Even Cowboys Get the Blues

by Stuart, Amie

  She hmmphed and adjusted the coffee table before pulling my other foot out of the water. “You just wait. I’m not done!”

  I figured as much, but this was like going to the dentist. You never looked at what was on that little metal tray or you’d run for your life. “But you just said you were?” I said anyway.

  “Just shut up and let me do your other foot, okay?”

  “Fine.” I slouched lower and tuned her out, determined to watch the movie she’d forced on me as she again prodded and poked and scrubbed at my foot. I wonder if this was how Dad’s horses felt when they got shoed—but without the nails.

  When she was done, Delaney hustled around, removing the vibrating bucket and settling my feet in her lap. “Pick a color.” She dangled four bottles from her fingers: orange, bubblegum pink, red and a soft pearly pink.

  “Pink,” I said, and immediately regretted it. What the hell had I been thinking? It must have been the movie that distracted me. On-screen they were doing some snap-flip move thing that you used to get a guy’s attention. All that pink on the screen; I’d been pink-washed. I hate pink.

  “Pink it is then.”

  Damn…oh, well. No one would see my toes inside my boots anyway. With a sigh, I gritted my teeth and held still as she shoved little plastic wedges between my toes and painted. She only pinched me once for laughing too hard and messing her up. “Ow!”

  “Don’t move!” Lips pursed in concentration, she didn’t look up for a good fifteen minutes. “Okay, I’m done.”

  She propped the heel of each foot on the coffee table and stood, stepping over my leg.

  My toes were sure as hell pink, and to my absolute horror, my dad was home. I listened to the sound of his truck over the movie and turned my head to watch the dying sun bounce off his windshield as he pulled into the drive. “Great,” I muttered. What the hell was he doing home so early? He was supposed to be gone for hours. More importantly, how the hell could I hide my toes from him? “Dad’s home.”

  Delaney calmly sat down beside me and tightened the lid on the bottles of polish. “Don’t move, or you’ll mess up your toes.”

  “Dad’s home,” I hissed again, struggling to sit up. I couldn’t even focus on the last of the movie as the little blonde drove around questioning people for her big court case.

  “We’re having a girl’s night, not smoking pot. Relax.”

  I didn’t have Girl’s Night. I’d never had a Girl’s Night. I braced my feet on the table and waited for the explosion. Dad never came home this early. Hell, the sun hadn’t even set. Something bad must have happened. That was the only explanation. I smiled on the inside, fantasizing about Toni punching him or something. A girl could dream, couldn’t she? I slid my fingers between my legs and grabbed handfuls of denim. Waiting. I listened to the sound of his boots in the tile entryway and his keys being hung up on the little hook beside the door. I sank lower.

  “Can you hear that TV?” he boomed.

  Aunt Delaney beat me to the remote and turned it down. “Sorry, Tim.”

  “Well, what are you two up to?” He stood at the end of the couch.

  I kept my eyes on the TV and waited for him to make some comment about my bright pink toes.

  “We’re having a girl’s night, so get lost,” Delaney said.

  I clenched my teeth together and fought the urge to tell her to shut up.

  “Girl’s night, huh?” His legs appeared at the end of the coffee table and he picked up one of the books she’d bought me, flipped it over and read the back.

  “I decided Rene needed a bit more up-to-date reading material than someone’s old Little House books,” she said, her voice just shy of a scold.

  I watched from the corner of my eye as he read the back, chuckling occasionally. “I might have to read this. Pass it my way when you’re done.” He tossed it back on the table and looked at me. “What’d you do to your toes, honey?”

  “Don’t they look nice?” Aunt Dee tilted her head to one side and smiled while her tone screamed, ‘Agree With Me or Die.’

  He stepped closer and leaned over my toes, and I sucked my lips in, refusing to look up and watch him laugh at me. “Well they’re damned sure pink, aren’t they?”

  “We bought makeup, too.”

  Way to go Aunt Dee.

