by Naomi Niles
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 the 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.
The tables were fairly filled and we were awaiting the arrival of the bride. I introduced myself to a woman named Lucy and asked her if she would point out the mother of the bride.
“Oh, there ain’t no mother of the bride, dearie. She died last year.”
I looked at Lucy’s calm face and suddenly so much fell into place about Bob. He was doing the best he could under the circumstances—and his gregarious attitude as he drove was simply because he was lonely and had no one else to talk to. It made total sense.
There was a sudden, loud chorus of screams and I turned to see twenty or thirty young women, most of whom were dressed in Daisy Dukes and either cut off t-shirts or midriff blouses, clustered around a tall man. He raised his arm in greeting to them and they screamed as loudly as if Elvis had again entered the building.
I was instantly irritated. This was Bob’s day, with his daughter, and that other group would ruin it. I figured I could make it to them and back in two minutes; hopefully the bride wouldn’t arrive in the meantime.
I sort of jogged toward the group and had to leap up in the air to get attention over the throng. “Excuse me! Excuse me!” I shouted. The man looked over at me.
“Wait your turn, baby,” he said and the throng screamed again at the innuendo.
“No, no! That’s not why I’m here, cowboy. You have to go away!”
“Well, now,” he reached up to resettle his hat with fingers pinching the crown and grinned. “Why would that be?”
The rest of the crowd, irritated that I’d stolen their chance, muttered and grew a bit less enthusiastic. I took advantage of the lull and called out, “There’s a wedding, see, just over there. I’m the photographer and the bride is about to arrive. You’ll ruin things for her. Please. Could you all quietly move to the other side of the park?” I was pointing and a bit frantic as I watched for Bob to show up.
“Why certainly, Silver,” he said, tipping his hat. I assumed he was making reference to my silvery-blonde hair, a phrase I’d heard a couple of times in the past.
“Thank you very much. Now move along, move along …” I gestured with my hands to push the crowd along.
“Now, Silver, these ladies have come a long way to see me today. Don’t you think that deserves a bit more respect than to treat them like a herd of heifers?”
I frowned, not able to understand what the man’s problem was. Evidently he was so self-centered he couldn’t understand that a bride only has one day and he, by the looks of things, would have repeat performances many times ahead.
“Just leave, please?” My voice was angry and I turned to trot back to the wedding just in time to see Bob’s yellow cab pull up to the curb.
I stopped to set up and take a shot as the bride emerged from the back seat, her father helping her out and then straightening the short, white veil on her head. She didn’t appear to have any attendants, so I just started shooting their progression as she and Bob walked solemnly along the pitted sidewalk toward the cluster of picnic tables. The bride’s face was flushed but Bob’s was gleaming in pride.
She was wearing a white mini-dress with an empire waist and it was apparent that the bride was with child. I flushed when I realized this and tried to move so I could take as many front-on shots as possible. It was another suffocatingly hot day and Bob’s face was slick with perspiration. I even saw it dripping off the end of his nose and down onto his starched, white collar.
I was amazed at how just days before Bob had been a mild irritant to me and here I was, feeling abject pity for him and his daughter and the makeshift setup of this wedding. Then I realized how terribly arrogant that sounded and made a mental note to leave my New York City attitudes where they belonged.
I wondered where the groom was and swung my head around to see him standing just next to the fountain. He was short and rather round, wiping his forehead frantically with the back of his sleeve. He seemed pleasant in demeanor and this much, at least, made me glad for Bob. I hoped my first glance would not later be proven incorrect. I twirled long enough to snap two quick shots of him and then backed off to the side as the bride was approaching. Kneeling, I got what I thought were great shots of her happy face.
The bride finally reached the fountain and Bob said his, “I do,” at the giving away part and then backed off. It turned out that the bride’s name was Mindy. The vows were soon over and the groom awkwardly pushed the veil around trying to kiss her. Mindy laughed, ripped the headpiece off and threw it into the crowd of well-wishers. I was snapping pictures like crazy and then wondered if there was a reception. There was indeed.
The guests stood and milled around a bit while a dozen or so of the women hurried off to their cars and returned carrying covered dishes and coolers. Tablecloths appeared at the head table and the food was laid out, banquet style. A stack of paper plates and cups holding plastic tableware were added and the women beamed as they gestured for everyone to eat. I noticed there was no wedding ca
ke, but several flat cake pans with white, frosted contents. I wondered whether I should actually take a shot of these and decided that to do otherwise would be a little insulting, so I decided a good compromise was to take plenty of pictures of the entire spread of food before people began to dig in.
