Jules and Bulls

by Chandler Ardnas

  I looked back at the woman on her knees and knew instantly who she was, Cherry. Someone I felt was my friend had played me. I wondered if any of the stories mentioned she was Tennyson's cousin. Maybe country people found nothing wrong with a family member relieving the stress, but it was more than I could handle.

  I dressed in a pair of shorts and threw a hoodie on over my shirt, so I could hide my face from any paparazzi. I put on some sandals and waited with my bags for Tennyson to return. I had to wipe my tears often, and no matter how angry I got, they still fell.

  Tennyson walked into the trailer, and I refused to look at him. He apparently knew why I was leaving and didn't try to change my mind. "You can ride with Amylia," he said softly.

  I grabbed my bags and walked out the door without saying a word to him. Amylia and Morgan were in their truck with the engine running. I climbed into the back seat and said, “You can drop me at the next city, my manager’s getting me a flight.”

  “I’m so sorry, Jules,” Amylia offered.

  “I wish someone would have warned me that Tennyson messed around with his cousin.”

  "She's not 'literally' our cousin," Amylia said, but it didn't help in the least.

  “Wonderful,” I mumbled.

  “She is some messed up girl my Aunt Katherine brought into her home,” Amylia said to defend her brother.

  “Well, Tennyson thinks she’s special,” I replied hatefully, as I relived the pictures in my head and remembered he gave her a buckle.

  “I’m not going to make excuses for him, but I want to point out it was before he met you,” Morgan added.

  I stared at the open road and felt more tears fall. I couldn't be mad at him for his past, but I felt so betrayed, or maybe it was jealousy. The images of him enjoying another woman made me so angry; I could only imagine what the magazines were going to say.

  We pulled over to get gas, and I went inside to buy a soda and some crackers, keeping my hoodie up the entire time. I got back in the truck just as Tennyson pulled up. He started the pump and then walked over to my door and opened it harshly.

  “We need to talk,” he yelled. “I’m not losing you over this.”

  I smiled gently and shook my head before speaking softly, “There’s nothing to say.”

  "I love you, and I think you love me," he said with a tight jaw.

  “You’re good at what you do, that’s all,” I said, as I tried to convince myself.

  “Why do you keep pushing me away?” he asked with a sad voice.

  “Tennyson, you need to go back to Cherry and…”

  "My first relationship was with a girl in high school named Lisa. Then a girl named Heather, and then an Australian girl who I can barely remember how to pronounce her name. I lived with a girl named Janie for two years and then you. I've had many insignificant hook-ups, and I was drunk one night when that video was made with Cherry; it happened the one time. You know my past now, every single sordid detail."

  I wanted to scream, "Hold on, back up to the girl Janie," but it didn't matter; Our relationship was over. I touched his cheek and said, "Morgan will drop me at the next town, and I'm going home."

  He let his head drop and finally slammed the truck door and walked away. Amylia and Morgan climbed in and drove me to Cheyenne, where I said goodbye and left all thoughts of Tennyson behind me.

  Chapter 7

  I was met at the airport by my lead dancer and best friend, Eric Ramirez. He was openly gay and loved conforming to every stereotype. He called himself Uber Gay and flaunted it whenever he could. We met when I first moved to Hollywood and became inseparable.

  Eric’s car had darkly tinted windows symbolizing safety, so I ran for it through the throng of paparazzi all yelling questions about Tennyson. As soon as I sat in the passenger seat, he pulled away while saying, "I never pegged you for the bad-boy type, bitch. I mean, I love the bad-boys, but you, honey, are too virginal to pull it off."

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” I said, as I stared out the window.

  “Just tell me this, does he last more than eight seconds?”

  “Shove it,” I said hatefully.

  "Mmm girl, I would love to. He is grade-A prime beef."

  “I’m a vegetarian,” I pointed out.

  “Then we’ll call him a cucumber.”

  “Please, Eric, drop it,” I begged him.

