Chihuahua Confidential Page 7

  “I am your Pepe!” said Pepe.

  “No,” said Jennifer with only a cursory look at him. “This dog is much fatter and older.”

  “You are fatter and older, too!” snarled Pepe, raising his head and growling a little.

  “I guess you’re right,” said Caprice with a sad tone in her voice. “Anyway, he shouldn’t be out here. It’s not safe. Someone might step on him! Take him and put him with the other dogs.” She handed him to Jennifer, who carried him away, holding him at arm’s length. Pepe was twisting and turning, trying to get back to Caprice. I think he had forgotten about me altogether.

  I tried to catch up with Jennifer, but she knew her way around. She dodged the guests and skirted the patio furniture and disappeared into the back door of Caprice’s mansion. I followed her through a sunroom, down a wide hall, and down a set of narrow stairs. Where was she taking Pepe? To some sort of basement dungeon? Oddly enough, Pepe was quiet and calm.

  We passed a wall covered with publicity photos of Caprice. I thought I saw one of her posing with Pepe. It seemed Caprice only used the dogs for photo opportunities but locked them up when they didn’t serve her public image. Ahead of me, Jennifer turned a corner and I hurried after her.

  Around the corner, the hall opened up into a huge playroom, covered with Astro Turf and littered with dog toys. High windows on one wall let in natural light and the scent of eucalyptus and chlorine. I could hear the murmur of the guests in the pool area.

  There were lots of little dogs scampering around the room, doing the things dogs usually do, dashing at each other and sniffing each other’s butts. I recognized a few of them: Caprice’s Papillon, Princess, still wearing her diamond collar, and Siren Song, the golden Pomeranian, Pepe’s lady love. The rest were small dogs: a toy poodle, a silky gray shih tzu with a topknot, and even a Puli, one of those funny dogs that look like a mop, but no other Chihuahuas.

  Jennifer set Pepe down behind a baby gate that blocked the door.

  “Home sweet home!” he announced with great satisfaction, and went scampering off to join the other dogs.

  “Nasty little creature!” said Jennifer, brushing off her hands as if to rid them of contaminants.

  “Don’t you like dogs?” I asked.

  “Oh!” she said when she turned and saw me behind her. She threw up her hands, as if to ward me off. “You scared me.”

  “That’s my dog you just brought down here.”

  “Yes, well, Caprice asked me to bring him down here.” Jennifer sounded defensive. “She worries about the dogs when there are so many people around. She wants them to stay here where they won’t get stepped on or fall in the pool.”

  So Caprice was actually a responsible dog owner. I didn’t like hearing that any more than I liked hearing Pepe describe this place as his “home.” But I could see his point. It was dog heaven. There was even a little kitchen in the corner of the room. Stainless-steel bowls of water were set out on the linoleum, and glass jars of treats lined the counter.

  “You don’t like dogs?” I repeated my question.

  “Dogs are OK,” Jennifer said. She brushed back a lock of hair with her wrist. “It’s just not fair. They have their own personal chef who prepares fresh-cooked meals with organic vegetables and free-range meat. A trainer comes in to work with them three days a week, and a groomer comes once a week to do their hair and nails. And what do we get?” She looked at me with her eyes squinted.

  “None of that?”

  “That’s right. We’re on call twenty-four hours a day. And she almost always calls me when I’m on a date or at the gym. And acting classes or auditions? Forget it! She seems to have a sixth sense about when I’m really serious about my career and she’ll do anything to keep me down.”

  “So you’re an actress?”

  “Yes, I got a part in a small independent film, but every time the director schedules a shoot or a voice-over, Caprice comes up with something else I need to do instead, like taking the dogs to the doggie spa. I think she’s trying to sabotage my career.”

  “How long have you worked for Caprice?” I asked.

  “Three years,” Jennifer said.

  “So do you remember the other little white Chihuahua she had?” I asked. I glanced at my little white Chihuahua. He had circled the entire playroom, sniffing each object and often nodding his head, as if to say, “Yes, I remember this!”

  Jennifer nodded, her eyes down.

  “So are you sure this isn’t the same dog?”

