by Lynn Shurr
“Kids aren’t to blame when a marriage fails, Eve. You know that.” Bodey placed a few tender kisses on her forehead, down her cheeks. “Heck, I don’t even know my real daddy’s name. At least, you knew your father loved you.”
“What does that old song say—two lost souls on the highway to hell?”
“I think that last word should be heaven,” Bodey insisted. He turned on his side and kissed her deeply, doing the tongue play for all he was worth. He stroked the breast Red had touched as if he were trying to erase Courville’s fingerprints.
Eve wanted to go with him all the way to that cocoon of pleasure they had experienced before, but she put an end to it when they paused for air.
“I can’t, Bodey. I need to go in.” She got out of the truck and paused long enough at the edge of the lattice to wish him a good night.
Good night, sure. He had a long, painful ride back to the ranch.
****
Thursday evening, Bodey didn’t bother to wait at the bar. He sat in his truck out back and called to Eve when she exited from the kitchen. Rebuffed last night, his rivals hadn’t shown up. Bodey Landrum got ready to make his move.
She came over to his window and looked up as she leaned against the door. “I don’t think this is such a good idea, Bodey, your being here again tonight.”
“Come sit with me. I just want to talk. If you feel uncomfortable, the kitchen staff is still in there cleanin’ up. You can go back inside any time you want.”
“Last night, you were a stargazer. What are you tonight—cowboy philosopher?” Eve quipped, but she walked around the truck and climbed up into the cab.
Bodey had the radio turned low, but tuned into a station that claimed to be playing music for late night lovers. Not a very romantic setting out here by the dumpster, but Eve didn’t seem inclined to invite him home or go anywhere else with him. He took a deep breath.
“I know you think we’re too different to get along, but just consider for a minute. We have lots in common. We love horses and strawberries—and art. Yes, we both love art. Hell, we even have the same favorite constellation. And if you weren’t fakin’ it, we’re sexually compatible, real compatible.”
Eve’s eyes widened under the glare of the security light shining through the windshield. “Faking it! You thought I faked it?”
“No! That came out all wrong. Some women do, but just forget I said it. What’s most important is both of us are alone in the world. We’d be great together as a couple.”
“Before you go any further, try to remember we’ve only known each other about three weeks.”
“That’s not true. We’ve known each other since we were high school age.”
“We spoke once years ago, and that didn’t go so well. You never tried to reach me again.”
“I’ll admit I got sidetracked with Renee, but you were always there in the back of my mind, waiting for the when the time came to settle down, my pure white convent rose.”
“Hardly that! You never gave me a thought until you came into the café on your birthday. Confess.”
“But I recognized you right away. Look, my folks, Big Ben and Bets, knew each other a few hours, and they went off and got married. Worked out fine for them.”
“So you’re saying I remind you of your mother.”
“No way! You’re nothing alike. Dammit, woman, you are makin’ this harder than it should be. The only thing you got in common with my mama is that I love you both.”
Now he had gone too far, too fast, but a beautiful smile blossomed on Eve’s face. He could see it clearly in the glare of that star-eating security light.
“Bodey, Bodey. What am I going to do with you?” Eve took his face in her hands and kissed him so hard he thought he’d cut his lip on a tooth.
“Well now, you could…”
“Don’t ruin this by suggesting I be your sex slave or some other nonsense.”
“Would you be my wife, Eve?” Bodey thought he could have hit her with a two by four and gotten the same stunned expression.
“I said no nonsense. Three weeks Bodey, we’ve known each other three weeks and had sex one time. You’ve led an exciting life and probably slept with a thousand women. How could you possibly want to marry a quiet, thirtyish woman like me? You’d be bored with me the first year—just like my father was with my mother.”
“I wouldn’t say I’ve slept with thousands, maybe more than a hundred—but a gentleman don’t keep count. I was just stayin’ in practice until I found the right one, and I knew who she was that first night I saw you in the restaurant.”
“Bodey Landrum, rodeo star, and me. It’s simply impossible!” Eve moved fast then, getting out of the truck, slamming the door, and taking off in her own car as if some serial rapist chased her tail.
