Incident in San Francisco

CHAPTER 13

While Laura and Monty were enjoying their evening at the Cow Palace, not everyone in San Francisco was having such a good time.

Ranny had finally finished his day shift, and seen his last wheelbarrow load of horse manure for that day, but he knew that there would be lots more of the same to face tomorrow. He felt tired from the day’s labor. He was drained by the emotional turmoil caused by his run-in with that blond bitch in the horse show stables, and the tongue-lashing she’d given him. As he drove out of the parking lot, he thought again bitterly of how she’d cut him off that morning when she swung her expensive truck and trailer in front of him, just because she thought she should go in front of any workman in an older car. But he had to smile as he thought of the humiliation she must have felt when she stomped into that moist horse turd he’d dropped into her expensive riding boot.

When he got back to his little rented room, he put a couple of frozen burritos and a frozen chicken dinner into the microwave and popped the top on a beer from the refrigerator. He finished the first beer while the oven was preparing his dinner. The microwave’s bell called him to dinner just as he’d started to slowly turn the pages of the magazine he’d found discarded behind one of the cow barns that afternoon. It was of the genre referred to by his peers as “tits ‘n clits”. He set the magazine aside so that he could more thoroughly enjoy it later, fetched another beer, and sat down to his dinner.

When he finally went to bed, he his last thoughts were of the boring, tiring day he’d face again tomorrow.

He had no way of knowing that circumstances tomorrow would conspire to make it far from boring, for him and for everyone in the Cow Palace.

Chapter 14

Laura and Monty each had a good sense of humor, which helped the conversation between two strangers. She kidded him about the way he was dressed, asking if he needed the high heels on his fancy cowboy boots to make him taller. Monty took it in stride, explaining that the pointed toes made it easier to slip into a stirrup if a foot came out during a wild ride, and the high undershot heels kept a foot from sliding all the way through the stirrup. Then she joshed him about the fact that his light blue shirt had dark blue pearl snaps rather than buttons, but he explained that when a shirtfront or sleeve got caught when riding through brush, snaps popped open and left the shirt unharmed, whereas buttons would hold and the shirt would rip.

Monty got his own back when the timed bronco riding began. Monty explained the scoring system used, with points given both to the horse and to the rider. Shortly after each ride, the announcer would call out the score, “86”, “78”, “no score”. After the third ride, Monty started guessing at the score as soon as the ride ended, and he was always within one or two points of the score when it was announced. Laura was more and more impressed with each success – until she finally noticed the small screen high in the rafters, where the score was displayed a few seconds before the announcer called it out. “You cheater!” she exclaimed, playfully punching Monty on the shoulder, and they both laughed over that.

So the evening passed, with the two young people becoming more and more comfortable with every passing minute. Monty said he felt like having some nachos and a beer, and asked what she’d like. Laura usually drank wine, but had noticed that most of the rodeo spectators were drinking beer so decided she would fit in better if she asked for a beer. They shared nachos and sipped their beers, and both silently thanked whatever throw of the cosmic dice had resulted in those two seats being occupied by those two people on that particular night.

When the performance ended, Monty asked Laura if she needed a ride home.

“I took a taxi from the hotel in town to get here, so I can just catch one to go back – and I can charge it to my expense account”, Laura said, secretly hoping that the evening wouldn’t end that quickly.

“Taxis will be hard to find now with all these people flooding out of the Cow Palace at the same time. If you don’t mind riding in a pickup truck, I’d be happy to drive you back into the city”, said Monty, hoping that she’d accept, because he didn’t want the evening to end this soon, either.

“A ride in a pickup truck with a cattle rancher seems a more fitting way to leave the Grand National at the Cow Palace than a ride in a 4-door sedan with a cab driver who probably doesn’t speak English, so I’ll gladly accept your offer”, laughed Laura. Inwardly, she was bubbling over with joy, but restricted herself to just a broad smile of pleasure as Monty took her hand to guide her through the throngs of people leaving the performance.

