Another Kind of Cowboy

by Susan Juby

  “Grace’s food is almost always spiked with something. Bottle caps, pieces of tin,” he muttered as he peered into my mouth. “Sorry, I should have warned you.”

  I gave an embarrassed laugh, because he smelled nice and he was looking in my mouth and I felt like a moron.

  “Darn, I can’t find it. Come in here,” he said. “The light’s better.”

  I followed him into a brightly lit tack room. He sat me down on a bench that ran the length of the room. He leaned in close so he could look into my mouth again.

  I’m not sure if it was relief or something else that made me feel so dizzy when he finally pulled the splinter out.

  “Thanks,” I said, feeling around the roof of my mouth with my tongue to make sure it was gone.

  “No problem,” he said, smiling down at me. Maybe it was gratitude or maybe it was the way his smile was so unguarded and genuine. All at once I knew I was crazy about Alex and his messy house and his tacky car and his weirdo family. He was this little spot of sanity in all the chaos and I wanted him to be my sane spot. I wanted to make a mess in his life so he could clean it up in that very deliberate way of his. It’s hard to explain, but the feeling was overwhelming. There was only one way I could express it. Without thinking, I half stood and abruptly kissed him.

  He pulled back so fast that he banged his head on a saddle rack behind him. I was left standing there, half crouching, with my lips all puckered up and my hands sort of clawing at him. I froze in that position and from my peripheral vision I saw that my stupid peasant blouse was hanging open and my bra was showing again. I didn’t know what to say, so I muttered, “I’m so sorry,” as I stood and tried to adjust my shirt.

  He seemed to think I was making another move on him because he jumped away, banged his head again, and shouted, “Gay!” at me.

  “What?”

  “I’m gay,” he said, holding up his hands like he was ready to fight me off if necessary.

  I have never been so embarrassed in my whole life. I collapsed onto the bench. Then I decided I had to get away, so I tried to get up again so I could leave.

  He threw out a hand, like a traffic cop stopping an aggressive driver. I sat back down. He was starting to piss me off.

  “Jesus. Would you relax already? I was just trying to stand up.”

  “Oh. Okay, then,” he said, then slumped down onto the bench beside me.

  Neither of us spoke for a minute. We just sat there. In the quiet, I had one of my rare moments of actually considering how someone else might feel. Alex just came out to me, and all I could think of was to be embarrassed by my lack of gaydar and my totally inappropriate sexual advances.

  “I’m sorry,” I said again. “I guess I’m not…” How was I supposed to finish that sentence? What could I say that wouldn’t be offensive?

  “A guy?” he said.

  It was the first joke I’d ever heard him make. Was it just my imagination or did he suddenly seem more relaxed now that he knew I wasn’t trying to assault him?

  “I should have known,” I said.

  “Why? I didn’t exactly, you know, tell you.”

  We were interrupted by a noise outside. I heard a vehicle pull up and car doors open and close, then the voices of a man and a woman. The man’s voice was deep and the woman’s was sort of raspy.

  The voices came closer. I looked over at Alex and saw that his face had gone pale. He glanced at me quickly as the voices came closer, as though he wanted to say something, but before he could speak a man stuck his head in the door.

  “Well, if this don’t beat all!” said the man, who had short dark hair and was quite handsome in that square-jawed sort of way really big guys sometimes are. He looked like Alex, only coarser. His face was flushed, like he’d been running or maybe drinking.

  He stared at us nearsightedly from the doorway, until he was joined by a lady with violently red hair, an obvious dye job. You could tell she was a bit older than the man. I figured she must be Alex’s mother.

  “Well, well, well. Who have we got here?” asked the man.

  The lady smiled. Her lipstick was electric against her pale skin.

  Alex stared at the far wall.

  “Hi there,” I said, giving them this little wave, which instantly made me feel like a dork. “I’m, um, Cleo.”

  The man gripped the doorway and the redheaded lady gripped him.

  “Pleased to meetcha, Carrie,” he said. As he spoke I caught a whiff of his breath. He hadn’t been running.

  “Brian, shush!” the lady stage-whispered. “She said her name was Chloe. Or something.” Then she giggled.

