Chapter One
Part 1:
The Lizard
In retrospect, it all started with the lizard.
"A gecko?" I said. "You want to give an eight-year-
old girl a gecko?"
I stared into my bedroom closet with what I'm sure was
the same expression Dr. Livingstone had assessing the Nile
for the first time, a combination of absolute wonderment
and complete confusion. My wife Abby stood behind me,
doing her very best not to snicker.
"They make very low-maintenance pets," she said in a
soothing tone, as if she were addressing a potentially
dangerous mental patient. "You don't have to walk them,
you very rarely have to clean the aquarium and they never
make any noise. Try the blue one."
She indicated a royal blue Gap t-shirt I had been
avoiding. I turned to her, surprised, and pointed at it.
Yes, Abby nodded, that one.
"I can wear a t-shirt to a high school reunion? And
why, exactly, does our daughter even need a pet that looks
like it escaped from The Land That Time Forgot?"
Abby smiled tolerantly, once again secure in the
knowledge that I would, indeed, collapse into a heap of
quivering jelly without her. She pressed by me (and I did
very little to get out of her way, thus necessitating as
much pressing as possible) on her way to the bedroom
closet door.
"Leah loves animals. I want to encourage her to
develop that interest, and this is the easiest way to
start her on her way. Don't worry; you won't have to do
anything."
"Famous last words."
My wife, befitting a woman of her dignity and
accomplishment, stuck her tongue out at me. She leaned
into the closet (we have a lean-in closet in our bedroom,
meaning that it's roughly the size of a small
refrigerator, so all you can do is lean in) and came out
with the blue T-shirt, a pair of black jeans I actually
fit into and my black sport jacket, which is made of
something that approximates suede without actually harming
any animals to produce it. Abby laid the clothes out on
the bed. "There," she said.
"My Hollywood scriptwriter disguise," I said,
nodding. On the rare occasions that one of my screenplays
has generated enough interest for me to actually meet with
a producer (and that is upwards of once), I have worn
exactly this ensemble. I began to take off the hideous
flannel shirt (with only two holes in it) and worn-to-the-
white jeans (three, but two are in the knees) I was
wearing.
"Certainly," Abby said. "Show your old classmates how
cool you are."
"Cool, my love, is something I have never been able to
pull off successfully."
"Fake it," she said. I grunted at that, and
considered the question of the lizard again.
"So let's suppose—and I want to stress that suppose—
that I agree to this lizard thing. What does Jurassic
Junior eat?"
It is so rare I get to see my wife blush. As with
everything else, it becomes her, but it's unusual that
she'd be flustered enough to let it show. I braced
myself. She mumbled something.
"What?"
"WORMS!" she shouted, I presume unintentionally. "It
eats...worms. And they have to be...live."
"Live? As in alive? We're asking our eight-year-old
to feed one living thing to another living thing as a
character-building experience?" I had, during this
exchange, managed to don my entire screenwriter disguise,
minus the jacket (which would make me sweat no matter what
the weather, and so was best left for later).
"Well, she's perfectly okay with it," Abby said as I
sat down again to put on my classy sneakers. "Melissa has
one...."
That was all I needed to know; the discussion was
over. Leah and her friend Melissa are actually the same
person; it's just that you need two bodies to harness all
that energy. They're constantly in motion, constantly
talking, and constantly together, so whatever one does,
the other must certainly do. There is no arguing with
Melissa. Ever.
"Where do we get these worms?" I sighed. "Do we have
to dig in the back yard? Remember, we have no, um, soil
in the back yard."
"The pet store. Then we keep them in the
refrigerator."
"The same refrigerator where we keep our food?" She
nodded, and I think actually looked looked a little
nauseated.
I stood up and put an arm over my wife's
shoulder. "Is there any power on heaven or earth that can
stop this?"
"No."
"Any chance I can get some sex out of saying yes?" I
figured it was worth a shot.
"Not tonight. I'll be asleep long before you get
home."
From downstairs, I could hear the doorbell, followed
by Leah's shrill shriek. "It's Uncle Mahoney!" Abby and
I started wearily toward the stairs.
"All in all," I told her, "this night is not starting
out terribly well."