Paper Names

Chapter 2-2

They asked the resort staff about the process. The receptionist said that he could arrange all of the paperwork for five hundred bucks and the dog would be cleared for US customs in a week. They had tickets to leave Bali in a few days. Janna couldn’t stay any longer. She had a big nursing conference to attend, so Oliver offered to stay behind and bring the dog to New York.

‘Taking your daddy duties seriously already,’ she giggled.

‘What’s the dog’s name?’ the receptionist asked them. ‘I need to write it on the application.’

‘How about Sadie? Or Cleo or Lucy?’ said Janna. ‘Are those too basic?’

‘Soga,’ Oliver blurted out. It was Agos, the original family name, spelled backward.

That’s what I used to name the family trusts, his grandfather had told him. Your funds are in Soga Trust III. Oliver was supposed to hate his grandfather. He knew that. But the name hearkened back to a simpler time in Oliver’s life, and no one would have to know what it really meant.

These days, his father took care of all matters dealing with the trust, and whenever Oliver inquired about it, he’d just say, ‘There’s enough funds in there, if that’s what you’re worried about.’

The last time Oliver brought it up, he had flat-out asked to see the documentation. ‘I need to plan for my life.’

‘You’ll keep getting your checks.’

‘Maybe I’ll ask the trustee. He’s in charge of the distributions anyway.’

His father gave him a frosty look. ‘I think you better drop this.’

‘But –’

‘I can tell you everything or I can tell you nothing,’ his father said.

‘What happens if you tell me everything?’

His father looked at him. Oliver could tell that he was assessing him, tallying up in two columns his strengths and weaknesses, his moral failings – his attachment to Daisy, his clumsiness on the tennis court, his driving. He was conducting a referendum on his character.

‘Let’s just leave it at nothing,’ said his father.

The dog moved into the private villa with Oliver and Janna that night. Soga slept on Oliver’s feet, curled up in a ball. Even when he began to lose feeling in his toes, he remained still so as not to wake her. It had probably been years since she’d had a good night’s sleep in a place where she felt safe.

Two days later, Janna flew back to New York.

‘It’s just you and me now, princess,’ said Oliver, as he scratched the snowy fluff underneath Soga’s chin. She made a little howling sound and closed her eyes. She looked like she was smiling.

After sharing a banana for breakfast, they went for a hike through the rice fields. Oliver didn’t need the new leash that he had bought. Soga followed his every move, sometimes wandering off to sniff a rock or a piece of garbage but returning to his side within seconds. When a bicycle passed them, she scooted against his leg, afraid. She barked at a lizard that was crawling nearby. Oliver petted her behind her upright ears. ‘What a good girl,’ he said.

They were playing fetch on the beach when it started pouring. They ran under the nearest shop awning – already soaked. Lightning cracked through the sky, followed by a rolling thunder. Oliver was about to curse the weather when Soga swung her neck snug around his ankles and promptly fell asleep. He softly poked at her black nose and held her whiskers between his fingers. Their lives would be interlinked like this. Strolls in Central Park, runs around the reservoir, falling asleep on the couch together. His home would never be the same. Less clean but cozier. She even made him a better man. He could already feel himself becoming more patient, present, loving.

Back at the resort, Janna called him. He had forgotten that she had been in Bali with him at all. It seemed like a different lifetime.

‘Is the dog too much work?’ she said. ‘It’s a lot to handle on your own.’

He replied, ‘Soga is perfect.’

‘You’ll have me to help you soon.’

‘Sure,’ he said.

Finally, the day came when they were on their way to the airport. He was in the back seat of the taxi with Soga on his lap.

‘Sorry for the roads,’ said the driver. His English had a mix of accents – sounding airy and refined.

‘The roads?’ said Oliver.

The driver made figure eights with his finger. ‘Twists,’ he said.

‘It’s OK,’ said Oliver. ‘I don’t even feel anything.’

Two minutes later, the nausea hit. It’s just windy roads, he thought. It’ll be over soon. He was only a plane ride away from his apartment in The Rosewood. He would be sleeping in his own bed again and drinking tap water without risk of diarrhea. Everything was going to be OK.

His phone began to vibrate. They must have entered a data zone again. Signal was back. So was his real life. He scrolled through the notifications. Voice mails from Kip, the partners, clients, asking for certain documents. A long message from his mother with details about the farewell dinner they were throwing Daisy at Osteria Cotta. He thought about his calendar for the next week – meetings, piles of catch-up paperwork, dinner dates with Janna – and held back a gag.

He looked out the window. Just breathe, he told himself, trying to recall the technique that the meditation guru had taught him.

His pant leg was wet. The dog was peeing on the seat. He grappled for some napkins in his pockets, his fingers covered in urine.

‘f**k, f**k, f**k,’ he muttered.

The dog whimpered. She was sorry. ‘It’s OK, it’s OK,’ he cooed.

‘We’re here,’ said the driver, pulling up to the airport check-in area.

As he pulled out his cash, Soga jumped on him, knocking his wallet under the driver’s seat.

‘Get off me,’ he growled as she licked his face. Soga whimpered as he shoved her away. Still, she looked at him with bright eyes, tongue out, tail wagging. He gently petted her on the head. As her eyes closed, he kissed the top of her snout. Soga was the tropical dream of Bali, but Bali wasn’t real life. He couldn’t be the same person he was with her in New York. People wanted things from him in New York. The firm barely left him enough hours for himself as it was, and he wasn’t about to forgo brunch on the weekends for trips to the dog park, or turn down nights out with friends to stay home with the mutt. And he definitely couldn’t imagine himself bending over on the streets of Manhattan to pick up her s**t.

He retrieved his wallet and got out of the car.

Soga tried to follow him, but he pushed her back into the seat and closed the door.

‘I’ll give you five hundred dollars to take her,’ he said to the driver.

‘Excuse me?’

Soga barked from inside the car.

‘Six hundred,’ said Oliver, emptying his wallet.

The driver looked confused.

‘I give you money. You take care of the dog,’ said Oliver. He kept his eyes on the man, determined not to look at Soga, who was whining and pawing at the door now.

The driver glanced at the dog in the rearview mirror. ‘OK, I’ll take her,’ he said.

‘Take care of her?’ said Oliver, handing over the money.

Oliver watched as the taxi drove away with Soga, her nose sticking out of the c***k in the window.

In the first-class cabin, he asked the stewardess to bring him three vodka nips with ice.

‘You’re only allowed two at a time, but I’ll make an exception,’ she said, putting an extra bounce in her step as she turned to get them. She hovered over him as he poured all the vodka into the flimsy plastic cup.

‘That good of a vacation?’ she said.

‘Not bad.’

‘Traveling alone?’

He took a sip of pure vodka. He thought that he heard a whimper, but it was just the screech of the beverage cart.