As humiliating experiences went, this soared right up there with the time early in his career when a bull ripped his jeans clear through the bicycle pants he used to keep his goodies in place and left him standing bare butt naked in front of the crowd. The only difference was the bull had left him with his balls intact and only a gash on his buttocks. This hurt a lot more. What had he done then? Walked away with a swagger and got ready for the next event that would win him the prize.
The next event, as Bodey saw it, was the Lafayette Art Walk. He knew Eve would be in the city all day Saturday hanging the exhibit in the lobby of Courville Construction Company’s new building. Hardy and that snake, Evan, would be lurking around for sure, but he didn’t want to crowd Eve at this point. He’d let her completely alone Friday and wouldn’t set eyes on her again until he showed up for the unveiling of Progress.
Chapter Eight
The doors to the Courville Construction Company lobby remained locked with the refreshments and the rest of the art stowed inside. This guaranteed the crowd would stay in the small plaza for the unveiling of Progress, currently covered with a tarp attached to one of Hardy’s cranes. Talk about overkill, Bodey thought. They could have gotten a model in a bikini to whip off the covering at the right moment. Only Red would use a crane as tall as his new three story building to remove a tarp.
Bodey searched for Eve’s face in the group of art lovers and people who owed Hardy Courville their attention. She must be inside with all the others things Red was setting aside until he’d done his speech. The proud patron of the arts stepped up to the microphone and mumbled, “Is it on?”
Red began his spiel. “Welcome, Art Walkers. Today, we not only open the doors to the new headquarters of Courville Construction, second and third floors available for rent, but also proudly add our contribution to the cityscape. When I saw the work of Evan Adams on a business trip to San Francisco, I knew I had to bring his talent to Louisiana and show one of his marvelous installments.”
Standing to Hardy’s left the artist winced, then smiled as his patron turned toward him. Except for the festive addition of a Celtic cross worthy of the Archbishop of Dublin, Evan had dressed for the occasion in his usual crow black. Bodey felt glad he had dressed down in a new pair of his trademark jeans, a white T-shirt worn under a tan western shirt, all tucked in and belted with one of his prize buckles, and a simple necklace made of elk bone beads. He was presenting a clear choice here for Eve—a real man or some effete, self-absorbed art snob. Having left his hat at home, Bodey did feel a little naked but glad he had worn his most comfortable boots because it looked like a long evening, especially if Hardy didn’t stop shooting off his mouth fairly soon.
As the sun set, Red Courville made a grand gesture toward the sculpture and the crane operator, right on cue, tugged his big-knobbed levers and raised the tarp. Bodey scratched his head. Progress looked like an aluminum rocket ship, maybe a sleek, art deco sort of rocket ship, but still some kind of rocket. The audience clapped politely. Hardy pressed a button on the base. The spaceship began to move on its springy narrow mount, thrusting forward, sinking back, thrusting forward through a shining metal oval—not a rocket ship in Bodey’s mind anymore, but
a giant aluminum penis heading toward a climax. Some people giggled, but most of the onlookers seemed to be hypnotized by the motion of the projectile through the ring. Their eyes widened. Their mouths fell half open.
Bodey searched for Eve again. He’d implied to his rivals that they would be together, but she hadn’t asked him to accompany her. However, this absurd moment needed to be shared with the woman he loved. He looked across the installation seeking her and found instead Archie and Roger in their white suits, expressions of glee on their faces. Roger made eye contact with Bodey and gave his little finger wave. Bodey started to sink back into the crowd, but thought better of it and stood his ground. He returned the gesture with a real wave. Roger’s eyes brightened. Then, Bodey put his hand down and retreated into the mass of people.
“Watch where you’re going, cowboy,” Eve’s voice said right behind him. “Let the Sisters through to have a look.”
“Oh my!” exclaimed Sr. Helen, placing a trembling, liver-spotted hand over the plain gold cross she wore at her neck. Her other hand rested on a cane hand-painted with tiny birds and flowers in brilliant oranges, yellows, and greens.
