by Lynn Shurr
Just before dawn, Renee lowered a motorized screen over her terrace to keep the mosquitoes off their bare bodies. They made love outside on the hot pink cushion of one lounger, then switched to the orange-covered one leaving some damp spots behind, to watch the sun rise over her garden.
Thick plantings of bamboo on three sides of the yard kept the first rays from penetrating, but eventually, pots of hibiscus with blooms of red, lemon, and peach emerged from the gloom. An interesting piece of statuary sat in the center of a small, grassy area. Clint assumed it was a takeoff of the Mannekin Pis he’d seen in Brussels, but instead of a small, chubby child urinating into a fountain, the statue of a full-grown man, life-sized, with the body of a Greek god, pissed into an elegant copper birdbath. Both of his hands directed the spray of his giant penis. Water dripped from the sides of the birdbath onto a circle of ferns reminding him a little of Renee’s Brazilian wax job. For a minute, words failed Clint Beck.
“Never seen nothing like that before,” he finally managed.
“I studied art in college. The statue is based on a drawing I once made of a—friend.” She’d almost said her personal trainer, the one her first husband had caught her screwing.
“My first husband, the heart surgeon, Elias Bouchard, hated it. I had to put the thing into storage for a while, but Gerry didn’t mind. He made his money off of oil royalties, and for an older man, was very broad-minded. Too bad he didn’t last. Had a heart attack practically on top of me. Mixed Viagra with his medication. Even Elias couldn’t bring him back.”
The sun of a Louisiana June boiled up higher into the sky. Clint had a feeling all this information about her rich husbands might be Renee’s way of telling him this had been fun, but now she had to get back to serious spouse hunting. He should return to Bodey’s place, too, and try to get some sleep and a good breakfast before schooling the newbie bullfighters in their moves.
Whatever possessed him to say, “May I come over again tonight? I think I might have an interesting proposition for you.” Damn, he should have said “deal”.
Renee didn’t appear to notice the big word usage. “I’m always up for interesting propositions, Clinton O. Beck, but don’t call before three. I need my beauty rest.”
“Darlin’, you couldn’t get more beautiful.”
She smiled like a cat full of cream and ready for another full saucer.
Chapter Three
“You’re going to do what!” Bodey Landrum shouted as Clint Beck helped himself to an oversized portion of scrambled eggs from the breakfast buffet in the bunkhouse.
“I thought I’d take Renee around on the circuit with me for a few months, try to break her of some of her bad habits. Not that sharing my bed will be any hardship.”
Bodey lowered his voice since all the students craned their necks to listen in. “If Renee sees that fancy rig of yours, that old Corvette like the one I got back in Texas, she’ll do a computer search to see what you’re really worth. All those Millionaire’s Son Fights the Bulls stories are gonna pop up, and you are doomed. I know she Googled me. If I hadn’t been so in love with Eve, she might have taken me down. Before you know it, you’ll be married to her.”
“Would that be such a bad thing? You know I live for danger.” Clint put two bran muffins studded with raisins on his plate and picked a ripe banana out of the fruit bowl. He passed over the bacon and home fries.
“Yes, yes, it would. She’s a man-eater, not your ordinary house cat.”
“I have a plan. I’ll trade rigs with Snuffy for a while—and keep her away from computers if that will make you happy.”
“Have you ever been in Snuffy’s trailer? It’s a health hazard. There is a reason why he got the Snuffy nickname.”
“I’ll clean it up. We’ll only use the thing for a month or two.”
“And when someone on the circuit calls you the ‘Bean King’, what are you going to say?”
“I’ve got an explanation all worked out. There’s nothing in my program biography about Beck’s Baked Beans, just a blurb that I went to UT and once tried out for the U.S. Olympic gymnastics team. After that, it’s just a list of awards and honors.”
“You know, I thought I was brave man, but Clint, you take the prize buckle with this one.”
****
Snuffy Jones showed even less enthusiasm for the idea than Bodey. “Let you use the Belly Nelle and my trailer? Well, I don’t know. We been together a long time. That would be like letting you sleep with my wife—if we weren’t divorced.”