  "I'm just teasing you; the cowboy admitted to the doctored pictures. The video was real, thank God," he laughed, and I gave him a confused look. "They weren't?" he asked in shock.

  “Tennyson made a statement?”

  "Yeah, denied the whole thing, said you were friends with his sister."

  I couldn’t imagine Tennyson willingly lying to spare my reputation, but maybe he wanted to save his own and wasn’t concerned about mine. I sighed and sunk lower into the seat. “My father is going to freak. I’m glad I’m on tour for the rest of the summer.” I let my head fall back and said, “Eric, I need a change.”

  “In the tour?” He asked worriedly, thinking his dancers would be changed or something.

  “No, I’m talking about my look. I need something fresh and different.”

  Eric screamed and began bouncing on the seat, "I know the perfect person. You won't even recognize yourself afterward." He pulled out his phone and called his friend.

  We drove right to the salon, and I gave Peter free reign to change me any way he saw fit. I was waxed, tanned, highlighted and permed. Eric was right; I didn't recognize myself. My usually pale skin was a beautiful bronze, and my typically dark hair looked sun-kissed and fell in large curls.

  “You are a God,” I said to Peter, and he bowed royally.

  I was in a much better mood by the time I arrived home and kept my head down as we drove through my gate, ignored by most of the paparazzi. Unfortunately, I lived right next door to Hollywood’s current heartthrob, so I was photographed often due to the paparazzi’s constant presence. As soon as I walked into the house, the phone rang. I thought it would be my father, but it was Miriam.

  “Jules, I just wanted to make sure you arrived home safely. I’m so sorry for the problems Cherry caused you.”

  “I think Tennyson handled it,” I told her.

  “Yes, he is quite distraught over the entire matter.”

  "I can't hold his past against him. I wish I knew before befriending Cherry. I'm not sure I could keep my cool if I ever ran into her."

  “She wanted Tennyson so badly for a long time. I never thought she would purposely hurt him. I’m sorry, again.”

  “I hope Tennyson can focus now,” I said, as I tried not to cry.

  “Honey, my children are very competitive. Losing is not the end of the world they believe it to be.”

  “May I ask you about Janie? I know it is none of my business, but Tennyson told me he lived with her for two years.”

  She chuckled, and I wondered why. Maybe she thought it was funny I would ask her about her son's past lover. "All of our children still live at home; of course, it is a substantial home. Janie lived here with us but never traveled with Tennyson. They only saw each other for a few months during the two years."

  “Oh, I see,” I said stupidly.

  “I just wanted to make sure you were okay, dear,” she said, and I knew Tennyson was making her call.

  “I hope Tennyson has a great time in Denver, but I doubt we will see each other again.”

  “May I ask why?” she pushed.

  “I don’t understand his world, and he wouldn’t understand mine at all.” I laughed at the thought of Eric and Tennyson in the same room.

  “I’m sorry to hear it, Tennyson fell for you very hard and very fast.”

  “I fell for him, too,” I admitted, “But, reality reared its ugly head.”

  “Well, good luck, Jules. I wish you well.”

  “Thank you, Miriam, Goodbye.”

  Eric stared at me, waiting for some reaction or a need to unload. Instead, I asked him to go over some of the d
ances from the tour. I wanted to forget about Tennyson, not talk about him. I changed into some tights, and we headed downstairs to the dance studio and worked for hours.

  I was dripping with sweat and utterly exhausted by the time Eric left. I realized I hadn't eaten and made myself some pasta. I was playing music loudly in the background when my phone rang. I knew it had to be my father this time, so I ignored it.

  I heard a soft voice leaving a message, “Jules, its Tenn. I want to talk to you, please pick up.”

  I smiled at his use of the name, Tenn. I liked it and felt like it would be a name only I could use for him. I reached for the phone but just sat my hand over it without picking up. He waited for a moment before saying, "I wanted to come to your concert, but I will be riding at that exact time. Maybe I could see you afterward? Call me; I need to hear your voice," he said sadly and softly.

