And tucked away on the top shelf, all the way to the right, I notice what appears to be a scrapbook. I pull it out and run my palm along the surface. The leather cover is worn and slightly tattered, but not falling apart. I open it to the first page and find a picture of Juliette when she must have been around twenty years old. Her pants are flared and she’s still wearing as many layers on top as possible—I smile to myself as I realize that some things never change.
I turn to the next page, where ticket stubs and playbill covers are now mixed in with photos. I also notice that one particular woman is in most of the pictures with Juliette. A majority of the shots are candid, and the two women seem playful and full of life. They’re in the studio, in pubs, and, of course, constantly at the theater.
I’m flipping through the book at a leisurely pace when I find that a certain man then starts to appear on every page as well. He constantly has his arm draped around Juliette or is holding her hand. There’s one photo of them where they’re laughing and he’s carrying her on his back. The last picture he’s in features him sitting on a stage with Juliette beside him, her head resting on his shoulder. She looks so happy—more so than I’ve ever seen her. I’m just closing the book, and wishing I knew her then, when Ollie lets out a little sneeze. I pivot to find him, and a thin piece of paper falls to the floor, having slipped out from between the pages. I lean down and pick it up, carefully unfolding it and reading the name that’s printed at the top of the stationery—Paul Davenport. My eyes move to the opening lines.
My darling Juliette,
After the manner in which we parted, I know the last thing you must want is to hear from me again. But as is our way, “the course of true love never did run smooth,” and as I sit here now, my soul reaching out into the void and finding nothing but traces and echoes of you, I know with absolute certainty that you and I have made the gravest of all mistakes.
Realizing what I’m reading, I avert my eyes and fold up the letter with clumsy, fumbling hands. My breath is accelerated as I tuck the paper back into the middle of the scrapbook, which I immediately return to the top shelf. That was way too personal and in no way meant for me. Still feeling like an emotional Peeping Tom, I decide to busy myself by fixing Ollie a snack. I grab my bag from the counter and pull out an apple that I swiped from the plane, along with the large fluffy blanket. One of the flight attendants gave me a speculative glance when I disembarked, but didn’t say anything. After working a seven-hour flight with Juliette, he probably understood that I needed it to self-soothe.
Once I cut the apple into tiny pieces, I place it on a plate and lower it to the floor along with a bowl of water. Ollie gobbles it down as I run him a makeshift bath in the sink and, soon enough, he’s all dried and looking much more at ease as he curls up on an oversized pillow beside the window, serenely sleeping in the sun. It takes all the willpower I possess to not take a nap myself, instead looking up local veterinarians on my laptop. I find one fairly quickly and schedule an appointment for a few days later. Once I make sure that Ollie’s physically alright, I’ll ask them what I should do in regards to looking for his former owners or potentially keeping him. Granted, my apartment and work hours aren’t ideal for a dog, but still, I’m sure I could find a way to figure things out.
An hour later, I’m in the midst of my twentieth dog article, this one titled “Eight Tips for Caring for a Malnourished Dog,” when I hear the steady sound of knocking at the door. Ollie springs up, and I give him a comforting pet before answering, finding a smiling Roshni in the hallway, holding up a large paper bag with a paw logo on the front.
“Greetings, is this the Winnie D’Angelo canine rescue center?”
I smile tiredly back at her and pull the door open further. “That it is. Welcome and do come in.”
“I’ve brought treats for you,” she says, handing me the bag. “Or rather, treats for your furry friend.”
“Are you serious?” I ask. Living in New York, you often forget that kind people often do incredibly kind things, totally unprompted. “How did you even know about him?”
“Juliette told me all about him after you left. And I don’t want to steal credit here, because she was the one who asked me to pick this stuff up, and she paid for everything, saying the budget was unlimited. I got you dry and wet dog food, a harness, a leash, and a bunch of toys.”
“Well, all the same, thank you for going out and getting all of this. I still don’t know how we ended up with a real-life Disney princess for our first-ever second assistant.”
“I can’t be sure either,” Roshni teases, “but I’d assume a wishing well was involved. Or a rare form of ancient magic.”
“Either one is good with me. I’d be equally pumped to attend a tea party or a witch’s coven.” Roshni smirks, and I reach into the bag, pulling out the container of wet dog food and opening it up at the counter. Thankfully, it’s high in protein, which Ollie needs, but I’ll still have to run out for some eggs and rice to help supplement the rest of his meals. And possibly some chicken. I’m about to ask Roshni to keep her eye on him while I go in search of a supermarket when I find her looking around the room in amazement, just as I did when I first arrived.
“This place is kind of incredible,” she says, moving to sit on the white-painted radiator cover and looking out at the picturesque street below. “I’m getting all the enchanted cottage feels.”
“Me too,” I agree. “It makes me wonder what Juliette was like when she lived here—when she was closer to our age.”
“Probably exactly the same but more carefree. Just bopping around and chasing her dreams, like you are now.”
I audibly scoff as I scoop one cup of dog food out of the container and place it in a bowl on the floor for Ollie. “Oh, yeah. I’m living the dream, alright.”
“You are! Your life is exponentially more exciting than mine. I’m going to be dishing out beta-blockers and erectile dysfunction pills until I’m sixty while you write brilliant plays and pursue the stage.”
“I love how you have the ability to glamorize everything. That’s why you dress like the high-fashion lead in a Netflix drama and I look like a lost extra who accidentally walked into the shot.”
“That is one hundred percent not true,” she asserts, switching over to sit on the bed and bouncing around slightly. “And good news, I’m going to the benefit with you guys tonight! We scored another ticket, so now you and I can engage in super serious theater discussions while Juliette mingles.”
“Wishful thinking, my young apprentice. At social events, you and I are more like ladies-in-waiting/bodyguards, but we do get sporadic breaks once she finds people she wants to hang out with.”
“That sounds manageable. I’ll have to practice my at-rest intimidation face.”
“I’m sure it will be flawless,” I tell her. “Now, is there any chance you can stay with Ollie for a bit while I run to the store? I’ll be quick, I promise.”
She hops up from the bed to join Ollie on the floor in the sun. “That would be an aggressive yes. We’ll cuddle as we get our daily vitamin D.”
“Thank you so much!” I quickly grab my bag and head for the door. “You’re amazing. I mean it. I came alive when I met you.”
“Yeah, yeah, that’s what they all say. Also, Juliette told me to tell you that as long as you make sure he goes to the bathroom first, you can bring Ollie up to the penthouse whenever you want. She seemed kind of hopeful about it, actually. And she’s paying the daughter of one of her neighbors to babysit him when we go out tonight, plus while we’re at rehearsals during our stay. She was afraid he’d feel lonely without having someone with him.”
I shake my head, still shocked by Juliette taking to our newest addition so fast. “Did we just find our boss’s soft spot that she’s somehow kept hidden for years?”
