by Naomi Niles
I left home when I was fifteen and began hanging around with the cowboys who rode the circuit. I kept my nose clean, listened to what they taught me, and practiced every chance I got. I took care of the horses for those who roped and even did a stint or two as the rodeo clown and sold popcorn. It got into my blood as nothing has before, or since. It became my home.
As I grew into my man’s body, I discovered that the techniques that had been a struggle for a boy, fit a man quite well. Through the constant practice, I developed the muscles that allowed me to stick to a bull like gum to tennis shoes. It took a lot to get me off. When I was old enough, I began to compete. The rest of the guys looked out for me and I knew they were pushing the easier rides my way. This pissed me off; I wanted to compete and to win from my own merits—not from a gimme.
Then came the day that one of the guys got slammed while he was still in the chute. The impact broke his thighbone and he had to be taken out in a litter and loaded into the ambulance. I saw my chance and plucked his number from his shirt and pinned it to my own. I climbed into the chute just as they were getting ready to release the bull and when it went out, I was aboard. I stuck to that monster for twelve seconds before I leapt off with the grace of a circus performer and let the clowns take him over; this was four seconds longer than the eight required to make the ride count.
I was in sheer heaven. The adulation from the crowd thundered in my ears as I dusted off my chaps and removed my gloves. The crowd loved the drama of the injured cowboy being replaced by a young boy, still wet behind the ears. And damn! I stuck it, too! Even the guys went a little nuts, and four of them picked me up and stuck me head first in the horse trough.
That night the guys bought me a beer. I wasn’t even old enough to drink, but that didn’t faze Henry one bit. I downed it quickly and let out a huge belch, much to the delight and cheers of the crowd around me.
So began my career riding. I continued to ride, and to win. It wasn’t long before long-legged blondes began to hang around, hoping to gain a little of the starlight that was Blake Temple. When they started wearing t-shirts with my face on them, I knew I was missing out on the big money and found myself an agent. Mick did right by me, putting a stop to the piracy and getting a sport clothing line to endorse me. The puny, little t-shirts became multi-colored and were accompanied by Stetsons, chaps, beer coolers, and every other god-awful thing you could imagine—and all with my face on them and a chunk of coin that went into my account. Damn, did the money flowed in.
The press couldn’t seem to get enough of me. They followed the blondes like fleas on a dirty cow and pictures of me with someone’s arms wrapped around my neck began to appear on covers everywhere in the South. It seemed like everything I touched turned to gold.
One night we did an outdoor event and the heat was suffocating. I kept wetting a kerchief and wrapping it around my neck. As they were bringing up the bull, my head began to spin and I felt a pain in my chest. I grabbed the fence and stood there, but it didn’t go away. I fought through it and climbed the fence to take my seat on the Brahma. The world swirled around me and the tightening in my chest worsened. They had to help me get my seat and as I wrapped the rope around my hand, it felt as though I was truly hanging on for dear life.
It came as no surprise that I didn’t make even four seconds before I was lying in the dirt and the hooves where flying around my head. The clowns were surprised; they always could count on a full ride from Blake Temple—but not that night. That night, the great Blake Temple didn’t have the strength of a high school cheerleader. They had to help me to my feet and literally dragged me from the ring.
Somebody helped me over to the medic that was always on standby. They checked me over and sent me on to the ER for a better exam. Their specialty was cuts and broken bones; they could do little for dizzy and weak.
The ER doc pronounced me fit but said I’d had a panic attack. He handed me a vial with some pills and told me to follow up with the regular doc. I made him swear no one would find out as I fear the setting of the Blake Temple sun was about to begin. I’d barely gotten started.
I got home that night and fell into the bed and slept two days straight. When I woke up, I was still worn out. Mick was worried and finally came knocking at the door when I wasn’t in my usual haunts.
“What the hell happened?” he asked me.
I didn’t want to let on because I figured he’d dump me faster than I could look sideways.
