A Wild Red Rose (6 page)

“Sorry, no deal,” she told the clerk. “I’m going to nap in the trailer this afternoon, Clinton O. Beck.” Renee flounced off to sulk in The Tin Can.

“Be with you after I use the restroom, baby,” he called after her. “Those beans go right through a man.”

The clerk paused as she was about to thrust the jewelry back into the case. “You’re Clinton Beck, the Bull Bomber. I saw you perform once. You were fantastic.”

“Fantastic enough to get a discount on those earrings? I’d be pleased to autograph the sales slip. But first, is this real Zuni work?”

“Yeah. That’s why we keep ’em locked up.” She held up the necklace. “Might have cooked the stones a little to bring out the color. I can give you twenty percent off.”

“You still get a commission?”

“You bet.” The woman smiled broadly. “No more dumb Injuns.”

“In that case, I’ll take the necklace, bracelet, and the ring, too. Put it in a nice box for me, now.” When he and Renee parted as friends, he’d give it to her, but not before.

The tab came close to a thousand dollars, eight-hundred with the discount. While the clerk rang up the sale, Clint gave out autographs to several of the staff members and took his time about it. Once back at the truck, he opened one of the secret compartments from which animals popped when Snuffy performed his clown act and, making sure dirty birds or the miniature donkey hadn’t left any souvenirs of their own behind, hid the jewelry case until the right time came along.

Renee sulked until they reached Albuquerque and parked the trailer at a truck stop. She had no way of knowing he should have taken the cutoff toward Las Vegas, New Mexico, to save time in getting to Casper. Clint hinted he wanted to show her something in this city. He suggested they take the tram up Sandia Peak and dine at the High Finance Restaurant. She mellowed under the influence of a glass of wine and prime roast rib as they watched the lights twinkle in the valley. Renee refused dessert and didn’t touch her baked potato. Clint asked for a box and forked the potato and her leftover meat into the Styrofoam tray. Renee appeared to be mortified by his frugality.

“My mama always said, ‘Waste not. Want not’.”

Lena Beck had spoken those exact words the summer she worked on the
Beck’s Barbecue and
Grilling Cookbook
and had forbidden her husband to travel. He could just stay home for a change and help her test the recipes. Same went for the boy. The summer Clint Beck turned fifteen was one of the best of his life—the vacation he’d spent with Brandy. His father referred to that time fondly as the Season of Leftovers when the family worked their way through countless dishes intended to serve at least six people. Both the good and the bad concoctions showed up for lunch the next day.

“Tomorrow, you get your choice for lunch—broccoli/cheese baked potato or prime rib sandwich, the best kind of leftovers.”

“I’ll take the sandwich. You can have the broccoli.”

“Deal.”

They strolled back to the tram station, the desert air turning chilly high up on the peak. Clint put his arm around Renee and looked up at the stars.

“The lights below, the heavens above, a million dollar view that can’t be bought.”

“We don’t get skies like this in Louisiana, too much moisture in the air.”

“So enjoy this. I’m almost sorry we got to go down into the valley again.”

“I’ll make the decision to go down worth it for you.”

She did. As full and lazy with meat as a lioness, Renee made love soft and easy with Clinton O. Beck into the night. In the morning, they took Rt. 25 and stayed on it straight into Casper, Wyoming.

Chapter Five

After a long and rugged drive north, Clint slotted the Belly Nelle and Tin Can into a trailer space at the fairgrounds arena where Snuffy’s Special Rodeo would be held in the morning. Casper, Wyoming, resting in an elbow of the wide and stony North Platte River, was surrounded by bluffs and lorded over by a 3,000-foot peak. The historic part of town still maintained the feel of the Old West.

“This place is smaller than Lafayette, Louisiana,” Renee said. “At least they have some buildings over two stories. I wonder what people do for fun around here.”

“Well, there’s the Mormon Handcart Museum and lots of outdoor activities.”

Renee wrinkled her nose.

“We’ll have fun in the morning, darlin’,” Clint told her.

Renee sighed and trotted off to use facilities that were less claustrophobic than the bathroom in The Tin Can. She barely passed out of sight when Snuffy appeared, patted the hood of the Nelle affectionately. “How’s she doing?”

“Fairly well. I got her to eat breakfast and leftovers, admire the night sky, and take a pass on some expensive jewelry she didn’t need.”