  I finished eating and took a quick shower before crawling into bed and began missing him. I looked at the phone and finally picked it up and hit dial. Tennyson answered, but the background was so noisy he couldn't hear me. "Hang on; let me get out of here." I waited as the noise faded and the sounds of girls’ voices ended. "You still there?" he asked, and his voice sounded slurred.

  "Are you drunk?" I asked him, and a part of me hoped he was so I could speak honestly, and he would forget whatever I said.

  “I’m drinking you out of my mind, Sweetheart.”

  “Is it working?” I asked.

  "No, you called, and my mind is full of you again."

  “I shouldn’t have called,” I said softly.

  “I’m so glad you did; my hands are aching for you. Come get in my bed,” he said with hope.

  “I’m in L.A. I can’t come to your bed anymore, Tenn.”

  “I’ll ride better, I promise.”

  I shut my eyes tightly as my heart ached for him. I had to make him understand our problems were not related to his skill. “Oh Tennyson, it has nothing to do with how you ride. You’re the best,” I reminded him.

  “Nothing matter’s anymore, you mattered, but you left.”

  "I had to go back to work. I need to do my thing, and you need to do yours. You have a title to keep."

  “I downloaded your music,” he admitted.

  I forgot my promise to do it for him and was surprised he went to the trouble of purchasing it. "Did you like it?" I asked.

  “No,” he said, and my jaw tightened. “It hurt to listen to you sing. You sing like an angel.”

  "Thank you; I wish you liked it."

  “Sing me the one about the moon, the one about the couple looking at the same moon.” I sang softly into the phone and heard him sigh loudly. When I finished it was quiet for a moment, and he asked, "Who did you write the song for?"

  "My parents. My father was in the military, and my mother waited for him to come home from overseas."

  “That’s nice,” he said, barely above a whisper.

  “How’s the eye?” I finally asked.

  “A pretty shade of purple,” he laughed.

  We both grew quiet, and the silence felt awkward. I decided to come out with it and focus on why we shouldn't be together. "I bet Royal is glad I'm gone," I said, as I shook my head.

  “No, he said he thought you were it. I really hoped you were it,” he replied with such a sad voice.

  “I can’t be it. I don’t eat meat, I don’t wear hats, and I cry when you ride bulls.”

  "It's only eight seconds," he said like we would be able to work everything else out.

  “And in only eight seconds my entire world could come crashing down.”

  “I’m good at what I do,” he said adamantly.

  “You sure are,” I whispered.

  He chuckled and said, “I’m not sure I can stand up, I think I will sleep right here.”

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m sitting next to my horse. I love my horse,” he said with a faraway sound.

  I laughed loudly. I could picture it in my mind. “Are you wearing chaps?” I asked.

  “Only chaps,” he lied.

  "Your poor horse is so jealous," I teased, and he laughed loudly this time.

  “I guess I can get rid of the buckle now,” he added.

  “Tennyson, tell me why you gave Cherry one of your buckles?” Just bringing up the subject hurt more than I thought it would.

  "Because I am such a stupid prick. Cherry said she wanted to feel like a real part of the family, so I gave it to her to make her realize I thought of her as family. It didn't work."

  I bit my lip and tried to form my words correctly. Since he was drunk, I decided to be candid. "Why…. you know, the video?"

  “Because I’m a man and I think with my dick sometimes,” he answered honestly, and I was so glad he didn’t try to play it off or make excuses.

  “Is it weird for you two now?”

  "She had a messed-up life; I can't blame her for being messed up. She knows better than to try and talk to me right now."

  “Because you’re drunk, and you may ask her to get on her knees,” I teased.

  “I’m afraid my body only wants you. Nobody else will ever do.”

  His words were painful, and I tried to lighten the mood. "I think we just jumped the shark and only the liquor is talking now. What happened to the ‘I'm a man' statement?"

  “I wish you were here,” he whispered.

