by Lynn Shurr
At least his sister, Lizzie, had been a little less obvious in strategically positioning her youngest daughter, Lisa, right next to Rex when Joe brought out Rascal, the trick horse, for a brief show. Thanks to Joe and not to Lizzie’s alcoholic husband, Lisa had gone to nursing school, recently graduated, and found work at one of the Lafayette hospitals. All men fantasized about sexy nurses, and his niece brought the goods. She owned the Billodeaux eyes like large pools of melted dark chocolate. Her curly black hair rioted untamed around her face. As far as figures went, she wasn’t tall but very nicely stacked. With her sandaled feet resting on the bottom rung of the corral fence and her cute little rump clad in white short shorts thrust out a bit as she leaned her bare tanned arms on the top bar, Rex couldn’t help but notice her. They struck up a conversation. Good.
In a few years, his fifteen-year-old twin girls would resemble Lisa. Joe checked their whereabouts with a father’s eyes. Nell said no dating until next year. He agreed. In fact, he’d be happy if they didn’t go out with guys until college, maybe not even then. There they stood side by side being ogled and amused by Prince Dobbs, the teen dressed like a gangsta and hung with gold chains.
Xochi, his adopted Mexican daughter, stood with them hanging back a little, shy ever since she’d burst into bloom at the age of twelve and boys couldn’t seem to raise their eyes from her well-developed bustline anymore. He’d only seen her birth mother once, lying dead in the sand and cactus near her home in Laredo. A beautiful woman with thick, black hair and large, dark eyes staring at the sun, the flies already drinking her blood. Xochi favored the mother and not her father, his deceased reprobate cousin.
He could hear giggles as Prince clowned for his daughters. Even Xochi smiled a little. Unfortunately, the boy had his mother Sharlette’s tawny good looks and not his former tight end’s more lumpish features. Yes, Joe knew all about male fantasies, especially involving twins. He’d have a talk with the kid before the day ended.
For his performance, Joe mounted Rascal and rode around the ring at a quick pace a couple of times. He gave the horse the nudge to rear, and Rascal performed it as well as Roy Roger’s Trigger ever did. Dismounting, he stepped back a few paces and said, “Bang, bang!” while pointing a finger at his mount and making a subtle roll over gesture with his other hand. Rascal dropped to his side and played dead so convincingly some of the smaller children in the audience started crying. Joe gave the signal to stand immediately. Rascal got up and shook off the dust of the arena to a round of applause.
Joe slipped him a sugar cube, turned and walked away. Rascal, following close behind, head-butted his master a couple of times, then exposed his big teeth, and nipped the cowboy hat from Joe’s head. At least, his scalp had a dark shadow growing on it now, nothing like its former glory, but better than bald. The crowd laughed as Joe and Rascal did a little tug of war until the horse got the signal to release the hat.
After that, Joe asked Rascal to bow for the folks. The horse went down on his knees and touched his nose to the ground. As the applause sounded, the corral gate swung open and admitted the Billodeaux’s adopted son in his bright red wheelchair. The boy came alongside Rascal and heaved himself into the saddle. Rascal rose. They cantered around the ring and ended the show with Rascal rearing and pawing the air again. Maybe Teddy needed a wheelchair and crutches to get around, but he’d developed great strength in his thighs and clung on like a cocklebur hidden in the yellow fur of their ranch dog, Macho, who added his barks to the clapping. Rascal knelt by the wheelchair, and Teddy got himself settled again. And that was the real reason Joe Dean Billodeaux purchased a trick horse.
After the show, Nell, Sharlette Dobbs, and Cassie McCoy corralled Rex and escorted him to that chair under the oaks. Besides food and drink, the backup quarterback now had a court of lovely young women seated at his feet: Sharlette’s college student daughters, both as great-looking as their mother, and two redheads, Cassie’s youngest sisters who despite their mother’s hope would never be nuns. Lisa joined the harem.
