by Lynn Shurr
“So no one but Noreen, you, me, and Eve will ever know you really possess the tragic soul of Rufus Courville?”
“Go ahead and mock me. I think Noreen has convinced my dad and Mona they are reincarnated, too.”
“Who were they in their past life?”
“I don’t want to go into it.” Rusty took a large swig from his beer bottle.
Little Katie appeared, her small arms overflowing with stuffed toys and dolls, which she arranged in a semi-circle in front of the TV.
“Where’s baby Shea?” she asked Bodey. Katie loved playing with Shea, putting bows in his black, curly hair and giving him dollies to gnaw on, all of which made Bodey kind of uneasy.
“He takes his nap after lunch, Little Bit.”
Katie went back to her room for a second load of toys.
“And with Renee around all the time, his daddy doesn’t get to play with his mommy in the afternoons anymore.”
Bodey Landrum should have watched his mouth. The clacking of keys had stopped while he spoke to Katie. He realized Noreen stood right behind him. Without turning, he could imagine his friend’s wife with her arms crossed and a frown her face. Here it came.
“Bodey Landrum, you dense side of beef! How can you be so self-centered? Not only does Renee need our help and support, but you probably haven’t noticed that Eve has been sick and tired. She’s been trying to keep the fact that you’ve gotten her pregnant—again—already—quiet in order not to depress Renee who believes she isn’t going to be keeping her babies.”
Bodey Landrum felt and probably looked as if he had been struck by lightning while riding a bucking bull in a thunderstorm when he turned to stare at her and could see Noreen took a great deal of pleasure in that.
“Can’t be! She hasn’t said… Eve is nursing. I thought monogamous married men didn’t need to use condoms.”
Noreen smirked right at him. “You know Eve is more Catholic than any of us. She wouldn’t ask you to use a condom now that you’re married. You should have taken more care, you dick head. Now you have a second baby on the way, and…”
“I do! That’s great!” Bodey held out a flat palm for Rusty to high five.
Russ gave him a good slap, but mumbled under his breath to Bodey, “Thanks a heap. Noreen has been hinting around for a third child with all of her friends busting out with babies.”
“That would be terrific! You, me, Clint, we could all be daddies the same year.”
Noreen gave Bodey the friendliest smile she had ever bestowed on him. Katie returned with a pile of plastic teacups and placed one in front of each doll and teddy.
“Have a brew,” she said. “Unc Bodey is a dick head. More babies.” Katie giggled.
“See what you’ve made me do! Men! No, honey, Uncle Bodey is a really good guy.” To prove that statement, Noreen patted Bodey on the head with a heavy hand.
He ducked down on the sofa. “Look, I only came over here because Clint called and asked me to get Renee to watch the National Bullfighting Finals in a few weeks. It’s on after the Professional Bull Riders Finals. I thought I’d invite everyone to a party at my house to watch.”
“Won’t work,” Noreen said. “Renee will figure you’ll spend the whole evening praising Clint Beck, saying what a great guy he is. She knows that already. The darned prenup made her feel worthless again. She’ll avoid a situation like that. Hmmm, maybe we should get the Sisters involved.”
“Now what could Sr. Helen and Sr. Inez do about this? They barely met Clint,” Bodey countered.
“They know of him and have been praying for him. And it seems to me, the good Sisters were the ones who brought you and Eve together again. Let me talk to them.”
“Go ahead, then. Let me know if I can help,” Bodey conceded.
The front door burst open, and Rusty’s son, Jesse, ran in holding up a string of dripping bass and catfish. He was followed by his grandfather Ted and Mona Niles loaded with more fresh-caught fish.
“Fish fry tonight?” asked Bodey hopefully.
“Grilled fish,” answered Rusty. “Renee is coming over. You and Eve are welcome, too.
“No, thanks,” said Bodey, a gleam in his eye. “I think I’ll stay home and make love to my pregnant wife.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Renee Beck double-checked her house again for any object that might be offensive to nuns. The semi-naked male paintings had gone along with Le Grand Pisseur to the little gallery Archie and Roger had opened. She’d told them to get whatever price they could for her art.
