Chapter 6
Blake
I laid there looking at the ceiling and wondering why it looked so different. That’s when I knew: I wasn’t hung over. As a matter of fact, I had the clearest head I’d had in maybe more than a year. I looked over and sure enough, the other half of my bed was empty. No girl. I was completely and totally alone. It felt foreign; it felt right. It was like punishment for the failure. I knew my career was over and my fans would flit away to the next big name. Blake Andrew Temple was done.
I tried to think about the woman, Silver. I had no idea who she really was, but the name fit, so I kept using it. She was someone I could get close to, and easily.
My phone rang and I answered without thinking.
“Mr. Temple?” came an unknown voice.
“Yeah?”
“This is Cheryl at the Dallas Cattlemen’s Association. I work in the publications department and we received a submission regarding your ride yesterday and wondered if you’d care to comment?”
“Comment on what?”
“The story, sir, as well as the pictures.”
“What story”
“We received a submission from a writer named Melissa Christian who apparently documented your ride yesterday with photos and a story, including a number of personal interviews and some biographical information about your past. Our editor wanted to check it out before we accepted the submission—sort of a vetting process to make sure the facts are straight before we accept it.”
“Who is Melissa Christian?”
“Sir, we’ve never met Ms. Christian but she claims to be originally from New York City, presently living in the Dallas area, and she’s seeking employment as a journalist. We agree this is a bit unusual, but the quality of the article is very good, as are the photos.”
“Photos? Of what?”
“Well …” her voice fell away as though she was reaching for something. “What she sent were digital shots of people in the stands and then one shot of you, on the ground after the ride, sir.”
What?
“Did you have a comment?”
“Do you have any contact information for this Ms. Christian?”
“Ah, yes, yes we do.”
“I want you to send it to me, along with a forward of that article so I can verify it for you,” I ordered the woman and then gave her my email address. “I’ll be back in touch as soon as I read it,” I promised.
“Thank you, Mr. Temple. Please be aware that if we don’t hear from you by our noon deadline, we will publish the article and note that you had no comment. Do you understand?”
“Yeah. Send it.”
I rolled out of the bed and suddenly the room began to swirl. I cussed and grabbed a bottle, taking a deep, long swig and then waited for it to take effect. I flipped open my laptop, hit the power button, and began buttoning my shirt as I waited for it to boot.
The email was there and it wasn’t flattering. I printed it out, along with the address and strode out to the truck without breakfast. It didn’t matter; I couldn’t stomach it right then, anyway.
I plugged the address into the GPS and let it talk to me. It felt calming, sort of. I was furious. Of all the press I’d ever gotten, it had always been to cheer me on, to proclaim me the world’s best. Now there I was, my first humiliating defeat, and some journalist from New York City made it her business to be on hand and document me as a failure for the rest of my life.
All the hatred I had bottled up for Cain had now found a new form to cling to. This Melissa woman was now the target of every vulgar name I could think of. I would see to it personally that she was ruined—her career was over. She didn’t even have the courtesy to ask my permission before taking the pictures or writing about me. Yeah, I knew that I was a public persona and therefore people were free to take pictures and use them however they pleased. But it was still bullshit and I was going to stop it—now.
The navigator brought me into a run-down neighborhood that sort of reminded me of where I had grown up. I came to a stop before a dilapidated apartment building and threw the truck into park, grabbing the printout of the article on my way. I stopped long enough to determine the destination and took the stairs, two at a time, until I reached the third floor. I found the door and looking once more at the paper in my hand, began knocking loudly on it. There was no immediate answer, although I could tell there was movement on the inside.
I banged again and this time the door opened. To my utter amazement, there stood Silver.
“What the hell?” came out of my mouth before I knew it.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, her hair tussled and her voice sleepy.
In that moment I felt a stirring in my groin as I looked at her. I thought I’d never seen anything more beautiful in my entire life. Her green eyes shot fire at me and brought me back to the present.
“What do you want?” she spoke again.
I cleared my throat and reached deep for indignation. “This!” I pounded the printout against the door. “What the hell is this?”
Her eyes widened and she reached to take the paper from me.
“Explain yourself!” I ordered her, noting that the bottom of her robe had opened and revealed a pair of tanned dancer’s legs. I felt myself go hard and was suddenly lost in the green-eyed silver of the apparition before me.
“Jesus!” she shot back. “Let me see it, and if you’ll quit shouting and come in here before the neighbors start talking …”
“Oh, I’ll come in, all right. But I don’t think this is the kind of place where you worry too much about the neighbors. I believe they have a little diversion of their own to attend to.”
