“Been there, done that, didn’t like it! It was during a performance at last year’s Country Music Awards Show, no less. Talk about bringing the crowd to its feet! Last time I downed a couple beers before a show though.”
Vex Vaughn motioned for a big burly guy with a bald head and a long straggly beard to show me to his bus. Without saying a word, the large man led me to the steps of a beautiful motor coach, and then turned around to return to the stage. I was sure he had other responsibilities to take care of besides waiting for some silly old broad to use the bathroom.
The bathroom was small, but beautiful and functional. On the lavatory, there was a half-empty bottle of Ambre Topkapi Cologne, which I knew to be quite expensive. I wondered for a moment how it would feel to be able to spend money so lavishly. When I’d recently splurged on a forty-dollar bottle of Elizabeth Taylor’s White Diamonds at Wal-Mart, I’d felt totally self-indulgent. I was only able to justify the expense by recognizing that the fabulous-smelling cologne was a gift to myself for the first anniversary of my marriage to Stone Van Patten. And how could I turn down a gift so thoughtfully given to me by myself without appearing rude and ungrateful?
After utilizing the toilet inside the bus, I glanced around at the luxurious features inside what I knew had to be a multi-million dollar unit. After having had a conversation with Wendy about wanting to see inside one of the fancier coaches, I was wishing she were with me to see the splendor I was observing at that moment.
With that in mind, I quickly took my phone out of my pocket and began snapping photos. I knew I would not be able to resist showing Veronica a photo of Vex Vaughn’s bed, which was unmade and a messed-up tangle of bedding, including bright red silk sheets and a stuffed throw pillow that bore the likeness of the artist across the front of it. Click!
I spotted a pair of tighty-whities on the floor in front of me that could stand to be washed, or thrown away and replaced. Click! There was a well-worn edition of Hustler on his nightstand. Click! Right next to the magazine was an open bible with a Miller Lite bottle opener being used as a bookmark. Click! In an immodest salute to himself, Vex Vaughn had a poster attached to his closet door featuring himself in a provocative, and, I must admit, mouth-watering, pose. Click! Click! Click!
Just as I shoved the camera back into my jeans pocket, the door opened and the subject of the poster I was just photographing stepped into his bus. He tossed his cowboy hat on a recliner, and asked, “Still here?”
“Yes, I was just leaving. Thank you for—”
“Were you taking photos? I thought I saw you put your phone in your back pocket when I stepped into the bus.”
I was embarrassed to be caught snapping photos inside this man’s personal space. I’m sure he’d feel like it was a serious invasion of his privacy if he’d known I had just been photographing his dirty laundry a few seconds ago—in fact, his skid-marked jockey shorts, for goodness sakes!
I started to express my sincere apologies, when his laugh caught me off-guard. “I don’t care, lady. As long as you’re not planning to publish the photos, that is. My entire private life is already on display in every bookstore in the country. And, besides, a few photos of the inside of my bus ain’t nothing compared to all the lies some broad made up in her book about my life. Pardon my language, ma’am, but that’s what Fanny Finch is—an insensitive bitch!”
“No, it’s actually what Fanny Finch used to be,” I replied.
“Huh?”
“Haven’t you heard? She died a couple days ago.”
“Huh?” Vaughn repeated with a look of complete shock on his face. “Are you serious, lady?”
“Very serious,” I said.
“She’s dead? Fanny Finch is dead? What happened to her? Was she killed? Did they catch whoever killed her? It surely wasn’t one of my fans, was it?” He asked a string of questions and appeared shaken by the news.
“Somebody electrocuted her in a swimming pool at an RV Park right here in town.”
“Fanny Finch was here in Cheyenne?”
“Yes, for a book signing at the local bookstore.”
“Humph! I’m sure with me headlining in a concert here, she had a lot of people wanting a signed copy of her unauthorized Fame and Shame book. Stupid title!”
“Well, yes, I hate to say there was quite a line of people at the bookstore.”
