What Are You Talking About?

     Sasha sat staring out the window, lost in thought. So much had happened recently. David was back in school now, his step mom was in her seventh month, and herself? Sasha La Fleur, a lady who had sworn off having anything to do with men a long time ago, now married to Charlie Barkin, of all dogs. And now this.

     “Hey, Sasha.”

     The voice made her jump. “Charlie!” she cried in surprise, whirling around. “You scared me.”

     Charlie raised an eyebrow. “What, we handled Red and now you’re scared of little old moi?”

     Sasha laughed just a little, then fell into an awkward silence. Charlie wandered over to the couch and sat down, humming to himself as he picked up a magazine and calmly leafed through it. After a moment, Sasha joined him. “I looked at the clock awhile ago,” she commented. “He should be starting his class right about now.”

     “Yeah, I’ve been thinking about him all day,” Charlie agreed. “It’s gonna be pretty quiet with the little squirt gone most of the day, huh?”

     Sasha smiled, an expression born half from amusement and half from unease. “Well, actually, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that,” she said.

     Charlie gave her an inquisitive look. What’s she talking about? he wondered.

     “I don’t think it’s going to be that quiet around here for long.”

     Charlie’s eyes widened. “You’re kidding!” he exclaimed. “That’s great! I’m so glad you’ve been thinking about this too!”

     Sasha’s mouth twitched a little at the corner. Oh, I'm pretty sure we’re past thinking, she thought. “Well, I’m happy about it too, Charlie, but to be honest I don’t know if I’m cut out for this.”

     “Hey, relax,” Charlie said. “If you’d rather not, you can just sit back and I’ll do all the work.”

     Does he know how this works? Sasha wondered. “I appreciate that, but I think I’m going to have some part in all of this.”

     Charlie smiled. That’s the Sasha I know, he thought. “Okay then,” he said amiably. “You can pick out the color.”

     “Color?” asked Sasha. “What are you talking about?”

     “Well, you know that room downstairs that they’ve been thinking about remodeling, right?” asked Charlie. “I figured why don’t we do it for them? David’s dad has his job, the step mom has a kid on the way, but we’ve got our paws free.”

     Oh, not for long, thought Sasha.

     “Exercise gear is really compact these days,” Charlie went on. “The room could be a perfect exercise room, like his dad said.”

     “Yeah,” agreed Sasha, rolling her eyes. “Maybe we could even fit a basket in there.”

     The shepherd-mix frowned.  "There's no room for a basketball court down there."

     "No," she replied.  She gestured to their basket near the heater.  "The other kind."

     Charlie stared at her. “Well sure, but what for? We’ve got ours, and they’ve got all they need to handle their laundry.”

     Sasha’s mouth tugged slightly down at the corner. “You’re starting to remind me why I stopped dating,” she muttered.

     “What was that?” asked Charlie. He hadn’t quite heard her.

     “Charlie, why can’t you take a hint?” she asked louder, bringing her paw down on the coffee table with a thump for emphasis. “I have to spell everything out.”

     Now Sasha wasn’t aware of it, but Charlie noticed that she had brought her paw down pointing at a magazine with a picture of some fancy needlework on the cover. Oh, my aching halo, he thought to himself. “Sasha, are you jumping on that sewing room bandwagon now?”

     She gave him an incredulous look.

     “I mean, I’ve seen her thread a needle maybe once,” he went on, “And I’ve never seen you touch either one.”

     “Well,” Sasha grumbled, “It’s hard to thread a needle when you’re throwing up in the toilet every morning.”

     Charlie stared at her in confusion some more, then went back to his reading. “I can never make sense of... Hey-lo, take a look at this.” He showed her a picture of a box with steam coming out of it. At least, that’s what it looked like to Sasha. “What if we set up one of those little home-saunas in there?”

     “Charlie, how do you expect to do that?”

     Charlie looked offended. “Hey, Itchy and I built a classy casino out of stuff from a junkyard once. A sauna will be no sweat.” He coughed. “Uh, no pun intended.”

     “Yeah, I can see it now,” she muttered sarcastically. “Yeah,” Charlie agreed. “Put it right next to the weights…”

     “The weights?!” asked Sasha, fairly exploding.

     “Weights, weights,” Charlie explained as if talking to a child. “We’ve been talking about exercise equipment. Weights go with exercise equipment. When are women going to learn to listen?”

     “Oh, good grief.”

     “The weights’ll be great.”

     “Oh, they’ll be great alright,” Sasha muttered. “Each one of them'll be four or five ounces worth of great.”

     Charlie looked insulted again. “Four to five ounces,” he echoed. “I can do ten pounds with each front leg, easy. You are lookin’ at one 21-year-old stud muffin.”

     Sasha laughed. “Yeah, that’s true, cupcake,” she remarked, icing the 'cupcake' with just a touch of sarcasm, “and you’re only three.”

     “Well, I was counting it in dog years,” Charlie defended himself. “The point is, in eight or nine weeks, we’re gonna be different dogs.”

     “In eight or nine weeks, we’re going to be more dogs!” snapped Sasha.

     Charlie shook his head. What in the world has gotten into her? he wondered. “I don’t know what you’re so upset for,” he told her. “I think you’re just afraid to try something new. It’ll be great. You know what it’ll be like? It’ll be like this.” And he held out another magazine picture for her to look at.

     “It’ll be like giving birth,” she answered brightly.

     He blinked. “No, it’ll be just like this. See that? Look at those shelves in the corner. Those would be great for a radio, maybe some of those hand-held weights…”

     “How about a changing table?” prompted Sasha.

     Charlie nodded.  “Good idea, but let’s make it a changing room so there can be more privacy. These people won’t know the place when we’re through.”

     They won’t know you when I’m through, thought Sasha.

     “It’ll be our own YMCA.”

     “Oh, it’ll be our own little ‘Y,’ alright,” Sasha answered. “W, H, Y.”

     “Just think about it,” Charlie persisted. “Mirrors from ceiling to floor… indoor/outdoor carpeting door-to-door…”

     “Mmm-hm,” Sasha mumbled as she got up to leave.

     “Where are you going?” asked Charlie. “I thought you wanted to tell me something.”

     “No,” she said in a tone that was a bit coy, a bit sarcastic, and a lot exasperated. “I don’t need to tell you anything. I think in five or six weeks you’ll figure it out on your own. Why spoil the surprise now?”

     Charlie’s eyes opened. “Surprise?” he asked.

     She nodded, and Charlie’s face took on an awed expression. “You don’t mean…” he said slowly. “You’re not…” he went on as he walked to her. “We’re not…” now he was holding her front paws in his, and in a tone of quiet excitement he exclaimed, “You got me a Bowflex!”

     All characters and cover picture © MGM