Stars Always Shine (12 page)

Mitch got up from the table and took a bottle of champagne from the refrigerator. Place popped the cork and filling three glasses, they raised them in a toast to Salvador.

“A mi cuate, el señor Salvador Camilo Sixto Cárdenas de la Vega, el nuevo americano. Que te vaya bonito, amigo,” Place said laughing before he emptied the contents of the glass into his mouth.

“¡No, señor!” Salvador responded, “A mis amigos, la señora Meech y el mexicano, Plácido Moreno. Gracias por todo.” He stood up and bowed to his friends.

T
he problem with favors, Mitch thought as she drove south on Redwood Highway, was that they had the potential to create an unending cycle. It was hard to get out of granting and owing favors because one never knew when a good turn would be needed. The give-and-take of favors maintained reliable contacts, kept business relationships alive, and offered more options to situations than one would normally have. Also, favors kept the users of this system mentally sharp. To ensure that there was an equitable practice of trading, the constant evaluation of the currency of one favor against the exchange rate of another was important.

So when Paul Legarrata contacted Mitch, it was for a favor. She knew this when she answered the phone, and his voice oozed with sentiments of longtime companionship and the significance of memory. She knew too that he had most recently granted her a favor by writing a persuasive letter of recommendation for Salvador. Now he needed her to return that gesture by helping him out with something. She was caught off guard, not by needing to return a gracious act—she respected the system well enough—but by returning it within the same week. The cattleman promised her that it was not a monumental request, and Legarrata felt that now things would be even between him and Mitch. Their friendship went too far back to dispute the balance sheet of favors and to determine exactly who was even with whom, so Mitch deemed it was most prudent to stay out of possible arrears.

“Yeah, but just remember, Pauly boy, now you owe me one,” Mitch said as she pointed a censuring finger at him and prepared to drive off his ranch with a timid puppy.

Paul Legarrata walked up to Mitch and resting a warm, worked hand on her arm said, “Mitchy, you know you’re going to have to watch how you do business. Slow down a little and think about your career. In this county, you don’t want the wrong people talking about you.”

They looked at each other with knowing stares. Mitch released a silent Mona Lisa smile as Legarrata shook his head slowly. She patted the back of his hand and then gave it a firm shake before driving off and said simply, as if she were stating a fact, “You know, Pauly, I do some things in a questionable way so I won’t be questioned about how I do things. That’s how business and law are conducted.”

It was a strange-looking little puff of fur. Most of its body was brindle in color, but there were two distinguishing markers of white: one was a goatee that blanched its lower jaw, and the other was a striped front leg. Its tail had already been docked, looking now like a grey boll of cotton. Its ears had been cut into little isosceles triangles that pointed stiffly upward from its head. Legarrata assured Mitch that she was getting a blueblood of a dog. It came papered from a lineage of intelligence and loyalty, and the reason he was giving the puppy to her was that his son had purchased the wrong breed of dog to work his cattle. Knowing Mitch’s love of animals, she was the first one Legarrata called when he found out he could not return it. And really, as he explained to Mitch, this was like a gift from him to her as much as it was a favor from Mitch to him. Before she agreed to take the dog, Mitch made sure Legarrata understood that the act was a granted favor rather than a received gift. Her balance sheet would show a positive closing figure.

It would grow to be a large dog, and protective too. On the way to StarRidge Ranch, the puppy sat in a box on the front seat next to Mitch. It looked up at her with sad and confused eyes, then around at the strange space it now occupied, and howled all the way home like a lonely coyote.

“What is it?” Place asked as he watched the puppy freeze in the middle of the living room like a jackrabbit that knows it’s been seen. Moments later that fear manifested in a strong stream of pee as the puppy stared back at Place.

“It’s a puppy,” Mitch said, patting the wet carpet with paper towels. “These are really neat dogs. I’ve always wanted one.”

“But what kind of a furry tick is it?”

“The breed is called a Bouvier des Flandres,” she said, accentuating each word just as the French would want it. “They’re a working breed, originally from Belgium. They have a natural instinct for herding. They’re very protective, and they like to stay close to their people.”

“And so now we’re its people, huh?”

