Divas Las Vegas (13 page)

It wasn't long before the Vegas we had grown accustomed to receded in the distance and we were surrounded
by mostly desert. It was more beautiful than I had expected:
very serene, with patches of color here and there, and peacefully quiet, except for the sound of our horses clomping along
the narrow trails. My earlier apprehensions had abated and
I started to release the white-knuckle grip that I had on the
reins. Justin too looked decidedly at ease-which I assumed
meant that he popped a pretty blue pill sometime before we
trotted off. Either way, it truly was relaxing getting back to
nature. That is, however, until nature started getting back
at us.

We were happily riding along, with Honey serenading us
along the way, when No Name was stung by something. I can
only assume that's what happened because, out of nowhere,
she let out a horrible whinny and took off like lightning.
Honey's crash course in riding hadn't prepared me for a
crazy mare. All I could do was hold on for dear life as she
hurtled past the shrubs, over small boulders, and around
an occasional tree, all the while causing me to get whacked
by passing branches and the intermittent limb. Ouch! All
the hysterical pulling on the reins and all the shouting of "Whoa, girl" was having no effect. It was like talking to
a top who was hell-bent on ass, when all you wanted to
do was lie there and cuddle. In other words, "Whoa, girl"
was blatantly ignored and I was offered a painful pounding
instead. That's when I noticed the cliff up ahead.

I know, I know. You think that stuff only happens in
movies, but cliffs spring up in real life, too. This wasn't a
major precipice hanging over a vast expanse of nothingness, mind you-it was more like a ledge over a big gullybut still, major bodily damage was fast approaching. And
jumping off was out of the question. I certainly wasn't that
brave. Instead, I prayed that No Name would notice no
ground up ahead, and would stop of her own accord. Unfortunately, she showed no signs of slowing down as we rapidly
approached the ravine. Twenty feet quickly became fifteen;
fifteen became ten; ten became five. I shut my eyes, held on
as tight as I could, and prepared myself for the inevitable. If
I had had much of a life to flash before my eyes, I'm sure I
would've seen it at that point.

Surprisingly, at the time I should've been hurtling over
the edge, I was still galloping gaily forward. Out of curiosity, I peeked out of my left eye to see why I wasn't dead
or dying. I was stunned to see my horse running parallel to
the edge, instead of over it; and right next to us was Justin,
acting as a barrier.

When he saw me open my eyes, he shouted, "Having fun
yet?"

I shook my head a vigorous no and shouted back to him,
"Stop the ride. I want to get off!"

He smiled and slowly veered Lancelot in front of No
Name, causing her to eventually slow down and come to a
stop, breathless and exhausted. (Her and me both.)

When I had recovered my senses, I slid off my horse and
back onto the steady ground. Justin followed suit and sat
next to me, draping his arm over my shoulder.

"Have you been taking stunt riding lessons behind my
back?" I asked, head in hands, still shaking.

"Just one of the many perks of wealth, sweetie. Horseback riding classes at age eight; first pony at age nine; first
blue ribbon at age ten. Haven't you seen the trophies in my
apartment?"

"I thought they were props. You know: there to impress."

"Nope. I can rope a bull too."

"Really?"

"Nope. See, that was an attempt to impress. Don't worry,
you'll get it eventually."

But what I wanted to get, at that moment, was a drink
and a good mile or two away from my horse. I'd had enough
fresh air for the day. What I needed was some noxious fumes.
I would have gladly given a good chunk of my money for
one of those smelly cabs right about then. That, sadly, was
not what Honey had in mind for me.

She came galloping up a short while later, looking worried
as could be. I almost felt sorry for her, until I remembered
that she was the one who put me on the damn thing in the
first place. "You boys okay?" she asked, jumping off her
horse and running over to us.

We both nodded a yes, though I had my doubts.

"That was some slick ridin' there, Justin. You plumb
saved your friend's life, more than likely. Not to mention
my horse's." She breathed a sigh of relief. I assumed that it
was for me and not the horse. Least I hoped as much. "Well,
now, just as soon as you're able to get on up there, Em, I
think we should get a move on to Ma's. It's about to get
purty darn hot out here."

