Even Cowboys Get the Blues

by Stuart, Amie

  I knew going out with him had been a mistake. I’d known it as I slipped in the truck, startled by the deep sadness in his brilliant aquamarine eyes. I’d known it as I’d sat enthralled over dinner at his stories about Rene, and his brothers, and the horses he’d trained. I’d known it at the piano bar as we’d laughed and sang along to silly songs and songs from our youth. A youth I had spent living in what amounted to a halfway house with a reformed prostitute.

  I’d known it every time he touched me, every time he looked at me, and when he leaned down and said he was ready to leave, his deep voice a sexy rumble in my ear. The blues bar had cast its own form of voodoo over both of us. I’d been just as drawn into the music as he, remembering my childhood and Pere Phillipe, my godfather, who’d let me, at nine, watch New Orleans’ infamous Mardi Gras parade from his balcony.

  I’d known it on the dance floor, in the feel of his hands on my hips and at the base of my spine, in his lips in my hair, the feel of his erection pressed against my abdomen. And I’d allowed myself to be pulled, to be swayed by my Flirty Boy’s seduction. I’d felt it, an invisible bubble around us as we’d hurried through the warm June evening to his truck as though we were anxious to get home and fall into each other’s arms like the lovers we weren’t, and would never be.

  After tossing and turning and staring at the ceiling all night I finally gave up, crawling from beneath the covers as dawn peeked through the windows. Once I was dressed I walked to the convenience store on the corner and then turned toward Bluebonnet’s town proper. I walked across the bridge that spanned the Brazos tributary, heading back the way I’d come. Other than the occasional car and a few squirrels, I never saw another soul, and my little jaunt had succeeded in neither tiring me out nor helping me figure out how to solve the problem of what to do about Tim.

  Back in my tiny apartment, I whipped up some pancakes and made syrup from frozen strawberries. The dancehall was open tonight, and in my sleep-deprived condition, if I didn’t get a nap, it would make for a very long day.

  As I stood on Kellie’s porch with a plate of pancakes and homemade syrup, I reached one very sad, very firm conclusion:

  I could never go out with Tim Caldwell again.

  BY THE TIME he got home Wednesday night, Tim couldn’t decide whether to get rip-roaring drunk, take a cold shower, or jack off. He pulled into the driveway and parked, glancing at the clock on his dash and then Rene’s window. It was just after eleven, but he felt as if he’d almost lived another lifetime in the few hours he’d spent with Toni.

  Inside the house, it smelled like lemon furniture polish from Saturday’s cleaning spree, and he found the silence heavy as if it were pressing down on him. Again, he was distracted by thoughts of Charlene and her latest letter. Which he supposed was better than being distracted by thoughts of Toni.

  He locked up, hung up his keys, and paused at the bottom of the stairs, debating whether to check on Rene or not. Her light was off, so he decided not. He wasn’t in the mood for her shit. He grabbed a beer from the fridge and headed for his bedroom, closed the door, and locked it behind him. He took a long pull of the icy cold brew and set the bottle on his dresser as it burned a path down his throat. With a sigh, he tugged off his boots and threw them through the open closet door.

  He stood to undress, his fingers slowing on the buttons of the shirt as he glanced from the photo of his parents to his own reflection in the dresser mirror. Genetics were such a funny thing. The resemblance between him, his father, and Rene had always amazed and saddened him. Sadly, thanks to the fire that killed his parents, he had few photos of them to compare himself to, or even share with Rene.

  For a moment, he felt a lot older than twenty-nine. The corners of his goatee and the temples of his dark hair were already touched with gray. Not much, but he directly attributed each and every one of those to Rene and the hell she had put him through over the last year.

  Of course, none of this had anything to do with Toni, or did it? Where had she come by those oddly colored eyes of hers? Her height? Her husky laugh? Even the scar she tried to hide.

  Tim sipped his beer as his hard-on slowly dissipated and wondered at the sparks between them and her bizarre behavior when he dropped her off. He’d known skittish women, but she’d taken it to a whole new level. He finished undressing, carried his beer to the nightstand, turned on the lamp and killed the overhead light. He slipped beneath the covers, wearing nothing but his briefs, propped his head on a pillow and wracked his brains, trying to put together all the puzzle pieces that made up Toni duBois.