“Yeah. Legarrata’s son, the dense one, was supposed to buy a Queensland Heeler. But that kid doesn’t pay much attention. It’s a shame he’ll inherit that entire cattle spread someday; he’ll probably have it turned into condos—it’s easier work. Legarrata doesn’t want this dog, so he asked me to take it off his hands. The breeders wouldn’t take it back. They’re not going to give up the five hundred dollars they got for this pup. And Legarrata can afford to give these kinds of gifts.”

“Five hundred dollars!” Place exclaimed. “Did the dog come with anything? Like a new car?”

“Very funny,” Mitch said. “We need to think of a name for her. That’s your chore. I need to think of how we’ll keep Jacqueline and Mickey from finding out about her. I might just exercise some blackmail if I need to. If the puppy goes, we go.”

“And what if they say fine, go?” Place asked, “Then what? Our condo is rented.”

“Don’t worry, honey. I’ve been working some things out. Making important phone calls. The rodeo king and queen will be here tonight, and we have to communicate with them tomorrow. There’s no way around that. But I won’t take too much of their crap. If they want me to manage this place, I can do that. But I can only do it my way.”

Place knew not to ask Mitch what she had been up to during the day. He only knew that somehow she would work things out. He knew that Legarrata wasn’t the only one she spoke with today. They could very well end up living someplace else by the time this weekend was over, or she could have Jacqueline and Mickey tuned in to ranch ways that would make everybody happy. The outcome could fall anywhere on the spectrum of possibilities. At times it made him uncomfortable, but he was learning that with his wife he needed to be ready for those endless possibilities that often required an open mind and quick motion.

Place lay down on the living room floor and nudged close to the puppy as he thought of what to name her. He petted her gently and talked to her cooingly. Her eyes were deeply honest ones, and they darted from looking at Place’s face to looking around the hollow room, to growing bigger at the sight of Rosa. He realized it would take some time before the dog would relax and get used to its new family. Rosa had exhibited the same stiff reticence the first day they brought her home and for some days thereafter.

“What should I name you, little one?” he said as he talked to the puppy. “You’re Belgian. Maybe I can give you a name that sounds European, like Jacqueline. I can call you Jackie for short. And we can say, ‘People who know her call her Jackie.’ Your eyes have a certain spark to them. They’re reserved but trifling too. There’s a hint of playfulness. I think we’ll name you Coquette.”

Seeing the display of emotion heaped on the newcomer, Rosa came closer, sniffed at the ball of a tail, and wedged herself between Place and the puppy. She sat in a silly and rude way as she sought the same attention by pushing her nose at Place’s arm, directing it to her head or back to get the necessary loving tactile activity.

The puppy looked up at the big dog and then at Place. He informed it that they were all of the same pack.

I
n the milk barn, Jacqueline and Mickey lay on a rollaway bed. She snuggled close to him and pulled the blankets up and over her shoulders. They had spent a chilly and damp night in the barn, and the late October morning sun was slow to warm things up.

She nibbled on his shoulder and pulled lightly at the hairs on his chest. “Are you awake?” she asked.

“Yes,” Mickey answered as he stared at the cobwebs hanging from the ceiling.

“Do you want to be really awake?” Jacqueline offered.

“Sure,” Mickey responded unenthusiastically.

“Well, thanks a lot!” Jacqueline said, feeling hurt at Mickey’s lack of passion.

“I’m sorry, Jacqueline. I just have a lot on my mind. I’m wondering how they did this week.”

Jacqueline left little kisses on Mickey’s chest as her hand rubbed its way down to his midsection. She hesitated and said, “Oh, let’s worry about the slaves later. We warned them.”

“Yeah, but I’m not too sure about them,” Mickey said. “That Mitch seems kind of headstrong, like your donkeys. But maybe we ought to let her run things the way she wants.” Mickey stopped as he thought about the boldness of his statement and wondered how it would be received. “I mean, I’m learning a lot from the roping videos, but she does know some things about managing a ranch.”

Jacqueline stopped her amorous advancement. She didn’t like the fact that Mickey had been thinking of Mitch. Her hand came up from his belly, and she pushed herself away from him. Sitting up, she grabbed a blouse and put it on quickly.

“What’s the matter?” Mickey asked as he lifted himself up on his elbows. “What’s wrong, Jacqueline?”

