by Baxter Black
Feliz remained docile.
“So . . .” asked Wally Okima, the presiding proprietor, “are we ready? We are gathered here together . . .”
CHAPTER 71
December 10, Saturday, 9:00 p.m.
The Wedding
After the “I do”s Wally asked, “Do you wish to exchange rings?”
Pica, who had remained in a bumfoozled trance during Cooney’s lengthy oration and fisticuffs, said, “We don’t have a ring.”
“Honey,” said Trisket, “you take mine. I’ll get another.”
“Oh, no! I couldn’t!” said Pica, slowly rising from the misfiring synapses of confusion. “I couldn’t.”
Bumfoozled, Pica has had quite a day: breaking and entering, thievery, modeling, being tied up, gagged, drugged, fought over, ziplined, escaped, and now a new bride. It’s no wonder her synapses overloaded. She’s like a lot of us: We just need a little time to let things sink in.
“Yes, you can,” said Trisket, gently forcing the ring into Pica’s hand. “You have so much to live for. And you’ve got a man who’s willing to donate his organ to keep you alive. I insist. You never know how much time you have left.”
Pica finally focused and was touched. “How about I trade you this mink coat for your ring, hey?”
Now it was Trinket’s turn to be nonplussed. Pica assured her, “Those evil men in Caracas made me wear it. You can make it clean again.” She turned so Bull could help her off with the fur coat.
“Okay,” gushed Trinket with tears in her eyes. Then, like a magician whisking his cape away to expose the white tiger on the stage, Pica was suddenly revealed in her tropical feathered bodysuit finest!
“Whoa!” said everybody.
“I’d give two rings for that!” said an anonymous spectator.
Wally was caught in the headlights. It took a long four seconds for Bull to react and drape the coat back on Pica. Only it now opened in the back!
There was a moment of embarrassed self-consciousness in all the immediate parties, then Pica spoke: “Twister, Twissle . . .?”
Trisket said, “Trisket. Please call me ‘Trisky’ . . . like ‘Risky as Whiskey’ Trisky.”
“Trisky, you’ve been so kind. We, my . . .” she looked at Cooney, “my man, this man and I are on a mission, so to speak, in a hurry, and I can’t go dressed like this. Would you consider trading clothes with me? It’s Spandex, ya know. Fits anybody. I could send you a check later.”
A big smile spread across Bull’s face.
“It could be like a trousseau for your wedding night . . .” Pica continued.
“What do you think?” said Trisket, looking up at Bull with a twinkle in her eye.
Bull was thinking how hard it would be to take it off—off Risky Trisky, not off Pica. But then he figgered they would have plenty of time tonight. “If that’s what you want, little darlin’, it would suit me fine.”
“Do you have a dressing room?” Trisket asked Wally.
“Not really, but you can use my office. It has a private bathroom. I usually rent it out fo . . . Aggggg!”
Snag had stepped forth and clasped a large paw on Wally’s clavicle. He clamped down, and Wally pee-peed in his pants. “I think it would be nice if you would let these fine ladies borrow the john for a few minutes at no charge,” said Snag menacingly.
It took several minutes for Pica and Trisket to accomplish the switch. Pica didn’t feel right taking Trisket’s boots, but Trisket pointed out that the mink coat was worth several thousand, and she could buy new boots for $159.
They reappeared in the chapel to find that the grooms had already settled up with Wally and that all that was lacking were the signatures of the new brides. That accomplished, Trisket and Bull wanted to take their Siamese couple out on the town, but Cooney graciously declined. He had already asked for someone to hail a cab.
“You got the bag?” Pica asked Cooney, who had retrieved it from behind the arbor where it had fallen in the fight.
“Yes, Ma’am!” he said.
She started for the door.
“Stop, just a second,” Cooney said to Pica, touching her shoulder.
“We’ve got to . . .” she protested.
“I know, just turn around for a second,” he urged.