Bob was beaming and accepting congratulations from his friends. I snapped many shots of this because I knew these would be something he’d look back on over the years and it would probably be the highlight of his life.
Two men struggled toward the food table carrying a cooler between them. It was opened to reveal ice and a cluster of canned soda and beer. I knelt and got some great shots as tops were popped and there was a spray of icy contents backed by the sunlight.
I felt a tap on my shoulder and looked up to see a young boy dressed in jeans and boots. He was holding out a red kerchief to me. “From Mr. Temple, for the bride, ma’am,” he nodded over his shoulder.
“You should give it to the bride, then,” I smiled, having no idea who Mr. Temple was.
“No, ma’am,” he insisted, “I’m supposed to see to it that you get it personally.”
I stood up and looked in the direction he’d nodded. There was no one there but the cowboy celebrity from earlier, standing on the periphery of the picnic tables. He tipped his hat toward me and gave me an ironic smile.
I smiled back before I could help myself and gave a half wave in thanks for whatever was in the kerchief. I turned back toward the bride and stuffed the kerchief down the front of my blouse for safekeeping; there were too many one-of-a-kind shots to be missed.
As the food gradually disappeared, musical instruments—including guitars, a dobro, violin, bass, and a banjo—materialized and the reception rose into a high as the guests began dancing on the concrete around the fountain. I snapped a few more shots of this and began to put away my camera, recognizing that this was going to be the scene for the better part of the night. The light was dwindling, regardless.
I felt a tap on my shoulder and there stood the cowboy. What was his name? Temple?
“Care to dance, Silver?” he asked, holding out his arms.
I must have looked a bit agog as I realized my mouth had dropped open. “I’m not really a guest,” I started awkwardly, at the same time realizing what an idiot I sounded like.
“I don’t think they’ll notice,” he pointed out in a deeply toned, wry voice.
I looked around and Bob was staring at me. He motioned with his hand to go ahead and accept the dance, so I turned back and nodded. “Thank you,” I offered as an olive branch just as the group began a slow country ballad.
Temple was a good bit taller than I, something I found unusual as I was five foot-ten. He pulled me close, forcing my breasts into his muscled chest, and for a moment I understood what all the girls had wanted. He had more or less folded himself over me and I felt cocooned by his embrace. For a few moments, the world felt perfect.
The song soon ended and Temple stood back, gave me a salute, and walked away, disappearing into the darkness. “Goodnight, Silver,” I heard him call backwards and I felt a tingle low in my belly. I realized I only knew his last name, and he did not know anything about me at all. I would never see him again and I felt a keen disappointment in that realization.
Feeling a bit deflated at the dwindling excitement, I decided to call a cab and find my way back to Jill’s.
I was standing on the sidewalk, waiting, when I remembered the red kerchief I’d shoved down my shirt. I pulled it out and unwrapped in it.
There I found two, one-thousand dollar bills and a piece of paper with a phone number.
I smiled and put the phone number in my purse and ran back long enough to shove the money in Bob’s pocket. “See you next Sunday,” I told him. “I think I know where I want to begin.”
Chapter 4
Blake
“Yet another wonderful morning in hell,” I muttered to myself as I struggled to leave the bed the next morning. I heard a sound and turned to find a young woman in my bed. I frowned; her hair was black. So much for dreams, I thought.
By the time I’d showered and turned on the coffee pot, she began to stir. There was a beaming smile on her face, but I’d seen this sort of thing before. It was typical of every woman who found herself in my bed in the morning. I’d even heard rumors that there was a website where my conquests were comparing notes and keeping scores. As long as they’re selling t-shirts, I don’t give a shit.
I didn’t know this one’s name so I just motioned toward the coffee pot and she sprang from the bed, pulling on her jeans and shirt as she came toward me. I knew where she was headed and nodded as I walked out onto the deck to avoid her.