  “Good going!” said the man, giving Alex an exaggerated wink.

  “Cleo, this is my dad,” said Alex in a dull voice.

  When Alex didn’t introduce the lady, his father spoke up.

  “And this here’s Colette Reed. I’m sure you’ve seen her face on bus shelters and billboards around town. Colette’s a famous realtor in these parts,” said Mr. Ford. “This guy treating you all right?”

  The lady didn’t seem to like him paying attention to me. She grabbed one of Alex’s dad’s arms and clasped it to her chest. “That is a very unusual blouse, honey.”

  Ooooh! I wasn’t going to let her get away with that.

  I grabbed Alex’s arm and held it exactly the same way Colette Reed held his father’s, and said, “Yes, sir. Alex definitely knows how to treat a girl.”

  From the corner of my eye I caught Alex’s smile as he stared back down at the floor.

  PHASE II

  Riding the collected horse in turns and circles at all paces (in America commonly called “gaits”) and in perfect balance. This is known as the Campaign School…. The proficiency and stamina of the horse will be increased, his intelligence and understanding awakened, and the rider is given a line of conduct to be followed for further training….

  This second phase of riding has to be developed from the first and presents the only possible preparation for the third, namely the High School. Only on this foundation can the rider proceed to art, that is, to High School, because nature can exist without art, but art can never exist without nature.

  —Alois Podhajsky, The Complete Training of Horse and Rider in the Principles of Classical Horsemanship

  NOVEMBER 4

  11

  Alex

  ALEX TRIED TO stay calm but it was difficult. Today was his first lesson with Ivan and he felt as if a pro scout had come out to watch his minor league match.

  “Don’t be nervous,” Fergus told him, right after giving him the news that Ivan would teach his next lesson. “He’s gruff but he’s brilliant.”

  Gruff didn’t quite capture it, thought Alex as Ivan strode into the ring. Terrifying was probably a more accurate description. The tall, white-haired man stopped in the center and crossed his arms high on his chest as he watched Alex warm up.

  He’s probably only ever taught elite riders, thought Alex. He’s going to think we’re crap.

  “As I was telling you earlier, Ivan, Alex has just come off the lunge line. He’s been riding his Turnip and our Princess. He has a very nice, natural seat and quiet hands,” said Fergus.

  “Alex, my dear. Would you please take up the reins and go over your basic paces on the root vegetable.”

  For the next ten minutes Alex walked, trotted, and then cantered Turnip. Fergus asked him to do ten-, fifteen-, and twenty-meter circles, loop serpentines, and figure-eights. Ivan watched, his face betraying nothing.

  “Okay, this is enough,” he said as he waved Alex into the middle of the ring.

  Alex wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of his glove and gave Turnip a pat.

  “This horse is how old?” asked Ivan.

  “We don’t quite know,” said Alex. “My dad got him from someone.”

  “I’m thinking he has a big heart,” said Ivan. Something about the way he said it made Alex’s own heart lurch in his chest. “He tries very hard but I’m thinking th
is is not for him.

  “I’m thinking he’s sore. It’s hard for him to go forward. He’s stiff in the hocks and the left shoulder. Maybe age, maybe too much work, too young.”

  Fergus nodded his agreement, and his usually cheery face was solemn. “That’s what I was worried about. Alex, you must have noticed he’s been getting stiffer since we started lessons.”

  Alex had noticed but he’d tried to convince himself that Turnip was just getting used to using different muscles. Now the truth was out. His dressage training was over practically before it had begun. “So I can’t ride anymore,” he said. He could feel heat prickling at the backs of his eyes.

  “Not this horse. He’ll be trying for you, but it will cost him too much.” Ivan’s stern face was gentle for once. “I’m sorry. You have no other horse?”

  Alex shook his head. There was no way he could afford to buy or even lease another horse. And he would never sell Turnip. The horse was his best friend. His savior. He knew his face was flushed. Suddenly he had to get out of the ring. He heard a scraping noise and looked over to see Cleo opening the gate and leading Tandava in for her first lesson with Ivan. The mare’s dark coat shone like polished mahogany and her step was light. The sight of them made Alex feel even more heartsick.