She did. They were standing in the lobby looking back into the chapel. A warm band of good-hearted people was watching them leave. They were smiling and holding up small plastic communion cups filled with grape juice that Wally had furnished, at no charge, in celebration for the newlyweds. “We love you!” shouted Trisket, who looked so fine in her new mink coat.
“Have a wonderful life!” they yelled.
“Take a deep breath,” said Cooney. “Blow it out. Sometimes you gotta thank the bronc.”
The cabbie honked his horn. Our two heroes climbed into the back and slammed the door.
“Thomas and Mack,” ordered Pica.
The cab left the curb, and Cooney took out his cell phone and rang Straight. The conversation was short. Cooney said to Pica and the driver, “The rodeo’s over. Take us to the Shazam!”
CHAPTER 72
December 10, Saturday Night
The Big OTT Party After
The Last Performance
OVER THE TOP ATHLETIC COSMETICS, makers of LIP LASTER, was throwing an invitation-only party in a small Shazam Casino and Hotel ballroom. More than one hundred cowboys, reporters, and at least three agents were seated at round tables or standing and visiting and enjoying drinks from the open bar and the hotel’s hors d’oeuvres. Turk Manniquin, KroAsha LaTourre, and Nova Skosha mingled with their guests.
The big buzz on the crowd’s collective lips was about Straight turning his horse out in honor of his friend Cooney who, the rumors now said, was in the hospital. It was a human-interest story that brought a tear to the eye of those who cherished the value of a friend.
Turk Manniquin had said to Straight: “I still don’t get what you did. I understand that you turned your horse out so you wouldn’t beat Cooney, but he was in the hospital. It wasn’t anybody’s fault. If you’d ridden your last bronco . . .”
“Just ‘bronc,’” corrected Straight. “‘Bronco’ is a football team.”
“Okay,” said Turk. “Your last bronc. You could have won the NFR average all to yourself. First in the average paid forty thousand! You could have won it all! As it is, you have to split the tie money for second and third, which left you with twenty-nine thousand! Can you afford to throw money away like that? I mean, it’s like throwin’ a game, not doin’ your best. You’d never make it in basketball or the big sports. Seems like you could have at least faked it, fell off, maybe, make it look like you tried.”
Straight knew that any explanation he gave to Turk would not help him understand. He said, “All I can say is there is more to the story than meets the eye. I don’t know if it would ever make sense to you, but what I did . . . it was the right thing to do.”
Turk smiled a big smile and shook his head. “You guys are different. I ought to know that by now. I hope Cooney is gonna be all right. I want you to know that the way it worked out, you being able to join us in the booth at the finals and all . . . your success after just making the cut . . . it was a good story, and I’m proud . . .” he started to say “you’re on our team,” but changed it to, “I got the chance to work with you.”
Professional rodeo, more than any other sport, is an individual competition. Those who are playing for a team have an obligation to those people paying their salaries or their tuition or to their team members.
Both professional golf and tennis are also individual competitions. But at the pro level the endorsement fees are so astronomical in these two sports that it would be hard to imagine one of their stars not participating in a final set or skipping three holes to avoid
beating another player.
I have no example in real life of this happening in rodeo, but if I was a bettin’ man, I wouldn’t be surprised if it happens now and then.
Cowboys are pretty independent. They’re funny that way.
Allow me to quote Owen Ulph, author of Fiddleback: Lore of the Line Camp:
“The cowboy is the rebel against the gods of the multitude. A creative, integrated, compulsively self-reliant personality type with which the west, factual and fictional, was as speckled as a spotted hound. Despite the frequent irreverent and apparently reprehensible aspects of external conduct, he is the seed bearer and essential core of all ethical cultures. Inside him burns the celestial fire. He rides the point.”
The voice of Nova Skosha carried over the crowd: “Ladies and gentlemen . . .”
Turk looked at his watch. He said to Straight, “Pardon me, Straight, it’s time. You are welcome to sit at my table if you’d like.”
“I’ll join you in a few minutes, hey,” said Straight. “I’ve got a couple things to attend to.”