“Aha! So, am I correct in thinking you were there to buy a book, too?” Vaughn asked. I detected a touch of bitterness in his voice, as if someone he’d so courteously lent his private restroom to had just stabbed him in the back.
“Oh, no, sir. I didn’t buy a copy. You couldn’t have paid me to buy or read one of her books, which, as you just said, was unauthorized and probably untrue. In fact, my daughter, Kylie Rue, and I made it clear to her that we thought it was despicable of her to even write the book. There was absolutely no way we’d patronize her by purchasing a copy. Kylie was particularly incensed and nearly came to blows with her.”
“Kylie Rue?” He asked, with surprise etched on his face.
“Yes, she’s a young woman who works at the campground. It was actually the three of us that discovered Fanny’s body in the bottom of the pool.”
“So, no kidding, she’s really dead?”
“Very much so! Say, do you mind if I give my husband a quick call to let him know where I am? I’m sure he’s worried about me.”
“Sure, go ahead,” he said. I noticed he wore an expression of delight. I tried to determine if he was truly surprised at the news of Fanny’s death, or putting on a show for my benefit. Either option was possible.
I spoke to Stone, who, along with the others, was frantically searching the fairgrounds for me. He expressed his relief and also his disbelief in seeing me up on stage with the famous artist and his band. I assured him I’d explain the situation when I joined them at the shuttle bus pickup area in just a few minutes. He told me the shuttle bus was not scheduled to depart for at least half an hour and cautioned me not to be late.
I thanked Vex Vaughn again for his thoughtfulness in letting me use his restroom and made a motion to exit the bus. He put his hand on my shoulder, and said, “Ma’am, I want you to know that most of the information in that book is pure hogwash. Yes, I’ve not been an angel by any stretch of the imagination, but I’ve only been arrested twice. Once was for driving while intoxicated, which I regret, and the other was for a trumped-up charge of assault and battery on a paparazzi photographer, which was dropped the next morning. I’ve only fathered one child, who I made sure ended up in a good home after the mother died during childbirth from a fluke complication. Most of the crap in that book is the result of the author using lenient creative license to sensationalize the information that she gathered from a whole slew of unreliable ‘trusted sources.’”
“I can only imagine, Mr. Vaughn. I believe you completely, and I’m really sorry this happened to you. If it’s any consolation, I had an aversion to the woman from the second I laid eyes on her. If I were you, I’d let it slide off me like water off a duck’s back. Fortunately, in your profession, I’d think any kind of exposure can only help your career.”
“Yes, I know. But ignoring it is easier said than done. My reputation is important to me. I don’t like the idea that people think I’m some kind of wild-ass loser who treats others with such little regard,” he answered. “Can I see your phone for a second?”
My initial thought was that the man was going to delete the photos I’d taken of the inside of his bus, in the event I might use them in some way that would adversely affect him. I’d have probably done the same thing had I been in his shoes. But, to my surprise, he turned the camera around, pulled me toward him with his arm around my shoulder, extended his arm and said, “Smile!”
Who’d have ever thought my very first “selfie” would be taken by, and with, one of the most popular entertainers on the planet? I’m sure he assumed I was a fan since I attended his concert. I thought it was kind of him to make sure I had a ph
oto of the two of us together. It suddenly occurred to me that it might end up being Veronica who wet her pants when I showed her this photo on my phone! I only prayed that the ribbing, and possibly mild chastising on Stone’s part, would be held to a minimum.
I thanked Vaughn one more time before exiting his lovely motor coach. I then hurried to the bus stop, not wanting to be responsible for all six of us missing the last scheduled bus ride back to the campground. I knew there was no way the other five in my group would leave without me, even it meant having to find an alternate way home. Even if there happened to be taxi service available, it would take two cabs to fit us all.
Chapter 10
As it turned out, rather than being the object of mockery, I was so envied by Veronica and Wendy that what few indignant remarks Stone was able to squeeze into the conversation were completely lost on me. He finally threw up his hands and laughed it off, as I knew he’d do once the sheer panic of not knowing where I was had worn off.