  Dad stood up ramrod straight and took a step back, as if that was too much for him to handle. “You two don’t get too carried away. I’m going to Ty’s.”

  Once he was gone, I breathed a huge sigh of relief and sagged into the couch cushions.

  “Ready for the next movie?” She popped up like a Jack In The Box and swapped out the movies. I’d missed the end of Legally Blonde. “Come on.”

  “What?”

  “Sit on the coffee table, silly, so I can fix your face!”

  Oh boy, another movie I didn’t want to watch that I wouldn’t get to watch and more torture. As the opening music for the movie played, I stood and gingerly walked on my heels, maneuvering my way around the coffee table until I could perch in the middle. I considered protesting, but back at Target, Aunt Delaney had seemed to be having so much fun.

  “Tilt your head back.” She stood with one leg between mine and some tweezers in her hand, fresh from their cardboard and plastic package.

  “What are you gonna do?”

  “Clean up your eyebrows. Now, hold still.” She jerked my head back, one thumb pulling my skin tight as she began to yank out big chunks of my eyebrows.

  If I’d had my boots on, I’da kicked her, but I had to settle for yelling and fist-swinging. “Damnit to hell, that hurts!”

  “I only pulled out three hairs, Rene. Relax, it’s not that bad.”

  “It freaking hurts,” I hollered as loud as I could without actually yelling.

  “I have it on good authority that having a baby is worse. Now sit still, or I won’t let you watch the movie.”

  “I didn’t want to watch some stupid-ass girl movie anyway,” I groused as she jerked my head back again and started to yank out some more clumps. I honestly didn’t see anything wrong with my eyebrows and frankly wasn’t sure I had that much hair to pull. Many minutes and many tears later she was through.

  If this was what a girl’s night was all about, I wasn’t sure I ever wanted to have another.

  “Take a look.” She shoved a hand-mirror at me, so I could check out her handiwork. They didn’t really look so different, just red. “Makeup lesson number one. Eyebrows should not extend past the corner of your eye.” She demonstrated with the tweezers, showing me where they should end. As if I’d ever do this to myself. Yeah, right. “Close your eyes. We’re almost done.”

  Thank God. I did as she instructed, and she smeared some stuff that smelled like roses all over my face and then wiped it off. Next came some alcohol smelling stuff. “Lesson two. Clean your face every day and put toner on it.”

  “I wash my face,” I mumbled, peeking through small eye slits.

  “No, Rene. Not with soap, with facial cleanser. Soap is hard on your skin.”

  “Oh.” I should have been born a boy.

  I HAD A DATE. Every free minute of the evening, few though they were, was taken up with this thought. I wasn’t sure how I felt about going out with Tim. A part of me was still stunned that he’d called my bluff. After we closed for the night, Susie pinned me down behind the bar.

  “Are you sure you want to go out with my nephew?”

  I studied her, my ears still ringing in the now-quiet bar and chose my words carefully. Tim was a part of her family, and I needed this job. “It’s just one date.” And it wasn’t like I’d never been on a date. Usually one was all it took. I’d bore them to tears unless I was really interested, which was rare.

  “Toni, I know the girls gave you an ear full, so you know his reputation. You know he only wants one thing.”

  “Well then, he’s in for quite a surprise. Because he’s not getting it. Now, if you excuse me, it’s late, I’m tired, and my work is done. I�
��ll see you Thursday, unless, of course, Petey contacts you about my car.”

  Susie held up a hand to stop me. “I’m sorry to be so harsh. I just wanted to make sure that you know what you’re getting into, and of course, I’ll stop by if I hear anything from Petey.”

  My irritation evaporated in the face of her obvious and genuine concern. “Kellie’s waiting, and I appreciate everything. But I’m a big girl and I can take care of myself. I promise.” After all, I’d been doing it half my life.

  She patted me on the shoulder and gave me a smile as I stepped past her. “And Toni.”

  “Yes?” I paused, my fingers pulling at the laces of my apron as I waited for her to speak.

  “Have a great time.”