The duo of wannabe supermodels Brian borrowed from the Amberello Agency’s New Orleans branch managed by his ex-wife stalked over as if they walked the runway and leaned gracefully against the trunks of the live oaks with their bony pelvises thrust forward in tight stretch cropped pants. Espadrille sandals added to their lanky height. Considering their thinness, both had out of proportion breasts or very good padded bras under tank tops with spaghetti straps resting on their rather knobby collarbones. They went by Katya and Tatiana, no last names, cousins they claimed. The models tossed their streaky blonde manes and made pouty lips at Rex while looking at him with rather predatory blue eyes. Otherwise, they seemed terribly bored as eating and socializing didn’t interest them.
Brian Lightfoot sidled up next to Joe where he stood by the riding ring keeping an eye on Dean and Tommy giving pony rides to the little kids. The oldest of the ponies had galloped off to that big pasture in the sky, but his eldest sons tended to rush Buttercup and Boo who were getting on in years, too. Male teen hormones dictated that they wanted to ditch their duty as fast as possible and scope out the college girls in attendance—as if they had any chance with Rex Worthy on the scene.
“Is our man showing any preference?” Brian asked.
Joe studied Rex and his bounty of women. “Not as far as I can tell. What a smorgasbord of beautiful, young women. If he can’t find something he likes on that buffet, there is something wrong with him. I’m not too sure about those Russian models you brought. I thought we specified nice girls. They look at him like starving Siberian wolves.”
“They probably are starving. Maybe not nice, but possibly naughty. I thought Rex might like an alternative. Venetia says neither one will make it to the top in modeling. If they’d left their breasts alone, they might have had a runway career, but now they are too top-heavy for that, yet too skinny below to make it in lingerie. Fit only for car shows and convention hostesses. She thinks they’d like to find a rich husband and retire.”
“Backups don’t make that much.”
“Come on, Rex got a hefty signing bonus after he took Texas A & M to the BCS Bowl, and he certainly isn’t spending it on a wild lifestyle.”
“Most likely gave it all to charity.” The phone in his hip pocket buzzed with a call from Knox Polk out at the gate left open today so friends could come and go as they pleased. The ranch manager made sure no one else tried to gain access to Lorena Ranch. “Yeah, Knox, what’s up?”
“I got two women in a rented convertible out here. The driver claims to be Layla Devlin that actress you worked with a while back. Are they invited? They ain’t on the list.”
Joe reached up to rake his fingers through his hair but found his head still too closely mowed and only the spike of a cowlick where his unruly curl used to be. “Layla is here,” he told Brian. “How did she find out where Rex was?”
Brian shrugged expressively. “Not from me. Who knows what happened after I left them at Mariah’s Place? Maybe she found a way to microchip him. However, I’d let her in if you want to avoid an ugly scene. This is not a woman who holds back when thwarted.”
“Yeah. Let them in, Knox.” He shoved the phone back in his pocket and moved forward to greet the occupants of the red convertible, top down and moving at a speed along the lane unsafe for small children and pets.
This didn’t prevent Macho, barking in basso, from chasing the vehicle. As the car jerked to a sudden halt to avoid running over small, fluffy Titi, the other Billodeaux dog yapping her little heart out, Joe noticed Rex standing up and taking a sudden interest. Making apologies, he waded through the women at his feet. So, he wanted Layla after all. No accounting for bad taste, the same kind of taste he’d had many years ago.
Joe reached the new guests first. He crossed his arms over his chest and raised an eyebrow. “What brings you to Lorena Ranch, Layla?”
Layla shoved her oversized sunglasses up to rest on the scarlet silk scarf covering her hair and delivered
one of her famous sultry stares. “I went to Sinners headquarters this morning, and they said most of the team was out at your place having a barbecue. I could only imagine you thought I’d left town because you failed to invite me. You did say I’d be welcome to visit the ranch. Everyone knows you live near that Podunk little town, Chapelle, and everyone in Podunk can give directions to your place. Besides, this marvelous machine comes with GPS.”
Rex ambled over to join them. “Hi, Tricia. You like dogs?”
The PA had her fingers engaged in scratching Macho’s ears as he hung his big head over the side of the convertible. The dog drooled on the bodice of her pale blue sundress, a retro outfit with a snug bodice, flared skirt, and wide straps showing very little of her back or bosom. She didn’t seem to mind the dog slobber. Macho inched forward to rest his jowls on her shoulder. “Yes, we had one just like him when I was a kid on the farm.”