“Nothing,” I was short.
“Bullshit!” he cursed and turned his head a bit to indicate he wasn’t buying my story.
“No, bull rider, Mick. It’s who I am and what I do. Just had a bug. I’m fine.”
He still didn’t seem convinced but apparently decided to leave me alone because he never said another word about it.
I had an event that upcoming weekend. Before I headed there, I stopped at Henry’s, but this time I had him pour me two fingers of whiskey. It went down hard and burned, but that seemed to be just what I needed to calm down my stomach. I got to the event and turned in a performance that Blake Temple was known for.
That began the routine. Each event saw me stop by Henry’s on my way, and eventually I skipped his place and just bought my own bottle. Pretty soon two fingers didn’t cut it and I added a little more. Whiskey didn’t sit well with my temperament and more than once after I’d climb off the bull, somebody would say something and I’d have to jump them. It happened more and more and a new Blake Temple was making a name for himself—not on the circuit but in the circuit court.
I’d take a swipe at someone and they’d run screaming to their attorney who was only too happy to relieve me of some of my hard-earned money or face jail time. The judge and I, being poker pals, sort of worked out a deal where he’d fine me two hundred and fifty dollars, and I’d let him win at poker. It was mutually agreeable and we kept it just between us.
After I left the arena, I’d go out to the ranch and ride my horses hard. It would be dark and I let them have their head. It was just the horse, the moon, God, and me.
Chapter 3
Meli
She opened the door as I trekked up the third flight of stairs and my sister hugged me, reeking of pot and beer.
“Meli!” she cried a little, happy to see me.
“Hey, Jill,” I hugged her back and looked over her shoulder to see utter chaos in the tiny apartment. Empty food packages, dirty clothes, and any number of empty whiskey bottles seemed to be her preferred decorating scheme.”
“What happened in here?” I asked with the mockery she knew I could do so well.
“Whaddaya mean?” she slurped and I realized she was very, very drunk.
“Jill! Really? Pull yourself together and let’s get this place cleaned up!”
“Well, you just go right ahead,” she shot back and, grabbing a half-empty bottle, went into a room I assumed held her bed and slammed the door behind herself.
I stood there, my mouth hanging open at my reception and finally set my bags next to the door and sat down to decide what to do. There was nowhere else for me to go. I couldn’t afford a room more than a night or two and really needed to save that money for food. I walked over and peeked into Jill’s fridge and almost threw up at the sight of it.
Resigned, I pulled out my grunge t-shirt and shorts and set about cleaning up the space. I needed garbage bags more than anything else. Bottle after bottle fought for space in the bags. I filled two bags with dirty laundry, realizing I was headed for a laundromat when I looked around for a washer or dryer.
I opened the fridge and literally scraped the entire contents into another garbage bag and dragged these out to the dumpster at the side of the building. Next came hot water and luckily I found a small bottle of bleach beneath the kitchen sink. I added dish soap and set about scrubbing everything in sight.
The sofa, aka my bed, was nasty. I began by turning the cushions and then found some sheets in a linen closet and add those to the wash. I
found Jill’s purse and dug out enough money to launder her things and a bit extra for something to cook for dinner.
Two hours later, the sofa was made up for me to sleep on, the fridge sparkled, and the floors were swept. Jill’s clothes were neatly folded and sitting on the floor next to her bedroom door. The garbage was gone and there was a pot of chili happily simmering on the stove.
Her door opened and Jill staggered out, wiping the dried spittle from the corner of her mouth. Her hair should have been shampooed a week before and I wanted to pick her up and shove her into a washing machine, whole.
“Something smells good,” she muttered.
“Chili.”
“Oh, god!” she uttered and ran for the bathroom. I heard her get sick and knew she would be eventually hungry, but in the meantime, I would help myself.