“I meant Nelle. How’d she do in the high elevations?” Snuffy rubbed an imaginary spot off the old truck’s already distressed finish.

“We got here, didn’t we?”

“You taking good care of her and The Tin Can?”

“Both are cleaner than they have been in years. Why?”

“Well, I want to use her tomorrer. Some of the retired clowns and me are going to do the old animal act for the kids.” The barrelman scratched his unshaven jaw, puckered up and let loose with a squirt of tobacco politely aimed away from Clint.

“Oh, man, I have my laptop and some jewelry hidden in those compartments. Put my stuff in the motorhome before you stash any rabbits or chickens, okay?”

“You afraid your lady friend will steal your stuff?”

“No, not exactly. I just don’t want droppings all over the place.”

“Okay, will do. Ma’am,” Snuffy said as Renee walked up and slid an arm around Clint’s waist.

Renee took a good look at the short, skinny man with the hangdog face and a week’s worth of chin whiskers. “Have we met?”

“Sure have. You remember.” Snuffy patted his heart with his hands and mimed handing Renee a flower.

“Oh yes, the clown who performed at Bodey’s school. I didn’t recognize you without your face on. I’m Renee. Where are you staying?”

“Over there in that nice, big motorcoach. You should see the size of the shower. I’m leading a life of luxury, but I plan on spending a little time out on my ranch after the show tomorrer.”

“We’ll be pushing off for Glendale in the morning,” Clint said.

“Well, I’ll let y’all get settled in. We start early. Registration begins at eight. We’ll start with the pony rides. Then, we have the mock-steer roping. The clown act right after the break. We’ll end up with the stick horse barrel racing, followed by the real thing. After that, Clint, you’re on for the bullfighting demonstration. We end up with the awards ceremony. There’ll be more hot dogs and hamburgers than anyone can polish off around lunchtime, so you don’t have to go looking for food.”

Taking in the wedge sandals, short shorts, and the bulge of her breasts pushing out of a silky yellow slip top, Snuffy stared Renee up and down. He wrinkled his brow as if wondering what possible use she could be outside of a bedroom, then snapped his fingers. “I’ll put you down to be a hugger. Sleep tight now.” The clown chortled as he walked away.

“Clint, what’s a hugger?”

“You know, you give out hugs after the kids finish their races. Hugs, like this.” He opened his arms wide, and Renee stepped into them. Clint drew her tight against him and gave her a squeeze. She nestled her head against her chest and sighed.

“Hey, that’s a snuggle, not a hug. You got to let go after a hug, or you’ll give some of these boys the wrong idea. Now, if you want to snuggle, we got a bed in the trailer.”

“What if all I want to do is snuggle?”

“Then, that’s all we’ll do.”

“Really? Tonight, I might want to do something more, but I may take you up on that offer another time.” Renee swayed away from Clint drawing him after her like the Belly Nelle towing The Tin Can.

****

Come morning, Clint fried eggs using some of the bacon grease. Renee wrinkled her nose and accepted only slices of wheat toast slathered with the organic strawberry preserves and the coffee he perked in the old pot. As Clint, eating right out of the pan, mopped up the broken yolks with his bread, Renee twisted a finger in her long red hair and questioned him.

“How come we’re living like this and Snuffy has that gorgeous motorcoach and a ranch?”

“Oh, Snuff’s been on the circuit a long time. He’s been careful with his money and saved up. I told you I’m putting away for a doublewide, so The Tin Can will have to do for now.”

“I see.” She sighed, not the kind of sigh she’d given him last night. “So, what does a hugger wear for this event?”

“Oh, they’ll give you a T-shirt. I’d wear jeans and athletic shoes if you don’t have boots. There’s bound to be horse manure and cow plop down in the arena area where you have to stand.”

“Great. So, all these kids are—ah—retarded.”

“I think the term used now is special needs children.”

“We didn’t have special needs children at Mt. Carmel. I’m not sure I can do this. The idea kind of sickens me, and I’m not good with children anyhow.” Renee wrinkled her nose even though she knew it emphasized other tiny lines in her face.

“Renee, they are only kids who want to have some fun and get a hug at the end of their event. Tell them how good they did and don’t sweat it. We got to hustle before they run out of T-shirts in your size. Not many of those. Come on now.”