  “Absolutely!” She looked up at that and shook her long straight hair like a pony getting rid of a fly.

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Look,” she said, grabbing my arm with sharp fingernails. “That other dog died. He ran out into the street and was hit by a car. We just didn’t tell Caprice because we knew she would be devastated. So we told her he ran away.”

  “Oh!” I looked over at my dog again. He had finished with his inspection of the room and was now greeting the other dogs in typical dog fashion. He began by sniffing under the tail of his lady love, Siren Song, and she returned the favor.

  I couldn’t imagine what life would be like if anything ever happened to him.

  I heard a shrill ringing sound, and Jennifer jumped. She pulled a cell phone out of her pocket and looked at it. “Caprice wants me,” she said. “Gotta go!”

  “I’ll just stay and watch my dog for a minute,” I said. “Sometimes he doesn’t get along with other dogs.”

  That was an understatement. Pepe regularly challenged dogs twice his size. In Seattle, he had antagonized a Great Dane, which turned out to be to my benefit, as I got to meet the dog’s handsome trainer, Felix Navarro. We had just started dating when I left Seattle, and it was hard to be away from him, though some distance was probably good. I have a pretty poor track record at picking men.

  I was bumped out of my reverie by the sound of high-pitched barking. Pepe had gone right up to Princess and backed her into a corner. She was giving as good as she got, snapping and yipping right back at him. I was about to intervene when their tones changed. They began circling each other, tails wagging. How odd! Pepe and Princess had been foes since they first met. Then Pepe’s ears drooped and his tail curled under. My brave little man was being cowed by the prissy Princess.

  He came running over to me and whimpered a little. I had never seen my dog in such an emotional state. I picked him up and cuddled him.

  “Pepe, what’s the matter? Are you all right?”

  “No,” he said softly.

  “What is it?”

  “Well, I was challenging her for that big pink doggy bed in the corner. That used to be mine.” I looked and saw that Princess had indeed settled down on the bed in question, which was designed to look like a four-poster, complete with canopy.

  “Really, it’s too girly for you, Pepe,” I said.

  “It had blue covers and blue satin sheets in my day,” he said. “Geri, pay attention. This is importante. I was talking to Princess—”

  “Do you mean you were really talking to her?”

  “Sí, but not as I talk to you, of course,” he said, sounding a little annoyed. At least he perked up. “With us perros, it is a complex language: the twitch of the fur, the wrinkle of the muzzle, the scent of the skin, the gleam in the eye. Far too subtle for a human.”

  “So what’s wrong?”

  “It is what Princess told me,” he said. His big brown eyes seemed to be full of tears.

  “What did she tell you?”

  “She said the bed used to belong to Caprice’s favorite dog, Pepe. Caprice always cries when she talks about him. She loved him very much, but he ran away and left her. Princess says it broke Caprice’s heart!”

  Chapter 11

  Pepe was still trembling when we arrived back at the Chateau Marmont. I tucked him into my bed and sat beside him until he fell asleep. Then I got up and turned on my laptop. I had to solve the mystery of Caprice’s white Chihuahua. I had been hea
ring this story from Pepe ever since I adopted him, but I had never thought to do any research.

  Typing the words Caprice, Pepe, and Chihuahua into a search engine brought up a wealth of links, including photos of Caprice clutching a white Chihuahua and cuddling a white Chihuahua and even shopping with a white Chihuahua tucked into her purse.

  What was more disturbing were the news stories about how Caprice’s dog had run away last October, about six months before I adopted Pepe from a Seattle shelter. She was offering a $50,000 reward for his return. But what about Jennifer’s story? It made more sense that Caprice’s little white Chihuahua had been killed since no one had ever claimed the reward.

  I sighed. I didn’t know who to believe. Pepe had told me dozens of outrageous stories, each one more unbelievable than the last. He had worked for the DEA; he had traveled in France; he had been a junkyard dog in Tijuana. He watched a lot of TV. I suspected his little brain had been addled by too many Spanish soap operas and true-crime TV shows.

  It was totally possible he had seen the news about Caprice’s dog on the news and had invented a story that made him the lost heir. I had similar fantasies when I was a child—thinking I was a princess whose royal parents would eventually come to reclaim her from the peasants they had asked to raise her.