“Say, I’m doing that rodeo for special kids up in Casper for you, no charge, in a week. You didn’t have to beg me to take the time from my busy schedule. Just let me use The Tin Can and the Belly Nelle until then. You can take my motorcoach.”
“What about the Corvette?”
“Ah, I promised Bodey he could use it. What do you say, Snuff?”
“Maybe I can endure the separation for a good friend who’s saved my balls from bulls a few times.”
“Great. Only one favor. Be sure you spit your chaw into a cup while you use my rig.”
“You got it. I have to move out some of my stuff.”
“I’ll help you before we start class.”
Snuffy’s ancient metal-clad trailer had been rolled by a tornado in Kansas and battered by hail in Texas. The barrelman had painted her affectionate nickname, The Tin Can, on her side. Clint hauled the case of beer and three bottles of whiskey over to his luxury motorhome while Snuffy gathered up his street clothes, costumes, and make-up kit. The Tin Can’s refrigerator held only leftovers from the generous meals provided by Bodey, so Clint loaded up his groceries, too, along with all his bullfighting gear and a week’s worth of clean clothes. Bodey would store his surplus and more upscale clothing. With the transfer completed, Clint figured he still had a lot of work to do before he would be able to coax Renee through the door.
After working in the bullring all morning with the students, Clint skipped lunch and sought out the nearest K-Mart about ten miles away from Rainbow for an array of cleaning supplies. He looked over a display of Martha Stewart sheets and picked a couple of sets in red. If Martha said that was good taste, then it was. The tiger print throw and pillows he got didn’t bear her name. He found some narrow floor runners that looked like fake Persian rugs to cover the snuff-stained beige carpet in The Tin Can. He couldn’t stand the thought of walking on it barefooted. Once he got back, he realized he should have gotten some new curtains to replace the sorry, striped, grease-streaked ones hanging over the small windows. They’d probably been there since before Snuffy’s wife, Ruth Ann, refused to travel anymore and left him years ago. Too late for another trip now. Clinton O. Beck had a toilet to scrub.
The stains in the bathroom proved to be permanent, but Clint had the satisfaction of knowing he’d disinfected all surfaces his flesh or Renee’s was likely to touch. He put out an air freshener hoping it would compensate for the aroma of used snuff that seemed to hang in the air, the cloudy mirror over the sink, and all the other imperfections of The Tin Can. The mattress on the foldout bed proved to be better than expected and probably newer. Fresh sheets made it look good, if he did say so himself.
Snuffy poked his head in the door, searching for some forgotten item. “Wouldn’t hardly recognize the place, Clint, all duded up for a woman. I like that tiger skin blanket. Do I get to keep this stuff when you’re through with it?”
“You bet.” Clint could see Snuffy puckering and looking for a place to spit and grabbed a paper cup in a hurry.
“How about the mountain bike you got on that rear rack. I get to use it? I figure I can store my custom barrel back there, too.”
“Sure, use the bike. I’ll be getting my exercise another way.”
“You’re spoiling me, Beck. I plan on leaving tomorrer evening and get on up to Casper to visit with my kid. See you there.”
“That’s a promise.”
****
After the bullfighting class ended for the
day, Clint took a box of files over to Bodey for safekeeping.
“Papers that might reveal my net worth. Keep ’em safe for me, Bodey.”
“You bet. What about your laptop?”
“The Belly Nelle has a bunch of secret compartments, not to mention trapdoors.”
“Good, then you can escape Renee if you have to run.”
“Cut it out. I promise to bring her home a changed woman.”
Eve Landrum, who had been rocking her baby and obviously listening in, said, “Clint, be careful with her. I don’t think Renee is as strong as she seems. Tricking her is wrong.”
“Yeah, right. Like she didn’t try to trick me or half a dozen other men,” Bodey snorted.
Clint left it at that and went to convince Renee Hayes to ride the circuit with him.
****
Renee allowed herself to be persuaded to go along fairly easily. After two rounds of very hot sex, she regarded a fingernail she’d broken on his back and said, “What else have I got to do? Give me a day or two to get ready.”
