Merlot

Hank and I entered the restaurant and were greeted warmly by the hostess. Immediately, Hank's over powering cologne was masked by the smell of garlic and fresh bread. My stomach actually growled. Always the gentleman, Hank had made a reservation so we were seated right away.

“Will you please excuse me? I've got to visit the men’s room,” Hank said as he pulled out my chair and motioned for me to sit down. I noticed his forehead was soaked with sweat.

“Sure,” I nodded, figuring he needed to wipe off his brow. As I waited, the waiter brought over a basket of bread and a bottle of olive oil. I hesitated for a moment but my growling tummy got the best of me. I love bread, especially when its fresh from the oven.

“Would you like to order a glass of wine while you’re waiting,” the waiter asked.   Since Hank seemed to be taking his time in the men's room, I thought why not?

“Well, I guess I could,” I said as I looked over my shoulder toward the restrooms. “I’ll have a glass of Merlot.” 

I was half finished with my glass of wine and had completely devoured the entire bread basket by the time Hank returned, grinning ear to ear. I smiled back. The wine was starting to ease my nerves, thankfully, because I was about to be surprised. 

Hank

One of the men who passed the “Blondie test” with flying colors turned out to be married. He was separated from his wife but the couple had just given birth to a baby girl. When first we met, I didn't notice a wedding band on Hank's left hand. Apparently  he had taken it off and neglected to inform me of this important tidbit proving even the “Blondie test” was not a guarantee of success. I did notice a big, soft, cuddly teddy bear of a guy eager to please. 

Hank asked if I would join him for dinner and I thought to myself, why not?. Even though I really didn't find men with facial hair attractive, he seemed extremely nice. Anyway, his beard and mustache were neatly groomed.

Hank showed up at my apartment that Saturday night, dressed in khaki pants and a plaid shirt. His casual attire was a welcome sight since I had on my tight blue jeans and a light pink sweater. When I opened the door, I was over powered by his cologne, and not in a good way. I didn't say anything about the sickly, sugary smell. Instead, I smiled sweetly and grabbed my purse and coat as Hank pet Blondie. It was strange that she didn't bark at this man. I took her silence to mean Hank was the one. I could get over the cologne.

"Blondie, you're going to stay here," I told her and her little face sank in disappointment.

Hank was a true gentleman, helping me put my coat on and opening the car door for me. He was easy to talk to and made me feel comfortable. Before we reached our destination, my heart sank when I learned about Hank's marital status. It sank even further when he told me that he had just become a dad. 

“Were you there for the delivery?” I asked.

“I was even her Lamaze coach,” he boasted to me as he drove, pushing his wire rim glasses back on his face. He started sweating when he spoke about his wife, even though it was chilly outside. I kept my coat buttoned up inside the car, embarrassed to politely suggest he turn the heater on.

“That must be hard to split up with someone you once loved enough to marry after going through something as important as bringing a new life into the world. I mean I would think something like that would bring you even closer together,” I commented.

“It’s been hard,” Hank sighed. “The most difficult time is at night. Samantha can't talk on the phone yet," he grinned. I smiled back, even though I dreaded having to spend an entire evening with this man who clearly wasn't in the right space to begin a new relationship.

“I can’t even imagine that,” I touched his shoulder like I would a brother. “I have trouble sleeping without my dog.”

“You understand,” Hank seemed relieved that I wasn't judging him. “It’s like a part of me is missing. From the first moment I held her in my arms, I don’t know, I felt complete. You probably think I’m crazy.” He hit his steering wheel with the palm of his hand in embarrassment. “Why am I telling you all this? I just met you.”

“It’s okay,” I said as he pulled up to the valet at the restaurant, Café Angeli. I needed a glass of wine (or maybe an entire bottle) to make it though another disappointing date.

Making love work, lint brush optional

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Determined to change my unhealthy cycle in the romance department, I signed up for a course called Making Love Work. The instructor suggested telling everyone in my life about my single status and asking them to set me up on blind dates. I met all the men my friends and associates suggested, and there were many.