At Eve’s suggestion, she’d started a new series of children, not pretty, prissy little girls decked in Sunday dresses or clean, tidy boys scrubbed for their portraits, but scruffy kids having fun. The first was a self-portrait at age ten done from an old photo. She wore her hair in a messy auburn bob, all of her freckles showed, and her eyes shone wide and gray-green. A young Renee Niles leaned her head against that of her favorite horse, a little red mare named Ruby. The child that she had been, pre-Paris before Uncle Dewey, radiated happiness. She’d hung that painting close to her bedroom door as if it would ward off the bad dreams.
In the bedroom, the ceiling mirror had vanished. She’d discarded the tiger trappings, painted the room a deep green, and edged the ceiling with die-cut tropical leaves. The spread was scarlet and silky. Tall red and deep yellow vases from local potteries glowed against the dark walls. A small toy tiger peered out from behind an orange pot filled with lucky bamboo on the top of the dresser. A straw cowboy hat hung from the bedpost. The effect was something like the painter Rousseau’s idea of the Garden of Eden with the live plants still clustered by the windows overlooking the patio.
All sex toys had been removed from both her bathroom and the one for guests. She’d packed them away on a high shelf children couldn’t reach. Someday, she might want someone besides Clinton Odulf Beck, but not now. He’d bound her to him with his tricks, made her into a person she barely recognized and did not know how to use. He’d given her no instruction manual typed up on a computer like the prenup for his creation, Renee Beck.
Renee gazed at herself in the powder room mirror. A gauzy sea-foam green maternity dress hung straight from her shoulders. Personally, she thought she looked like an overweight housewife, but she’d dressed up the outfit with the inexpensive silver earrings she’d gotten in Ellensburg and a new pair of suede slides because her boots fit too tight now. She wore the Navajo cuff bracelet every day whether it matched her outfit or not. She’d surprised Noreen and Eve by passing up the tight, stylish tops and dresses that would show off her baby bump. Why flaunt what you couldn’t keep? Better people thought of her as fat than expectant. Enough of the self-pity. She moved on.
Renee thought she’d show the Sisters the guestroom, now painted in pale green and yellow stripes. Alerted by Noreen, her father and sister had shown up for the wallpaper stripping and painting party. Cathy brought along the pieces of the two sturdy oak cribs that had held her close-born sons at one time. Bodey and Jed and Rusty put the cribs together with the help of lots of beer and an excess of swearing. When they were finished, her father unloaded from his SUV two new identical wooden rocking horses with thick manes and tails of real horsehair exactly the reddish color of the mounts favored by the Niles family. For now, that was all the room contained. No sense in adding more until sure the Becks would allow the children to visit at all after she and Clint divorced.
Forget the exercise room. The more strenuous machines gathered dust. Mostly, she went swimming with Eve in the Landrum’s heated pool or walked on the treadmill for as many miles as her legs would carry her.
Along with all the sharp-cornered glass tables, the sofa resembling a pair of puckered lips had gone to Goodwill, surely one of their more unusual donations. A comfortable overstuffed couch, where a man could stretch his legs or children bounce around, and two matching armchairs gathered around distressed wooden tables, the better to hide the inevitable nicks and scratches kids made. The television
and sound system had been stashed in a matching corner cupboard.
The kitchen remained the same, mostly unused, as her friends kept the refrigerator stuffed with easy meals to heat in the microwave. She had stocked up on soft drinks for her guests and invested in a popcorn popper to make healthy snacks. All was well—or as good as it could be.
The doorbell rang. Renee went to welcome Sisters Helen and Inez. The elderly nuns entered, their canes thumping softly into the carpet. One held a jar of Orville Redenbacher’s popcorn, the other a pound box of butter. Behind them, Eve Landrum stood in the doorway.
“They insisted on stopping at Plato’s Grocery before coming over.”
“Good popcorn and real butter,” Sr. Nessy said. “Not like the microwave stuff they have at the convent.”