She admitted the sad truth about not having anything else to do, though pronounced the fact so casually Clint mistook it for boredom. After Eve snatched Bodey away from her, two other well-researched marriage prospects slipped through her fingers in the last year, each one now engaged to women in their early twenties. Sure, those men had been willing to try to the goods, but neither closed the sale with her.
Renee didn’t even have her art classes to distract her anymore, she thought resentfully. Eve Landrum had been her instructor and stopped giving lessons a month before the baby came. Mrs. Bodey Landrum showed no signs of returning to her small studio on the other side of Rainbow. She’d quit her waitress job after marrying the great bull rider, but honored her teaching contract at Mt. Carmel Academy until the Christmas break to allow the school time to find a new riding instructor and art teacher. Early on, most of the older women who had taken painting classes from Eve nodded wisely and said Eve had signed up for the mommy track and would be showing a baby belly any day now. How right they were. That howling kid must have gotten its start on the wedding night. Bodey built an art studio next to the house for Eve’s own pleasure, but she wouldn’t be instructing others anymore. Some people had all the luck.
What was Renee Hayes supposed to do with no place to paint, and no one to listen to her schemes? How selfish of Eve to abandon her best pupil, especially when she’d taken that lecherous fraud of an artist, Evan Adams, off of Eve’s hands for a while, and let the way wide open for Bodey to step in and claim her.
Getting away would be good. Who knew, maybe she would bump into a Texas millionaire at one of those rodeos or a bull rider as rich as Bodey Landrum. In the meantime, she’d have a man with a gorgeous bod and lots of stamina for entertainment despite his country yokel personality. If nothing else worked out, she’d fly home from wherever she wound up once she grew tired of Clint.
Her preparations for the trip were simple. She packed a small suitcase since Clint said he didn’t have much room to spare in his trailer and stuffed her most essential items—make-up, condoms, her diaphragm and spermicidal jelly, spare contacts, a touchup kit for her hair color, and a pile of credit cards, most of them near their limit—into an oversized leather satchel. She expected Clint to pick up the tab for anything else in return for her company.
The shock arrived when the Belly Nelle returned to her driveway hauling a trailer that looked like something cartoon characters, mouse, a duck and a parrot, would take on vacation. She knew her mouth hung open but couldn’t seem to close it.
Clint spread his arms wide. “My home away from home, princess. Climb aboard.”
She did, not sure why, but she did. The interior, a decorator’s nightmare, possessed a strange odor that a cheap floral air freshener couldn’t hide. She felt the urge to bolt.
“Thanks for packing light, Renee. You can see I don’t have much room, but that there bench folds down into a pretty good bed.”
“Oh, none of my clothes take up a lot of space, and I have everything I really need in my satchel. You can buy me anything I’ve forgotten later.”
Renee pretended an interest, opening cupboards and the refrigerator. “You certainly like Beck’s products. I believe you have every variety of beans they put out, plus the complete line of pickles and their spicy brown mustard.”
“Yeah, well, there’s a story behind that. See, I do like their foods. One time, just once, I mentioned in front of Snuffy that maybe I might be related to those rich folks somehow, and maybe they’d sponsor some bullfighting competitions. He about busted a gut over that. Calls me the Bean King, now. So do a lot of the guys. I have to put up with a bunch of flatulence jokes, too. It’s embarrassin’.”
Half a truth was better than none, Clint figured. His mother kept him well-stocked with the family products, which were certainly high quality and very nourishing for a reasonable price. He had asked his father to sponsor a bullfighting competition, but his dad lowered his head and bellowed like one of the bulls Clint fought, “Are you out of your mind!” He hadn’t asked again.
“Now, the announcers call me Clinton O. Beck, the Bull Bomber. I like that better.”
“So do I.” Renee felt a tiny twinge of pity for this nice, unassuming, well-built, sexy guy. “Come on Bomber, let’s try out the hide-a-bed.”
They rocked The Tin Can on her old springs for an hour, then Clint helped her into a pair of short shorts so tight he’d had trouble getting them off. They got back to the business of moving on.