  He couldn’t have admitted it to Zack, but with her, it wasn’t just a case of wanting to scratch his itch. With her it was something more than sex, but that, too. With her, it was about being close to her. He wanted to hear her laugh. Really laugh. And as weird as it sounded, he wanted to see her cry. To see if she was ticklish. He wanted to touch her, and make her come, whether she came beneath him with his cock buried inside of her, or she came lying on her back, his head buried between her thighs, pushing her to the very limits. The thought of hearing her scream and knowing he’d pleased her, knowing he could please her over and over again brought his erection back full force.

  He sighed, torn between the cold shower and just ignoring it, praying his hard on would go away. He took one long last pull off his beer and slid from between the sheets. In the bathroom the ceramic tiles were cold against his bare feet, and he cursed the chilly air as he climbed beneath the warm spray. The indignity of coming home with a hard-on and having to jack off hit him full force as he stood there pouring shampoo in his hand for lubricant. It almost wasn’t worth the effort, but he knew he wouldn’t get any sleep until he’d relieved the aching pressure in his balls.

  Besides, he thought, wrapping his hand around his cock, tomorrow night she’d be bartending. He stroked himself, eyes closed, one arm propped against the tile wall, his head resting on his arm and thought about her. Thought about her hands on his body, her body beneath his. Somewhere deep inside, as he found his release, he made the decision to see her again, to not give up, until she let him in–and not just physically.

  He’d chase her like he’d never chased a woman. And he wouldn’t stop until she was his.

  DADDY HAD WOKEN up Thursday morning a total bear. I figured if The Witch wasn’t putting out, then she must be holding out, and that was bad. Very bad. She was holding out for the big leagues, the big time, the big ring–the rock even.

  She wanted marriage.

  I’d be damned if I survived three years of Skinner and her shit only to fall victim to a bigger enemy, so after Daddy left for the bar Thursday night, I sat on my bed, a pile of change and bills in front of me.

  I’d decided to buy her off. Either I’d bribe her to sleep with Daddy, so he could get her out of his system, or bribe her to leave the damned state and go back to wherever the hell she’d come from. I didn’t know if two hundred thirty-seven dollars was enough, but it was all I had, every penny I’d saved for nearly two years in hopes of hiring a private detective to search for my mother. Another lost cause. I’d always had some vague plan in the back of my mind to find my mom, bring her home and reunite her and Daddy. Of all the screwed up schemes I’d ever come up with, that one honestly took the cake. I was stupid. It was stupid. But it was money well saved, and I figured my plan to get rid of Toni was pretty damn solid.

  So maybe it was time to dedicate my slush fund to a better cause–the demise of The Wicked Witch of the West. I had every intention of going to the dancehall with Daddy on Friday night and confronting her when he wasn’t around. Hopefully, her immediate greed would outweigh her long-term greed. After all, a bird in the hand was worth a bunch in a bush–or something like that. Decision made, I headed for the bathroom and washed my face with the stuff Aunt Delaney had bought me and then settled in to do my very last English homework assignment.

  The next afternoon, when Gram picked me up from summer school, I begged her to take me by the store and let m
e get stuff to make Daddy’s favorite dinner.

  “Why Rene, that’s so sweet of you to cook your daddy dinner.”

  Her enthusiasm almost made me feel guilty, but this was war, and one of the few dishes I could cook was enchiladas. Luckily it was also his favorite dish. We even picked up a brownie mix. It wasn’t homemade, but Daddy wouldn’t care.

  “Do you need any help, sweetheart?” Gram asked as we unloaded groceries from the back of her suburban.

  “No, ma’am.” I held the door for her and let her enter ahead of me. Lately I’d been worried. Gram had lost weight, and not in the good way. She looked as if a stiff wind might blow her into a million pieces, and she would disappear in the swirling gusts. I knew it was due in part to Aunt Delaney moving in, but I also suspected a lot of it had to do with Aunt Rhea leaving Uncle Ty. I wasn’t sure which weighed on her more, since she’d practically raised Aunt Rhea while Aunt Dee wasn’t even hers.