When they reached the truck, Laura was pleasantly surprised to see that although it appeared to be few years older than a lot of the other trucks in the lower parking lot by the barns, Monty’s pickup was shiny and clean. When he held the door for her to get on the passengers’ side, she was happy to se that the interior, too, was clean and obviously well-cared for. Monty, too, was glad that he always kept the vehicle in such good shape, although he had never considered it remotely possible that on this bull-buying trip he might be taking any female passenger, and such an attractive one as Laura, in his truck.

From long practice, it took Monty only a minute to unhook the electrical connector and the locking pin from the fifth wheel cattle trailer, drop the tailgate, and crank up the support so that the trailer rose enough to clear the big hitch ball in the center of the pickup bed. Then he jumped in the truck, started it up and moved ahead a few feet to clear the trailer overhang, jumped back out to put up and lock the tailgate, got back in behind the steering wheel, and they were off. Monty didn’t worry much about leaving the trailer in the parking lot: if it had been a bumper hitch, he would have locked a chain around an axle and through wheel spokes to prevent theft, but only a specially-equipped truck could steal his trailer. And there were security guards driving around the lots in golf carts, which provided extra security.

Laura had watched through the truck’s rear window, fascinated, as Monty prepared the truck to go solo without the trailer. His movements seemed so effortless, so efficient, but she guessed that some of the procedures took strength, although Monty didn’t seem to strain at all. Her day was spent with office workers, and it was only during weekend sporting activities that she ever saw men using their muscles. Seeing this man doing useful physical work, and doing it with movements so fluid but which spoke of much strength under his Western clothes, caused a tingle in Laura which she hadn’t experienced for some time.

“Which hotel are we headed for? I’m not all that familiar with San Francisco”, confessed Monty as they rolled out the parking lot gate onto the street.

“I’m staying at the Marriott, because that’s where the training class is being held, and it’s right downtown” replied Laura.

“That one I do know. It’s quite a landmark with that great Art Deco design. Is that place as impressive inside as it is outside?” asked Monty.

“Well, it certainly is a rather fancy hotel, but my room is quiet and comfortable, which is what I mainly look for when I’m traveling on business”, replied Laura. She couldn’t help a slight flush rising to her cheeks when the mention of her room brought a sudden thought of its queen-sized bed, and this very attractive man sitting beside her on the pickup’s bench seat. Fortunately for her, Monty was too busy coping with the night’s traffic on the Bayshore freeway to notice.

While Monty was more used to driving on roads with two narrow lanes than on freeways with 4 or 5 lanes in each direction, he was having no problems coping with the traffic. In fact, Laura thought she had never driven with such a good driver. He had always loved driving since he started operating a tractor on the ranch when he was 10 years old, and considered it a skill to be executed using all his knowledge, abilities, and all his attention. For one who was used to scanning several hundred head of moving cattle, and maneuvering among and around them on his horse, it was familiar work dealing with the flow of hundreds of vehicles. And his modified Chevy was as responsive as his horse Buck, as Laura noticed when he tapped the accelerator. She was a good driver herself, and she noticed how he anticipated situations and either courteously gave another driver a break, or used the truck’s power to quickly move to a better spot in the flow of traffic. Her appreciation of this man was growing as the miles passed.

Monty concentrated on his driving, which kept him from enjoying the view in his passenger seat, much as he would have preferred to be looking at her instead of the traffic. Their conversation on the 20-minute trip was confined to comments about some of the more memorable events they’d seen at the Grand National, and exclamations over the beautiful nighttime scenes which unfolded as they drove north. First was the vista to the East, with the string of lights from the cities along the eastern coast of the broad expanse of dark San Francisco Bay. When they rounded the bend at Hospital Curve and the magnificent display of the downtown high-rise skyline, the Bay Bridge, Oakland and the East Bay cities, was laid out before them, Laura gasped in astonishment. She had only seen the city from the air when she arrived, and the taxi to the Cow Palace had taken a different route out of the city, so this was her first view of this spectacular night scene.