“It was the least we could do for your letting us come over for the PBR finals. The other nuns, they simply don’t get it. To watch this event with someone who has been on the rodeo circuit—what a thrill,” breathed Sr. Helen.
“I was merely a spectator taken along for the ride, I assure you. Eve, aren’t you coming in?” Renee asked with a hint of desperation.
“Sorry, no. I promised to watch at home with Bodey and Shea.” Eve lowered her voice. “Bodey tends to use words like ‘mean fucker’ when he gets excited, so I couldn’t invite them over to our house. Noreen and Rusty were going into Lafayette to pick up something. Thanks for doing this.”
“Ah, happy to have them, I guess. Please, Sisters make yourselves comfortable. I’ll take the goodies and start a batch of popcorn. Something to drink?”
“Would you have any wine, dear?” asked Sr. Nessy.
“Sorry, no. I’m not supposed to have it. Root beer, Diet Coke, Sprite, lemonade.”
“Sprite then.”
“A lemonade for me.” Sr. Helen sank into the sofa, her toes barely touching the floor.
For the next two hours, Renee ferried refreshments and assisted the old nuns in getting to the bathroom. They amazed her by knowing the names of the top ten bulls and riders. When Tsunami Sam leaped out of the chute, they booed.
“That is the animal who injured your poor husband, isn’t it, Renee?”
“Yes.” She strained to see if Clint stood among the bullfighters, hoping he wasn’t there when Sam threw his rider at the five-second mark and went rampaging around the arena. It would be like Clint Beck to honor a contract no matter what his condition, but she didn’t see a sign of her husband. The PBR might have asked him to be a commentator at least. Then, she could have seen if he was well, hear him say so in his own voice.
After two tense hours, the experienced and flirtatious Pedro Sanchez was crowned the new king of the bull riders. “What a remarkable comeback,” the announcers said. Sanchez rode with a knee brace, delaying surgery until after the finals. But what about Clint? Shouldn’t they mention how he’d saved Pedro and given the crowd an update on the bullfighter’s condition? No, they moved on to mentioning the second place winner. Young Lonnie Capshaw came in third, an excellent showing for his first year at the highest level of the sport.
Sr. Helen sighed. “Never say prayers aren’t answered, Renee. No major injuries, and our sweet boy, Lonnie, did very well for himself. Did you notice how he kneels and crosses himself after each ride?”
The announcer urged fans to stay tuned for an exciting extra, the Dickies National Bullfighting contest featuring the seven best contenders in the U.S. of A.—among them, the amazing Clinton O. Beck, recently recovered from a severe accident.
“Oh no, no!” Renee clutched the arms of her chair. “He shouldn’t be there. He isn’t well enough.”
“We’ll pray for him.” Immediately the nuns folded their hands and closed their eyes. They finished in time to see Clint speaking with an attractive woman holding a mike to his lips.
“I’d like to dedicate my performance this evening to my beautiful wife, Renee, who is carrying my twins. I wish she could be here tonight. I know she’s watching.”
“He can’t know that,” Renee fumed.
“Oh, maybe he can,” Sr. Nessy speculated.
“Tell me, Clint,” the floor commentator asked, “are you fully recovered from your injuries and up to competing at this level against the other six invited outstanding bullfighters?”
“I’ll do my best. That’s all I can say.”
The screen showed Tsunami Sam slamming into Clint from several angles while the commentator made remarks and Renee covered her eyes. Finally, they stopped analyzing Clint and went over the rules of the competition. Each bullfighter was allowed forty to seventy seconds to complete his routine which would include showing control of the bull, making contact with the animal, jumping the bull with precision, and handling the barrel.
Clint went last. He lured the bull to him, swatted the animal as it passed. He set up his jump, flipping onto the bull’s back and off again. Calling the beast, he made for the barrels, dove in and snaked out, leaping the bull sideways, and finally led the animal back toward the gate. Pale and sweating, he waved to the crowd and pointed toward the big screen. “Love You, Tiger!” flashed on the set.
All three women sitting safely in a living room in Rainbow, Louisiana exhaled.
“Oh, Renee, dear child, what more could you want from your husband?” Sr. Helen said.