  I followed her into the kitchen, and we put the groceries away. “My goodness, why does your daddy keep it so hot in here?” she asked, bustling around me to the thermostat in the hallway.

  “He’s cheap?”

  She chuckled and wrapped her arms around my waist, pulling me close. I wrapped mine around her neck and hugged her super-hard, my head on her shoulder.

  “Thanks Gram,” I whispered, stifling another twinge of guilt at my duplicity. She squeezed me tight and pushed me away, holding me at arm’s length. Her smile quivered.

  “I’m sure proud of you, Rene. I know summer school was difficult, but you did it. So pat yourself on the back.”

  I kissed her cheek and hugged her again, and once again, she held me at arm’s length. “Your daddy promised me he’d talk to you about sex.” Her ivory skin turned pink as she struggled to meet my eyes. “But just in case you don’t feel comfortable talking to him, and you have questions, I want you to know you can come to me or your Aunt Susie.”

  I nodded and kissed her cheek, scrambling to put her out of her misery. “Dad did a great job.” I was such a liar, but I loved her too much to upset her. “And Nurse Handy told me all about periods.” I smiled and nodded, glancing at the clock on the microwave behind me. “Daddy will be in soon. I should get busy on dinner if I wanna surprise him.”

  She nodded and swallowed, a sigh of relief escaping her trembling lips, “I should get home and start your Poppy’s dinner also. When your daddy comes in, I’ll send him this way.”

  “Love you, Gram.”

  “Love you too, sweet pea.”

  Once she was gone, I set to making the brownies and enchiladas—with onion and extra garlic. If nothing else, I figured his breath would turn her off.

  By the time Daddy finally got home it was nearly seven. I’d waited so long to eat, my tummy grumbled only to grumble again every time I turned around.

  He came in covered in so much dust it had even penetrated the creases in the corners of his eyes, and his skin looked almost gray. He looked at me as if I’d lost my mind or had six heads or announced I was moving in a commune.

  “You cooked.” His words almost sounded like an accusation.

  “Yes, sir.” I smiled at him, and kept my fingers folded in my lap, my tone as calm and proper as I could manage.

  “Why?”

  “If you’re going to act like a freaking ingrate after I slaved in this hot-ass kitchen, I’ll take your enchiladas to Uncle Ty.” I leaned back in my chair and crossed my arms, making my best pouty-face.

  “You only cook when you want something.” Frowning, he leaned again the refrigerator and crossed his own arms.

  “I wanted to go to the dancehall tonight and celebrate, since summer school is over,” I reminded him.

  “Did you pass? Where’s your report card?”

  “I baked it in the damned enchiladas,” I yelled. I hopped up, shoved my chair toward the table as hard as I could, and stormed out of the kitchen. This wasn’t how I thought things would go, but with Daddy, guilt was a huge motivator. Not three minutes later he knocked on my bedroom door.

  “What,” I screeched. When I heard the doorknob turning, I buried my face in the pillow.

  “J’eat?”

  “What do you care?” I whined in my most pitiful voice.

  “I’m leaving in an hour. As soon as I eat and get cleaned up. If you want to go, you better eat, too, and clean up your mess in the kitchen.”

  Yes! I might not get an apology, but I almost always got what I wanted. In this case, what I wanted was a trip to the dancehall–and my damn dinner. I hopped up and hustled downstairs while he showered. When he entered the kitchen twenty minutes later, he looked tired but much cleaner. I almost considered offering to wait until tomorrow night, afraid he was only going because I’d said I wanted to.

  Over the sound of water running and dishes clanking I heard the words that changed my mind. “Tomorrow afternoon I’m taking Toni junking for car parts.”

  Fuck it! This was war.

  After the dishes were done, I changed then stashed my money in the bottom of a little-used purse, pausing long enough to throw some lipgloss on top. What the hell? Might as well look nice while I’m getting rid of her.