Before I would commit to more than just coffee, they had to pass the “Blondie test.” Usually, the “Blondie test” took place at a French Bakery near my house. Being the 12-year old sage that she was by then, or 64 in human years, I depended on Blondie’s wisdom more than I should have. (This age based on a dog-human comparison that says the first two years of dog’s life are equal to 24 human years and then each year after that is the same as four in human terms). I hoped she would have the good instinct that I lacked when it came to men. And right away, I could tell who was appropriate for me and who wasn't based on their initial comments, or lack there of, regarding the fact that I brought my dog with me.

“Oh, what’s your dog’s name?” If they praised my dog when we met and began petting her, then that was a good sign.

“You brought your dog?” on the other hand told me that we were definitely NOT compatible. Even worse, those who were allergic or who were concerned about getting dog hair on their clothes. My outfits were never complete without her blonde hair attached.

Miss fix it

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A couple days later, Bobby showed up at my work with flowers in his hand and remorse in his heart, promising never to hit me or hurt Blondie again. He looked awful, like he hadn't slept since the unfortunate incident in West Hollywood. He also reeked of cigarettes and alcohol. It was all I could do not to turn away from him in disgust but this was my place of work and I didn't want anyone to know what had happened.

We went outside and stood in the parking lot and stood with the all the grease that had leaked out onto the cracked pavement. He tried to put his arm around me but I put up my hand up to stop him, like a trainer would do to communicate "stay" to a dog. He got the message. Even the tears streaming down his face didn't move me to comfort him. I was determined to stay away from him; if not for my own sake, for my dog Blondie.

At that moment, I saw that his alcoholism was just one of the symptoms that ran Bobby’s life. He suffered from so many symptoms. His obsessive cleanliness, for instance, struck me as an attempt to cleanse his own dirty parts. I realized that I was drawn to people like Bobby because of my need, my own obsession, to fix others. When I uncovered that truth in myself, I felt completely mortified. Who nominated me as a Saint? It was time to focus on myself. I needed to let others live their own lives and learn their own lessons. But with this need to help others so ingrained in my psyche, I wondered how I was going to do that. 

Licking our wounds

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It took some time for me and Blondie to catch our breath after running like the proverbial wind from my once live-in ex boyfriend who chose the corner of Sunset Blvd and Larabee to beat us up. But now we were safe sitting in my locked car in front of the Perkins home where I was house sitting for the summer. I waited for my lingering dizziness to go away before stepping out of the car. I didn't know if it was the result of Bobby's blows or an overwhelming a sense of shock that this middle class girl from the valley had actually been the victim of domestic violence. That sort of behavior was just not supposed to happen to someone like me. And to top it off, Bobby hurt the one being I loved the most in the world, my pound mutt Blondie.  

Once inside, I took the pretty pink collar off Blondie and threw it in the trash. 

"We'll get you a new collar, Miss B," I told her and she wagged her tail as if in agreement.  

Rubbing my temples, I headed straight for my bedroom to lie down. I felt so numb that I was ice cold, shivering as if I had fallen into a bathtub filled with ice. I motioned for Blondie to join me in bed and checked her body to make sure she wasn't suffering from some trauma as the result of the night's unfortunate incident. I moved her head to the right, then to the left as I rubbed her neck softly. She closed her eyes, enjoying the massage.

We lay there while I thought about what had just taken place. It was as if I had crossed a line of sorts and not in a good way. Then I realized that while Bobby was hitting me I hadn't fought back until he brought Blondie into the mess. I kissed her and thanked her for waking me up, getting me to fight back, to stand up.

That was the night I first sang to her what became our song, Helen Reddy’s “You and Me Against the World.” I sang the words softly to her as we lay there, licking our wounds together: “You and me against the world, sometimes it feels like you and me against the world, when all the others turn their back and walk away, you can count on me to stay.”

