2 A.M. at The Cat's Pajamas

1:20 A.M

It has been quite a fucking day for Ted Stempel, and it’s not over yet. His girlfriend has advised him she will be arriving at the store within minutes and when she does, he’d better be ready to explain. The fact that her first name is Delilah makes her last name unnecessary.

Today, Ted was supposed to help transition Delilah’s grandmother from one nursing home to another. It would have required packing up the old woman’s knickknacks and unmentionables at the first home, along with paperwork, niceties, maneuvering the dazed woman down the corridor into his car, taking care that none of her sagging limbs got caught in the seat belt, a ten-minute ride to the new home where, Delilah says, they don’t let you sit in your own filth all day, more paperwork, niceties, knickknacks arranged on a new bureau.

Only, Ted Stempel doesn’t do any of that. He tells Delilah he must work all day at the store, open twenty-four hours and owned by his wife, Kendra, who is famous for her ability to make gravy out of, like, nothing. He sleeps until noon, then walks his true love, Malcolm, a broad-shouldered pit bull puppy who has never once asked Ted to explain himself. Walking a pit bull has the surprising effect of eliminating Ted’s need to engage in niceties. This is one of many reasons Ted would for Malcolm take a Louisville Slugger to the balls.

Here is Ted on South Street around three P.M., holding an extra-large hot chocolate. His brilliant boy struts next to him in his best sweater, the color of grass. Every so often, Malcolm peers up the leash to confirm that Ted is still there. Ted asks Malcolm if he is in fact the most handsome dog in the world and, without waiting for the dog’s reply, assures him that yes, he is. Ted admires a window display that showcases a new Harley-Davidson and imagines motoring down the California coast wearing mirrored sunglasses. Daydreaming, he doesn’t see the Rottweiler a block away ridding itself of its leash and barreling toward them. Ted feels an upsetting jolt at his side as the Rottweiler clamps down on Malcolm’s neck and lifts him above the ground.

The young blond dog owner, screaming. A horrified parade of passersby. Ted, blinking, tries to understand the scene in front of him, as Malcolm is tossed back and forth in his perfect sweater.

The Rottweiler ignores its name, which is, improbably, Grace. The blond owner cannot get Grace to let go, and Ted cannot wrench Malcolm out of her jaws. Suddenly Grace pauses. Her owner and Ted pause, too. Malcolm, petrified, searches for Ted. Who is this, why is this happening to me?

“Someone,” Ted chokes, “help.”

A police officer arrives. He takes one tentative step toward the two-dog tableau, then another, crooning promises and compliments. His hand is poised on his holster. To his aggravation, the crowd begins to make suggestions.

“You can’t pull a dog from a dog,” someone says.

“Don’t you think I know that?” the officer says.

Grace the Rottweiler’s eyes flick from her owner to the officer. She raises Malcolm to the uppermost point of her flinging trajectory, then pauses again, as if to test her control over the scene.

“Drop it, Grace?” her owner says.

Malcolm yowls. Scared by the sound, Grace begins thrashing again. Her teeth gnash through Malcolm’s sweater. Her muzzle darkens with blood. The officer raises his gun and fires once into the sky. Grace, startled, releases her hold on Malcolm, who falls to the sidewalk. The officer scoops up the pit bull and Grace is immediately captured by her owner.

A woman arrives with salves and bandages that she applies to Malcolm on the sidewalk. She is a vet or a bandage supplier, Ted fades in and out of understanding, she had been walking by …

“His name is Malcolm.” Ted holds the bridge of his nose as tears course down his cheeks.

The woman places Malcolm into his arms. “He’s scared, but he’s fine.”

Malcolm, from the sea of cotton bandages, looks at him with a mixture of fear and (it cannot be) adoration.

Cradling the dog to his chest, Ted walks home. He spends the day with Malcolm on his lap, reading aloud to him, changing his dressings, encouraging him to eat. When it is time for his shift he brings Malcolm to the store and arranges his bed behind the counter. He cooks a batch of his famous meatballs. The store fills with their sweet, earthy smell. It is midnight when his cell phone vibrates in the pocket of his jeans. Delilah. He wants to tell her that he has experienced a universal near miss. He wants her to say Malcolm will be recovered in no time.

Instead, Delilah goes first. “Do you want to tell me how you were on South Street today talking to some dumb bitch when you were supposed to be working? She saw you. Gina saw you on South Street.”

“Gina?” Ted says.

“I am coming there after my shift and you’d better be ready to explain how when you were at work you were also in Center City talking to some dumb bitch.”

Ted hangs up the phone. A couple enters the store and surveys the produce. He checks on Malcolm, who has been asleep for the past hour, head nestled between his marshmallow paws.

When Delilah arrives, Ted will tell her that they will never again be naked and clasped at the middle, thrusting toward her signed poster of Shane Victorino. He will never again have to use her cheap, cotton candy soap. He will never again have to deal with her accent: the tinned a’s, the sour o’s, the spine-splitting sound of l’s pronounced as w’s. Gina sawl you on South Street.

This decision fills Ted Stempel with a happy, reasonable light.

When the couple reaches the counter, he responds to the woman’s smile with an even bigger one.

“How are we tonight?” He rings the man up for his pears.

“Look at that adorable dog.” The woman cranes her neck over the counter. “What’s his name?”

“Malcolm,” says Ted.

“If I had a dog that cute, I’d take him to work with me, too,” the woman says.

“He’s got bandages on,” says the man. “Is he okay?”

Ted swells with pride. “He’s a champion. On second thought.” He voids the transaction. “The pears are free.”

“Really?” the man says.

“Free pear night,” Ted says. “Everyone gets free pears.” He hands the money back to the man.

“How nice of you,” the woman says. Then, to Malcolm, “See you later, alligator.”

Ted replies for him. “After a while, crocodile.”

“Is there anything as satisfying as a pear?” Ben says, when they are back on the street.

“Yes,” Sarina says, “but you can’t eat it and walk.”

Ben’s eyebrows ascend. He always forgets that she is funny. That underneath her traditional exterior is the girl who wore only black in high school. “Pardon me, Miss Greene?”

Sarina’s cheeks turn the color of ham.

They walk and eat their pears. Night allows the objects of Christian Street to hide except for where the streetlights call them out. There you are, newspaper stand. Hello. A discarded umbrella: Hello. A hydrant. A chained bike. Sarina and Ben walk in and out of these salutations. A sign on a fence promises a community garden, after several false starts, is coming. Featuring basil and daffodils. For real this time.