“Nothing,” she said, and she rose to get dressed. “Come on, we have work to do.” She left Mickey in semi-stiff anticipation, and swung the barn door open, letting in the cold air and the bright sun at the same time.

After visiting Salvador’s outhouse where she draped layers of tissue around the opening of the rustic toilet seat to protect her sensitive skin, Jacqueline walked up to the ranch house. She held her yellow pad in one hand and shifted uneasily as she waited for someone to answer the door. From the back bedroom, Rosa and Coquette ran to the front door barking like junkyard dogs. How odd, Jacqueline thought, at the sounds of two kinds of barks. She knocked again, and not waiting for an answer, she walked around to the back door. She knocked again, and hearing only the deep barks of Rosa, she tried the door.

The Airedale sprung ferociously at the small opening and welcomed the owner with snarling teeth. Jacqueline jumped back. She licked her lips and clenched her obtrusive jaw as she looked around.

In the farthest pastures, Place knelt near a hose and painted glue around the cracked line that sprayed water wildly when he had turned the pump on. Mitch fed the calves in the pasture across the roadway from where Place worked. She wondered what surprises the Kittles would have for her this weekend, and she was glad that she and Place had Sundays off. They would leave the ranch early in the morning and stay away all day, driving out on Sweet Wine Road and then taking the coast highway north until they felt like turning around.

As Mickey dressed himself, Jacqueline told him to tell Mitch, as soon as he found her, that they needed to talk immediately. “Did you look out back?” he asked her as he pushed a foot into a boot.

“No,” Jacqueline replied, “I’m not walking all the way out there. Where the hell can she be? She has no business out there.”

“Why are you feeding the calves?” Mickey asked when he found Mitch leaning on the pasture gate watching the chewing cattle.

“Well hello to you too, cowboy,” Mitch said as she smiled broadly. “Your rope’s hanging on the gate of the corner pasture if you’re wondering. How’s Miss Jacqueline?”

“Oh, she’s Jacqueline,” Mickey answered shaking his head. “She wants to see you pronto. Like right now.”

“I’m sure she does. I’m sure she has all hell to throw at me for whatever she can think up.” Mitch turned and headed for the ranch house. She walked with clenched fists, and when she glanced over at Place, he blew her a kiss and offered a thumbs-up sign.

Mickey ran up to Mitch, sensing that he needed to offer an explanation. “Now, Mitch, I know things have been a little tight around here, but you need to—”

Mitch interrupted as she picked up her pace to add a degree of drama to the situation. She was surprised that Mickey was showing a trace of awareness and realization. Without looking back at Mickey she said, “Things are only tight when you folks show up!”

“Wait a minute, Mitch!” Mickey ordered, not liking how his hired help talked back. He ran to catch up to her as she entered the stall barn.

Mitch stopped and turned quickly, standing only inches from Mickey, who had to backpedal to keep from running into her. “What?” she said, shooting a bitter stare at him.

He hesitated for a moment and then began. “Mitch, we’re under a lot of strain. This ranch means a lot to us, and we need to make sure things are going right. Jacqueline is really feeling the pressure because it was her money that got us in here. This is a major investment for us. To tell you the truth, we’re going to have a hard time with the payments. We can do it, but it’s taking everything we got. I’m just asking you to think about what we’re going through.”

Mitch looked at Mickey’s pleading eyes. She felt a coursing anger from the narrow logic he expressed. It was a logic that demanded understanding for the owning parties while the others worked under the critical control of those who liked their proprietary position. She was willing to accept that they were all in this together and that together they would master this ranch and make up for the neglect that had deteriorated the property. She and Place were feeling the physical strain from the demanding work. They felt pressure too, but it seemed so unnecessary.

“I’m sorry, Mickey,” Mitch said, softening as she bit her lower lip.

As she approached the ranch house, Mitch could see Jacqueline standing at the edge of the deck with her hands on her hips. For a fleeting moment, Mitch recalled a childhood memory of taking a horse out of its corral without her parents’ permission and riding it bareback into the hills behind her house. In that recollection, it was Mitch’s mom who stood on the back porch with her hands on her hips, her short-fused patience starting to burn as she waited for her bullheaded daughter.