Chet The Dog

Posts Tagged ‘Suzie’

Q&A (More)

And now back to reader questions. A number of you wrote in about Suzie, Bernie’s girlfriend for a good part of the series, and now (spoiler alert for those who haven’t yet read Of Mutts and Men) married to the Franco-American investor Jacques Smallian, whom Bernie can’t help liking. Let’s put it this way: lots of twists and turns can happen in a longish series and I’m hoping, with your support, that Chet and Bernie will be longish.

 

What’s In A Name?

Ms. Publicist.: A day late, but time for our regular once-a-month feature, What’s In A Name. Who will it be today, Spence?

Spencer Quinn: How about Suzie Sanchez, Bernie’s reporter girlfriend who left the Valley to take a job at the Washington Post. She has a big part in Paw and Order.

Ms. P.: I notice you spell Suzie with a Z, not an S.

S.Q.: Right. I like the two Z’s in her name. Suzie Sanchez: there’s something percussive and musical about it, almost like the name is a tiny piece of music all on its own. Talk about allure! Also it’s an unpretentious name, and Suzie’s obviously not bothered about the diminutive. But there’s nothing cute about her. She’s sharp, determined, self-reliant. I like that contrast.

Ms. P.: Sanchez is a Hispanic name.

S.Q.: She’s from the Southwest, and Sanchez has some heft to it, almost like the opposite of a diminutive. Will she keep it if she and Bernie get married?

Ms. P.: Whoa! Are you telling us something?

S.Q.: Gotta take a call.

 

Welcome Isabel (detective).

Everything Explained

“Please explain America to me,” says Mr. Singh.

We’re at his pawn shop, but this time – a real first – we’re not pawning Bernie’s grandfather’s watch, our most valuable possession. In fact, we’re not pawning anything. Instead we’re searching for a bauble, whatever that is, for Suzie. Lamb curry’s cooking somewhere out back, making it real hard to concentrate.

“Explain America?” Bernie says.

“Do not get me wrong, Bernie,” says Mr. Singh. So much fun, listening to how he talks. “Coming here was the best move of my life. But sometimes it’s a bit confusing. For example, is Mr. Clinton back to being the president again?”

“Huh?” says Bernie.

“What is the explanation for this press conference yesterday?” says Mr. Singh. “Did not Mr. Obama turn over the reins?”

Bernie laughs, claps Mr. Singh on the back. Mr. Singh’s a soft little guy, lurches a bit. “Here’s the thing,” Bernie says. “There are no reins, so just enjoy the ride.”

“What a joker you are, Bernie! Here is a ruby ring for a very attractive price.”

Note from Spence: the blog may be experiencing some sort of technical difficulty at this time. We’ll try to fix it ASAP.

Christmas Shopping

We’re Christmas shopping, which is how come there’s no post today. Bernie wants to get something for Suzie. Something appropriate he tells me. “Sometimes I think I have trouble with the whole appropriate concept,” Bernie says. Bernie and I are alike in some ways.

“Maybe Mr. Singh has a nice bauble, a bracelet, or ring, or one of those neck things.” Mr. Singh the pawn shop dude? “Easy, big guy.”

Mr. Singh: From Thereby Hangs A Tail

“Bernie! Chet!” said Mr. Singh. “How is our beautiful timepiece today?”

Bernie handed over his grandfather’s watch. His grandfather once owned a big ranch where Mesquite Road and our whole neighborhood was now, but lost everything, possibly because of a drinking problem, although the drinking problem might have come from some other story Bernie had told me, a story about another relative. But not Bernie’s father. Bernie never talked about his father, who’d been dead for a long time. Bernie’s mother was still around. I’d met her once: a piece of work. She lived somewhere far away with a new husband, or an even newer one. She called Bernie Kiddo! What was up with that? But I still shouldn’t have done what I did, a story perhaps for another time.

Mr. Singh held the watch in both hands, admiring it. “Do you know that only a dozen of these were made?” he said. “How I would love to take this on Antiques Roadshow.” Mr. Singh had a strange way of talking, almost like music. I could listen to him all day. “Did you ever find out how it came into his possession?” he said.

“No,” said Bernie.

“Thereby hangs a tale, I’m sure,” said Mr. Singh.

A tail? Was Mr. Singh saying Bernie’s grandfather’s watch had a tail? Fun to listen to, Mr. Singh, but hard to understand. We left, a big wad of cash in Bernie’s pocket and a bite or two of curried goat kebab in my mouth. I like ethnic food. So does Bernie. There are picky eaters out there, but not us.