Jeanne Glidewell - Lexie Starr 06 - Cozy Camping

by Jeanne Glidewell

  “How nice it must be to have your Uncle Cole as your boss. I’m sure that’s very beneficial when trying to arrange your schedule, and it’s nice that it allows you to travel whenever you please. But doesn’t that get expensive on your salary?”

  “Well, yes, but I also make quite a bit on the side teaching children, and occasionally adults, to ride and care for horses.”

  “You certainly must keep busy. I’m sure the side job is one you really enjoy, as much as you like to go horseback riding. Speaking of which, the horseback-riding excursion tomorrow sounds like a lot of fun. I must say, you have very ambitious children. I’m so sorry about the death of their step-mother, but I’m sure they’re excited that their father is here, as well.”

  It occurred to me the model may be pondering the fact I knew more about their personal life than I should, and be reluctant to continue the conversation. So when Cassie just looked at me without responding, I changed the subject and continued, “My daughter and I are horse lovers ourselves, so we’ll have to check it out.”

  I was actually scared to death of being within fifty feet of a horse. It’s not that I didn’t think they were beautiful creatures. It was just that every horse I’d ever been near had either thrown me, bit me, laid down and rolled over on me, or, on one painful occasion, kicked me clear across the barn at my late husband’s parent’s ranch. Now I was certain they could sense my trepidation whenever they approached me and felt they had to live up to my expectations of them.

  However, I might have to face my fear and convince Wendy, who actually does love horses, to go on a horseback trek the following day. I knew it wouldn’t take much arm-twisting, because she had inherited her love of anything equine-related from her father, Chester Starr, who had spent his youth growing up on a ranch that bred Quarter horses. Besides, she was as intrigued as I am with the family dynamics in the Bumberdinger clan, which might have a killer in the mix.

  Before I could ask anything about her relationship to Avery and Fanny, and any possible involvement she might have had with the author’s death, she bade me a quick farewell and ushered her children away from the crowd, which was beginning to disperse. Brandi walked alongside her mother without ever taking her eyes off the book she was reading.

  I joined Wendy and Andy, and my daughter was delighted at the idea of going on a lengthy horseback ride the following day. Andy said it would work out splendidly because he and the other two men were planning to go trout fishing at a place Stanley had told them about on a stream, ironically called Horse Creek. The prime fishing spot was located about forty-five minutes north of Cheyenne. They had all purchased appropriate tackle and fly-fishing rods during our stop at the Cabela’s in western Nebraska on the way to Wyoming, and were anxious to try them out. I encouraged Stone to get home before dark, because we gals didn’t want to assemble a search party in the middle of the night.

  Stanley had told them the brown trout were plentiful in Horse Creek, but to keep an eye out for rattlesnakes, which were also plentiful on the prairie. He’d also told them that if they didn’t spray themselves down with insect repellent from head to toe, they’d be bleeding like butchered hogs by the time they reached the stream. Ironically, again, from horsefly bites.

  The more Stanley had talked, the more Stone had considered just staying home and watching old movies again, but the itch to try out his new sporting good purchases was too much to resist. After listening to Stanley’s warnings, I wanted no part of a search party combing an area riddled with horseflies and rattlesnakes at night.

  “I think Wyatt told me once that Veronica liked horseback riding too, so it would be an ideal way for you three ladies to spend the day while we’re fishing,” Andy assured me.

  My backside suddenly began to ache at the mere thought of the long trail ride we were planning to partake in the next day, and I was already regretting my impulsive decision. But as I have often said, No Pain, No Gain! First I had to get through a Vex Vaughn concert that evening, in the midst of a frenzied standing-room-only crowd. The very thought made my feet begin to throb in perfect harmony with my backside.

  Chapter 9

  As Andy had predicted, Veronica was thrilled at the idea of the horseback riding excursion the following morning. With Emily’s help, I was able to make reservations for the ride. We were all sitting in lawn chairs on the patio, visiting and drinking coffee, while waiting to catch the shuttle bus to the fairgrounds. I was drinking cup after cup of strong brew, wishing I were gathering up my snorkel, beach towel, sunscreen, and latest Alice Duncan cozy mystery, to spend the next day lazing on a beach somewhere in the Caribbean, instead of the trail ride that was actually on my schedule. Veronica brought me back to reality with a thud when she reached over to kiss Wyatt on the cheek and squealed in delight.