"No, thanks," I responded. "I'll just wait here for the
vultures. You two go on without me."

"Nonsense, you know what they say," she said.

"Those who turn and run away, live to fight another
day?" I answered, defeatedly.

"Hell, no," She shouted, "When you fall off a horse, you
need to get right back on."

"But I didn't fall off a horse," I tried to explain.

"It's an expression, Em," she explained back to me. "It
just so happens we're actually dealin' with a horse in this
case. It means you gotta pick yourself up, dust yourself off,
and get your ass right back on that there horse, or you'll be
a-scared for the rest of your life."

"Why should I stop being a-scared now?" I wondered
aloud, as it certainly had gotten me this far. But Honey and
Justin were already helping me back on my feet and into the
stirrups.

This time Honey rode along to the right side of me,
holding both our reins in her hand. My foray into horsemanship was over. If we hadn't been in the middle of nowhere and
in near-hundred-degree heat, I probably would have taken
my chances and walked. Justin, my unlikely hero, rode along
to my left. Though still uneasy, I at least felt safer closed in
like that. The passing scenery no longer interested me. I just
wanted to get to the ranch and find out where my vase was.

Thankfully, there wasn't much of a ride left. We rode
up to the ranch not twenty minutes later. Actually, calling
it a ranch may have been pushing it. Hovel seemed a better
term. Maybe even shack. If this is what social security was
paying for these days, I planned on never getting old. The
only redeeming qualities of the place were the surrounding
landscape, which was breathtaking, and the satellite TV dish
in the front yard. At least Ma wasn't living in the Stone Age.
Actually, it looked more as if she was hiding out. Images of
Butch Cassidy and his infamous Wild Bunch gang flashed
though my head.

We rode up to a small barn in back and parked the
horses. I was thrilled to be off No Name, and smacked her
in the ass for good measure before I ran to the house (hut,
cabin, lean-to-whatever, but it was no ranch). Maybe they had taxi service out there, I prayed, as I had absolutely no
desire, or will power, to get back on that horse. I figured
that if Ma had a TV and a well-stocked bar, I could just live
out my days with her. I kept looking for one of those rugged
handymen you always see in the movies to come around the
corner. Then the scenario would've been perfect. However, I
was not so fortunate. Mary herself came around the corner
to greet us.

"Howdy, ya'll," she said, all smiling and waving. Funny,
I felt like we were already old friends. She looked exactly
as she had on television, except that she was dressed more
countrified now.

"Ma, this here's them fellers I was telling you about. This
is Justin and this is Em," Honey said, introducing us to my
only hope of recovering the vase.

"My, my, that's a strange name your parents gave ya, but
it's sure nice seeing you handsome fellers. Don't get much
company around these parts, besides my daughter here."

I didn't have the energy to explain that it wasn't my real
name, because people always want to know how I got the
nickname, and we all know how long a story that must
be, right? Instead, I shook her hand and gave her a howdy
in return. Justin did the same, and then we were heartily
welcomed into her home.

The inside was not as rugged in appearance as the outside.
It was cozy and quaint and very warm and inviting. It was
sort of like being in a gay Country-Western bar, minus the
dancing queens. Mary offered us some homemade lemonade
and cookies, which we gratefully accepted. Then she gave
us a quick tour of the place, which was really quick seeing
as the place was itty-bitty. And last, but not least, we were
shown her brand-new television that came with that dish
that we saw outside. That we could thank my grandma for.
Seems it wasn't only a rocker Mary bought with the fifteen
thousand dollars she received.

I was almost angry with her as we stood there admiring
it, knowing how it would have upset my grandmother, but
I just couldn't make myself feel that way. Mary looked so
happy and motherly standing there stroking the damn thing
as if it was a favorite pet (really, the woman was sweet as a
bee's ass) that all I could do was congratulate her on her good
fortune and munch on her fabulous homemade cookies.

"Well, Em, I guess I have you to thank for this. I'm
terribly sorry about the circumstances surrounding it,
though. I wish we could have found each other sooner,"
Mary said, turning away from the television and offering
us a seat.

"Me too, ma'am, but it certainly wasn't your fault, and
I'm glad my grandma's vase has afforded you so much happiness. It's not doing too much for me right now," I replied.