Monty, too, expressed his appreciation of this sight. It had been years since he had driven into San Francisco at night – his annual trips to the Cow Palace usually kept him in South San Francisco where there were cheaper motels. Besides, he had never had the excuse on such a trip of delivering a beautiful girl home into the city.

When they turned onto 4^th street and reached the Marriott with its soaring façade of glass, curved at the top, Monty swung into the curb and parked. Laura was disappointed, because she was sure he couldn’t park there so near the front of the hotel and expected that he’d be saying goodbye right then. To her surprise, he killed the engine and set the parking brake.

“Are you sure you can park here?” she exclaimed, starting to open the passenger door. “I’ll just jump out so you don’t get a ticket, or get towed.”

“Don’t worry about that. Notice the yellow line on the curb? That means it’s a loading zone, and I have commercial plates on the truck. I’m safe parked here for a bit. Besides, my mother always told me to be a gentleman. I’d never just drop a lady off at the curb”, smiled Monty.

Laura relaxed her grip on the door handle and waited for Monty to come around and open the door for her, taking her hand to help her down from the truck. Neither seemed to notice, or care, that he didn’t release her hand as they walked toward the hotel and in through the large doors opened by the doorman. They were still holding hands as they strolled through the ornate lobby toward the bank of elevators, but when they reached that area Laura dropped her hand, turned to Monty, and smiled as she said, “Well, I guess I’m home now. Thanks for driving me here, and thanks for making this a really great night.”

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to see you right to your door, Laura. No ulterior motives, just that I’ve read about women being attacked in elevators, even in fancy hotels”. Monty’s face wore a concerned expression as he said this, and Laura felt that the offer was sincere and had no strings attached. This man was unlike any she’d encountered before. She gladly accepted his offer, and leaned forward to push the button to call an elevator.

Once they entered the elevator and Laura pressed the button to her floor, they both seemed less at ease than they had been all night. Others had entered the elevator too, and their presence had a stifling effect on any conversation. Although the newly-acquainted couple were standing very close together, they had not rejoined hands. Both were hoping this was not to be just a case of two strangers passing in the night, neither was quite sure how to move it beyond that.

When they got off on Laura’s floor and started walking down the long hallway past room doors, Monty felt like he was a young teen again, about to ask a girl for a date for the first time. He desperately wanted to see this wonderful woman again, but didn’t see how their lives, so different in location and lifestyles, would allow for that. Almost in desperation, for he saw that Laura had taken her room entry card from her purse, he stammered, “Did you say that your course here lasted for 3 days?”

“Yes”, Laura said, as she stopped in front of her room door. “I can hardly believe it, but this was just my first day here. I leave on Friday”.

“You’ve probably had enough rodeo, but tomorrow night is Cattleman’s Night and they start at 5:30 with a huge Santa Maria barbeque in the arena, and a lot of special events later. You’d probably rather have dinner in one of San Francisco’s famous restaurants, but if you don’t have any other plans for tomorrow night, I’d be glad to pick you up here and take you to that”.

“I assume that a Santa Maria barbeque, whatever that is, isn’t just hot dogs on a grill?” questioned Laura.

“Definitely not. Santa Maria is a cowtown a couple of hundred miles south of here, although it’s a lot more urban now. The local Lions Club did a fund raiser years ago with a traditional California ranch roundup feast, and now they take that act on the road. Big pieces of top beef, tri-tip cuts, are cooked and basted with special BBQ sauce over a slow oak wood fire, in large portable barbeque trailers. They carve off slices, as many and as thick as you want, then load up the plate with the world’s greatest baked beans and a salad made with lettuce and other vegetables which were probably still growing yesterday. It’s definitely way more than hot dogs”, Monty enthused.

“I’ve never eaten anything like that, and your description has me salivating already, so yes, I’d love to go. I’m out of class at 4:30 and there’s a cocktail party afterwards, but I’d much rather get to see more of the West at the Cow Palace. I’ll meet you in the lobby at 5. And thanks again for a really great night, Monty”, said Laura sincerely.