“Fine,” Turk said and moved his six-foot-seven body through the tight crowd like he was turning into the key for a lay-up.
Nova was finishing her introduction.
“We at OVER THE TOP ATHLETIC COSMETICS, makers of LIP LASTER, welcome all of you rodeo fans to our little ta-do tonight. I hope you have enjoyed the hospitality. It gives me great pleasure to introduce to you a man many of you sports fans know, the president and founder of OTT, Mr. Turk Manniquin!” Nova gestured toward Turk, who strode upon the stage to enthusiastic applause.
Turk waited for the crowd to settle and spoke: “Thank y’all for coming. Some of you may wonder why a basketball player would involve himself in the sport of rodeo. I don’t have a horse, had never been to a rodeo until this year. The only cowboys I know play football!” People laughed. “Also the only broncos I know are football players, too!”
“The spurs we know don’t come from San Antonio!” someone shouted.
“Touché,” said Turk. “We make cosmetics for athletes. Even the toughest athletes need good deodorant, hair cream, foot powder, skin-care products, shaving lotion, sunscreen . . . and lip balm! When we were planning our marketing strategy for LIP LASTER we saw the image of the cowboy wearing lip balm as striking and unusual. That was when we found Straight Line!”
Turk spoke for several more minutes about his company and how much he enjoyed being a part of rodeo, then slid into the next phase. “We don’t intend to bore you with any more of our sales promotion. I’m just pleased y’all could come and join us. And now we have a surprise for you cowboys and cowgirls. As you know, two months ago the fantastic Oui Oui Reese became our latest LIP LASTER girl.”
Several hoots and whistles came from the crowd. It made Turk smile.
“She has taken LIP LASTER to new heights, and we love her . . . put your hands together and welcome a star in its ascendancy . . . Miss Oui Oui Reese!”
A hearty welcome ensued.
Oui Oui took the stage like Sir Edmund Hilary taking Mount Everest.
File, backstage, controlled the sound system and began her canned music with “Hey, Big Spender, Spend a Little Time with Me.”
She was wearing an outfit that made you think of the Dallas Cowboys cheerleaders. A plunging neckline, a waistband, and, to her credit, a real, genuine black western hat. The suit differed in that a skirt fell from her beltline clear to the floor but was split up the front.
Her hair was dark blonde with highlights and fell in waves over her bare shoulders. Dangling earrings and bracelets sparkled against her light tanned skin. She slithered up to the microphone and said, “Who wants to dance?” It sounded like a proposition.
The music changed to a bit of heavy bass, slow tempo jazz/blues. Oui Oui began to undulate and sway. Imperceptibly at first. But as the tempo picked up she began to rotate and swivel and writhe. It was then that the crowd noticed there was a bucking horse machine on the stage.
Like a mechanical bull, it was capable of simulating a ride. But instead of a bull rope to hold on to, it had a bareback rigging. A handhold like a suitcase handle was over the withers.
A mane as well as a tail had been added to the molded body.
Oui Oui flowed in the direction of the machine. There was a musical crescendo! She whirled like an ice skater and in one motion grasped her skirt and peeled it off! She was wearing chaps!
In one smooth motion she swung her right leg over the machine’s body and scooted up against the riggin’ and its handle. She scootched and snuggled and petted the hide-covered machine.
The CD player started to play a slow, rhythmic groaning. Like heavy breathing. The bucking horse machine began to tip forward, then back. Rocking slowly. With each movement Oui Oui’s legs reached out around the horse machine’s neck, then doubled back to rake the sides.
Her boots were spurless but came up to her knees, which one noticed when the chaps flew open as she rocked and fired to the beat of the moaning.
The crowd was mesmerized.
As the music grew more demanding her intensity increased. The bucking was growing faster and more jolting and perfectly coordinated with the sound track. Suddenly the lights went out, and a golden beam spotlighted the performance! She glowed. Her skin had been painted with some reflective substance so that her skin sparked electric blue!