Renee came, dressed as Clint recommended and still feeling squeamish. She shrugged into an XXL yellow cotton shirt proclaiming
Snuffy’s Special Rodeo
in bright red letters and pulled it over the tight turquoise tank tucked into her snug black jeans. She checked her outfit in the window of the snack bar. The hump of the bucking bull on the shirt sat roundly on the end of one of her breasts and looked extra-extra large as well. It wasn’t haute couture. Maybe the hat would help. She settled the straw cowboy hat with the little feathers in the band that Clint had given her on her head. Good, no one she knew would recognize her—if they happened to be in Casper, Wyoming at the end of June, unthinkable for most of her crowd except maybe Bodey Landrum.

She turned to find Clint had disappeared into a crowd of children who remembered him from past appearances. A big woman with a clipboard shouted, “Huggers over here!” That’s where she went.

The ring cleared of volunteers who had been giving pony rides. Stepping carefully, Renee took her assigned place and waited patiently while one child after another tried to rope a mounted steer’s head. Each awkward contestant seemed to get an infinite number of chances to succeed, and when they did, they came running for their hug. Some whooped, some lumbered, some jerked with uncontrollable spasms in her arms. She tried not to flinch and received hugs as well as gave them. An announcement called for a lunch break, and suddenly she was caught up in a dusty stampede of children heading for food.

Renee climbed up into the bleachers to search for Clint and didn’t see him anywhere. She leaned against a railing and remarked to a fiftyish woman with broad streaks of gray in her short, dark hair and an approachable, friendly face who sat nearby, “I don’t know how the parents of these kids do it. Must be hard.”

“You do the same as with any other kid. Love and protect them, teach them what they need in life to be decent human beings. Try to keep them safe. That’s my daughter, Gracie. You hugged her after she got her lariat around the bull’s horns on her fourth try. It’s not her best event.”

Renee saw a thick-bodied girl with the slanted eyes and heavy neck of a Down’s Syndrome child coming their way. Probably somewhere in her teens but hard to tell from her childish features, she carried four hot dogs squashed together in her hands.

“I’m sorry,” Renee said.

“Don’t be. What you see there is love on the hoof.”

The girl arrived and held out her offerings. “I got one with ketchup and one with mustard and two plain. I like mine plain,” she said decisively. “The mustard one is for my mom, but you can have this one.” Focusing on Renee, Gracie held out her offering of food. “You gave me a hug. I am Grace Ann Jones.” Gracie poked a finger at the paper nametag stuck to Renee’s impressive chest. “You are Miss Reney. You have pretty hair and really big boobs.”

“Gracie, we don’t say such things to strangers!” her embarrassed mother exclaimed. “Not to friends either.”

“I’m supposed to tell the truth always.” Gracie stuck out her lower lip in a hurt pout.

“Thank you, I consider what you said a compliment, Gracie. My name is pronounced Renee. I’m not very hungry right now. You can have the extra one.” Renee passed on the crumbled bun and the hot dog dripping ketchup.

“Okay. They’re real good.”

“What did I tell you, Gracie?” her mother prompted.

“I can only have two.” Gracie thrust the oozing wiener back at Renee who accepted it with reluctance. “I got a boyfriend. His name is Tony. Do you have a boyfriend?”

“I guess I do.” She saw Clint cutting across the ring in her direction. “There he is.”

“I know Clint. Clint is Dad’s friend. He’s pretty like you.”

“And strong and brave and kind.” Renee amazed herself by stating her feelings out loud. Usually, she kept her emotions locked down tight. Life was largely a business deal that had to be played with cunning. Never let the other guy know what truly went through your mind, but the closer Clint got, the better he looked. Yes, he was pretty and all those other things, too. Renee sucked on her hot dog and took a bite. Ketchup dribbled down the front of her T-shirt, making her look like she bled from the heart.

He climbed up into the stands and sat next to Renee. “I see you’ve met Gracie and Ruth Ann. Ruth Ann and Snuffy were married once upon a time.”

“Might as well still be,” Ruth Ann confessed. “He wouldn’t quit the road. I wanted special schools and such for Gracie, and I sure didn’t want my son to follow in his footsteps, so I divorced the man. And what does he go and do? Gives me the deed to the ranch outside of Casper. Every time that man swings by, I open my door and say, ‘come on in’. I guess we’re common law again by now. Didn’t stop my boy from putting on makeup and going on the circuit, either.”