A Wild Red Rose (23 page)

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 already 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.

Most important of all when Uncle Dewey’s trial date was set and the prosecutors wanted to depose her in detail, Clint went along and held her hand. Her courage transferred Dewey’s daughter who stiffened her fragile spine and agreed to testify, too. Lest the occasion of their molestation be too far in the past, two young Hispanic women not yet out of their teens came forward to tell their tales. After being kicked out by his wife, Dewey moved into an apartment in their complex and courted their mother in order to get to her girls, aged ten and twelve. He earned their trust, offered to stay with the children when the mother worked nights to make sure none of the teenaged boys hanging around got in their pants, he said.

For all his current scraggly looks, Renee knew Dewey possessed ways of making an immature girl feel pretty, desirable, ready for sex. He’d see them through this rite of passage and make sure they knew all they needed to know about men, he promised them. That line worked well on an insecure tomboy once upon a time, and he still used it, evidently. By the time girls reached the age of eighteen, he generally lost interest and let his victims go, though he’d tried to get at Renee during holidays long after she started college. “You were always my favorite,” he’d whisper while carols played obscenely loud in the Niles home, her mother drank herself into a stupor with well-spiked eggnog, and her dad spent the evening at a gentlemen’s club in Lafayette. She’d push him away.

She told all when called to the stand: the trips to France, the things he’d made her do and threatened to tell her father. Her agitation caused the babies to kick furiously in her belly as if punching her from the inside out of anger. She looked to Clint in the seats beyond the lawyers for reassurance and found a face made unrecognizable with hatred, his blue eyes lasering fury directed at the back of Dewey’s head which should have exploded under that gaze. Her problems had done this to the kindest man she’d ever known. Again, she feared she only brought trouble and chaos into the world, not love. Her knees wobbled as she made her way back to his side and grasped his hand like a lifeline rescuing her from dark seas of her past.