  “Okay. Well, thanks,” he said. He swung down off Turnip. “I’ll leave the saddle in the tack room.”

  “We’ll think of something,” Fergus called after him, but Alex didn’t stop. He couldn’t. He ignored Cleo’s quizzical look as he walked quickly past her. All he wanted was to jump on his horse and gallop away as fast as he could go, just like he used to. But he couldn’t even do that anymore.

  Grace found him in Turnip’s stall.

  “Alex?” she said, peering over the half door. The gelding’s head was lowered so it nearly rested on Alex’s shoulder. Alex had been sitting on the footstool in the corner for an hour and a half.

  “What are you doing in there?” Grace asked.

  “Nothing,” he said, wishing she would go away and leave him alone.

  “Alex, you’re hiding in your horse’s stall. You only do that when you’re upset.”

  “I’m not hiding.”

  “You can’t keep secrets from your auntie Grace. Come on now.”

  He shook his head, afraid that if he told her what had happened he’d start bawling or something.

  Grace opened the door and slipped into the stall with him.

  “They said Turnip can’t do dressage.”

  “Who did?”

  “My coaches. Fergus and Ivan.”

  “Why not?”

  “That guy who had him before me probably didn’t feed him properly. Worked him too hard when he was young. He’s fine for trail riding. You know, he’s not lame or anything. He just can’t do anything too demanding. Like dressage.”

  “Damn,” she said, sliding down to sit with her back against the wall. “You really like those dressage lessons.”

  “I like lots of things,” he said. “That doesn’t mean I get to do them.”

  “Actually, I’m not sure how many things you really do like,” said Grace. “This dressage stuff seems pretty important to you. I guess I can see why. From the little bit I’ve seen it’s cool in an uneventful sort of way. Cleo said you have a lot of talent.”

  Neither of them spoke for a minute or two. Then Grace changed the subject.

  “Your dad’s over at Ms. Reed’s,” said Grace.

  Alex shrugged. Lately his dad was always at Ms. Reed’s, at least when he wasn’t sleeping one off in his motor home. In a way it was a relief. Alex hadn’t had to pry him out of his lawn chair for weeks. With Mr. Ford always at Ms. Reed’s, it was even easier to avoid thinking about him than when he was in his trailer.

  “Didn’t you tell me once that Ms. Reed has a dressage horse?”

  Alex was surprised that Grace remembered. He’d forgotten Ms. Reed’s invitation to ride her horse. She stopped offering after she’d bagged his father.

  He nodded slowly.

  “I think we should go talk to her. See if she’ll still let you ride it. Especially if it does this dressage stuff.”

  The thought of having anything to do with Colette Reed made him feel vaguely queasy. But not as queasy as the thought of giving up dressage.

  Grace put a hand on his shoulder and pushed herself up. Then she reached down for his hand.

  “Come on, Depresso. I know she’s a little scary, but you won’t be riding her. Unlike your—”

  “Stop!” said Alex. “Don’t say any more.”

  “See? I knew I could take your mind off your troubles. You want to drive or you want me to?”

  “Can we walk?” asked Alex, as he brushed past his aunt on his way out of the stall.

  “What? And miss the opportunity to make the IROC backfire? Where’s your sense of adventure?”

  Alex had never actually been to Ms. Reed’s house. She didn’t seem interested in getting to know her new boyfriend’s family. Once Alex had seen her standing awkwardly in her red high heels outside the motor home, waiting for his father. Alex and his sisters and Grace had been on the deck having a late fall barbecue and Ms. Reed kept shooting them insincere little smiles.

  “You sure you don’t want to come in here and wait, Colette?” Alex’s father had called from the trailer.

  Ms. Reed shook her head quickly, as though living in an RV might be contagious.

  “You’re welcome to join us for a barbecued soy patty,” said Grace from the deck.

  “We’ve got ketchup,” said May.

  “And mustard,” added Maggie as further enticement.

  Ms. Reed grimaced at them.

