Another Kind of Cowboy

by Susan Juby

  22

  Cleo

  I ADMIT THAT mistakes were made.

  Mistake Number 1: Getting sent to Canada for crimes against vases and other household things.

  Mistake Number 2: Signing up with elderly and unpleasant dressage coaches who lack the ability to relate to the demanding social requirements of a vibrant young person such as myself.

  Mistake Number 3: Riding in close proximity to the unbearably focused and hardworking Alex Ford.

  Mistake Number 4: Having a few drinks with Jenny before my first class at the Mid-Island Spring Show, which was scheduled at the unreasonable hour of eight-thirty A.M.

  Mistake Number 5: Getting eliminated from my first class of the day. Due to being a bit under the weather, sobrietywise.

  I was sitting outside Tandava’s stall, still trying to sober up when Jenny walked over.

  She looked quite fresh considering she’d been up all night (I know because I was with her) and considering that she’s the one who gave me a couple of drinks this morning to help “settle my stomach.” Pre-ride drinking might work for jumpers, but it sure doesn’t work for dressage.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “I’m being punished.”

  She flashed a grin at me. “Did you run over the judge or something?”

  “I kind of went off course.”

  “Big deal,” she said. “I get eliminated for being off course practically every time I ride. It keeps things interesting.”

  “Not according to Fergus and Ivan.”

  “Oh well, stage a dramatic comeback during your freestyle this afternoon. That’ll get you in the good books again.”

  I snorted and half the blood vessels in my head threatened to burst. “They only have one good book and it’s full of Alex,” I said.

  She nodded. “Yeah, he’s an awesome rider. I watched his test earlier. He’s got a seat to die for.”

  “Well, he’s all about the hard work,” I said, making it sound like a bad thing. “Practice, practice, practice. Work, work, work. Try, try, try.”

  “That’s inconsiderate of him,” said Jenny.

  “Don’t I know. Anyway, don’t you have a class soon?” I asked.

  She smoothed her hands along her head and down the length of her ponytail.

  “I’ve got an exchange student grooming Rio for me. And getting her warmed up.”

  I made a mental note to find an exchange student to exploit. I’d have to convince Fergus and Ivan, but that would have to wait until they calmed down and started speaking to me again.

  A few minutes after Jenny left, Alex walked up. I could smell the focus coming off him, not to mention the clean leather, the shampooed hair, and the subtle aftershave. I couldn’t see him, however, since I had my forehead resting against my knees.

  “Cleo?”

  “Yeah,” I replied into my kneecaps.

  “What are you doing?”

  That got me to look up. “What do you mean?”

  His face was super stern, like a disappointed Grade Five teacher, or like my dad after the Chad episode.

  “What’s going on with you? I heard you rode a terrible test. And you were a mess this morning,” he said.

  “Jeez, what would I do without your unconditional support?”

  “You’re going to ruin your breeches.”

  I was sitting in a mix of sand, dirt, and sawdust in my white show breeches, with my back against the wall. Alex didn’t offer to help as I shoved myself up and then slumped into the folding chair.

  “Have you been drinking?” he asked.

  “You mean since last night?”

  “Were you drinking this morning?”

  I tried to make a dismissive noise but it sounded more like a baby spitting up.

  “I may have had a bit of a hair of the god this morning.”

  “Hair of the dog.”

  “That too.”

  “What were you doing last night?”

  “I went to a party in Nanaimo with Jenny. I was hoping to see R—I mean Cameron again.”

  His face got even more disapproving. What was his problem?

  “Did you?” he asked.

  “Did I what?”

  “See Cameron.”

  “No, but that doesn’t mean anything. We’re still seeing each other.”

  Alex stared at me, his brown eyes unreadable.

  “I don’t think…” He stopped and exhaled deeply.

  “As far as I’m concerned, you think too much,” I said. “Don’t criticize me for having a love life just because you’re so far in the closet you can’t even find the door.”