  “You wouldn’t recognize me, my friend Eric got me a makeover.”

  “Eric, is he your boyfriend?”

  “No, but we do have similar taste in men,” I announced to his homophobic mind.

  “He’s a fag?” he asked in shock.

  “He’s gay,” I corrected him.

  “That’s disgusting,” he said softly, and it angered me beyond belief.

  "It is another reason why we would never work, I have a lot of gay friends, and they are crucial to me. And for your information, I'm sure many gay men fantasize about you."

  “It makes my ass hurt just to think about it,” he said hatefully.

  “You should be flattered that great guys like Eric find you attractive. And for all you know, your horse might be gay.” I instantly felt stupid for bringing his horse into the argument.

  "Hey, Man-o-war, are you gay?" He yelled and then gave a short whistle causing his horse to whinny loudly. "Nope, he says he's not gay."

  “You prick,” I mumbled, as a smile grew on my face.

  “I wish you were here,” he said again.

  “Be very careful this weekend, and show that kid from the reservation who the real man is, okay?”

  He chuckled and mumbled something I couldn't decipher due to the sound of people talking. "I'm gonna ride my horse," he announced to someone else.

  “Tenn,” I yelled loudly, “you’re in no condition to ride.”

  “I ride better than I walk, Sweetheart.”

  “Fine, go ride your horse,” I laughed. “Take care of yourself, Tenn.”

  "That sounds final to me."

  It was exactly how I wanted it to sound. I didn't want him to have any hope of me walking away from my friends to enter his world of tough guys who were terrified to admit gay men existed. I worked so hard to break free from my parents, and he still lived with his. The only thing we had in common was our fame; it was so fake and so temporary.

  “Goodbye,” I said, and hung up the phone.

  I focused on the tour and walked proudly through the airport on Friday morning for my flight to Denver. Photographers caught me with my new look, and when they asked about Tennyson, I rolled my eyes to blow off the questions. I finally said, "I want to wish Amylia luck this weekend," and headed through security.

  I went through the same experience when I landed in Denver and this time entirely ignored the questions all the way to the car Martin had waiting. We drove straight to the hotel, and when I got to my room, a newspaper was waiting with a picture of Tennyson on the front page.

  It was easy to ignore him by staying very busy but
looking at his face caused a very definite reaction. I touched the ink picture of his strong jaw and wild hair sticking out from his hat. I wanted to see him, not to talk to him, but just to look at his face and know he was okay.

  I called Eric’s room and asked him to come to mine. He walked in wearing skinny jeans and a tight pink t-shirt. “What’s up, Chica?”

  "I want to go to a dance tonight, but you can't dress like that, or you'll get killed."

  “And you think I’m going to agree to this?” he said, as he crossed his arms and leaned on one hip.

  “You’ll be in a room full of cowboys in tight jeans,” I bargained.

  "And they all want to kill me, not do me," he pointed out.

  "Come on; you know there is a gay one in the bunch somewhere."

  “Yes, and he’s terrified to come out of the closet, not the relationship I’m looking for.”

  “You’re right, forget it,” I said, using the saddest voice I could muster.

  “Can I wear a shiny shirt?” he asked, falling for my pretense.

  “We need to blend, not gain attention. Let’s hit a thrift store and find some plaid and some boots.”

  “I don’t wear plaid unless it’s on a kilt.”

  "Okay, pretend you're making a movie, and you are John Wayne's love child. Pull it off, and I'll pay you double for this concert."

  “You are on, bitch.”

  I was shaking like a leaf when Eric and I entered the expansive stadium and heard the loud band playing. He was bopping to the music, and I elbowed him to stop. I made my way to the far end of the room away from Tennyson's table. I saw him sitting with his body turned from the crowd and his arms resting on his knees holding a bottle of beer in his hands.

  He didn't move, and he didn't look around. His family was more subdued, talking with one another while leaving Tennyson alone. I instantly wondered if he had lost an event and searched out a rodeo queen to ask.