  I shut down my laptop. Although it was late, I decided to call Felix. We had only been out three times back in Seattle, and I was still unsure of his intentions toward me, although I was quite clear about my intentions toward him. Unfortunately, Pepe sensed these intentions and did his best to sabotage my attempts to lure Felix into my bed. So we hadn’t progressed much beyond a few steamy kisses at my front door, which meant I didn’t really know if calling this late at night was appropriate. Perhaps he had another girlfriend. Perhaps he lived with her. All I had was his cell phone number, which he used to stay in touch with his dog-training clients.

  I couldn’t find my cell phone, so I called him on the phone in the room. It rang and rang and then went to voice mail. I listened to Felix’s sexy voice for a moment: “Hello, this is Felix Navarro, dog wrangler. If you have need of my services, let me know.” Ah, yes, I needed his services, but not to wrangle my dog, who was behaving himself for once. Pepe had burrowed under the covers on my bed and was snoring quietly. I loved to listen to him snore. It was the tiniest sound, so adorable.

  I left Felix a message: “Thinking of you. Hope all is going well. Call me if you get a chance.” As I turned away to get ready for bed, the phone began ringing. I snatched it up. It was Felix. He sounded breathless.

  “Geri! I’m so glad you called. I’ve been trying to reach you all day.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, your cell goes straight to voice mail.”

  “That’s odd. I was just looking for it and couldn’t find it. Maybe it’s at the bottom of Nigel St. Nigel’s pool.”

  “What were you doing in Nigel St. Nigel’s pool?”

  “Well, Pepe wanted to investigate.”

  “Of course he did.” Felix sounded amused; then his voice got serious. “But, Geri, I heard about the murder. You need to be careful. I’m sure Nigel St. Nigel had some powerful enemies.”

  “Yes, well, that’s why I’m leaving it to the police.” I paused. “And you? How are you?”

  His voice got vague. “Oh, I’ve been really busy.”

  “Lots of dogs to wrangle?”

  “More than usual. I had to double up on clients because I’ve got a big gig at the end of the week that’s going to take me out of town.”

  “Oh, where are you going?”

  “No place exciting,” he said.

  “Well, where?” I suddenly got self-conscious. “Or am I not supposed to ask?” Was there another woman in the picture? I hadn’t really learned much about his romantic past.

  “Oh, you can ask, but I can’t tell.” He laughed, but it was an awkward laugh. “Actually it’s just an old client who lives in California and wants to fly me down for some private lessons.” It was clear he didn’t want to talk about it. Maybe he did have another girlfriend. Or a girlfriend. Maybe I wasn’t a girlfriend at all. “So, Geri, you called for a reason?”

  How did he know that? I wanted to protest that I called just to hear his sexy voice, but I felt a little too vulnerable to do that. “Yes, I’m wondering about Pepe.”

  “Is he having problems?” Felix had been eager to train Pepe ever since we first met, but Pepe was having none of it.

  “Not any more than usual,” I said. “It’s about his background.” How could I explain that Pepe thought he was Caprice’s long-lost dog? I had not yet been able to tell Felix about Pepe’s talking. I thought of Ted, who would understand, but he wouldn’t know the answer to my question.

  “What is it, Geri?’

  “Well, Caprice used to have a little white Chihuahua that looked a lot like Pepe. He disappeared about six months before I adopted Pepe. Do you think Pepe could be her dog? He was originally from L.A.”

  “I doubt it.” Felix sounded very sure of himself. “There must be hundreds of white Chihuahuas in L.A.”

  “How would I know for sure?”

  “Well, he’s chipped, isn’t he?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “They would have certainly checked for a chip at the shelter. If the chip identified his owner, they would have returned him.”

  “But what if he doesn’t have a chip?”

  “That’s unlikely. Almost all dogs are chipped these days when they pass through a shelter. That’s where you got him, right?”

  “Yes, he had been abandoned in a shelter in L.A., and they flew him and a bunch of other Chihuahuas up to a shelter in Seattle.”

  “So if he wasn’t chipped when he arrived, they would have chipped him at the shelter.”

