Leashed
"Did you bring the leash?"
The young woman he knew only as Maddie held the leather strap for Jack to see. "Where's the doggo?" she asked genially.
"Didn't say I had one." He handed her the hundred dollar bill he'd promised her. "That's for your time since I'm cutting into your workday as a dog-walker. And if you bring the leash along then you can treat the money as business income."
She professed not to have realized that it could matter.
In truth he figured it probably didn't matter, either. Business income versus regular income was moot, for a vocation that wasn't really a business at all. She surely didn't have an accountant looking out for her.
But that was the quiet part and he always tried to make sure not to say the quiet part out loud. It never hurts to impress someone who is young and impressionable, does it?
She also expressed puzzlement that he was paying her if he didn't own a dog. He smiled and said that he thought she was interesting, and that he wanted to continue their conversation, and that since he was taking her away from her professional duties then he should make it up to her in this way. She smiled in return and said that she would show him how she did her job. Maybe, he said, he would recommend her to friends. Network, network, network, he preached, and she agreed with the wisdom. He assumed she was swayed mostly by the amount being at least double her hourly rate when she could get it, for two hours rather than the standard half hour or occasionally an hour. Fifteen dollars and no dog? She probably would have turned around and left, he figured.
They began walking up the dusty neighborhood trail, from the cul-de-sac where each had parked their cars for this second meeting. He had crossed paths with her the previous afternoon, going down the hill as she was ascending with a trio of dogs, and they had chatted for ten minutes, unexpectedly long for a chance encounter. In that conversation he had learned, among other things, that she lived in the next town over, and she was a professional dog-walker. He didn't know there was such a thing. She had expressed admiration for the knowledge of the maze of local trails that he shared, even if it seemed more because she was eager for a distraction from walking the dogs of her particular client that day than from genuine appreciation.
She was dressed, as she had been the previous afternoon, in shorts, a tank top, and sandals. The shoes were a clear and immediate indication that she was not herself any kind of serious hiker in this mountainous town. But she had sturdy looking feet with well-shaped toes, so he didn't mind the view.
He was dressed casually too, but wearing clothes fitted to the outdoor environment. He was nearly six inches taller than her, and athletically thin. He had on a baseball cap and a polyester tee shirt and cargo pants, and he carried a light pack on his back. He was hardly prepared for a lengthy trek in the high desert, on this moderate and sunny day, but he was equipped for more than the time that was allotted.
And so, as they chatted on this second day, he pressed for more details from her. She had grown up in that neighboring town when her parents moved there from a neighboring state. She had graduated from the high school there four years ago. She had taken a year off after graduation to, as she put it, "find herself." She had tried a year of community college only to decide it "wasn't for her." She had spent a year in a city fifty miles distant but "missed her friends." She had come back because she "loved the lifestyle at the lakes." She had tried a series of part time jobs and gigs to no permanent avail. She had a boyfriend who was also "between jobs." She wasn't ready to move in with him until he "got his own act together." She was trying to make the dog-walking business work but "the economy is slow." All in all, she was about exactly what he expected a 22-year-old to be: pretty but not quite beautiful, outdoorsy but not truly athletic, self-absorbed, possibly even narcissistic, but hardly cocksure and egotistical, and aspirational but not so ambitious as to actually dig very hard.
Yes, she was happy to answer questions that pertained to herself. So they ascended nearly five hundred feet in elevation in forty minutes before she even asked him about his own situation. Retired, he told her. Started a couple of businesses and had sold the last one more than ten years prior. She didn't think to ask his marital status, nor his age, and he didn't volunteer that information. Instead he restricted his remarks to his volunteer work on local trails, volunteer work at a local pet shelter, and volunteer work at local schools. He was hardly surprised that the pet shelter drew her most passionate praise. The fact he was making that part up didn't bother him; it was an easy enough hobby to bluff about.
The route was not very steep, as mountain trails go, so it was at about the two-mile mark when they stopped for a water break. She hadn't thought to bring any, being more of a lake girl than a mountain one, and not quite realizing how much two hours of walking in the thin mountain air would be dehydrating. So she sipped a little out of the two-liter canister from his backpack. He asked her again if she was making much money just from walking dogs, and she freely admitted that it hadn't taken off for her like she had hoped. He asked whether she had any plans to find something that paid better. She expressed interest, of course, but denied having any good ideas. He said he might have a lead or two if she was interested. He had contacts in the local business community, he said. Unlike the fib about the pet shelter, this part was true. Any number of local shops were looking for minimum-wage help. He could ask around at the next Rotary meeting. Whether she had developed any particular skill that would allow her to rise up beyond that, he could not yet discern.
