luxury.”
“Is it up to her?” I had the impression April didn’t control anything around “Camp David West,” the name of the big house back in the sixties. The main house bragged of twenty-two bedrooms overlooking reflecting pools, some with Kissinger, Nixon, Capote, and Rock Hudson memorabilia actually left by the people who had slept there. I’d heard that Cliff had donated many midcentury paintings by the likes of Rothko, de Kooning, and Wayne Thiebaud to the modern art museum in New York, replacing them with fakes. But there were real bronze statues of cowboys and dead Indians on horseback supposedly all over the place, according to Javier.
“Ah,” breathed Sequoia, exhaling liquor all over me. “He may force her to work for him, but she’s got him by the short hairs. Maybe you should stop pushing up on her best friend.”
I snorted. “Why would that piss April off? What does she care?”
Sequoia looked thoughtful. He gazed up at a poster advertising the virtues of skiing in Gstaad. It had probably been left there by the builders in the sixties. “Oh, I think she cares, all right.” He was the spitting image of the stereotypical wise Indian, giving a shit about the state of pollution in the rivers. “I watched your ride from the office window. You didn’t see her jumping up and down. Her eyes were fucking shining with excitement, man. You didn’t see her practically stampede Olivia to smithereens when your ride was over, trying to get to you. It was like something out of a fucking movie, man.”
“Yeah?” It irritated me how this news made my chest swell with pride. I wasn’t supposed to give a shit what that daughter of a wife-stealer thought. Her father was just a manipulative scumbag who wanted to increase his family name by marrying into another ranching family. Sadie made good arm candy for his social functions. Coming from Texas, she had the right hair and makeup down pat.
On paper, it was a good match. In reality, I foresaw disaster. And his daughter was the least of it. That bitch April spelled trouble with a capital T. “If I want Mr. Pleasure to sponsor the bareback event, I’d best stay far, far away from that twat.”
“Twat,” Sequoia agreed, but quickly took back his word. “She’s alright once you get to know her. I’ve known her since the fifth grade. She was probably defending me as much as she was defending you during that fight with Lawson and his gang.”
Now it depressed me hugely to think she was just standing up for Sequoia and not me. Suddenly I longed for the good ol’ days when I thought April crushed on me, when she seemed to respond ardently to me pinning her to the bleachers with my giant hard-on. I was not imagining that. She had squirmed with the intent to get me hot. She’d look good in a pair of handcuffs. I’d have to get some. Just to, you know, torment her. To remind her of how we met, the secret I still hoped I held over her.
Then I wanted to slap myself in the face. What was fucking wrong with me? I needed to get my fucking high school diploma, win big in the rodeo, and get my fucking trust fund. If that was even still on the table. Then I could go on the road, follow the circuit, wind up at national finals in Pocatello, Idaho in March. That was my life’s goal of my sage and far-seeing seventeen years go to Dodge National Circuit Finals in Idaho. Funny how stupid things seem, looking back several years later. Hard to believe that was my end-all and be-all of existence, getting to finals.
“Yeah, that’s probably it,” I said with disgust. “She’s probably been madly in love with you since fifth grade. I’m outta here.”
“Aw,” whined Sequoia, “I didn’t mean to imply she was madly in love with me. Just, you know, I know how much you hate her.”
“With a fucking passion,” I agreed, breezing out the front door.
“Wait,” said Sequoia, going back to the bar and grabbing something.
It turned out to be an opened bag of
“Is it up to her?” I had the impression April didn’t control anything around “Camp David West,” the name of the big house back in the sixties. The main house bragged of twenty-two bedrooms overlooking reflecting pools, some with Kissinger, Nixon, Capote, and Rock Hudson memorabilia actually left by the people who had slept there. I’d heard that Cliff had donated many midcentury paintings by the likes of Rothko, de Kooning, and Wayne Thiebaud to the modern art museum in New York, replacing them with fakes. But there were real bronze statues of cowboys and dead Indians on horseback supposedly all over the place, according to Javier.
“Ah,” breathed Sequoia, exhaling liquor all over me. “He may force her to work for him, but she’s got him by the short hairs. Maybe you should stop pushing up on her best friend.”
I snorted. “Why would that piss April off? What does she care?”
Sequoia looked thoughtful. He gazed up at a poster advertising the virtues of skiing in Gstaad. It had probably been left there by the builders in the sixties. “Oh, I think she cares, all right.” He was the spitting image of the stereotypical wise Indian, giving a shit about the state of pollution in the rivers. “I watched your ride from the office window. You didn’t see her jumping up and down. Her eyes were fucking shining with excitement, man. You didn’t see her practically stampede Olivia to smithereens when your ride was over, trying to get to you. It was like something out of a fucking movie, man.”
“Yeah?” It irritated me how this news made my chest swell with pride. I wasn’t supposed to give a shit what that daughter of a wife-stealer thought. Her father was just a manipulative scumbag who wanted to increase his family name by marrying into another ranching family. Sadie made good arm candy for his social functions. Coming from Texas, she had the right hair and makeup down pat.
On paper, it was a good match. In reality, I foresaw disaster. And his daughter was the least of it. That bitch April spelled trouble with a capital T. “If I want Mr. Pleasure to sponsor the bareback event, I’d best stay far, far away from that twat.”
“Twat,” Sequoia agreed, but quickly took back his word. “She’s alright once you get to know her. I’ve known her since the fifth grade. She was probably defending me as much as she was defending you during that fight with Lawson and his gang.”
Now it depressed me hugely to think she was just standing up for Sequoia and not me. Suddenly I longed for the good ol’ days when I thought April crushed on me, when she seemed to respond ardently to me pinning her to the bleachers with my giant hard-on. I was not imagining that. She had squirmed with the intent to get me hot. She’d look good in a pair of handcuffs. I’d have to get some. Just to, you know, torment her. To remind her of how we met, the secret I still hoped I held over her.
Then I wanted to slap myself in the face. What was fucking wrong with me? I needed to get my fucking high school diploma, win big in the rodeo, and get my fucking trust fund. If that was even still on the table. Then I could go on the road, follow the circuit, wind up at national finals in Pocatello, Idaho in March. That was my life’s goal of my sage and far-seeing seventeen years go to Dodge National Circuit Finals in Idaho. Funny how stupid things seem, looking back several years later. Hard to believe that was my end-all and be-all of existence, getting to finals.
“Yeah, that’s probably it,” I said with disgust. “She’s probably been madly in love with you since fifth grade. I’m outta here.”
“Aw,” whined Sequoia, “I didn’t mean to imply she was madly in love with me. Just, you know, I know how much you hate her.”
“With a fucking passion,” I agreed, breezing out the front door.
“Wait,” said Sequoia, going back to the bar and grabbing something.
It turned out to be an opened bag of
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