She inserted and withdrew the entry card for her room door and opened it with her left hand on the door handle, turning toward Monty. Although they had gotten to know each other in the few hours since they’d met, neither felt that it was time yet for a good-night kiss. So Laura held out her right hand to Monty, and he took it, giving it a slight squeeze as he said, “Thank you for making the night more enjoyable than I’d expected it to be. I’ll see you at 5 tomorrow. Goodnight, Laura.”

They gave each other one last smile, and Monty turned and started back down the hall as Laura softly closed and locked her room door. She didn’t know that Monty was so overwhelmed with emotions from the night’s chance encounter with her that he was hardly aware of where he was going as he headed for the elevator. But she did know that she was so affected by the night’s encounter that she just flung herself back on the big queen bed, and had to clap a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing hysterically from sheer enjoyment. Instead of shaking hands, she had wanted to hook her hand under Monty’s big oval silver belt buckle with his Bar A brand, and drag him into the room onto the bed on top of her. She couldn’t believe a man she’d met so recently could have such an effect on her, and she couldn’t wait until tomorrow night to see him again.

In their wildest dreams, neither Monty nor Laura could have imagined just how unpleasantly exciting the next night would prove to be, and how it would change their lives.

CHAPTER 15

It was Thursday, Cattleman’s Day at the Grand National. When Ranny drove in to work that morning, he didn’t encounter anything as upsetting as the previous day’s run-in with the pushy blond and her fancy rig, but he was in a foul mood anyway. He had stayed up too late last night with his porn magazine, and drank too many beers. Shoveling manure all day while nursing a hangover was not conducive to making Ranny one of the most cheerful workers that day.

When he clocked in, he checked the work assignments in the forlorn hope that he might be given a nicer job today, like delivering hay. But today, he was assigned to the horse show barn manure detail again, although to a different part than where Cynthia kept her horse. He was glad he wouldn’t encounter her again, but had a twinge of fear that management suspected him of that trick with the horse turd, since they’d reassigned him yesterday afternoon right after that incident, and now again today.

But the mind-numbing work of shoveling manure into a wheelbarrow, then trudging with the load through the barn and down to the growing mountain of manure below the cow barns, was enough to push any worries out of his mind. He did the work robotically, as usual not joining in any of the banter between his fellow workers. When they were sure no supervisors were around, they passed along information: “Did you check out that cute little blonde jailbait in the wash stall, rubbing soap all over that big red bull?” “He doesn’t know how lucky he is – I’d be getting it up if I had her soaping me down.” “And that ass of hers in those tight jeans is one of the nicest in this place today”.

So the morning passed uneventfully. At lunchtime Ranny fetched his lunchbox with the sandwiches he’d hastily thrown together that morning, pre-packaged slices of ham and of cheese on white bread. He had overslept so hadn’t even taken time to spread mayonnaise on the bread, and had forgotten to add a Coke to his lunchbox. It was food, but the remnants of his hangover would have been better served with something like hot chicken soup, not dry sandwiches without any drink. Ranny’s day was not going all that well, but it was about to get much, much worse.

The day’s downturn towards disaster started innocently enough mid-afternoon, with an inspection of the premises by a couple of the higher-ups. Although many events used the facility throughout the year, the Grand National was the premier event held at the Cow Palace. It had been going on for so many years, and many of the staff had been working the event for so many years, that things tended to run smoothly with little oversight. But the president of the Cow Palace organization still liked to tour the whole facility periodically to ensure that everything was being kept to the high standards exhibitors and spectators alike had come to expect.

