Call her.
Yeah, I will. Yeah.
But he didn’t move.
C’mon. You want to. She wants you to.
Just call her.
Yeah, right, I will. Now.
This time he actually picked up the phone and started dialing, then suddenly stopped and crashed the handset back into its cradle. He had punched Dakota’s number.
God! Help me! Get her out of my head! Let me go! Robyn! Help me!
It should be so easy. He loved Robyn and Robyn loved him. They had so much in common. They got along well, worked together well.
He’d forget Dakota eventually. Sure he would. He’d gotten over Emma Grace
and Elaine.
He’d forgotten the others—
Amanda
Corwyn.
Corwyn. He had gotten over her. He had. There, if he said it enough times it would be true. He turned around to look at the painting on the wall, the rich, vibrant colors, the meticulous detail of the nets, and remembered lying on the couch naked watching her, naked, too, as she painted that very picture. He could see clearly the streak of dark green paint on her thigh where she had wiped her brush, forgetting that there was no rag hanging from the pocket of her smock.
His body remembered the pain from when she left.
I told you I was going.
I know. I’m glad I fell in love with you. I wouldn’t have missed it. It’s worth it.
What the hell kind of fool was he? Why did he keep doing this shit? Falling in love with these amazing women who were in love with someone else?
He grabbed his keys and ran out the door, jumped in his Jeep and headed for town.
The crowd was sparse at the Spur, not surprising for a Tuesday night. Kelley could hear balls clicking from the pool table in the side room, and a couple sat staring silently into their beers in the dark back booth. The jukebox wasn’t even talking tonight. Not much sand had been tracked in from the parking lot so he knew this was not just a lull.
Liz greeted him with raised eyebrows from her citadel behind the bar.
Hey, handsome, what brings you slumming?
What brings anyone into this place? A beer, ma’am, s’il vous plait.
She smiled and shook her head.
The boy with two fathers. It if wasn’t for that blonde hair I’d mistake you for your dad, and spouting French like the other one.
She filled a glass from the tap and touched the dimple in his cheek gently as she set his beer on the bar in front of him.
You okay?
Yeah.
Her years as a bartender tell her this is a lie but that it would take a few beers before his need to talk would overcome his fear.
Drink up, dearie.
Kelley obediently drinks deep.
Beer is a taste he’d worked at acquiring—
one of those things he’d done to fit in,
but it wasn’t his favorite, not by a long shot.
On the other hand, he could feel the effects almost instantly, the tingle in his knees and his bladder and the rise of his spirits. Yeah, this was the right thing to do.
Liz watches all this going on in him and prays that he gets worked out whatever it is that’s eating him. She does not want to see this boy become an alcoholic.
A woman probably. He hasn’t been in for a while, alone or otherwise. What was that girl’s name that he’d been seeing? Something silly, not a real girls’ name—Ribbon? Randi? Robbin, yeah, that was it. Had she dumped him? What a fool if she had. He’d been hanging around with the older Edwards girl, too.
How the hell is Raven, anyway? Where the hell is Raven these days?
He’s still in Paris.
You seen him lately?
Ah, no, not since spring when we were all here.
His last words disappeared as the screech of a fiddle blasted from the jukebox.
He felt someone press against him and looked over to see Lisa Manning leering at him. Her bleached blonde hair was curled in tight ringlets that danced enthusiastically every time she moved, which was often.
Hey there, cowboy, how about a dance?
She bounced in time and mimed, She wore glass slippers, as Lyle Lovett’s voice joined the fiddle.
No, thank you.
Oh, come on. It’s just you and me here. She put her arm through his and tried to pull him to the dance floor.
He raised his eyebrows and looked at Liz.
I mean customers, silly. You know.
He shook his head, tipped his glass to Liz and took a sip.
You guys are always bitchin’ that girls never say yes. You got a lotta room to talk!
If I were a woman and a man was harassing me like you’re harassing me, I’d call the bouncer.
What bouncer?
Just then Tommy Jones came in from the pool room, an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips, followed by his sidekick, Joe Barker. Tommy’s eyes lit up when he saw Lisa, and he headed toward her.
Hey, girl, you play that song for me?
He completely ignored of Kelley, which was just fine with Kelley, who leaned back toward the bar and away from Lisa, slipping his arm out from hers.
Well, you sure are a cowboy—I can smell the shit on your shoes! Lisa looked at Tommy scornfully. Tommy laughed and took her arm and dragged her to the dance floor, sloshing beer on her jeans, his boots and the floor, all in one graceful lunge.
Bouncer! Lisa screamed, laughing, and grabbed Tommy’s beer, chugging half of it in one gulp.
At least you know how to buy a lady a drink. Unlike certain fine gentlemen!
She turned her glare toward the bar but Kelley had his nose practically in his beer, lost in the lyrics of the song playing on the jukebox.
It was song that Dakota had sung to him, late one night, as they drank wine and danced naked by the firelight. Well, almost naked. She had told him to keep his boots on.
How the hell do you keep your boots on? You can’t get your jeans off with your boots on.
Well, take off your jeans and put your boots back on, then, she had laughed, obviously feeling the wine she’d had at dinner.
Socks, too?
Socks, too! And underwear! she commanded.
They had made love on the floor in front of the fire and later had two-stepped as well as two giggling drunks who didn't really know how could in the small space.
She played that song over and over because she loved the line, ‘She wore glass slippers.’
What a great opening for a song.
He could see her holding her air microphone and belting out the words of the song, flipping her mane of dark, glossy hair.
You can rope me on the prairie,
You can ride me on the plain,
I will be your Cinderella,
If you’ll be my Cowboy Man!
He remembered her laughing and giving him a wet kiss as she whispered, Will you be my ‘Cowboy Man?’
He had emptied his glass and grabbed her as he blurted, I’ll be any kind of man you want me to be!
As he sat at the bar, oblivious of the world around him, a line from another cut on the same album came to his mind, ‘If I were the man she wanted, I would not be the man that I am,’ and Kelley knew he had to get out of there before he fell apart. He fumbled for his wallet, dropped a ten dollar bill on the counter and headed toward the door.
Hey, sweet, you got change comin’! Liz called after him.
He waved back at her and fled.
If I were the man she wanted....
But I’m not, he said as he drove toward the ranch. He topped the rise on the way out of town and pulled into the overlook. He sat staring at the quarter moon hanging low and orange in the hot August night, wondering where she was, remembering how it felt to run his fingers over the soft skin of her back as she lay on top of him, finally still after taking him for a ride.
The moon blurred as tears filled his eyes. He sat quietly, holding his breath, his whole self, tightly, close, closed, afraid that if he let go that he would fall apart and never be able to put himself back together again.
Suddenly, he saw himself sitting next to his parents and his sister watching Dakota promise to spend her life with another man, with Eric, and he felt his body revolt. His stomach heaved and bitter beer filled his mouth. He jerked the door open and lurched for the edge of the overlook, catching himself on the rail as his beer and dinner cascaded in an arc onto the rocks far below. He retched again and again until nothing more came out.
He sank to his knees, resting his forehead on the cool metal railing, and waited to see if anything else was going to happen. Finally, he got shakily to his feet and staggered back to his car. He reached his water bottle out of the seat and rinsed his mouth them poured the rest over his hot face. He slid down the side of the Jeep until he was sitting in the gravel of the parking lot, breathing, willing his body to be calm.
But neither body nor mind nor soul nor spirit would be calm. There was far to much at stake here.
Dakota, where are you? he howled.
Oh, god, what am I going to do?
© copyright 2002 Maggie Wilson