  “Odd. I don’t remember them giving me any information about that.”

  “Sometimes the vet or the shelter will just register the dog themselves. Then if the dog is lost and found, the number traces back to the shelter or vet and they can contact the owner. The assumption is those businesses might be more stable than the owners who can change addresses or phone numbers frequently.”

  “How would I find out if Pepe is chipped?”

  “Any vet could tell you.”

  “Oh, there’s one on set,” I said. “I’ll ask her.”

  “Anyone I know?”

  “Do you know all the vets in L.A.?” I asked.

  “Just the ones who work in the film business,” he replied. Felix had grown up in L.A. and spent years working as an animal trainer on movie sets.

  “I think her name is Alice.”

  “Is she a cute little blonde with blue eyes, about five-two?”

  “Yes,” I said. That certainly described her.

  “Well, if it’s Alice Bennett, she’s one of the best. You can trust her to take care of your little Chihuahua.” His voice got wistful. “I wish I was there to take care of you. I worry about you, Geri.”

  “There’s nothing to worry about,” I assured him, though I’m not sure why. I would love to have him taking care of me, though Pepe would surely object. He thought he was taking care of me.

  After saying my good-byes to Felix, I got ready for bed and slipped under the covers. Pepe woke up and snuggled closer to me, shaping himself to fit within the curve of my arms.

  Back at home in Seattle, I often didn’t get to sleep with him because Albert the Cat laid claim to the bed. So it was a special treat when Pepe laid his soft little head on my arm and went back to sleep. I could feel his warm breath on my skin as I drifted off.

  Chapter 12

  The schedule for the second day was much like the first. A 7:00 a.m. wake-up call, four hours at the dance studio in the morning to learn a new routine, and then off via town car to the soundstage for the afternoon costume fitting, run-through, and filming.

  They had designed a cute way of giving us our assignments, which they filmed. We waited in our empty practice room and a little whi
te Maltese came trotting in with a bunch of dog tags around his neck. We chose one and read off the name of our dance. Then our assigned choreographer came in to work with us. Our dance for the second day was hip-hop and our choreographer was a gentleman named Flash Daddy.

  In addition, Rebecca announced an extra twist. She had informed the costume designers to make us look as much like our dogs as possible, and the choreographers were supposed to do the same.

  “Do not worry, Geri,” said Pepe. “We will kick it.” And he dropped and did a couple of doggy push-ups.

  “How did you learn how to do that?” I asked him.

  “Watching TV,” he replied. “You can learn everything on TV.”

  Flash Daddy created a routine for us that featured lots of push-ups and tail wagging, not to mention some side leg lifts. Easy for Pepe, not so easy for me.

  “Geri, you need to imagine that there is a fire hydrant on either side of you,” Pepe said.

  “Pepe, fire hydrants don’t really inspire me,” I said, pushing my hair out of my face with the back of my wrist.

  “And you need to aim high, because a Great Dane was there before you,” Pepe went on.

  I wrinkled up my nose. “Ugh!”

  “Geri,” said Pepe solemnly, “there is nothing wrong with marking your territory and marking it well.”

  “Yes, but by peeing on it?” I asked.

  “Do you need a break, Miss Sullivan?” asked Flash Daddy.

  “No, I’m good,” I said.

  “Try getting into character,” said Flash Daddy.

  “You can be L.L. Cool Geri,” said Pepe.

  “L.L. Cool Geri?”

  “That’s a good name!” said Flash Daddy. “That will work.”

  “And I’ll be L’il Dawg,” said my little dog.

  To my surprise, the name change worked. The rehearsal went much better.

  “Let’s try it one more time,” said Flash Daddy.

  And so we did. Once, twice, three times.

  When we finished, Flash Daddy gave me a fist bump. “You’re getting down, girl.”

  At the soundstage, Shelley, the second assistant director, sent us to the costume room. Robyn and her crew had created a little baseball cap for Pepe that fit over one of his ears, with the brim backward. They also made him a gold chain like all the hip-hop moguls wore. I had a matching baseball cap and gold chain, but the rest of my costume was more elaborate, as I was supposed to look like my dog. Robyn had made me a skintight, white, fake-fur catsuit.