“Charmaine,” Clarence explained. “Whooee, she is one fine woman, if ya doan mind my sayin’ so.”
I do mind your saying so. Don’t say it. Don’t even think it. I’m thinking it enough for both of us. “She’s only here for a visit.”
“Thass what she tol’ me, but iffen yer the man I think ya are, ya kin change her mind.”
“Why would I want to do that? No, don’t answer that. Charmaine is soon to be my ex-wife. End of story.” And, frankly, I don’t know what kind of man I am anymore. Or whether I want to change her mind. Who am I kidding? At the least encouragement, I’d be all over her like dew on Dixie.
“I could give you pointers,” Clarence said. With a little huffing and puffing, they managed to get the second steer up on the truck. Even with the winch and fork, it was hard work lifting these almost two-thousand-pound animals.
“I beg your pardon,” Raoul said, once he got his breath back.
“Pointers… on how to win Charmaine back.” Clarence spit again. “I was quite the ladies’ man at one time.”
Bet you didn’t chew tobacco then.
“Oh, doan give me that look, boy. I still got a little giddiup in my stirrups. Doan judge me by my age.”
“I wasn’t judging you by—”
“Oh, yes, you were. But thass no nevermind. The important thing is women go bonkers over cowboys. Always did. You just need to strut yer stuff in yer cowboy gear, and you’ll be home free.”
“Home free, huh?” How pathetic can I get? Even an aged Lothario thinks I need help.
“The most important thing is ya gotta get her back in yer bed. After that, ya gotta make love to her over and over and over till she’s walkin’ bowlegged. Poke, poke, poke. Thass one thing us cowboys know how to do good. Ride our fillies hard.”
Oh, good Lord! He wants me to make Charmaine bow-legged. “Uh, Charmaine might have a thing or two to say about that.”
Clarence waggled his shaggy eyebrows at him. “She’s a hot tomato, all right. A hottie, as Jimmy would say. Yer dumber’n a cow’s patoot iffen ya doan make the effort.”
Why don’t you say what you really think, old man? “I may be dumb, but you’re the one who’s dumb if you dare to call Charmaine a hot tomato to her face. I called her a bimbo one time, and she walked out on me.” Now, why did I blab out something like that?
“Bimbo? Bimbo? Are you nuts, boy? ‘Bimbo’ is a bad word… like… like slut. Hot tomato is a compliment.”
Unbelievable! Un-be-freakin’-liev-able! I’m standing here, taking advice from a senior citizen cowboy version of Anne Landers. He oughta write a column called “Dear Clarence” or “The Cowboy Confessor.” Talk about!
Time to change the subject. “I think you’re just wanting me to keep Charmaine around because you like her food.”
Charmaine had gotten up even before him this morning and had prepared a huge breakfast of thick Cajun boudin sausages, scrambled eggs, toast, her own version of couche-couche, which was fried cornmeal mush served with brown sugar, butter, and milk, and lots of thick chicory coffee. Clarence, Linc, and Jimmy were falling in love with his wife just because of her cooking. And the respectful way she treated them. And the fact that she’d offered to do their laundry. And, yes, she was making meat loaf for supper, just because Jimmy had asked.
My life is goin’ down the tubes, but we got meat loaf.
How could he ask her to stop doing things that pleased his workers so much? If he wasn’t careful, she would be insinuating herself into his life, too, and that would be intolerable.
Wouldn’t it?
“There is that, too.” Clarence chuckled and spit another stream off to the side. Meanwhile, they heaved the third steer onto the truck by way of the squeaking winch and forklift.
“Huh?” Raoul had been so deep in thought that he’d lost track of his conversation with Clarence.
“You said that mebbe I’m just warming up to Charmaine ’cause I like her food, and I said, ‘There is that, too.’ ” Clarence’s cloudy gray eyes twinkled, as if he could read Raoul’s mind and knew that it lingered on his wife. And not just her food, either. There was the image of her in his LSU T-shirt. There was the lingering smell of her. There was the kiss.