  It seemed to Alex that she found the reality of her new boyfriend’s life distasteful. Or maybe she just didn’t like motor homes and veggie burgers. Either way, when Alex’s father emerged from his trailer, reeking of aftershave, she lost no time in heading back to the truck.

  “You sure you don’t want to join the kids for a bite?” Mr. Ford asked.

  She didn’t even bother answering. She just got in the truck and slammed the door.

  “I don’t think she’s going to be over here cooking Sunday dinner anytime soon,” Grace said, watching them drive off.

  “Thank God,” muttered Alex, visualizing Ms. Reed in one of her all-one-color business suits with an apron on top, clicking around their kitchen in her matching high heels.

  Ms. Reed’s acreage was neatly fenced with split rails. The shrubs and ferns surrounding the house were tastefully chosen and well placed. The paved circular driveway was swept clear. Mr. Ford’s big black truck and Ms. Reed’s champagne-colored Lexus were parked in front of the house.

  When Alex got out of the IROC the first thing he did was look around for a horse, but he couldn’t see one.

  “Do you think she still has the horse?” he asked nervously.

  Grace shrugged and dumped the keys into her big green purse. “She’d better. We’re not visiting for nothing.”

  Alex saw a small building at the end of the pasture that he thought might be a barn.

  “Maybe it’s in there.”

  Alex and his aunt stood side by side in the driveway, staring at the house, which was sided in cedar and had large windows all the way around. Alex saw someone move inside.

  “They’re in there,” he said. “We should knock or something.”

  “Shit,” said Grace, who seemed to be losing her nerve.

  “Come on,” he said, leading the way to the front door.

  He picked up the heavy iron knocker and let it fall.

  There was a rustling inside, then scraping and a click as a lock turned and the door slowly opened.

  Ms. Reed’s eyeliner was smudged into the wrinkles beneath her eyes. Her red hair was flat in several places, allowing her pink scalp to shine through. It was three o’clock in the afternoon and she wore a floor-length purple paisley dressing gown with gold satin trim and a gold belt.

  “Yes?” she sai
d.

  “Uh, hi, Ms. Reed.”

  Ms. Reed squinted at him suspiciously, as though he were a Jehovah’s Witness going from door to door.

  A shuffling, clomping noise came from inside the house and then the door opened wider.

  “We don’t want any—Son?” said his father, who was bleary-eyed but didn’t look quite as destroyed as Ms. Reed. At least his father was dressed.

  “Hi, Dad,” he said.

  “Alex? Grace?” said Mr. Ford. “What are you doing here?” Concern came into his eyes. “Everything okay with the girls? Did something happen to Darlene?”

  “Darlene?” asked Ms. Reed. “Who’s Darlene?”

  “His wife,” said Grace. “My sister.”

  “Ex-wife,” clarified Alex. “No, it’s not Mom. It’s nothing bad. I’m actually here to see Ms. Reed. Uh, Colette.”

  Ms. Reed still looked suspicious that he was going to try to give her some copies of Watchtower.

  “You mentioned once that you had a horse. A dressage horse. You said you were looking for someone to ride him,” said Alex.

  Ms. Reed frowned. “That’s right, I have a horse.”

  Alex waited for her to say something else but she didn’t.

  “I’m sort of looking for a horse to ride.”

  “What’s wrong with your Turnip?” asked Mr. Ford.

  “He’s getting older. It looks like he might have some arthritis or something.”

  “Damn good horse,” said Mr. Ford to no one in particular. “Alex here put a lot of training into that horse. Did real well on him at the local shows.”

  Ms. Reed looked from Grace to Alex to Mr. Ford and Alex could see her mind calculating. Finally she said, “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt Detroit to get some exercise.”

  “I take lessons,” said Alex. “At a barn in Yellow Point. It’s really close to here. If it’s okay with you I could take your horse over there for lessons.”

  Ms. Reed smacked her lips together and then stepped back and picked a highball glass off a three-legged table. She took a deep drink, then handed the glass to Mr. Ford. She pulled him close after he finished the last of the liquid. “I’m sure that would be just fine,” she said, batting her eyes at Alex’s father.