There are three things you need to know about Kong,” Bill told Christina. “And if you follow them, everything should work out perfectly. First, don’t ever look him in the eye, at least not now. He’ll view it as a challenge. Wait till you get to know him first. It’ll take a while, probably a month. But in the meantime: no eye contact. Second, don’t touch him. He really doesn’t like affection. Occasionally I’ll give him a nice pat on the back, but that’s me, and I’m the leader around here. He might nip at you or growl, so just keep your distance for the time being. And third, don’t ever show fear to him, not for a second. Because the minute you do that, he knows he’s won, and he’ll bully you for the rest of the summer.”
Christina eyed Kong as he was held by Bill, who while nearing sixty, was still fit enough to handle a 150-pound dog. A slight growl hovered in the dog’s throat, as if he were on the verge of releasing it into a full-force bark. From the side of his mouth a tiny strand of drool dangled, also seemingly poised for something more disastrous. Otherwise he was a beautiful dog; thick, chocolate brown fur, golden around the eyes and paws, wide paws that reminded her of a lion’s, and a determined snout. His eyes barreled deep into his head; two shiny black stones that looked like they’d be perfect for skipping.
“Aw, he doesn’t look so bad,” said Christina, and she reached her hand out to pet his head. Kong lunged forward, and Bill pulled back on his collar, his fingers digging into his palm tightly.
“Christina, please! You have to listen to what I’m saying. Kong is not to be toyed with. Got it?” He looked down, pissed off, and then up again with a smile. “I didn’t mean to scare you, dear. I’m sorry. I just want this to be perfect for you.”
“No, I got it. I got it. Don’t look, don’t touch, don’t show fear.”
“Oh, and if you can talk to him sometimes in a high, feminine voice?” Bill shifted his rich, deep voice into an imitation of an excited teen girl. “He likes that, I think. Don’t you, Kong?”
Kong’s tongue dropped from his mouth, and his ears perked.
“I can like, totally try,” said Christina, imitating one of her Introduction to Comp Lit students from first semester, a young woman who always greeted her friends with an urgency and enthusiasm one usually reserved for wedding announcements or job promotions, not compliments on the color of a new blouse.
Kong barked at her, and Bill soothed him again.
“You know what? Don’t do the high-pitched voice. Maybe he doesn’t like it on you.”
“No high-pitched voice. Check.” Christina clenched the handle of her purse. I could make a run for it now, she thought. My suitcase is still in the car, and my backpack is right by the front door.
Bill pulled the dog out of the front room and onto the patio, next to a clear, chemically treated, full-length pool. He locked the sliding door that separated the patio and the front room, and mumbled, “You have to lock it or he breaks in.
“It’s going to be fine, I promise. This is going to be just what you need.” He put his hand to her face, ran his tan, spotted hand along her jawline, then up to her ear. He squeezed her lobe with his thumb and forefinger. “Allow me to give you what you need,” he said.
As Christina leaned forward to embrace Bill, Kong hurled himself at the sliding door, savage noises splitting from his throat. He sounds like a monster, she thought, and held Bill even tighter, then looked around him at Kong and smirked.