I had washed the dishes and found my way to the sofa and the remote for the 13” television sitting on a stack of books nearby. I turned it on and found about six channels total. This was fine. I had no time to be watching television. I had to find work—and fast. Once again I cursed Jeremy and his wandering penis.
“How long you staying?” Jill asked.
“Only until I get enough money to find a place of my own.”
“Oh, okay. Place looks nice. Thanks for cleaning up,” she had the grace to say.
“When did you start this drinking? And pot?”
“Don’t get all high and mighty on me, Meli. You don’t understand what it’s like down here. It’s not like home. Everything is big this and big that. You can’t compete with that shit, you know?”
“I don’t ever remember you having a problem competing with me,” I pointed out.
“That was different. This is survival.”
“I see. There’s chili on the stove for you.”
She looked a bit green at the idea but eventually went over and filled a small coffee mug with some. She sat cross-legged on the end of the sofa and began watching television with me.
“Kind of nice to have you here,” she finally offered up as a token of peace.
“Thanks, but I won’t stay any longer than necessary.”
“No, I mean it. It’s nice. Like when we were kids,” she added, turning to look straight at me as if to make the point more believable. “Maybe, if you get a job, you could just kick in on the rent and like stay here with me permanently?”
I looked at her with incredulity. “And share a bed?”
“Oh, yeah, there is that.” She was silent for a few more minutes and then tried again. “We could switch to a two-bedroom model.”
“Jill, you know I love you, but I’m not going to clean up after you like I had to today. If I’d had anywhere else to go, I would have. I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but it has got to stop. You’re going to get in over your head.” I hated being tough with her, but Jill never did have any self-control when it came to her lifestyle. We fought about it when we were girls and the argument had never been won—by either side. She lived in the moment and took whatever was closest at hand, whether it belonged to her or not. The problem was, it often belonged to me.
She looked a little hurt by my words but I was used to that. She went into her wounded little girl mode when I shook her up. I knew I couldn’t live with Jill—it would never be peaceful. I needed to write and to work with my stories. For that I needed silence and plenty of sleep.
“Look,” I said, “I’ve got a gig on Saturday. I’m shooting a wedding.”
She looked surprised. “How the hell did you get that?”
“Long story and a well-meaning cab driver. I’m shooting his daughter’s wedding and he’s going to cart me around town to see the sights for a day so I can get some story ideas.”
“Oh.”
Jill was not the writer in the family.
“How did you wangle that?” she wanted to know. “You always do shit like that … figure out how to get what you want without lifting a finger.”
“What do you mean? I figure out how to work for it, unlike some people in this room,” I muttered beneath my breath. I had to control myself, to remember that I had nowhere else to go. “The cabbie and I got to talking and he suggested I try to start my career by doing some human interest pieces on local sights. I have no car and no idea where they are, so we traded time and expertise.”
“Cool,” she allowed and we dropped the subject.
“Hey, I need to get some rest,” I started and she nodded, licking her spoon and tossing the mug and spoon into the freshly scrubbed sink. Without another word, she disappeared back into her room and I laid down and fell asleep.
* * *
The sun burned through the cheap drapes into my eyes. This felt rather shocking as you had to be a millionaire to live high enough to see the sun in New York City. Here, I’d finally gotten it and didn’t even want it. Just my luck.
I went to turn over and rolled right off the sofa. Disoriented, I struggled to sit up and found myself staring at a man with scraggly hair and wearing nothing more than a pair of boxer shorts. I screamed. Jill came running out of her bedroom. “What the hell?”
“There’s a man in here! Are you blind?”
“That’s Tommy. He’s with me.”
It took me a minute to organize my thoughts and my words. “How? I never heard him come in.”
“That was the whole idea. We tried not to make any noise and wake you up. I knew you’d had a long day.”
“Whatever,” I said in a somewhat rude voice and pushed past the quivering Tommy to get to the bathroom. When I emerged, he was gone.
“Tommy have to get back?”
“Meli, it’s my place. Don’t judge.”