She stood in the doorway of the slider, sipping her coffee and considering her odds. I could feel the hair stand up on the back of my neck. One of these days, I’m gonna pick one while I’m sober, I promised myself. Like that silver-haired colt I danced with at the park yesterday. Now that’s my style. She’d been tall and all legs, sparky and with a profile I’d like to feel against me for an entire night, if not longer. I could picture riding her and was willing to bet she’d give me a ride I’d never forget.
Jesus, you’re starting to think like a jerk, I thought to myself. It seemed innately disrespectful to think of Silver in those vulgar terms.
I heard a noise behind me. The black-haired gal was tapping on the glass and slid the door open. “Give me a ride to town?” she asked.
“Sure, no problem. Be with you in a couple of minutes.”
She closed the door and I watched from the corner of my eye as I saw her open my nightstand. I was used to this. Every one of them always snooped for some little souvenir to take home with them. I kept a few trinkets in the nightstand just for that purpose. That way I controlled what they took and what they didn’t. I saw her pocket a deck of cards. These tended to be favorites since I guess I’d touched them all and they could sell each card as a souvenir. If I ever had a woman here who didn’t steal, I’d probably have to marry her.
With a sigh, I stood up and went inside. She was sitting on a kitchen stool, beaming. I nodded and snatched up my keys. At least I’d learned to always put them in the same place, even when I came in plastered. Luckily, last night had not been an exception.
I got her to town in record time and left her at a corner gas station. She said that was close enough to home so that told me either she was married or still living with her parents. Either way, it would be the last time I’d see her.
I stopped by Elmer’s Grocery to pick up a few things. People there knew me since a kid so didn’t make a fuss when I came in—and for this, I was grateful. It was a small, family-owned place and Elmer did his own butchering in the back. I ordered up a few steaks and went down the vegetable aisle while he was wrapping them.
“Hello,” came a voice behind me. I turned and to my amazement, Silver was standing there. “That was quite a generous gift you left for the bride,” she commented.
I got to admit I got a little hard seeing her stand there—okay, a lot hard—so I turned the cart to block my waist.
“How ya doin’, Silver?” I asked her and my voice even sounded kinda high-pitched as it came out.
She saw right through me and was smiling in a knowing way. Damn! She’s smart, too.
“I also got a little piece of paper with a number. Is that for the employment office?” she mocked me.
“Try it and see,” I shot back and we grinned mutually. Over her shoulder, I could see Elmer signaling to the packages he was leaving me on the butcher counter. I nodded.
She looked around and saw what I was nodding at. “Looks like your number’s up,” she observed in a mocking tone. “See you around, cowboy,” she said and began pushing her cart down the aisle.
“The name’s Blake,” I called after her and she nodded her head, but didn’t turn around. I didn’t mind as it afforded me a good look at her backside and there was nothing there I didn’t like. It occurred to me that I
hadn’t had to identify myself to anyone for years. She wasn’t even impressed. Probably hadn’t been here long enough to know better. I really am becoming an asshole.
I got back to the ranch, threw one of the steaks on the grill, and popped a cold beer. I started thinking about Silver and almost let the steak burn. I wasn’t sure where she came from, but I could tell by her accent she wasn’t from Texas. Made her sort of exotic, actually. I sensed she wasn’t anything like the women I brought home at night. She was a keeper and wouldn’t settle for a casual one-nighter. That made me want her all the more.
I headed to the local arena and wandered down to the barns. The bulls were being brought in for the next Sunday’s event. I found my way to Cain’s stall. Jesus, but he’s a monster, I thought to myself. There was something inherently evil in his eyes and he glared at me from behind the layers of boards with embedded electric fence. He was angry and his massive size seemed to loom even larger than life. I wasn’t scared; I was being tactical. I wanted him to catch my scent and maybe even become a little familiar with me. If I was lucky, then he wouldn’t kill me when I climbed aboard.
This would be a career-changing ride. If I stuck to him, I’d be invincible—forever unquestioned and I’d go down in the bull riding annals. It I didn’t, they’d say I was washed up and that the drinking had gotten to me. They might be right, but I was out to prove them wrong.
Chapter 5
Meli
I crawled onto the worn sofa and was really beginning to hate Jill’s apartment. She was in and out all hours of the night and when she came in, she was usually dragging something with her. They’d go into her room, screw loudly for the rest of the night, and then sleep until after noon. I strongly considered finding a part-time job just so I could be out when they came home. I was determined, however, to at least give this journalist thing my best shot.
