Daddy's Game by Normandie Alleman Page B

went off. A couple of paparazzi had followed her into the coliseum and were standing just a few rows down, trying to get her picture.
    Charmaine stood up and shot them her middle finger. “Screw you, hey, let these people enjoy their rodeo!” she yelled at them and sat back down. Reluctantly the men lowered their cameras and slinked away.
    While Charmaine’s reputation as a diva preceded her, Carmen was glad to find Charmaine was just as interesting as advertised. “Hi, I’m Carmen,” Carmen said and held out her hand.
    Charmaine took it and gave it a good shake. “Hi, Carmen. Natron’s girl, right?”
    Carmen nodded.
    “I’m Charmaine,” she said and waved to the other girls seated on Carmen’s other side.
    “I know who you are,” Carmen said, feeling her cheeks warm.
    “It’s about time you showed up,” Sloane griped.
    “That old saw again? You should really find something more original to bitch about, Sloane,” Charmaine said.
    “I told her you were on island time,” Lucinda said.
    “What does that even mean?” Sloane asked.
    “It’s like when you go on vacation to the islands and nobody keeps track of time. It’s all laid back, nobody rushes. Island time,” Lucinda explained.
    Charmaine sat back and crossed her legs. “Yeah, island time. You should really listen to Lucy Lu over there. Has the beer guy come by?”
    Sloane let loose an exasperated sigh and Kimberly patted her arm while Lucinda signaled a beer vendor from a few sections over. They all ordered a large beer, except Charmaine who purchased the huge one that came in the container they called ‘yard.’
    “You’re gonna get so hammered,” Sloane complained.
    “That’s the plan,” Charmaine shrugged, then added, “I have a driver.”
    The girls sipped their beers as they watched the spectacle unfold in front of them. The biggest, baddest bulls on the rodeo circuit were competing tonight and tomorrow night. The bull riders competed as well. The anticipation in the coliseum was palpable with each new rider, especially in those last moments when the rider tightened his grip on the ropes just before the gate swung open and the bull exploded out of the chute.
    The bulls bucked like mad, throwing the riders around like ragdolls. Carmen loved seeing all the differences in the bulls; some were red, some black, and some spotted. Some had horns, some had no horns to speak of or horns that had been filed down, and it interested her that you couldn’t tell by looking at the bull how fierce he would be or how difficult a ride he would give his rider.
    According to the announcer, the baddest bull of the night was Stranger Danger. The announcer stated that Stranger Danger had only been ridden twice during his entire five-year career. Carmen gulped, glad to see his rider tonight wore a protective helmet.
    “I wish they wouldn’t wear those helmets. The guys who wear the cowboy hats are much hotter,” Charmaine said, taking a slug of her beer.
    “That’s just stupid, Charmaine, that’s like saying guys in motorcycle helmets aren’t as hot—so ignorant,” Sloane chided.
    “I think this cowboy made a smart move, wearing it with this bull,” Carmen said.
    Charmaine shrugged.
    The chute opened and Stranger Danger bolted out of the chute. The 1,500-pound red bull flew through the air; as he bucked, he moved more vertically than forward. First his head was in the air, horns slashing, then fast as lightning his tail launched into the air, and he was quick, like a fish flopping out of water. But a fish flopped frantically without purpose; not Stranger Danger. He knew what he was doing, you could almost see the calculations as he whirled around doing a 360-degree turn in mid-air, rearing up on his back legs, then hurling himself into the air again, kicking up a cloud of dirt behind him.
    After two seconds, the bull tossed the rider into the air. The poor fellow landed on his rear end only a couple of feet away from the still-kicking bull. The