The Accidental Tourist

They're supposed to just add body, but something went wrong. You think this is bad! If I was to take a brush to it, my hair would spring straight out from my head. I mean absolutely straight out. Kind of like a fright wig, isn't that what you call it? So I can't even brush it. I get up in the morning and there I am, ready to go. Lord, I hate to think of the tangles."

"Maybe you could just comb it," Macon suggested.

"Hard to drag a comb through it. All the little teeth would break off."

"Maybe one of those thick-toothed combs that black people use."

"I know what you mean but I'd feel silly buying one."

"What for?" Macon asked. "They're just hanging there in supermarkets. It wouldn't have to be a big deal. Buy milk and bread or something and an Afro comb, no one will even think twice."

"Well, I suppose you're right," she said, but now that she'd got him involved it seemed she'd lost interest in the problem herself. She snapped her fingers over Edward's head. "Okay!" she said. Edward jumped up, barking. "That was very good," she told him.

In fact, it was so good that Macon felt a little cross. Things couldn't be that easy, he wanted to say. Edward had improved too quickly, the way a toothache will improve the moment you step into a dentist's waiting room.

Muriel slipped her purse off her shoulder and set it on the hall table.

Out came a long blue leash attached to a choke chain. "He's supposed to wear this all the time," she said. "Every minute till he's trained. That way you can yank him back whenever he does something wrong. The leash is six dollars even, and the chain is two ninety-five. With tax it comes to, let's see, nine forty. You can pay me at the end of the lesson."

She slipped the choke chain over Edward's head. Then she paused to examine a fingernail. "If I break another nail I'm going to scream," she said. She took a step back and pointed to Edward's rump. After a brief hesitation, he sat. Seated, he looked noble, Macon thought-chesty and solemn, nothing like his usual self. But when Muriel snapped her fingers, he jumped up as unruly as ever.

"Now you try," Muriel told Macon.

Macon accepted the leash and pointed to Edward's rump. Edward stood fast.

Macon frowned and pointed more sternly. He felt foolish. Edward knew, if this woman didn't, how little authority Macon had.

"Poke him down," Muriel said.

This was going to be awkward. He propped a crutch against the radiator and bent stiffly to jab Edward with one finger. Edward sat. Macon clucked. Then he straightened and backed away, holding out his palm, but instead of staying, Edward rose and followed him. Muriel hissed between her teeth. Edward shrank down again. "He doesn't take you seriously,"

Muriel said.

"Well, I know that," Macon snapped.

His broken leg was starting to ache.

"In fact I didn't have so much as a kitten the whole entire time I was growing up," Muriel said. Was she just going to leave Edward sitting there? "Then a couple of years ago I saw this ad in the paper, Make extra money in your off hours. Work as little or as much as you like. Place was a dog-training firm that went around to people's houses. Doggie, Do, it was called. Don't you just hate that name? Reminds me of dog-do. But anyhow, I answered the ad. 'To be honest I don't like animals,' I said, but Mr. Quarles, the owner, he told me that was just as well. He told me it was people who got all mushy about them that had the most trouble."

"Well, that makes sense," Macon said, glancing at Edward. He had heard that dogs developed backaches if they were made to sit too long.

"I was just about his best pupil, it turns out. Seems I had a way with animals. So then I got a job at the Meow-Bow. Before that I worked at the Rapid-Eze Copy Center and believe me, I was looking for a change. Who's the lady?"

"Lady?"

"The lady I just saw walking through the dining room."

"That's Rose."

"Is she your ex-wife? Or what."

"She's my sister."

"Oh, your sister!"

"This house belongs to her," Macon said.

"I don't live with anybody either," Muriel told him.

Macon blinked. Hadn't he just said he lived with his sister?

"Sometimes late at night when I get desperate for someone to talk to I call the time signal," Muriel said. " 'At the tone the time will be eleven . . . forty-eight. And fifty seconds.' " Her voice took on a fruity fullness. " 'At the tone the time will be eleven . . . forty-nine.

Exactly.' You can release him now."

"Pardon?"

"Release your dog."

Macon snapped his fingers and Edward jumped up, yapping.

"How about you?" Muriel asked. "What do you do for a living?"

Macon said, "I write tour guides."

"Tour guides! Lucky."

"What's lucky about it?"

"Why, you must get to travel all kinds of places'."

"Oh, well, travel," Macon said.

"I'd love to travel."

"It's just red tape, mostly," Macon said.

"I've never even been on an airplane, you realize that?"

"It's red tape in motion. Ticket lines, customs lines . . . Should Edward be barking that way?"

Muriel gave Edward a slit-eyed look and he quieted.