  He winced and I felt a prickle of guilt.

  “Cameron’s not the right guy for you. That’s all I’m trying to say.”

  “How do you know? Have you ever had a relationship that wasn’t with a horse? Have you even had a real friend your own age? You’re so obsessed with riding that there’s no room for people in your life.”

  He hesitated, then said, “Cleo, Cameron’s gay.”

  “Shut up. You wish.”

  “Cleo, he is.”

  “How would you know?”

  “I just know.”

  Jealous. He was just jealous. God, he was sounding more like my dad every minute.

  “Cameron and your friend Jenny don’t—”

  I cut him off. “Care about me? Give me a break. You’re just jealous and it’s pathetic. You can’t stand that I might be popular.”

  “Jealous? Of a spoiled, selfish little—”

  I was gone before he could finish. I heard him call after me, but I kept going until I couldn’t hear anything anymore.

  The thing is that I’ve heard it all before. Spoiled and selfish, all of it.

  After the detective caught Chad and me together, he called my dad, who came and got me. He was by himself. My mother was in a meeting and couldn’t get away.

  I went and sat in the car while the investigator spoke to my father. While I waited for him it occurred to me that it was the first time my dad ever picked me up for anything. I must have smiled at the thought, because when he got into the car he told me to wipe the smile off my face.

  “You’re just lucky I was available to pick you up,” he said, turning the car around jerkily. No wonder he always uses a driver, I thought.

  “Look, Dad, I’m sorry you had to hire an investigator,” I said.

  “We didn’t hire anyone. The insurance company did. You’ve made us look like damn fools.” Should have known better than to think that my parents cared enough to hire an investigator.

  “You want to tell me what the hell happened? The investigator says that you gave the guy access to our house.”

  “It wasn’t like that,” I said, suddenly wishing my mom or even Consuela had come to get me.

  “We’re going to the police station. Where the hell is the nearest one?”

  He drove faster and faster. I was clinging to the door handle. I was afraid to take my eyes off the road.

  “Stop it. Slow down. I don’t need…I don’t want to go to the police station.”

  “This guy, this driver, this Chad. Did he do something to you?”

  “No!”

  My dad gunned the car through a red light a second before it turned green. My words finally seemed to reach his brain and he slowed the car, wrenched the steering wheel to the side, and pulled over to the shoulder of the road.

  “What?”

  “He didn’t do anything to me.”

  “You wanted him to rob our house?”

  “Chad and I…” I stopped. We were playing a sexy little game wasn’t going to cut it.

  “You think this guy cares about you?” my father demanded.

  I didn’t reply. My face burned.

  “He doesn’t. He doesn’t give a shit about you. You’re just a spoiled, selfish little—”

  “I didn’t mean to,” I said. “You don’t have to get the police.”

  “You’re right,” he said
. “We’re not going to the cops, because you aren’t worth the bad press or the hassle.”

  He pulled back out onto the road and drove us home to the empty house. The next day my parents were gone when I woke up. A month later I was on my way to Stoneleigh.

  Closure, O’Shea style.

  MARCH 10

  23

  Cleo

  I FOUND JENNY lying on her horse in the warm-up ring.

  “Hey,” I said, leaning up against the fence. I was trying not to cry, so it seemed like a good idea to keep words to a minimum.

  “Ugh,” said Jenny.

  “Are you riding soon?”

  She sat up and stretched her arms to the sky.

  “I suppose so,” she said.

  “Jenny!” barked a voice. “Get that mare moving. Now!”

  I looked over to see Stoneleigh’s head coach, Vanessa Pringle, stride into the ring. Coach Pringle was probably in her midthirties, but working at Stoneleigh had aged her. She had one of those figures people call boyish and she always seemed right on the verge of having a coronary, like a big-league football coach. If anyone could use a day-long spa treatment, it’s her. As she walked into the middle of the ring, she swept her cap off her head. Her short hair was crushed against her scalp. She brushed it back a couple of times, then jammed the hat back on her head.