“Is it safe to get out?” Layla asked. “Patsy has the big one under control, but that little ankle biter might attack.” The Bichon Frise stood at Joe’s feet issuing a low growl that came out sounding more like a purr.
“In both cases, their bark is worse than their bite. Sure, get down. Food is in the pavilion. Brinsley will bring you a cold drink when you decide where to sit.” Joe nodded in the direction of the family’s butler clad in a white linen suit and serving longnecks and soda pop cans from a silver tray. He added class to any affair.
Joe moved around the convertible and hauled Macho off his new best friend’s shoulder. Hanging on to the dog’s collar, he opened the door for Tricia and offered her a hand, nearly treading on Rex in the process. Layla called from the driver’s seat, “Rex, darling, would you help me out?” She offered a graceful, languid hand.
“Sure, Miss Layla.”
He hustled to the other side and lent his support as the actress swung her long legs out of the car and balanced on her high heels worn today with black leggings and a snug, red tunic top that came to her mid-thighs. The lace edging of a black bra and a great deal of breast showed above the scooped neckline. An iron cross on a chain filled the gap below the chin and above the cleavage. Smaller matching crosses dangled from her earlobes. Somehow, the effect came across as more satanic than Christian. Rex failed to remark that she’d gone to the trouble to wear the team colors as well as religious symbols.
Layla opened her arms wide to give him a good view. “See, I wore Sinners’ colors to a Sinners’ barbecue.”
“Yes, ma’am, you surely did.”
She squeezed his stubbled cheeks. “I told you to call me Laaay-la. Can you say that?”
“Um, Laaay-la.”
“Good boy. Now I could use that drink. Driving with the top down dries the mouth.” She emphasized her statement by licking her lips, today coated in vermilion. All the red in her wardrobe reflected up into her lavender eyes giving them an unholy gleam like an extra in a vampire movie. Rex walked off with Layla on his arm, but Joe swore the kid had crossed his fingers on the other hand behind his back. Was he hoping to get lucky with the movie star or warding off evil? No telling.
Tricia followed behind as obediently as the two dogs tailing Joe back to the barbecue pavilion. The people entered. Angling for a handout or an accidently dropped wiener, the canines waited by the screened door shut in their muzzles. The bevy of young women grouped around Rex’s deserted chair disbursed with less hope on their faces than the animals. The Russian models went to examine the convertible and lounge against it as if working an auto show. They soon attracted some of the younger, unmarried Sinners. The other girls joined the circle of matrons and very young children.
Precious Armitage, a large, very black woman who never met a plate of food she didn’t like, pointed a barbecued turkey drumstick at the pavilion. “First, my girls is too young when Adam Malala is looking for a wife. Now they both too old when we trying to fix up Rex.” A drop of sauce fell on her broad bosom covered by a purple and green flowered caftan. Precious wiped it off with her pinkie and sucked it away.
“Like any of us have a chance when Layla Devlin shows up,” Asia Dobbs, slumped at her mother’s feet, said. Arlette Dobbs agreed. “You tell it, sistah.”
“I don’t know why you dragged me and Kathleen up here from New Orleans if you knew she was going to show up,” Nora Thomas, one of the redheads, complained to Cassie.
“I had no idea Layla would be here. Did you, Nell? Maureen, stop chasing your brother with that stick!” she yelled before Nell answered. She could never take her eyes off her daughter for a second.
“She was not invited. I’d sooner let a rabid dog into my yard.” The little boy on Nell’s lap picked up on the angry tone and began to wiggle. He held out his sturdy arms toward his mother, and Nell returned the blue-eyed boy with the feathery blond hair to Stevie Riley. He bore the imaginative name of Arjay in honor of Revelation Jeremiah Bullock, their good friend with a name no one wanted to stick on a child.
“Come to Mama, my surprise baby,” Stevie said to her second son.
Mawmaw Nadine, who always had an opinion, added, “A child conceived at forty is a Dieudonne, a gift from God like Nell’s new miracle babies.” She patted her daughter-in-law’s stomach.