“Some common sense for one thing. He shouldn’t be competing so soon after his injuries. What, what—second place! No way!”
“Well, that other young man did jump the bull three times,” Sr. Helen said.
Sr. Inez got to her feet as the doorbell dinged. “I’m up. I’ll get it. Must be our ride.”
She hobbled into the foyer and opened the door. Noreen stepped inside leaving the door cracked a little way.
Renee still talked to Sr. Helen. “And trust. I’d want him to trust the woman I’ve become and forget the woman I was. I’d like him to tear up that hideous prenup and come for me.”
She buried her face in her hands, hoping the tears would not escape between her fingers and the nuns would leave without any more talk. Something flickered past her face, slid down her belly, and landed in her lap. Renee opened her eyes. Pieces of a legal document scattered all around her like the confetti floating down on the World Champion Bullfighter. She looked at a fragment containing part of the sliding scale for alimony.
Behind her, a man’s voice said, “You do know that competition was taped, Tiger? You can get anywhere in this country in a corporate jet in a few hours.”
On the television screen, Clint congratulated the winner. In Rainbow, Louisiana, the small town where miracles sometimes happened, he placed his hands on his wife’s shoulders.
“You should have won.”
“No. The winner has to stay behind for a ceremony and interviews. I had some place else to be.”
“You mean you threw the competition for me.”
“Just left out that third jump. I was getting tired anyhow, and I’ve won before several times. It doesn’t mean as much to me as you do.”
Sr. Helen got up from the sofa, making room for Clinton Beck to sit beside his bride. She pegged across the room and joined Noreen and Sr. Inez by the door.
“I guess we should leave now,” she whispered.
“No, no! I want to hear if all our prayers have been answered,” Sr. Nessy said.
“Be quiet, then,” Sr. Helen prompted.
Clint picked up some of the torn papers. “You know I had nothing to do with this. My father drew it up, and he is still paying the price. He says he signed a legal document when he married my mother. She shouts at him that the agreement had only to do with the hacienda and Hidalgo land. Anything more would have been an insult. If you forgive him, Mama might take him back.”
“I like your mother, Clint, but I don’t know if I’ll ever warm up to your father. He probably has six more copies of that prenup, you know. What if you become like him when you take over the family business?”
“Not a chance in hell, Tiger. I’ve alr
eady told him I don’t plan to be an absentee father or one who drags his son around on business trips. We have computers and teleconferencing now. Furthermore, the Beck Corporation needs to give more to charities, support the arts—and sponsor professional bullfighting. I hoped you’d help with that.”
“I would. I could—if you can trust me enough to know I won’t go back to my old ways.”
“I’m right here saying that I do. I heard you redecorated the bedroom. I’d like to see what you’ve done with the place. I have some fine memories of your old boudoir.”
“Oh,” Renee looked down at her bulging belly, five months and she was as big as seven. “I’m not too attractive or gymnastic right now.”
“How about horny? I know I am. I’ll show you my new scars if you’ll show me your stretch marks. You know, they’re both badges of honor.”
“I am horny, and I do have stretch marks to show. Cocoa butter just doesn’t work the way they says it does.” Renee swiped at her eyes careful not to smudge the little makeup she wore. “Oh, Clinton Odulf Beck, I do love you so. Just help hoist me out of these cushions.”
He did. Renee took his arm and they walked down the hall toward the new Garden of Eden room.
“I think this is where we leave, Sisters,” Noreen Niles prompted.
“Oh, yes. We mustn’t miss midnight prayers.”
“We have so much to be thankful for,” Sr. Nessy agreed.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Clint stayed with Renee in Rainbow. He approved of her new décor and appeared genuinely touched by her preparations for the babies. He didn’t press her to go to Texas and face the stone cold blue stare of Gunter Beck, though she often thought she’d like to have Lena around, especially when the babies began kicking in earnest. How her mother-in-law would have loved that. Clint did. His hands seemed to be always on her belly. His love-making became tender and gentle and so very careful that at times she wished they were back in The Tin Can tearing up the sheets.