  “Have you moved this horse at all?” she asked Jenny.

  Jenny grinned down at her. “I didn’t carry her into the ring.”

  “Smart-ass. Have you warmed her up?”

  “Felicity did.”

  “I don’t want to know,” said Coach Pringle. “For God’s sake, at least walk her around until it’s your turn so she doesn’t tear something.”

  Jenny saluted languidly and moved Rio off in a slow-motion walk.

  Coach Pringle came and leaned against the fence near me.

  She looked at me briefly. “You’re the one with the big Holsteiner mare. You ride dressage.”

  I nodded.

  “Bloody nice horse,” she said. “You ever jump her?”

  I shook my head.

  “Those two,” she said, gesturing at Jenny, who was now listlessly trotting her horse around, “are a disaster. Lovely horse, talented rider, both headed straight into the crapper.”

  She watched as Jenny took Rio over a jump that was at least chest level, then brought her back to a walk.

  “You know, if you were my kid, I’d tell you to be careful around that one,” said Coach Pringle, letting her gaze rest on Jenny, who was slumped in the middle of the ring again. “You don’t want to get mixed up in her scene. Trust me on that.”

  “Yeah, thanks,” I said, even though I knew it was too late.

  I watched part of Jenny’s ride but after they barely cleared the huge second jump I started to feel dizzy and had to leave. I was practically hypothermic, so I went and stood by my car, which Jenny has nicknamed the Soccer Mom Mobile. I couldn’t bring myself to get into it.

  I don’t know when I’ve ever felt so lost, although to my knowledge, I’ve never really been found.

  What was I doing?

  I was still standing there ten minutes later when Frieda walked up.

  “Cleo,” she said in her husky voice. Frieda’s one of Jenny’s friends. With her wild, curly hair she stands about seven feet tall. Frieda is the coolest girl at Stoneleigh. She doesn’t ride and she never attends classes. All she does, as far as I can tell, is look good. She has this effortless, just-rolled-out-of-bed-with-a-rock-star-at-the-Chelsea-Hotel look we are all aiming for.

  “Whatcha doing?” she asked. Her navy pea coat was unbuttoned, her inexpertly knitted scarf so long it nearly brushed the ground.

  “I have no idea,” I said.

  “Come on.” I turned and followed her back toward the rings.

  Jenny and Rio stood just outside the jumper ring. Coach Pringle was talking to Jenny and gesturing unhappily.

  “What the hell were you doing in there?” Coach Pringle yelled.

  I couldn’t hear Jenny’s reply.

  “I know you don’t think I’m serious, but you’re wrong,” blared Coach Pringle.

  “Uh-oh,” said Frieda in this very unconcerned way.

  As we watched Jenny get chewed out, I heard someone near us grumble, “Those private school bitches think they’re all that. Half of them can’t even ride their fancy horses.”

  I turned to see who had spoken. A small group of riders in post-ride sweats and coats stood off to one side. I was glad my uniform was hidden under my duffel coat, but Frieda turned and fixed the girl with eyes like laser beams. Her untamed hair was electric and her long, slim neck made her look like an angry swan.

  “What did you say?” she asked.

  The girl who’d spoken blushed and stepped back behind her friends.

  “Maybe they’re stoned, eh?” whispered another girl in the group, making a play on the name of our school that was only funny when we said it.

  Just then Jenny walked up leading Rio, and the potential rumble was averted.

  “Cleo, my man, I need a drink,” said Jenny as she handed me the reins.

  I looked over to see Frieda still glaring at the girls.

  Jenny didn’t seem to notice or care. “Come on, ladies,” she said. “Let’s go get wasted.”

  Frieda and Jenny stalked off like two noblewomen who’d just come off a foxhunt. I followed, leading Rio. Like a stablehand.