The audience was coming to realize that it actually was a dance! The special effects, her graceful, powerful movements, her flying hair, reaching limbs, and painted face became surreal. Her performance continued to a climax and ended in a frenzy when she flipped backward off the horse and landed on her feet!
The lights came back up. Oui Oui moved to center stage, her chest heaving and her breath coming in gusts. One might have expected that she would have been wrung out, but her cheerleader halter top was still snug and tight, and you could now see that she was wearing net stockings under her chaps.
CHAPTER 73
December 10, Saturday Night
Still at the OTT Party
During the standing ovation for Oui Oui Reese, Straight stuck his head out the ballroom door and looked down the hall for the tenth time. There they were! Coming his direction were Pica and Cooney.
“Hey,” said Straight, “you’re right on time! Oui Oui is on stage.”
Cooney showed him the photo of Oui Oui holding the feathered halter top up in front of her. It was obvious she was standing on a beach: bikini, sand, ocean. Certainly incriminating. Then he lifted the bag that held the halter top that was in the photo.
“That ought to nail it down, hey?” Straight said with a big grin.
Cooney looked unkempt, which was normal for him. It was also apparent that Pica had not had time to do much primping. She was wearing tight jeans, motorcycle boots, a turquoise T-shirt, and a leather jacket. She looked fairly good, but her hair had gone wild! It had the look of a lion’s mane. And even though she wore no lipstick, her lips were plump, pink, full, and as succulent as a puckering tulip.
She had a look of determination on her face. “You ready?” she asked Cooney.
“After you, Ma’am,” he said and handed her the photo and the sack.
On stage Oui Oui was wearing a full-body net stocking, covered with leopard spots. She was mounted on a unicycle and carrying two bullwhips.
The music behind her was a light flowing melody with the occasional nervous brass riff. She was moving in a pattern around on the stage, smoothly laying out the whips like a fly fisherman laying the line.
Her long hair had been swept up on top of her head and tied in a knot She was wearing a cat’s-eye mask.
Cooney and Pica followed Straight through the tables over to Turk and his crew seated with him.
All eyes were on Oui Oui, and the room was darkened except for the stage. Thus,
when Straight came up behind the OTT table, the occupants were caught unawares. He approached between Turk and Nova Skosha. Straight squatted to his knees and laid the photo down on the table between them. They looked down. Their table was near the stage; thus, the photo was easily seen.
Turk looked at it, then back at Straight. He put on his half-glasses and picked it up. Nova saw immediately what it was and was aghast. “Oh, no,” she said. “Oh, no, no, no . . .”
KroAsha, who was on the other side of Turk, was looking at the photo in his hand.
“Da feathers done hit da fan,” she said.
Behind her Pica pulled the feathered halter top out of the sack and set it down in front of KroAsha.
KroAsha picked up one end of it and looked at the beautiful, unique natural design of the feathers of the endangered Tetuchton Pavo Real. She looked at Turk as the import of what they were seeing sunk in between them.
“What . . .” he began just as Pica picked up the halter top and started for the stage.
Oui Oui was in her own world. Under the spotlight she could not see past the first row of tables in front of her. She was working her unicycle-whip-dance routine and had the crowd in her hands. It like she was dancing with snakes.
Suddenly she was distracted by a person jumping up onto a table front and center. Oui Oui was circling in a pattern, lacing the air with her whip lashes, yet craning her neck to keep her eyes on the intruding specter.
The head she saw was all hair and mouth. Then the figure thrust her right arm up into the air, presenting a feathered trophy like Cochise displaying a mortal enemy’s scalp! Oui Oui recognized it immediately.
“Where did you get that?” she roared. “That is mine!”
Pica D’TroiT tossed the feathered prize over her shoulder and leaped from the table to the stage! Oui Oui reared back with her right arm, cocking the whip. The snake end of the left whip lay quietly on the ground. Pica dove for it, picking it up on the roll and tumbling to Oui Oui’s left side on the unicycle. The right whip flew around and cracked impotently where Pica had just been.