  “With the Vex Vaughn concert tonight, and horseback riding tomorrow, this is turning out to be one of the greatest weeks of my life,” Veronica said. “Thanks so much for inviting us along, Stone. I really appreciate it.”

  “I’m glad you were able to join us, sweetie,” Stone said, with a warm smile. Then he reached over and patted my knee. “We’ll need to catch the next shuttle bus to get to the concert on time. Honey, are you sure you should be downing so much coffee? Finding a johnny-on-the-spot might be difficult in the standing-room-only section.”

  “No worries, sweetheart,” I said with a smile. “You know I have the bladder of a camel.”

  Despite my show of nonchalance in front of the others, I had almost choked on my last gulp of the stuff. I’d been so busy concentrating on how much I dreaded the concert and the trip to the ranch the next day that I hadn’t taken the availability of restrooms at the fairgrounds into consideration. I considered tossing the remaining coffee in my cup out onto the gravel, but that would contradict my comment to Stone. So, when I noticed there were only a few swallows left anyway, I finished what remained in one long gulp and walked my empty cup into the motorhome to set it into the kitchen sink. I used the restroom, just in case my camel theory didn’t pan out, and then picked up my fanny pack and latched it into place around my waist.

  Finally, I grabbed a sweatshirt off the back of the couch, knowing how cool the evenings were at this altitude, and rejoined the rest of my party out on the patio, where they were folding up the lawn chairs and preparing to proceed to the shuttle bus stop.

  With the uneasy notion of not being able to locate a restroom if I truly needed one later on in the evening, I mentioned needing to take along a pack of Kleenex, which I’d actually already placed in my fanny pack, and rushed back into the motorhome to utilize the restroom one last time. I squeezed out exactly three drops of urine that hadn’t emptied from my bladder ninety seconds earlier, and I’m not positive the third one wasn’t a mere figment.

  As expected, the shuttle bus was jam-packed. According to the metal regulations plaque attached securely to the back of the driver’s seat, I judged the mass-transit vehicle to be about two tons over its legal weight limit. The riders were in an excited state of anticipation because Vex Vaughn was the must-attend concert of this year’s festivities. And to think, I’d never even heard of the performer until I’d met Fanny Finch. My age was showing more and more with each new artist who produced a hit song, and it wasn’t a trend that was likely to get any better in the coming years. I normally only listened to the radio while driving back and forth to the grocery store or Wal-Mart, both of which were no more than a couple minutes away.

  I would not have minded the lack of breathing space in the bus had I been on my way to a George Strait concert, or practically any other artist I’d ever heard of before. One consolation was that, because of the drowning death of Fanny Finch a couple days prior, I had to admit a curiosity about this singer she’d demonized in her tell-all bestseller.

  * * *

  Approximately forty-five minutes later we were being shuffled and herded into the standing-room-only section amongst a throng of young people who didn’t seem to mind that they
were being handled like a herd of Angus being led to the slaughterhouse. By the time we reached a place in the mob where we would stand to listen to Vex Vaughn sing for the next couple of hours, I’d had my feet stomped on a dozen different times by various cowboy boots. Listening to Vaughn sing would be the extent of my evening, because at five-foot-two, I couldn’t see over the sea of cowboy hats in front of me.

  Almost immediately, I began feeling the need to use the restroom. Apparently, those last three drops hadn’t made a hill of beans’ worth of difference in how soon I’d need to go again.