  “Cleo, hon. Rio goes in there,” said Jenny, pointing to a stall with the Stoneleigh Academy white-board hung on the front. Most of the other Stoneleigh signs had the horse and owner names as well as emergency contact information printed on them. The stall Jenny pointed to had only the school name. Jenny hadn’t filled out Rio’s information.

  “Frieda and I are just going to take care of some business. We’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  Then Jenny and Frieda disappeared and left me holding Rio.

  I led the leggy chestnut mare into her stall, untacked her, and put her cooler on. I carried her saddle and bridle and splint boots over to the Stoneleigh trailer and got her a flake of hay. I filled her water bucket. Then I found the messiest and worst organized grooming box, guessing that it was Jenny’s. As I worked I felt virtuous and a little self-righteous. I reflected that this must be how Alex feels all the time. I wondered who was taking care of my horse. Well, obviously, Alex was. He and Fergus and Ivan. They would never let anything happen to Tandava.

  Rio stood between me and the door to the stall as I brushed her. I could hear some of the other girls from school coming back from their rides.

  “Holy near-death triple,” one girl said as she led her horse into the stall beside us.

  “No shit,” said another.

  “I’d love to know why they have to make every course as complicated as possible.”

  I smiled. Doesn’t matter what discipline you ride. Complaining is a language all horse people speak. I felt warm and safe in the stall with Rio as she peacefully munched her hay.

  “You see those girls talking to Frieda?”

  “Frieda was here?”

  “Yeah. She was waiting for Jenny.”

  Somebody muttered something I couldn’t hear.

  “What?” said someone else.

  “It’s no wonder the locals are throwing us attitude.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Frieda and Jenny are hard-core, man.”

  Another mumble.

  “Jenny’s okay.”

  “Jenny can’t remember a jump course to save her life. She’s going to ruin that horse.”

  Abruptly the voices stopped and I heard footsteps come toward Rio’s stall.

  I stayed absolutely still in the shadows of the corner as someone looked in.

  The footsteps retreated and the voices continued, “Come on, we all know she’s gone over to the dark side.”

  “Don’t exaggerate. She just likes to party.”

  “If that’s what you want to call it
.”

  “English, please.”

  “She’s been doing the big H.”

  “Shut up.”

  “For real.”

  “So what, she’s like some IV drug user now? A junkie?”

  “I don’t know if she’s doing needles, but she’s definitely smoking it.”

  “Jenny’s a bit of a lush puppy, but she’s not a…a smacker.”

  “I believe the term is smackhead. And yes, she is. Rachel saw her doing it at a party.”

  “You gonna tell Coach?”

  “Are you kidding? She’s already on the verge of kicking Jenny off the team.”

  “Damn. I was hoping we’d win this year. It’s not going to happen if our top rider’s some addict. Anyway, why couldn’t she get addicted to something that’s at least performance enhancing?”

  “Like Christopher Jones. He’s a coke fiend and he won a World Cup.”

  “You should suggest it to her.”

  They all laughed.

  “’Course, he got caught and now he’s suspended for life.”

  “Details, details.”

  “Hey, you should probably check and see if Rio has some food. Jenny never even brushes that horse anymore. It’s a miracle she’s still on four legs.”

  “Totally neglected.”

  I moved farther into the dark corner of the stall behind Rio when someone walked over and looked in.

  “Yeah, she’s eating. She’ll be fine.”

  While the other Stoneleigh girls laughed and joked and put their horses away, I huddled in the corner, trying not to make any noise.

  MARCH 10

  24

  Alex

  HE’D BEEN WALKING Detroit in the field behind the indoor arena for almost an hour when Chris found him.

  “Is everything okay? You’ve been walking around back here for quite a while now. You’re missing the rest of the show.”

  “It’s fine,” said Alex. He knew he sounded irritable. Impatient.

  Chris pushed his hands deep into the pockets of his parka.

  “When you get finished, do you want to do something? You know, later. With me and Sofia, or…” Chris hesitated. “Or just me.”