Sr. Inez murmured, “Saints alive!” and leaned heavily on the blackthorn walking stick a former student brought her from Ireland. The wooden cross on its leather thong around her neck bounced up and down as she coughed to suppress her laughter.
“Yeah, I thought it looked like a big ole—rocket ship, too.” Bodey suppressed the urge to jump in front of their view and spare the elderly nuns—and Eve—the sight.
“It is rather, well, phallic, I suppose,” Eve said delicately.
“That’s the word I was lookin’ for, phallic, that’s the exact word.” Bodey grinned.
“Sisters, why don’t we move inside before all the chairs are taken? Red paid for some lovely refreshments. You can sit and look at the paintings,” Eve suggested.
Bodey went first, breaking a way through the mob heading en masse toward the food tables while Eve shuttled her guests to the lobby. The elderly nuns creaked slowly toward a curvaceous love seat upholstered in burgundy leather occupying the center of the room after Bodey politely evicted two lounging teenagers with purple hair and multiple piercings.
When the male half of the matching couple raised an objection, Bodey leaned forward and whispered, “Look, they got free wine over there. If they won’t serve you, I’ll bring you some. Go try your luck.”
“Frigid, cowboy dude,” the guy answered and slouched away with his girlfriend.
“How nice of those young people to give up their seats.” Sr. Helen lowered herself onto the cushy leather.
“And they say today’s youth have no manners,” Sr. Inez agreed. “Eve, you haven’t introduced us to your friend.”
“Sr. Helen, Sr. Inez, this Bodey Landrum, four time All-Around Cowboy, five time World Champion Bull Rider, male model, fledgling painter, and who knows what else,” Eve announced.
“Exactly. I’ve got all kinds of potential. Pleased to meet you.” Bodey raised a hand to his forehead as if he wanted to tip his hat, then let it drop to his side again not sure if a person should shake with a nun.
“Eve, dear, would you get me a napkin? My poor old eyes are watering from the glare off that sculpture.” Sr. Inez chuckled softly. As Eve moved off, she added, “Doesn’t our Eve look exactly like a bride tonight in that white dress, Mr. Landrum?”
Bodey regarded Eve’s gown, a far cry from the sexy little black dress of the last art walk. Tonight, she dressed in gauzy white from her high lace collar and long sleeves down to the toes of her low, white sandals. Her braid wrapped around her head like a crown secured with pearl-headed pins and a single white camellia. In Bodey’s opinion, she looked more uptight and locked down than usual, but still beautiful and unattainable.
“You don’t have to hit me with an anvil, Sister. I proposed the other night. She shot me down just like she did fifteen years ago when I asked her out.”
“Time and prayer, my son,” Sr. Helen recommended.
“Yeah, I guess that is supposed to heal all wounds. Must work for some people.”
Eve returned with a paper napkin and stood by while Sr. Inez dabbed her eyes.
“How about if we go get you something to eat and drink,” Bodey suggested to gain more time alone with Eve.
“That would be lovely.” Sr. Helen gave the couple a saintly smile as they moved toward the refreshments. She turned to Sr. Inez. “Strong, clever, and usually confident, I’d say. He’s been bruised a bit lately.”
“Perhaps too confident, so a little bruising won’t hurt him,” Sr. Inez conjectured. “He’s definitely more suitable for our Eve than some artist who ran off to San Francisco when she needed his love and support. Bodey doesn’t seem like a man who would run.”
“Evan might have matured in the intervening years. Keep that in mind, Nessy. As for Hardy Courville, he is out of the question.”
A slim, fortyish blonde wearing a sophisticated powder blue suit with a pencil skirt approached the nuns’ couch. A silk scarf patterned with Van Gogh irises lay tucked under her jacket collar, the ends floating down her chest. She bent over to greet the Sisters, taking one of their hands in each of her own.
“I’m so glad you could come, Sisters. Eve must have brought you. She is so thoughtful. Are you enjoying the art?”
“Amanda Dwyer, so good to see one our best students again.”
“It’s been Amanda Courville for more than twenty years now.”