  At thirty years old, I was about to go on maybe my twelfth date, ever. Lying on my sleeper sofa later that evening, or early that morning, I couldn’t help but remember what a disaster my first date had been. I was a fourteen-year-old ninth grader, and Phillipe Ribocheaux was a junior, a neighbor and from a very well-to-do family, with connections in the art world, just like mine. Franchesca, my step-mother, had all but forced me to go out with him after he’d given me a ride home one afternoon and politely asked her for permission to take me to a movie that Friday night. He’d raped me while two of his buddies stood outside the car, laughing and talking, then he’d calmly gotten out of the car and stood and smoked a cigarette with them while I puked in the floorboard of his Pontiac.

  I tossed and turned all night, my dreams invaded by both Nichole and Phillipe.

  And not for the first time.

  Kellie showed up at my apartment door around noon the next day. I was sitting on the living room floor searching through my meager belongings for something to wear on my date. Most things, I just rolled with it, but not this.

  “What’s the matter?” She settled beside me, a cup of coffee in hand.

  “Tim asked me out.”

  “I thought y’all weren’t—”

  “We’re not,” I said with a chuckle, “but saying no would have made him more determined. I figured this was the easiest way to show him there’s nothing to see here. Now, I have nothing to wear.” I threw up my hands in disgust. Not a dress, not a nice pair of slacks or a blouse filled my closet.

  “Where you going?”

  “Some place called Boudros?” I quirked an eyebrow in question at her.

  “Nice but not uptight,” she said, nodding her head and standing. “There’s a couple resale shops not too far away. Let’s go.”

  An hour and a half and three shops later we’d found a lavender dress for eighteen bucks. Lucky for me, my quiet companion knew her way around shopping—and more importantly, bargains.

  “What about shoes?” I asked as we headed to the checkout lane.

  “Right.” Kellie look down at my feet, taking in my worn Keds, and then back up at me.

  We turned around and headed for the shoes where we found a pair of low-heeled white sandals to go with my dress.

  I’d really gotten myself into a tangle by agreeing to go out with Tim. I had thought he wouldn’t have the balls to actually ask me out on a date, but his kind only wanted one thing, and he’d quickly give up once he found out that I was serious.

  Tim Caldwell wasn’t getting into my pants.

  Back at the apartment, Kellie took off so I could begin getting ready. I showered and spent an hour brushing ringlets around my fingers and spraying them with hair spray, to be picked out once they dried. My little boombox provided background music as I struggled to get on what little bit of makeup I normally wore. Once my hair had dried, I struggled into my pantyhose and slipped on the lavender dress. It wasn’t anything fancy, but it looked nice and would get me through this one date.

  I labored for ten minutes to get my lip liner just right. I’m not sure if the problem was my full lips or my shaking hands, but the closer it got to 6:30, the more my hands shook. I stared at myself in the mirror. I could do this. I could handle Tim Caldwell for one evening. Before I could apply my lipstick, there was a knock at the door. I slicked on just enough so that my lips didn’t look clownish and then checked the cheap plastic clock that hung on my kitchen wall. He was early. Or maybe I was late. It had been a couple of years, and I wasn’t ready for this—in more ways than one. My nerves returned full force.

  Surely, I could handle one flirty Texas cowboy.

  On my way to the front door, I slid my feet into my shoes and took another deep breath. I hoped he wasn’t in a hurry; I still had to finish my hair. Before opening the door, I paused to school my features, so he wouldn’t see just how deeply he affected me.

  Opening the door, I discovered him standing there, hand raised and prepared to knock again, a frown on his handsome face. The next thing I noticed was how nice he smelled as the deep, woodsy scent of his cologne tickled my nose. I smiled at him and stifled the urge to lean forward and inhale deeply. “You’re early.”

  “Not by much. Are you ready?”

  “Not quite. I hope you’re not in a hurry, Flirty Boy.” I arched one eyebrow for emphasis and held the door open so he could enter. He slipped past me, and I was struck again at his excessive height, not to mention width. I wasn’t so out of it that I couldn’t appreciate his tall, well-built form. After being taller than or the same height as most men, it took a bit of getting used to, but made for a nice change.