“Just another reason for me to get on my own,” I said uncharitably.
“I can’t wait,” Jill muttered and padded back to her bedroom, closing the door just one step shy of a slam.
I pulled the lone box of cereal and quart of milk I’d bought the night before and quietly ate from a chipped coffee mug while watching the morning news. When they broke to the sports segments, I saw none of the elegance of tennis or even the white shorts and muscled calves of world soccer. What I saw were horses, monster trucks, and rodeos. Suddenly I knew what I wanted to write about. I would write about the contrast between Texas sports and those of the large, metro areas. It would make for a nice human-interest piece as sports were always an easy sell.
After breakfast, I decided to take a walk and get to know the lay of the land. I cut the walk short as the land seemed to be teeming with junk cars, growling dogs on long chains, and young males in jackets with colorful insignia on their backside. I wished I’d brought my camera so I could do a companion piece comparing the hood of Dallas with those in the city. Then the more I looked, the more I realized that there really wasn’t any difference between them. One was just tanner and sweatier.
When I got back to the apartment, Jill was gone. Thankfully she’d left the door unlocked, and while I was concerned that something would be stolen, I took a serious look around and decided that other than my camera, there wasn’t a thing in there worth stealing. Well, they might come in with muddy shoes and make a mess of my clean floor, I allowed myself and watched some television until I fell asleep.
Jill woke me up as she came in, arms loaded with bags of groceries. “I bought, you cook,” she bargained and I happily agreed. I made us a huge feast that night. We had roasted chicken, mashed potatoes and green peas, with chocolate cake for dessert.
Jill was generous in her praise. “You always were the better cook,” she allowed and I beamed as I covered dishes with leftovers for the next day’s meal.
“What is today?” I asked, suddenly confused.
“Friday.”
“Oh, gee, Bob is picking me up at noon. Glad you said something,” I jumped up and dug out my camera, polishing the lenses, and checking to make sure everything was in order.
“What are you going to wear?” Jill asked, always the more fashion conscious of t
he two of us, even if she’d been wearing the same pair of khaki shorts and nasty t-shirt since I’d arrived.
“He said it’s casual, so I have some white jeans and a navy tunic,” I told her.
“Huh. Okay. Well, night.” She went into her room to sleep even though it wasn’t even yet fully dark.
I shrugged, found an old movie on the set and eventually shut it off and settled in for a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow was going to be the start of something big and I wanted to be alert for it.
* * *
Bob gave the familiar taxicab honk precisely at noon the next day. I was ready and snatched up my camera as I headed out the door. I stopped the thought to say, “Jill, if you leave, don’t forget to leave the door unlocked. I don’t have keys.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she waved me off and went back to drinking her coffee, which I suspected had a liberal dose of liquor in it. She’s going to end up just like Mom, I thought to myself.
Bob was holding the door open for me and as I approached, he took me by surprise and threw his arms around me. “Thank ya for this,” he said in an animated voice.
I was a little flustered by this by covered it by saying, “You’re looking pretty spiffy today, Bob.” He really did look the part of father of the bride. His hair was neatly trimmed and he’d put away the bolo tie for the day. He was dressed in a dark suit with neatly starched cuffs and collar on his shirt. I figured his wife had her work cut out for her to fix him up like this.
“Thank ya,” he bowed from the waist and shut my door.
We were soon at the site of the wedding: a large park filled with trees, a small fountain, and lots and lots of picnic tables which evidently Bob had commandeered for the day since they were sitting in neat rows around the fountain. He was definitely right about one thing: it was informal. I found a place at one of the tables and began assembling my camera, testing the light, and looking around to determine the best backdrops for the shots. Bob had left to pick up the bride.
Guests were assembling. Some evidently lived close enough to walk while other pulled up in pickups and cars, angle parking around the perimeter of the park. I recognized then that the shots were all going to need to be close-ups because there really weren’t any suitable backgrounds that weren’t cluttered with cars.