“Yes, we know. How are all your beautiful children?”
“The eldest is at Tulane. My youngest daughter will be transferring to the Academy next fall.”
“We’ll be so pleased to have her, another generation of Mt. Carmel girls. Amanda, dear, could you possibly bring the sculptor over to speak with us for a moment? We so admire his work and our old legs simply won’t hold us up for very long,” Sr. Helen asked. She could see Evan Adams standing in front of one of his pictures, expounding on it for an audience of three.
“Of course, only give me a moment.”
Amanda Courville crossed the room on her dyed to match pumps, placed a light hand on Evan’s arm, and gestured toward the nuns. Adams seemed annoyed to be interrupted, but allowed himself to be towed over to the sofa.
“Our sculptor, Evan Adams. Have a nice chat while I go greet some of our other guests.”
“Sit down, Mr. Adams. Don’t fidget!” Sr. Inez ordered.
Evan set his narrow ass into the small space they made for him. He hadn’t been to Mass since high school, but his upbringing forbade being rude to nuns.
“You’re one of Eve’s old friends from art school, aren’t you?” Sr. Helen queried.
“An intimate old friend.” Evan smirked, as if a nun would have no idea to what he was inferring.
“You want her to return to San Francisco with you.”
“She’ll never amount to anything in the art world in this backwater. She should come with me and develop her talent. I’ll introduce her around, encourage her to explore new horizons.”
“Eve will make a beautiful bride,” Sr. Helen claimed, her head bobbing gently in time with her heartbeat.
“She was such a lonely child. Eve will want a large family, I’m sure. Hasn’t she said so?” Sr. Inez asked her fellow nun.
“Our Eve will probably want a dozen,” Sr. Helen said.
“No, no. What I had in mind was a creative collaboration. No children, messy little rug rats that they are. I am married to my art, you see, as you are to—ah—God, you understand.” Evan squirmed in his seat.
“Children are the epitome of creative collaboration, wouldn’t you say, Sr. Inez?”
“The epitome, and with Eve being such a good Catholic—”
Evan shot to his feet. “It’s been so nice chatting with you, but…”
“Oh, sit, sit,” Sr. Helen yanked at his arm far stronger than she appeared. “Let’s talk about your sculpture. It’s so dynamic. I understand Mr. Courville pai
d $250,000 for that piece and took you into his home while Progress was being installed. He and Amanda must be very fond of you.”
“As I am of them. Truthfully, I could have gotten twice that amount on the coast, but the Courvilles appreciate my work. I’ve been looking for new venues outside the bay area.”
“Amanda was one of our Academy girls, you know. Isn’t she a beautiful and gracious hostess? Did she show you around and see you were well taken care of in every way during your stay?”
“Yes, yes, beautiful, gracious, showed me around a bit, let me use her car. Now in Progress I was trying to capture the elemental …”
“Mr. Adams, we shouldn’t keep you any longer. If you see Mr. Courville, would you send him our way, please? We do want to thank him for sponsoring this wonderful exhibit.” Sr. Helen dropped Evan’s hand.
For a moment, he looked like a captive animal unsure if the cage door had truly been left open. Then, he backed slowly away from the nuns. “So nice meeting you.” Evan fled.
Bodey and Eve returned from the refreshment table, successful after a long wait in line. They carried clear plastic plates laden with little spinach quiches, bacon-wrapped shrimp, tiny hot dogs in a picante sauce, a small cluster of red grapes and a few wedges of fresh pineapple. Sr. Inez speared a wiener on a toothpick and popped it in her mouth. She fanned her lips.
“Spicy. Bodey, Eve, perhaps a small glass of wine.” Off the couple went again.
Hardy Courville hastened over. “Sorry I didn’t get to you sooner, Sisters. Are you having a nice time?”
“Oh, we are. Mr. Adams was so informative, and he just went on and on about your beautiful wife, how she accommodated him in every way, how they had such a good time in her car. Wasn’t that what he said, Nessy? You must be so proud of Amanda,” Sr. Helen gushed.