“Get in here,” she took my hand and dragged me inside. Pushing her silvery hair back from her forehead, she began to read the printout and a smile of intense joy broke out on her face. “They got it!”
“Yeah, you could say so.”
“I tried so many, but wasn’t sure if I’d get any bites. And look! My first one!” She was obviously elated about something.
“What do you mean, you tried so many? So many what? Who?”
“I sent that to every publication in the state, praying someone would buy it. It’s my start, don’t you see?” she looked up at me and I was lost in visions of green. “What’s wrong with you?”
“What the hell do you think is wrong with me? You’re out to ruin me!” I screamed at her.
At that point a door opened and a young woman bearing a resemblance to Silver emerged, rubbing her breast and said, “Hey, can you guys keep it down out here. Man, we were up all night.”
“Who are you?” I asked, as though I had any right whatsoever to know.
“I’m Jill—her sister. You’re in my place. Hey … I know you. I’ve seen your picture on billboard and on the news. You’re that horse guy …”
“Bull.”
“Well, I’m pretty sure it was you,” she emphasized, her forehead wrinkled as she tried to remember.
“No, bull! I don’t ride horses, I ride bulls. Big ones. Big ass bulls that can kill someone with one throw of their hoof. Ask your sister. She likes to watch. In fact, she watched and took pictures of me almost getting killed yesterday!” I was so furious I could hardly speak.
“Well, hell, if you don’t want to get killed, don’t get on the damn thing,” was Jill’s response and she scratched her breast again and went back into the room, shutting the door behind her.
Silver was still reading. I stood there, fuming. Suddenly, from the next room came the sound of thumping: a headboard was knocking against the wall. I knew immediately what was going on and this served to add further indignity to the situation.
“Look,” I said to Silver. “I’m going out to the truck—I’m parked right out front. You get dressed and meet me out there in five minutes. We’ll get something to eat and discuss what you’ve done to my life,” I ordered and strode out of the apartment before she could argue with me. And I knew, argue was exactly what she wanted to do.
* * *
At least she had enough common sense to take me seriously and was coming toward the truck a few minutes later. She looked all wild, like a new foal; her long legs descending from short shorts and her hair, barely combed and a bit damp on the top of her head. I leaned over and opened the door for her. She climbed in and was re-reading the printout as she slammed the door.
I grabbed the printout and tore it in half. “You’re not publishing that,” I said firmly.
“What? What are you talking about? That’s my big break! I need a job and that was my only hope!”
“Not at my expense, you don’t. Go write about some laid up cowboy or a jockey or a washing machine repairman, but kindly leave my life alone!”
“Geez, it’s not that bad. You stayed on almost long enough. I was impressed. I saw it. He was as big as an elephant but fast and awfully mean. You’re lucky you weren’t killed.” She was trying to make the event sound better than it was.
“If I’d been killed at least my name would have a hero’s reception today. I’d probably been better off.”
“Woah, you have some sort of death wish, or something? Why do you do what you do?” she asked.
“Never mind that, you’ll just run in and add my comments to your article and send it in again. No, you’re getting out of my business.”
“You can’t.”
“I can’t, what?”
“You can’t stop me,” she said in denial.
“The hell I can’t!”
“Freedom of the press. My first amendment rights. Surely even here in Texas you know something about that!” she was firing at me.
I glared at her. I let the Texas comment go. I knew how she was working this. She’d get me riled up about something unrelated, hoping that I’d forget the real reason I was pissed. She wasn’t going to do it.
We had arrived at the restaurant and I fairly dragged her out of the truck. Inside, we went to the back booth and I pushed her in ahead of me and slid in next to her. I could see the long legs stretched out before us and I had this sudden urge to spread them. I was losing my cool. Hang on, ol’ buddy, I told myself.
“You’re being awfully pushy and rude. I thought you southerners were known for your hospitality and how you treated ladies.”
“If a lady comes in, you let me know,” I slammed her and felt bad as soon as the words were out.
The waitress came and I ordered two of the special and there was a smile on the woman’s face as she poured our coffees. She recognized me. I could always tell.
“Now then,” I started. “Tell me why you did this.”
“You’re making too big of a deal about this. Look, my name is Meli Christian and I’ve just moved down here and am staying with my sister until I get on my own feet. I just graduated college six months ago and I have this degree but nowhere to use it and no way to earn money. Bob, he’s my taxi driver and the father of the bride from the wedding you crashed, oh and he says thank you very much for the money …”
“Get to the point!” I barked.