  After what seemed like an eternity, the curtain opened up on the stage. I was craning my neck, trying to find an opening where I could get a glimpse of what was causing the crowd to erupt in pandemonium. I felt Wyatt grasp me around the waist and effortlessly lift me up just in time to watch a very handsome man in a Stetson walk out to greet the crowd. A glint flashed off his large silver belt as the bright lights shone down on the singer, who I estimated to be in his late forties. Like my favorite artist, George Strait, I’m sure aging had only made this man more attractive. I quickly indicated to Wyatt I’d seen all I needed to see because I felt a little foolish being hoisted up by the muscular detective as if I were a three-year-old child.

  Veronica, who was half a foot taller than I, stood on her tiptoes and snapped at least a hundred photos of Vex Vaughn from practically every position she could catch him in as he entertained the crowd. By the expression on her face, I could tell she was in a state of delirium. Even Wendy seemed fully invested in the concert. Stone, Wyatt, and Andy were exhibiting admirable patience, even as their facial expressions made it apparent they were as anxious for the concert to end as I was.

  As one song followed another, my bladder became increasingly more insistent. If I didn’t empty it soon, I feared I was going to wet my pants. That would be a humiliating experience I might never live down. I could already hear my daughter jeering at my expense. Hey, Mom, remember that time you peed all over yourself at the Vex Vaughn concert? I laugh every time I think about your remark about having the bladder of a camel. Good thing camels don’t drink gallons of coffee before going to concerts, huh?

  As I imagined that scenario, I knew I had to find a restroom fast. I pulled Stone’s ear down toward my mouth and shouted out my need to relieve myself.

  “I had a feeling that was going to happen. Would you like me to accompany you?” He asked.

  Always the gentleman, Stone would accompany me to the edge of hell if I asked him to, but I told him I’d rather he stayed behind. I knew he had his phone on vibrate, so I shouted to him that when he felt his phone vibrating in his pocket, I wanted him to wave his new cowboy hat in the air so I could locate the group and find my way back to them. He was hesitant, but agreed to my plan.

  The easiest way out of the midst of the crowd was to head in a perpendicular direction toward the edge of the stage. Surely when I reached the opening, I’d surely find a security guard who could direct me to the nearest johnny-on-the-spot.

  Pushing my way through the dense swarm of people was no easy task. It was now my turn to stomp all over other people’s toes. As I trudged, I sounded like an old phonograph album that had gotten hung up on a scratch and continually repeated itself. “Excuse me, I’m sorry, excuse me, I’m sorry, excuse me, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to make you spill your drink all over your girlfriend—”

  When I finally reached the point where I expected to find a security guard to lead me in the right direction, there was no guard, just a cable stretched out between two metal stands to contain the crowd. Obviously, the cable was designed to keep people from crossing the barrier, which would lead them to the rear of the stage. In the condition I was in, I could see no option but to step over the cable and see if I could find a john behind the stage. The worst that could happen was for me to get booted out of the arena, which might not be such a bad thing. I could text Stone that I was waiting for them outside the fairgrounds by the shuttle bus pickup area. I knew I’d pass several restroom locations on my way there.

  The problem was that I wasn’t sure I could make it that far. My bladder was now practically throbbing in rhythm with the drums on stage. Although I knew it wasn’t a promise I was apt to keep past seven o’clock the following morning, I vowed at that moment to give up my caffeine habit, once and for all.

  Walking behind the stage, I realized I’d been gone from my group longer than I’d anticipated and Stone would soon be growing concerned about my whereabouts. Vaughn’s band was so loud, though, that I didn’t think I’d be able to carry on an audible conversation if I was even able to reach Stone on his phone. Besides, once he felt the phone vibrating, he’d begin waving his hat in the air, to no avail. My best bet was to hurry as best I could and try to limit my husband’s worrying as much as possible. God knows I’d caused him enough anxiety already during our first year of marriage.

  As I reached the rear of the stage, I could see nothing but the back half of the rodeo arena. There were no staff members, or any sign of a portable toilet in the area. Wouldn’t the stage crew and musicians, even Vaughn himself, need a place to relieve themselves should the need arise? I wondered. With that thought in mind, I found an opening in the back of the stage and slipped in undetected.