“Well, my husband calls this boy the next great wide receiver for the Sinners. I wish he could be here today, but he’s off one of his lecture tours.” Stevie checked on her other two children, as Nordic looking as their parents, rampaging around the picnic with Nell’s triplets.
“I guess we were silly to suppose Rex would prefer one of us to a movie star,” black-haired Lisa said wistfully as she leaned against her grandmother’s chair.
Mawmaw Nadine bristled. She leaned into a patch of sunlight making her gray hair gleam like a steel helmet above her strong features. “You my grandbaby, cher heart, and as good as any woman here. Now, all you skinny gals go get something to eat. You been holding in your stomachs all day to impress Rex. No telling when one of you will faint.”
“Maybe if we swooned in the barbecue pavilion, Rex would give us mouth to mouth,” Kathy Thomas suggested wickedly.
“I’d be happy to do that if you pass out,” Dean Billodeaux said as he approached with Tommy, the pony rides completed for now as they claimed the horses needed a rest. “I have lifeguard training, you know.” He gave her that sure-to-get-you-laid smile inherited directly from his father. The college girls ignored him.
“Yuck! Kathleen and Nora are my aunts,” Tom exclaimed, making Cassie, his birth mother, laugh.
“Well, they aren’t my aunts any more than Stacy Polasky is my real cousin.”
Hearing her name mentioned as she supervised the nearby fun jump, Stacy, his parents’ ward, stuck out her tongue at Dean and called out, “I’m glad I’m not your real cousin!”
At fourteen, the girl had coltish legs and a pink and white complexion still entirely blemish free. She shook her blonde curls in a way that drove the boys at her private school mad. Dean spent more time being mad at her. They simply could not get along. Also helping with the jumper, tall, big-boned and dark-complexioned Riley Bullock looked at Dean with longing in her wide brown eyes. She patted down her frizzy hair which nothing seemed to straighten. Stacy elbowed her. “Stop that! He’s a jerk.”
Nell sighed. “Dean, Stacy is part of our family. Stacy, Dean is not a jerk, just a teenage boy. Both of you watch your language.” She withdrew a paper from the pocket of the maternity jeans she was already compelled to wear and consulted her notes. “Boys, almost time for the dragon boat races. Go help Adam.”
“We don’t get to eat?” Dean complained.
Both he and Tom could swill like pigs at a trough and never gain an ounce. How Nell envied their teen metabolism. “You had lunch before you started the pony rides,” she told her sons.
“He’s a growing boy. You go get second lunch, Deanie,” Mawmaw Nadine said.
Precious Armitage heaved out of her chair. “Come on, girls. I could use a second helping, and if Layla Devlin is still in th
ere, I’ll clear her out your way.” Built pretty much like her husband, a retired nose guard, she could do it, too.
“She isn’t,” a quiet voice informed them. Tricia Welles stood beside the group with a plate of food clutched in her white-knuckled hands. “When the butler refused to bring her a double dry martini because only soft drinks and beer were being served, she dragged Rex off to the barn through the other doorway of the pavilion. Could someone go rescue him? I can’t because Miss Devlin said to get lost for the next hour or so. If I interrupt anything, I might be fired.”
“Poor baby. Brian told us all about how that bitch treats you, only he always says it be-yotch. You sit down right here in my place,” Precious Armitage offered.
But Nell, small yet always mighty, stood with fists on her hips and belly slightly protruding. “Not in my barn,” she said.
Chapter Nine
“Rex, honey, close that ole barn door.” Layla studied the layout, the box stalls, the hayloft, as carefully as if she blocked out a scene in her next movie.
“I’m not sure Joe wants it closed. Gets pretty hot in Louisiana in September. You need some cross-ventilation. Some people who keep horses air-condition their stables, but others think it spoils the stock,” Rex babbled.
“Shut it!” Layla shot a violet laser glance at him over her shoulder but added more sweetly, “Only for a little while. The breeze coming through stirs up my allergies.” She peered into each stall as Rex obeyed her. Most stood empty since the horses grazed in a nearby pasture, all except Rascal chewing a measure of oats, his reward for a good performance. “I wonder if any of these are clean. In Savaged! I’m gang-raped by six bandits in a barn, but we had fresh straw for the scene.”
“I’m real sorry about that,” Rex said.