
“You should be a police interrogator,” I deflect.
“Danger and I don’t mix unless you consider the jaws of a Rottweiler hazardous.”
“Sounds hazardous to me.” The woman has a way of changing the topic like no one I’ve ever met before.
“I’m sorry, Officer Malone, but I can’t give you Emerson’s phone number without asking her. For some reason, I think if I ask her, she would say no.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because I saw how she reacted to you the other day. Then, when I asked about who you were, she wouldn’t tell me, so now the onus is on you to explain. Who are you to her?”
“I told you the other day. I used to know her back in grade school. Anything else would betray her confidence,” I say with a smile to ease suspicion. “I’m sorry, but that’s all I can tell you.”
“Are you sure that’s how you want to play this?”
“I’m not playing anything, just stating the facts, ma’am.”
“Smooth one, Malone.” She shifts to put her hands on her hips. “My money’s on you being her first kiss or first love. Something like that.”
“Not quite, but you’re getting warmer.” My radio crackles to life again, prompting me to look at my watch to see I have a few minutes left until I’m on-call. “Thanks for your time, Desi, but I have to get to work. Sorry to bug you.”
“I can’t give you her number without asking her, but I could invite you to a little barbecue I’m having tomorrow night. And I might be able to tell you that a certain someone will be there . . . if, you know, you’d like to stop by and say hi or something.”
“Or something.” After Em’s warmth toward me the other day, I can only imagine how thrilled she’d be if I showed up out of the blue.
“She could use a nice guy like you around.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, now curious about the company Emerson keeps.
“Nothing. Oh, make sure you take that uniform”—she gestures up and down my body—“off before you come,” Desi says, completely sidestepping my question. “My friends might get a little freaked if you show up in it. They’re a little free-spirited, if you catch my drift.”
“Seems like most people are these days.”