  When we arrived at the dancehall, the parking lot was nearly full. “Are Gram and Poppy here?” Their Suburban hadn’t been in the driveway when we left.

  “Your Pop had plans to take your Gram out to dinner.”

  “What about Aunt Delaney?”

  “Nope. Her and your Uncle Ty were going to the movies.” As we crossed the gravel parking lot, he rested one hand on my shoulder. “I know you want to celebrate, and I’m proud of you for passing English, but I’ve had a really long day, and I don’t want to stay too late.”

  I smiled up at him. “Just an hour?”

  “An hour is fine, baby,” he replied, holding the door for me.

  From inside came the distinctive sounds of Aunt Jessa belting out a popular country song. At the bar we waited as Daddy ordered a beer for himself and a Coke for me. Toni handed our drinks over, her weirdly colored eyes traveling from him to me and back again.

  So this was the enemy.

  Up close she scared me even more. Why would my dad even want to sleep with her? I raised my eyebrows and my glass to her, before taking a sip and discovering she’d added a cherry to my Coke. Frowning, I yanked it out and threw it on the bar.

  “What the hell did you do that for?” Daddy glared at me, one elbow resting on the bar. I looked from him to her, struck once again at how much she reminded me of a porn star. Not that I’d seen a lot of porn stars but…Internet.

  “I hate maraschino cherries,” I yelled so he’d hear me over the music—and her, too.

  “Well, next time don’t be so rude.” With a slight nudge, he stepped past me and quickly disappeared in the crowd, most of whom I’ve known all my life. She picked up the cherry, and it disappeared from the countertop, while I stood there and studied her. She met me stare for stare until a customer called her away.

  I tightened my grip on my heavy purse as I waded through the crowd searching for Daddy, so I could bum some money off of him for the arcade games. There was no way I was using my money. That was for her.

  I could play Tetris and watch through the gameroom’s arched doorway for her to pass by on her break. And spy on her, in case she didn’t go outside but snuck to the break room in the back. No matter where she went, I’d still get to her. At least as long as she went on break before Daddy dragged me home.

  “Daddy, Dad.” I tugged at his sleeve and poked him in the back, knowing if I bugged him enough, he’d give me whatever I wanted, so I would go away. I kept tugging and poking, waiting on him to finish talking and answer me.

  He turned around and scowled at me. “Jesus, Rene!”

  “I need money.”

  The big, red-faced, red-necked, fat asshole standing next to him started to laugh. “Ain’t that just like a woman.” He looked me up and down, and I resisted the urge to hide behind Daddy who had
his hand stuffed in his back pocket, digging out his wallet. Mr. Beer Belly made me glad I didn’t really have boobs.

  “So help me God, they’re born like that, ain’t they?” he drawled. If he’d said it any louder, they would have heard him in Bexar county.

  “Asshole,” I shot back from behind Daddy’s elbow.

  “She’s all right.” Between gusts of laughter, Dad dug out a ten and handed it to me with a kiss on the cheek. Behind him, I could hear Redneck still sputtering and cursing.

  “God damn. You need to teach her some fucking manners.”

  I opened my mouth, but Dad, who was frowning, shook his head and waved me off. “Nice friend you got there, Dad.”

  He gave me a little shove as he turned back to Mr. Beer Belly and said, “My daughter’s manners are none of your fucking business.”

  Not bothering to hang around and watch Dad chew his ass, I took off, waving the ten in the air and glaring at some drunk cowboy who tried to snatch it out of my hands.

  In the game room, I swapped out my ten for a pocketful of quarters and headed for the Tetris game, but some geek with glasses and his friends were hogging it. Oh well, they probably needed the excitement more than me anyway. I stood back and watched from between their gangly bodies as he worked his way through different levels. I leaned against the back of a booth, keeping one eye on the door, until one of the boys flashed a smile my way. He waved me over, and with a shrug, I stepped closer. This way, at least, I could keep a better eye on the door. He wasn’t much taller than me and had freckles and pale peach fuzz on his upper lip.