  It was quite dark behind the stage, but I could make out a set of metal stairs ahead of me. I climbed them blindly and it became nearly pitch black as I reached the top. I saw a flash of light ahead and walked toward it. I could hear a rumble of commotion in that direction and would surely come across someone who could assist me in finding a restroom.

  I inched my way toward the noise, so as not to stumble over something in my path. Suddenly I froze as a large curtain to my left opened up and I discovered I was standing in the middle of the stage, surrounded by the band. Nearly everyone in the vast crowd was on their feet, stomping, shouting, and thunderously clapping. Vex Vaughn was holding a microphone and staring at me in surprise. I’m not sure what crossed his mind at that moment, but I’m sure the possibility of a crazed fan throwing herself at him was at the top of the list.

  “What are you doing, lady?” He hollered at me to be heard above the roaring and applauding crowd, while glancing around, no doubt for someone on his security staff. “I’m almost ready to do an encore!”

  “I have to pee!” I hollered back, in what had to sound like the most inane and ridiculous response Vaughn and his band expected to hear. As if on cue, the crowd had gone silent and a huge spotlight targeted me as I had screamed out my need to urinate. I noticed then I was standing directly behind a microphone on a metal stand. Had the entire crowd heard me? I wondered in horror. I was as flustered as Vaughn and turned away from the microphone to speak directly to the performer. As the sea of fans erupted into a frenzy again, I tried to be clearer in explaining my situation. “I desperately need a restroom and have been unable to locate one.”

  With a resigned expression on his face, the artist shook his head, and proceeded to pick up a tambourine and toss it to me. “Pretend to play it, lady. This is my last song, anyway.”

  As I stood there with a tambourine in my hand, the band began to play, and I suddenly wondered if Stone or anyone else in our group had recognized me up on stage. Even more humiliating, had they heard me shout out that I needed to pee? They wouldn’t be expecting to see me up there so might not notice if I tried to blend in with the band.

  For the next few minutes I attempted to hide behind Vex Vaughn. The fact that my bladder was about to explode inside my body never crossed my mind. The last thing I wanted was for Veronica to have a photo of me up on stage with her idol to pass around every time a party or gathering of friends needed a boost of amusement. And a wet streak trailing down my pant leg would make the photo even more titillating—worse, memorable. I could just see it going viral on YouTube if she was utilizing the video function of her camera.

  With my mind racing, I didn’t even realize I was banging the tambourine against my other ha
nd in time with the music until the unfamiliar song ended abruptly, and I didn’t.

  “What part of ‘pretend’ didn’t you understand, lady?” Vaughn asked me, obviously a little hot under the collar. He glared at me as the curtain came down to indicate the show was over. As a dozen men raced out and began to disassemble the stage and equipment, I tentatively handed the tambourine to him and began to babble nervously.

  “I’m so sorry, sir. I truly am. You see, I was just trying to find someone to lead me to a restroom, because I really, really need to use one. I swear I had no idea I’d managed to find my way up onto the stage. It was so dark up here, you know. But, um, the concert was wonderful, and, um, I really enjoyed it,” I said, hoping to temper his anger. “I’ll find my way out of here. I really am sorry I disturbed your encore.”

  My pitiful apology seemed to soften the singer’s attitude. “Oh, it’s no big deal. I doubt anyone could make out a word of the last song anyway because of the crowd noise. And that’s probably a good thing, because the lyrics to that song make absolutely no sense at all.”

  I didn’t want to tell him I hadn’t understood one word he’d sung all night, so instead I apologized one last time and turned to leave the stage.

  “Hey, lady,” Vaughn said. I began to walk away, my thighs squeezed together in an attempt to keep from springing a leak. “Would you like to use the john in my bus? My coach is right outside that side door, behind the curtains at the rear of the stage. There shouldn’t be anyone in the bus right now. My driver is helping the stage hands load up the instruments.”

  “Really? That would be terrific! I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this. My bladder’s about to bust and I don’t want to wet my pants!” In my surprise at his welcoming offer, I spoke before realizing what a personal and embarrassing statement I had just blurted out. But the surprisingly thoughtful singer, who was even more attractive up close, eased my humiliation with his next remark.