Rachel Alexander 05 - The Wrong Dog

of the meatpacking district, the favored area for the late-night parade of transvestite hookers and denizens of the popular motorcycle bar Hogs and Heifers. I’d once poked my head in there to see their famous bra collection, one of them supposedly slipped off and tossed onto the rack over the bar by Julia Roberts. I’d seen the meat markets, too, carcasses hanging outside like clothes at the dry cleaners, and the new galleries and restaurants opening along Fourteenth Street, signifying a neighborhood in transition, but a vet’s office? No way. Sure, there were men in white coats, but they were butchers. Maybe the office was less obvious than the one on Washington and Perry, which had big glass windows with oversize paw prints on them and a prominent sign, or the one on the corner of Tenth Avenue and Twenty-second Street, animals painted on the side of the building, where I take Dashiell.
    “Loma was waiting for me when I got there, smoking a cigarette and doing a little dance to keep warm. I didn’t see any sign outside, but I followed her in and in the back of the first floor there was a sign on the door that said Horatio Street Veterinary Practice on it.
    “It looked more like a doctor’s office. You know how they’re always on the ground floor.” She shrugged. “But Loma said, ‘Here we are,’ and took out a bunch of keys and unlocked the door. So I figured it was the right place. There was no one in the waiting area. Well, there wouldn’t be. It was Sunday. And she’d already told me this was top secret. She’d stressed that.”
    “Did she say why?”
    “Yes—because people are so negative about cloning. Side by Side is trying to do a world of good for people in need, but if the story got out, you can imagine the press. They’d never be able to raise another dime.”
    “I thought there was this one rich guy behind it.”
    “In the future, Rachel. Even the Seeing Eye does fundraising now. Endowments can’t last forever, not with something this expensive. They had to think ahead if they were going to be able to continue with the work, if they were going to survive.”
    “So, the veterinarian came out and explained the procedure to you?”
    “I didn’t actually get to meet the veterinarian. As soon as we were inside, Loma locked the door behind us, then took Blanche’s leash out of my hand and headed for the door on the other side of the waiting room. ‘Wait here,’ she said. ‘This will take only a minute.’
    “I’d never allowed anyone to work on my dog without me being there, unless it was surgery, like when Blanche was spayed. But I was ...”
    “Hooked?”
    Sophie nodded.
    “And it was so fast, the way she took her and walked away, but also, what she’d said was true. She and Blanche were back in no time and Blanche didn’t look any the worse for wear. She put her paws on my legs, then up on my shoulders, and laid her big face against my cheek. I could feel her tail slapping against my legs. Everything seemed normal.”
    “And then?”
    “Loma took me out, locked the door, and said I’d hear from her when my puppy was ready. I wanted more. I wanted to know where the cloning was going to take place, was it there, at that office, or at some lab, and who the surrogate mother would be, what kind of dog, what breed, and I wanted to know when the pregnancy took so I could count the weeks until my puppy was born and then count the weeks until I got her, but I just stood there on the corner, dumbfounded by it all. I thought, Be quiet, be grateful, don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”
    I wondered why she hadn’t thought, If it looks too good to be true, it probably is.
    “Loma lit a cigarette and then gave me a little wave. ‘See ya,’ she said. And walked away. I didn’t have anything, not a piece of paper, not a phone number—nothing. In fact, Loma’d said she’d call me, but she’d never asked for my phone number. And it’s unlisted. So I began to think it was some sort of scam. But what? They hadn’t asked me for any money. And whatever they’d done to Blanche had taken only a few minutes and Blanche appeared to be fine. So I just stood there, long after Loma had left. And then, disheartened, I went home.
    “Seven and a half months later, I got a phone call from Loma.”
    “At work or at home?”
    “At home. Don’t ask me how, I don’t know. Maybe she has a relative at the phone company.” Sophie shrugged. “She said, ‘When are you going to the run