Safe

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 There I was pleading with my ex-boyfriend, sitting with my back against a wall off Sunset, the Boulevard of broken dreams. I felt broken, my head aching, a mad man looking down at me. Suddenly  I realized I had dropped Blondie's leash when Bobby unleashed his furry on me. Thankfully, Blondie had not run away but she seemed confused, not knowing if she should bite this man who had been living with us or not. 

“It’s okay Blondie, it’s going to be okay,” I reassured her motioning for her to come to me.

That’s when Bobby went completely ballistic, his eyes dilated and enraged. I braced for the next assault but he wasn't aiming for me this time. Instead, he grabbed hold of Blondie’s leash and lifted her off the ground. Her pretty pink collar became a hangman’s noose.

Jumping to my feet, I tried to help her but Bobby pinned me against the wall with his free hand.

I prayed that the faint sounds of sirens in the distance meant help was on the way. But I feared it would be too late for my dog if I didn't act quickly. Bobby must have heard the sirens too because he turned away from us and eased his grip on me. That’s when I smacked Bobby in the mouth with my fist. His eyes widened with surprise and he dropped Blondie's leash to grab his split lip. Blood trickled through his fingers.

“Run Blondie, run!” Pushing him out of the way, we ran as fast as we could up the hill to our car. Adrenalin surged through my body as the sirens were got louder. When we finally made it to the car, I was shaking so hard that I dropped my keys, but I managed to pick them up and get the door open. Blondie jumped in and I locked the doors, then started the engine. As we peeled past the corner, Bobby was already gone. He wasn't waiting around for the police to arrest him. 

I put my hands at 10 and 2 to concentrate on the drive back to my temporary home at the Perkin's Laurel Canyon house. When I finally reached the safety of Berry’s house, I pulled Blondie to my lap and we sat there quietly in the car. Blondie licked my face as I hugged her close. We were safe at last.

Hitting the wall

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I heard Bobby calling my name and ran even faster. 

 “Wait, I just want to talk to you,” Bobby yelled with slurred speech. I kept going but could feel him gaining on me as I turned the corner on Larabee. If Blondie and I made it up the steep slope to the car, we would be safe. I thought to myself, just putting one foot in front of the other. I saw my car ahead and dug deep for the stamina I needed.

"Come on girlie," I encouraged Blondie. We were both slowing down as we tried to make it up the hill. I turned around and saw Bobby gaining on us, fueled by his anger and alcohol. My breathing became labored and my fear crippling. 

"I said WAIT," he exclaimed again before grabbing me, shoving me back against a wall. His fists clenched as he caught his breath.

“Don’t you ever do that to me again,” his face was drenched in sweat.

“I didn't do anything to you,” I tried to squeeze past him but he put his arm up to block me.

“You abandoned me,” he pushed me back again.

“Let me go, please,” I was scared, he was a lot stronger than me.

“Is that all you have to say? ” He braced his back leg like a boxer and punched my arm. I fell back and hit my head against the wall. I couldn't believe this was happening to me. I was terrified. His eyes were glassy and blood shot, sweat was streaming down his face and his blonde hair was so wet it looked greasy. He grinned at me and I knew something very bad was about to happen.

“You think you’re too good for me, huh?” Then he hit me in the stomach so hard, I doubled over in pain. I couldn't breath but I held onto Blondie’s leash, terrified she’d run into the street and get hit by a car. He pushed me upright and tipped my head back, yanking on my hair.

I remember covering my face because I didn't want him to give me black eyes. His fists hit me on my shoulders, my arms, my hands. Tears were streaming down my face as he continued to pummel my upper body, blow after blow, while I screamed for help. 

Someone from an apartment across the street yelled “Shut Up.”

“You left me, wasn't I good enough for you? Am I good enough for you now? How’s this.”

He punched me in the right temple and my head hit the wall again. Then he followed with a left hook and I slowly slid down until I was seated against the wall. 

"Please, Bobby stop!" I cried.