January 16, 2018

PodCastle 505: There Are No Wrong Answers

41 minutes

* Author : LaShawn M. Wanak

* Narrators : Jen R. Albert and Khaalidah Muhammad-Ali

* Host : Summer Fletcher

* Audio Producer : Pria Wood

Rated PG-13 for mild language.

There Are No Wrong Answers

by LaShawn M. Wanak

Please select the answer below that feels most comfortable to you. There are no right or wrong answers. Your results will be tallied at the end.

Question one: If you were to arrive at your apartment to find your front door ajar and your chocolate Labrador missing, would you:

* Wander about the apartment complex, tapping a can of Alpo with an opener and calling (softly) “Here, Marti! Here Marti!” Grin sheepishly when the Filipina neighbor across the hall peeks from her apartment, then swear when she slams the door.

* Call the police and argue with the dispatcher. “Of course it’s an emergency, she’s a chocolate lab, dammit. You know how much money I paid for her? Hello? Hello?”

* Screw it. Go fix yourself a margarita because Marti is bound to get bored at some point and come back. Stupid dog.

Lana Hayek was very, very tempted to go with c). But she considered herself a responsible dog owner, and having already completed options a) and b) a few weeks ago, she had an inkling where her dog had gone. She grabbed Marti’s leash.

She stomped the back entrance of her complex, crossed the alley, and pushed open the wrought-iron gate that led to Madame D’s bricked-in garden, resplendent with flowers, a koi pond, and Marti, getting her ears scratched by the garden’s owner.

“Oh, there you are,” Madame D sang in contralto. The purple silk scarf wrapped around his head matched the dress that flowed to his ankles and bared his light brown shoulders, fetchingly. He could have easily passed for a black woman in her early 30s if not for the pencil-thin mustache and the muscular arms. “Marti just came over for a little visit, didn’t you, girl?”

Marti panted in happiness. She was a true chocolate Labrador with a rich coat a couple of shades darker than Lana’s skin. If Marti had the capability to take the Myers-Briggs, she would score high as an extrovert, which could explain her penchant for breaking out whenever she was left alone in the apartment.

“Yes, yes, I’m sorry,” Lana realized she was using her clipped voice she used in job interviews. “I’ll get my landlord to fix that lock.” She didn’t want to appear overly friendly. Bad enough that Madame D looked classier in drag than she did on her best dressed days, but God help her if he started talking about his “profession”. “Come, Marti.”

Marti stubbornly stayed put. Madame D rose to his soft-slippered feet. “Leaving so soon? I have fresh mint. I can make you up some tea.”

Lana gave up. She went over to Marti, snatching at her collar to snap on the leash. “Oh no. Thank you, really, no — ”

“Girl, I’m not gonna bite. You just look a little stressed. We’ll chat, drink tea. Maybe I can do a palm reading . . .”

“Look.” Lana finished snapping the leash on Marti and straightened, placing her hands on her hips. “Let’s get one thing straight right now. I don’t do psychic readings.”

Madame D held up his hands. “Hey, it’s what I do. You pretty much do the same thing.”

“For your information, I assess personalities. That is totally different from making up mumbo-jumbo about the future.”

When Lana was a little girl, she discovered an article in one of her mother’s Ebony magazines: “Is it Love, Lust, Infatuation — or Addiction?”

The questions, the multiple choices, the scores — they drew her in.

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