  He stood in the center of my living room and turned around to face me, one dark eyebrow arched in response. “Our reservations are for seven, so you have plenty of time.”

  As I leaned against the door to close it, I found myself unable to take my eyes off him. Dressed in starched khakis and a crisply pressed, navy blue, button-down shirt, his dark hair uncovered, I couldn’t help but think again what an incredibly handsome man he was. It didn’t help that he exuded the power and strength of a man who knew his sexual worth—right down to the penny. I had a feeling this evening would take everything I had to resist his charm, a charm he seemed to have been born with. It was going to be a long night. I flashed him my barely-there smile.

  “You look very nice by the way.” His silky voice made the hairs at the back of my neck stand up.

  I finally released the doorknob as the door in my hand clicked shut. “Thank you, Flirty Boy.” I maneuvered my way around him, as he seemed to take up the entire living room with his presence, and made the way to the bathroom to pick out my now-dry curls. I focused on my reflection in the mirror, separating them until something out of the corner of my eye caught my attention. He was watching me fix my hair.

  He stood against the living room wall, arms crossed as if he had done it a million times. I took a deep breath and continued breaking them apart with fingers that shook a little more than I liked, doing my best to tune out his presence. I failed abysmally.

  “I thought your hair was natural curly.”

  I turned to look at him, hands raised over my head to work apart the curls in my crown. “It is, but I have to fuss with its to get it to do anything.”

  He looked me up and down, his eyes taking their sweet time as they went. “Need any help?”

  There was no doubt in my mind that it wasn’t my hair he wanted to help me with. I shook my head. “I’m nearly finished.”

  “If you change your mind…” He trailed off with an easy smile.

  I turned back to face the mirror. “After thirty years, I think I can fix my own hair.” I quickly finished up. In the kitchen, I grabbed up my purse and keys from the counter, only to turn and find him watching me again. “Ready?” I slung my battered bag over my shoulder and squared my shoulders.

  “Relax, sweetheart. It’s dinner, not a doctor’s appointment.” He offered me his elbow with all of the gallantry of an old-fashioned Creole planter.

  His ability to read me so well was disconcerting. I flicked off the kitchen light and accepted his arm, his words echoing in my head.

  HE TOOK A deep breath, inhaling her subtle scent of cinnamon, spice, and oranges.
As they exited her tiny apartment, he gave a prayer of thanks for the way the light purple material hugged her long, curvaceous figure. The hem barely touched the tops of her knees, leaving a generous expanse of leg for him to admire as he helped her into his truck.

  “So, who taught you such nice manners?” she asked after he’d started the engine. She actually sounded surprised.

  He paused and looked at her, his hand on the gearshift. What type of men had she dated in the past? “My momma and Aunt Susie, both of whom would whip my hide if I did anything less.”

  “That’s very nice. Most men these days don’t have no manners.” Lips pursed, she shook her head as she secured her seatbelt.

  For once in his life, Tim was speechless. He pulled onto the access road, suddenly feeling extremely unsure of himself. While her words left him thinking that the bar must be set pretty low, they also left him feeling usually unsettled. Despite the fact that most of the women he’d dated weren’t the keep-around kind, few of them had lived such a meager existence.

  Truth be told, it hadn’t been too hard to figure out that Toni didn’t have much. Maybe she was one of those unmotivated women looking for a man to take care of her…though she didn’t seem like the type. Meager existence or not, getting her into bed wouldn’t be easy.

  The miles since they had gotten on the highway flew by and the San Antonio skyline rapidly grew closer. “So, how long have you been a bartender?”

  “On and off about ten years.”

  “Why?” Color him curious. “Of all the things you could have done…”

  She chuckled. “Why am I a bartender?”

  He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “Yeah, of all the things you could have been, why did you choose to be a bartender?” He eased the large truck through the light evening traffic as he waited for her response.