The president’s area of interest this afternoon was the conditions in the lower barns, and he had chosen the manager in charge of overall labor to accompany him. This year’s president cut an imposing figure, well over six feet tall. His broad shoulders and slim waist and hips spoke of the summers he had worked on a ranch while getting an MBA. While he was equally comfortable in cowboy clothes, he felt that casual dress would diminish his authority around the grounds, so he was better dressed for today’s tour of inspection. Now in his early 40’s, his hair was jet-black where it was visible below his snow-white Stetson. He wore a perfectly-fitted suit from Sheplers Western Wear in a dark blue, with Western-style yokes front and back. His light blue shirt with darker blue pearl snaps was accented with a black leather braided bolo tie, set off with a large turquoise slide. His boots were dress cowboy boots, in the plain leather he had chosen today rather than fancy ostrich, alligator, or other exotic finish. They were old school, with very pointed toes and high, underslung heels, but the black finish was polished to a mirror shine. His management style was no-nonsense, and he strode rather than ambled, forcing the shorter, stouter manager beside him to almost trot to keep up. His eyes swept from side to side, taking in the appearance of everything, and as he walked, he made brief comments to his underling, mostly favorable. But occasionally his sharp glance spotted something which he felt needed improvement, and his comments on those items were dutifully recorded in his manager’s mind, to be attended to later.

It was when they rounded the corner of the lower cow barn that he saw something which made him clench his jaw, and tighten his fists, and his face to darken in anger.

Ranny had just upended his wheelbarrow and dumped his last load of manure onto the pile. Another worker, a black man who had a pleasant personality, and who always got along well with his fellow workers, had also just dumped his load at a spot just next to, but somewhat behind, Ranny. As Ranny stepped back, he tripped over the other’s wheelbarrow wheel, and fell backwards into the pile of hot, steaming, fresh manure.

Yesterday’s run-in with the blond bitch, the distasteful work assignments, today’s bad lunch, the remains of the hangover from last night’s beer, all combined to push Ranny over the edge. It didn’t help that his co-workers who saw his fall laughed – not cruelly, but just because such an unexpected fall, like those recorded on “America’s Funniest Home Videos”, always caused involuntary laughter. But Ranny took it the wrong way, and he snapped.

He struggled to his feet, getting more covered in the stinking dirt as he extricated himself from the pile, his face furious. When he regained his feet, he immediately charged at the man he felt had caused his fall, even though the other worker outweighed him by 30 pounds or more.

“You black bastard, you did that on purpose!” he screamed, piling into the surprised man.

That was the scene which confronted the Cow Palace president when he rounded the corner of the barn. One worker, his back covered in shit, was attacking another, screaming curses. The black man, larger and stronger, was trying to push Ranny away after his initial shock at being assaulted, and the other men nearby helped by grabbing Ranny’s arms to pull him off.

The sight of this fight was too much for the president to stand, and he didn’t wait for the labor manager to deal with it. He strode up to the group, and in a tightly-controlled voice, seething with anger, snapped “Stop fighting! What in hell is going on here?”

Ranny knew he was in trouble, because any fighting, especially when there were exhibitors and spectators not too far away, was an unforgivable breach of behavior. But he put up a bold front anyway, saying sullenly, “That man tripped me into that pile of shit!”.

Before the black man could give his version of events, several of the other workers who had viewed the accident jumped in to his defense, because he was well-liked and Ranny wasn’t. They protested that it was just an accident, and that Ranny had attacked the other man.

“Hose that man off, take him to the office, and deal with him there”, the president directed his manager, pointing at Ranny. “We’re not having that kind of behavior on the Cow Palace grounds, not while I’m in charge”. He turned on his heel and left the scene.

The labor manager was furious with Ranny, angry at his behavior and especially mad because it had happened in front of the president. He directed Ranny to a nearby water hose, and he was not overly tender as he sprayed the smelly residue off of Ranny’s back. And he didn’t seem to care that Ranny was still dripping water when he stood later in front of the manager’s desk in the labor office, trying to maintain his defiant attitude.

“You’ve really done it this time, Worlham”, he said. “You’ve finally handed me the rope I need to use to hang you. We’ve had our eye on you for a long time, but you were just sneaky enough to keep us from nailing you. We’re sure you were the one responsible for that peephole in the girls’ shower building, and we’re sure it was you who put horseshit in the boot of one of our richest horse owners yesterday. But we’ve got you dead to rights this time, with no less a witness than the president of the Cow Palace himself. I’ll have Accounting draw up your final check and mail it to you tomorrow. Now, give me your ID badge, get out of here, and don’t let me ever see your face again.’