“I am, if you’ll shut up long enough for me to get there.”
I rolled my eyes and asked God for patience. The waitress was coming up to the table and set the two plates down before us. She hesitated, looking at me.
“That’s fine, thank you.”
The waitress had just walked away when Meli looked up from her plate and reached a hand out toward the waitress. “I need ketchup,” she began but I pushed her hand down.
“Eat them as they are,” I spat and then took a deep breath as I tried to calm down. “Go on with what you were saying.”
“Okay, but you don’t have to be so mean. It’s not as if I did something to intentionally hurt you.”
I could tell by the undertone of her voice that she was lying. She had a grudge against me and I had no clue as to why or what I could have done to her to earn it. I motioned with my hand for her to move on with her story.
“Okay, okay. So, I was in a relationship and he walked out and I had no choice but to come down here. I’m out of work and Bob, my taxi driver, suggested that I write some human-interest stories about local sights and people and try to sell them to magazines and papers around here. So, when I met you, well you seemed the perfect opportunity. Bob and I trade time, the wedding pictures for his driving me around, and we came to the event that day to watch you ride. I took pictures, talked to some of your fans, and well… some who aren’t such good fans, and sent the article I wrote out that next morning. It might not be my best work because I stayed up all night doing it.”
Did she always ramble on like this? “What did you expect to get out of it?”
She looked at me with an incredulous expression. “Money. What else? I need a job. Did you miss that part? Do you think I want to sleep on Jill’s couch and listen to her and her friends jump one another from now on?”
“No, I can see your point there,” I allowed. “But you’re not going to launch your career at my expense.”
She stopped eating and turned toward me. “Do you really think you have the power to stop every writer who wants to make a buck from writing about you? I’m just one of many. They’ll all follow suit.”
“They’ll ruin my career and I’ll sue their pants off for it.” I was getting angry again.
“You can try, but what in that article wasn’t true? There was no libel there. I interviewed people and took their quotes, word for word. The rest was opinion and observation. As for the bull, well, you did end up on your ass, didn’t you?”
My fork clanged to the floor and it was lucky because I’d been getting ready to throw it against the wall. “Kill the story.”
“What?”
“I said … kill … the … story. I know you understand English.”
“But if I can sell it, it might be the start of something big. It could launch my whole career; don’t you understand?”
“I understand perfectly. Your career, questionable as it may be, is not going to be launched as a result of driving mine in the toilet.”
“I have to eat. I need to find a place.”
“I’ll take care of that.”
“What? What do you mean?”
“I’ll hire you. You can be my publicist and I’ll give you quarters at the ranch.”
“The ranch. You mean, at your place?”
“Of course.”
“Ohhhh, no. I heard all about your ranch,” she said as though it was a dirty word. “I don’t have any intention of becoming one of your girls. Did you know there are dozens of women out there claiming you father their children?”
“Yeah. They do it all the time.”
“Well, so do you, apparently. No, I’m not staying with you.”
“Look, damnit!” I started. “I’ll give you a job as a publicist and you can stay in the other end of my house. It’s a huge place—plenty of room for two people to live and never see one another. We’ll use one of the center rooms as an office and once business is concluded, you can retreat to your end, and I to mine. You won’t see me or hear from me. You can even put locks on the door, okay?”
She was looking at me with an expression that bordered on possibilities but her conscience was arguing with her.
“You want to stay with Jill and her friends for another year or more?”
That seemed to clench it. “What’s the salary?”
“Eh! Shit, I don’t know. Name it. What does a publicist get nowadays?” She was the most frustrating female I’d met in a long time. But those legs were getting to me again.
She thought a few moments. “Well, I won’t charge you New York rates; that wouldn’t be fair here. And then there’s the matter of room and board. You are going to feed me, right?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’ll feed you. We’ll alternate nights cooking, how’s that?” What the hell was I getting myself into? I didn’t start out with this in mind at all. I was coming to strangle the woman.
She considered my proposition and then stuck out her hand. “Pay me two thousand a month, plus room and board and you’ve got yourself a deal.”
I shook her hand, feeling the long, slender fingers against my rough palm. “Okay, deal.” Personally I figured she’d go for a hundred thousand, so I was getting off cheap. “And I got an old pickup I’ll throw in the deal so you can get around.”
Her face lit up. “Great! That solves everything! Now can I get some ketchup?”
I rolled my eyes, slid out of the booth, and grabbed a bottle from another table. I hoped this wasn’t going to be the beginning of something I would regret. One more look at those legs told me I was in big trouble.