They reached a major switchback after an additional fifteen minutes. There were no intersecting trails for another couple of miles, he said. She stopped to look around, having never come nearly this far up with her "doggos". He pointed out a couple of natural features that he liked, including a very minor, seasonal, creek crossing he had repaired against spring erosion during snow melt. "Cool," was her entire reaction to this.
"Let me see that leash," he asked of her. She had been holding it the entire time and handed it over without discussion. "Good girl," he praised. He fiddled with the buckle and opened it up. "This would fit a pretty good-sized dog," he observed.
She said that it was medium sized and had enough adaptability to let her leash any but the smallest or largest of canines. He held it up and slid the end through the buckle, back and forth, assessing the circumference it allowed.
"Ever tried it on?"
She laughed. "Um, no. Why would I?"
"Just so you'd know? What is it like for your doggos? Here." He extended his arm.
She tried to laugh it off again. "Huh. I think it's pretty obvious what it's like. They like to run off. This lets me keep them from doing that."
"They're fine with it, right? So you should be too. Here, try it on. Just for fun."
"I don't think so. You can - if you want to know what it's like so much."
He brought his arm back to his side. "The views of Duo Lakes start to get pretty good, just a little farther up." He led the way, still holding the leash, and she followed.
He asked her for more specifics on what her dream job would be. She said she really didn't know. Something in an office? She said maybe. He allowed her to overtake him and then continued the brainstorming session, more easily done with him tossing the suggestions to her from behind. Something that involves working outdoors, like with nature? Sure, maybe, she said. Something with animals? Haven't found anything that pays, she replied. High tech? Probably not, except if the people weren't too nerdy. Working with the public? Probably. Something involving travel perhaps? Perhaps, she mused, but travel to where? Travel nearby, or across the continent, or around the world, he suggested. She didn't have a strong opinion.
They continued until the trail leveled off. A bench, he called it, and she looked around for a place to sit, until he explained that they had reached a segment where the walking would be level for a good quarter mile. He identified for her some additional points of interest, mountain peaks she had heard the names of but had never known which one was which. He didn't either, really, but had decent guesses to offer as positive facts.
Five minutes later, the trail took a turn and the second of the Duo Lakes came into view. He suggested they stop, and when she did he moved close to her. Close enough to place his hand on the small of her back, which he did. He pointed to their right and told her that her town was down there at the lake shore, a few miles distant but also about a thousand feet down. It was difficult to make out any real landmarks there, from that distance.
She took a step forward to re-establish a buffer between herself and the man.
"You know what might be right up your alley?" Jack said. "Public relations. Being in charge of a booth at professional meetings. Conventions and so forth." She told him she didn't know what that involved. "I know a company that just lost their coordinator. They do at least four shows a year, including one overseas. Professional associations, trade shows, that kind of thing. You'd learn as you go. It involves customer contact - nothing complicated, just smiling and handing out brochures and maybe candy at the booth. Plus the advance planning. Getting the booth and the displays and brochures and video equipment shipped to the right address a few days ahead of time. The company's high tech, but you don't have to be. The attendees at these conferences usually enjoy a bright young face, instead of the crabby old engineers they usually have to put up with. I bet you clean up real good."
She was of medium stature at 5'5" and a reasonably trim 125 pounds. However cleaning up, as he phrased it, was a bit of a stretch, because she sported a small nose ring, and bore tattoos on both ankles, on both shoulders, and maybe elsewhere too. With hair that reached past her shoulder blades and was highlighted with a bright blue dye job, her appearance suggested, to some older eyes anyway, a girl who was up for partying and maybe anything else. She would indeed be a focus of attention at a dull engineering trade show, assuming she didn't arrive at the site to find that the kit for the booth was delayed in transit due to a transcription error on her part.
"What does that kind of a job pay?" Maddie asked.
"Probably the neighborhood of a hundred or so," he replied.
"Dollars?"
He chuckled. "Thousand. Dollars I mean, A hundred thousand a year. Just a guess. But they lost someone good and will be motivated to make somebody else a competitive offer. So that could even be on the low side. I just don't know."
"What's that per hour?" she persisted.
"Fifty an hour, I suppose. Rule of thumb," he shrugged.
She asked him for the name of the company, and he begged off from telling her, saying that he'd want to do some discreet inquiries on her behalf first. Now that he was thinking, he said, there were also a couple of other possibilities, one in her town, one in his. Maybe a few others. He'd need to do some digging.