Huddled in a circle at the shuttle bus stop awaiting our ride back to the campground, I scanned through the photos I’d taken. Veronica squealed loudly at the photo I’d taken of Vex Vaughn’s soiled skivvies, and I glanced at Wyatt just in time to see him roll his eyes and shake his head in amusement. He placed his arm around his girlfriend, and said, “Honey, I’d be happy to leave my dirty drawers lying all over the house if it would make you this excited.”
“Don’t even think about it, buster, or at least not until you have a hit song at the top of the charts,” she retorted in a teasing manner. “Besides, when was the last time you even wore any?”
“Hey now, girl,” he replied. “Don’t give my friends the wrong impression of me. I only went commando a few days that week we were waiting for the repairman to come and replace the motor in the washing machine.”
“Really?” Stone asked the detective. “Would you like to borrow a twenty so you can go buy a few spare Fruit-of-the-Looms at Wal-Mart?”
Continuing the playful banter, Wyatt replied, “You know I can’t afford luxuries like extra underwear on a cop’s salary. And especially not when I have to keep my lady in silk lingerie. Trust me, friend, I’m not complaining one bit, because I am the appreciative benefactor of all that frilly, sexy stuff.”
As the entire group laughed at Wyatt’s remarks, Stone caught my eye and cocked an eyebrow. I knew he was kidding, but I couldn’t help but respond. “Not in this lifetime, dear.”
When the laughter died down, Veronica took my camera out of my hand and continued scrutinizing the photos inside Vaughn’s motor coach. She was somewhat disturbed by the photo of a beer bottle opener being used as a bookmark in a Bible, but nearly dropped my phone when she saw the close-up of her idol snuggled up against me in the photo Vaughn had snapped of us. In true drama-queen fashion, Veronica lamented, “Oh, why couldn’t I have had to use the ladies’ room too, so I could have been with you at the time? Darn my efficient bladder, anyway! If not for it, this photo would have been of Vex Vaughn and me instead. Good Lord, he’s even more of a stud muffin close up!”
I wanted to say that it still could have been me in the photo, but had to admit I’d probably been taking a picture of Veronica draped all over the handsome star instead of the other way around. After all, I was not in total denial. All the lotions and potions Veronica depended on had not failed to do their job in helping her create a vision that any man—or woman for that matter—would admire. It seemed as if the young woman was trying to convince others of her worthiness, even though she wasn’t believing it herself. If only someone could convince her that she was a beautiful human being and could stand to put a little meat on her bones.
Andy, who had contributed little to the conversation, which was not uncommon for the laid-back, soft-spoken young man, spoke up to announce that the shuttle bus was arriving. And because everyone had been delayed by waiting for me to find my way to the bus stop, it appeared as if we’d be the only six people on the last shuttle bus rotation of the evening.
I didn’t know about the rest of the group, but I was ready to crawl into bed and call it a day. I needed to recharge my batteries in order to have enough endurance to get through the horseback excursion the next morning. I had a feeling, though, that even if I was Rip Van Lexie, there would never be enough shut-eye to sail easily through the coming adventure. My equestrian ineptitude would surely be evident before the day was over, if not my first five minutes at the ranch.
As it turned out there was very little shut-eye to be had for me that night. Visions of being kicked across another barn, at an age where brittle bones were becoming more of an issue, danced through my head all night long as Stone sawed logs in a blissful state of deep sleep.
* * *
“Good morning, ladies!” Emily said to Wendy, Veronica and me as we sat outside on the patio of my campsite, drinking coffee and preparing to drive out to the ranch for our morning trail ride.
“Good morning,” the three of us returned in unison.
“Just wanted to drop the keys to my car off with you before I get busy in the office.”
“We appreciate you lending us your vehicle,” I told her, “but the men already took Stanley’s truck to Horse Creek for their fly-fishing adventure. We’d hate to leave you without any wheels. What if something comes up and you need transportation?”