"You know, I was visiting my sister that weekend when
we were at the garage sale and found your vase. Honestly,
I had no idea it was so valuable. When you think about it,
why would anyone sell a vase for a few dollars when it really
costs tens of thousands, right?" (You'd have thunk so.) "The
real reason I brought it in to the Antiques Roadshow was
because you have to bring something with you to get in, and
your vase was the only thing I had that looked like it could
be worth something," she explained, apologetically, wiping
away any lingering feelings of hatred I had for her. Looking
around her home, I could see she was being honest. Besides
the TV, there was nothing of any substantial value there.

"It's okay, Mary. Thanks for your honesty. At least we
know where the vase is now, right?" I asked, attempting a
smile.

She looked warily at Honey, and then back to me, before
she answered. A large and terrifying UH-OH popped into
my brain. "Er, yes, we sure do know that, Em, darlin'."

"Buuuut?" I butted, knowing there was one a-comin'.

"But, sugar, it seems like the whole town found out about Ma and that vase just after she sold it." Honey paused,
biting her lip.

"Aaaand?" I anded, afraid of what she had to add.

"And," she continued, "Ma told me last night over the
phone that Mr. Hartwell, the man that bought the vase from
her, also found out about how it was on the show and all."

"Uh-oh," I uh-ohed, figuring out where she was going
with the story.

Justin said, warily, "I bet the vase is no longer worth
fifteen thousand, right?"

"No, sir," said Mary.

"Not thirty, either. Am I correct?" asked Justin.

"Keep goin'," said Honey.

"I'm not liking this game anymore," I interjected.

"Sorry, sugar," Mary said, patting my hand. Then she
told me the actual cost. "You see, your vase probably should
be worth thirty thousand, just like that appraiser person
said. But once somethin' is on Antiques Roadshow, the
price usually goes up. Seems people have a hankerin' for
items that appear on the show. Mr. Hartwell is now askin'
forty-five thousand dollars for it. Has it proudly displayed
in his store window with a sign that reads: `As Seen on
Antiques Roadshow.' Apparently it's been gettin' a lot of
attention there."

"Apparently," I moaned, remembering my suitcase with
the mere thirty thousand in it.

"Well, then, I guess that's that," I conceded.

"That's what?" Justin asked.

"That's someone else's vase now. Remember, I don't have
forty-five thousand dollars," I reminded him.

"Nonsense," he said, slapping my arm. "All you need is
another fifteen thousand. We are in Vegas, after all; and I,
for one, am not ready to throw in the towel."

Man, he seemed so self-assured, so eager, so raring to go,
that I had to sit there and reevaluate my next step. On the one hand, that was a lot of money to raise. But I had come
into the thirty thousand pretty easily-what was another
fifteen? Also, Marvin had two more days left at the convention, and I did want to stay at least that long. Oh, and let's
not forget about Chris. And I would miss my slots if I left.
So, the more I thought about it-

"Okay, we'll stay!" I shouted, jumping out of my chair.
"What the hey. Not like I have a job to go back to."

"That's the spirit," Mary said. "Now let's at least go see
Mr. Hartwell. Might as well let him know of your intentions."

"Might as well," I agreed.

Thank God Mary had a car hidden behind the barn.
The thought of getting back on my old horse was more than
I could bear. Mary drove a '76 Pinto: another old horse.
Once we got in and were under way, I began to think that
the horses might have been a better idea. The Pinto kicked
and groaned and sputtered way more than No Name. My
poor kidneys might never be the same again. (Shudder to
think.) Between the road, what there was of it, and the car,
what there was of it, and Mary's driving, also not so hot, it
took nearly a half an hour to reach Mr. Hartwell's storeand we only had to go fifteen miles.

I was amazed to see that Mary had quite a few neighbors. It seemed that her cabin was on the edge of a quaint
little town, littered with diminutive cabins, like Mary's, and
a small number of businesses: a grocery store, a gas station/
mechanic, a couple of restaurants run out of people's homes,
and, lastly, an antique store. Namely Mr. Hartwell's: Old
But Not Forgotten-which was an apt description of Mr.
Hartwell himself.