Renee wanted to say good-bye to her mother, and Clint had to gas up and get some fresh food for the trip, so they towed The Tin Can up the rest of the hill and parked in the circular drive before Tara-on-the-Bayou.
“Want me to come in and meet your mom so she’ll feel better about you going off with a stranger?” Clint offered.
“No, thanks. I just want to leave a note with your name and that we are heading off to Casper, then Glendale, Arizona. Where after that?”
“Wherever the road takes us, baby, but we’ll be in Cheyenne at the end of July.”
If they lasted that long, if she didn’t find someone better, Renee thought. She let herself into the phony mansion and looked around for her mother. The maid dusting in the den said Miss Prudence sunned out by the pool—of course.
Renee found good old Mom basking, basted with coconut oil, and out cold. The pitcher of luridly pink cosmopolitans sitting on the table next to her lounger told Renee her mother had fallen off the wagon again. A life of tennis and sunbathing had stained Pru Niles’ skin the color of leather and wrinkled her hide to the toughness of an alligator’s back. She wore a bikini but possessed the sex appeal of a skeleton. Years of alcohol abuse and bulimia kept her extremely thin. Her short cut of dyed red hair only pointed up her sunken cheeks and bad teeth, slightly exposed like those of a dried out mummy, except Mrs. Niles snored, miraculously not dead yet.
Renee didn’t bother to wake her parent, but she slammed the door to the house harder than she intended. She got a notepad and paper in the kitchen and wrote out her itinerary, gave them Clint’s name, reminded them she could be reached on her cell if they wanted to get in touch—as if. She stuck the note to the refrigerator door where her father would find it just as Pru Niles staggered in.
“Wadda you want, Renee? I heard that door slam exactly the way you used to do back in your teens. You think by now, you’d let a woman get her beauty rest.”
“I want nothing from you, Mom. I’m leaving on a trip. I asked Dad to make sure my gardener is keeping up the yard. My cleaning lady will come once a week to dust and water the plants. I’m off with a new friend of mine. His name is on the note. Don’t know when I’ll be back.” Renee didn’t bother to hide her scorn for the woman who gave birth to her. She stared at the emaciated form before her with hard, green eyes.
“Don’t know how I raised such a piece of trash. You’d go off with any guy with a big dick and a little money. Must of got ru
nning around from your father. He’s down the hill doing that Parker bitch right now.”
“Sally, my friend, Sally?” Not Sally who had always been the most decent member of her old Academy clique, the Sexy Seven, if you didn’t count her cousin Rusty’s wife who had never really belonged.
“No, the old bag, my former friend, Sally’s mother. Since her husband left with his secretary, she thinks my husband is fair game. But, you know what? Jed promised he’d never, ever leave me, so she’s in for a shock. The Niles men keep their word even if they do screw around on the side.”
“Dad didn’t make me what I am, Prudence. Think about it when you sober up. Meanwhile, I’m outta here—with a guy who’s good-looking, brave, and—simple and sweet and almost poor.”
“Like the nigger yardman you screwed for a while, the one caused your divorce from Elias? Or was it the personal trainer. I forget since you had another husband since then. You really can’t hold on to them, can you, Renee?”
“Gerry died on me!”
“Yeah, right on top of you in bed, naturally. Poor old geezer, you screwed him to death.”
Knowing from years of sparring verbally with her mother that she would not win the battle of words because all Prudence said rang with truth, Renee retreated through the house. She slammed the front door harder than she had the back. Climbing into the cab of the Belly Nelle, she slammed the truck door, too. The vibrations sent a cascade of small, stuffed animal toys sliding into her lap from the dashboard. Clint stared as Renee buried her face in her hands.
“Ah, maybe if your mama is real against this, you shouldn’t go.”
“She doesn’t care where I go or with whom. What is with all these stuffed toys? You must have fifty of them shoved in here.” Renee began pushing the plush unicorns and blue teddy bears back into the heap on the dash.
“Snuffy—and me—like to give ’em out to little kids at the rodeos. Besides, I’m a devil with the claw machine. Passes the time, you know.” Clint sorted through the stack. “Here, looks like you could use a furry friend to cheer you up, too.”