“No worries. I can always use Kylie’s car in an emergency,” Emily assured me, with a visible shudder. “The brakes are soft, neither the wipers nor horn work, and the gas pedal has a tendency to stick. But with any luck at all, it would get me where I was going without incident. Which reminds me, I forgot to tell you the bad news.”
“Oh, my God! What now?” I asked in alarm. My reaction was maybe a little more dramatic than the situation called for, but occasionally the sub-conscious drama queen in me came out when I least expected it.
“Nothing that bad, Lexie,” Emily said, with a laugh that sounded more like a snort. “No slain customers or anything of that magnitude. Kylie just informed me she’s going back to Florida on Monday, the day after the rodeo ends. She told me she really enjoys the job, but misses her friends and family back home. I guess I can understand how she feels, but dang it, she was the dream employee. At least she’s not going to leave me without office help during Frontier Days. The place empties out Sunday afternoon, and next week will seem almost boring in comparison.”
“I can see where she’s coming from too,” I replied. I didn’t want to tell her Kylie had told me about her plans the previous morning. Emily might be insulted I didn’t go straight to her with the news. But in the event Kylie decided not to quit her job at the RV Park, I hadn’t wanted her to be affected by my spilling the beans. I also didn’t want to repeat something the sweet young lady had told me in confidence. So I pretended to be surprised by Emily’s remarks. “I’m sorry you’re going to lose such a low-maintenance employee. With her bubbly personality and admirable work ethic, her position here seemed to be the perfect fit for her.”
“I thought so too, but that’s the way it goes, I guess. I’m sure I can find a workamper to fill the spot for the rest of the season. We close for the winter in mid-October. That’s about when the first mention of the S-word shows up in the weather forecast. The word snow is like kryptonite for RVers. They head south like a flock of geese with a cold wind ruffling their tail-feathers.”
“I’d be right in the middle of the flock if I were here,” Wendy said, having been listening to the conversation between Emily and me. She asked, “What’s a ‘workamper,’ Emily?”
“We occasionally get full-time RVers who want a break on their rent, and also men, like pipe fitters and welders, staying here in monthly sites while they’re on temporary work stints at the oil refinery in town, or the chemical plant west of town. There’s also a water treatment plant here that occasionally hires temporary workers.”
“And how does that work?” Wendy asked.
“Well, a lot of times these men’s wives travel from
job to job with them, and are happy to have something to do to keep them busy. In lieu of monthly rent, they help out in the office, clean the shower houses, or whatever needs to be done. If they work more than a reasonable amount of hours every week, I pay them some salary, as well. It works out well for both of us. And, by the way, workamper is spelled without the ‘C’ because of the name of the magazine we advertise in when we need help.”
“How nice to have a pool of possible employees amongst your customers,” I remarked. “I might give that a thought when hiring help at the inn. I can offer room and board in exchange for a percentage of the employee’s salary, like you do. That way someone will always be there, and I don’t have to close the doors the way we did to come on this trip. I gave my housekeeper a week of paid vacation, but she had it coming, anyway. Colleen’s exceptional help, and so is Janet, the gal who does most of the cooking and serving of meals at the inn. She had just been employed for a couple of weeks, but had requested time off while we took this vacation. She wanted to go visit her grandmother, who’s on her deathbed in Glendale, Colorado. And, also—”
“You’re rambling, Mom,” Wendy stopped me in mid-sentence to remind me of the time. “We need to head out in a few minutes to get to the ranch on time.”
I’d been chatting with Emily and drinking my morning coffee, and hadn’t been paying much attention to the time. I think I was subconsciously trying to sabotage our plans, hoping we’d arrive too late to take the horseback excursion, but I would never have admitted it, even to myself.
“You girls have a great time today,” Emily said, as she turned to walk back to the golf cart she’d driven to our site in. “I’ve already entered the address of the Rolling Creek Ranch on the GPS in my car for you. Follow the directions it gives you, even if it seems like it’s leading you to the middle of nowhere, because the middle of nowhere is exactly where this ranch is located.”
Jeanne Glidewell - Lexie Starr 06 - Cozy Camping Page 12
