Jamison
What kind of a name was Horse? As soon as Sarah’s boyfriend introduced himself, I wanted to ask but didn’t. Horse wasn’t what I expected for her. He looked more hipster than country. Also, I thought the rock star life was all drugs, sex, and rock 'n' roll, but Sarah Morgan’s dressing room was more like jelly beans, jammies, and mani-pedis. Don’t get me wrong, Sarah was cool. She seemed super down-to-earth, which, in my experience, was unusual for famous people, but hanging with Horse and Sarah was not exactly my scene. I felt like they were going to pull out a copy of Trivial Pursuit or Monopoly and ask if I wanted to play. In twenty minutes of conversation, they’d already shown me two adorable cat videos.
Sarah was sitting on a salon-style spinning chair that could face a mirror full of lights when someone was doing her makeup, but right then, it was facing the rest of us in the room. Horse was on a couch in the corner strumming a guitar. I’d pulled a chair up, kitty-corner to the two of them, forming a triangle. Cody was leaning on the wall across from me, trying to burn my clothes off with his eyes. So far, Sarah controlled the conversation, and as one would expect, her thoughts revolved around the concert. I imagined that performing like that was a real rush which required a certain self-centered decompression. So, we listened while she discussed the energy she felt from the audience, a slipup with the lighting, some musical moments that could have been better or worse, and of course, the cat videos. Apparently, this was a joke between Horse and Sarah—that they should be allowed to show cat videos during her sets.
Then once Sarah descended from her rock goddess high, there was a lull, and the conversation shifted to me, the stranger in the room.
“Tell us about you, Jamison. Where are you from and what are you doing here?” Sarah asked in between popping trail mix into her mouth. She was sitting cross-legged in the chair and the bowl of gorp was nestled in her lap.
“Texas born and bred,” I replied.
“That explains the rhinestone belt buckle,” Horse quipped sarcastically.
“What makes you think they’re rhinestones? Here in Texas, we’ve got oil money and Walmart money and Warren Buffet.” I fingered my belt buckle. “It’s just as likely that these shimmery shineys are the real deal.”
“If they are, then it's me not you who's the buckle bunny tonight,” Cody smirked.
Sarah rolled her eyes at him, then looked at me. “Please tell me you’re at least a tiny bit offended. Because I so am.”
I looked to Cody, bit my bottom lip, and said, “Nope.”
“Gross,” Sarah said, standing and crossing the room to grab a glass of water. She really wasn’t a diva at all. “You two deserve each other.”
“What’s a buckle bunny?” Horse asked, totally out of the loop.
“They’re women who sleep with rodeo cowboys and take their buckles,” I responded.
Looking for clarification, Horse asked, “Like they’re conning them to steal their stuff?”
“Oh no,” Sarah said. “It’s tawdrier than that. Sexing up a cowboy is the goal. The belt buckle is just the trophy.”
Horse turned to Cody. “Ooooohhhh… I get it now. Sarah’s grossed out because you implied that you're gonna sleep with Jamison.”
Cody smiled and nodded.
“Tally-ho, my man,” Horse said, turning back to his guitar and strumming the strings. “I mean, if she’s willing.”
“You’re no help,” Sarah grumbled.
He looked up at her. “I don’t care what they’re doing, as long as we get to go to bed soon.”
Sarah blushed instantly. It was endearing. Then she tried to cover up his not so subtle hint that he was going to have his way with her by saying, “He’s old. A real old fogy. We like to go to sleep pretty soon after a show.”
From across the room, Cody mouthed, prude. I laughed.
“Did he just call me a prude?” Sarah asked. “He’s always doing that.”
“He did,” I admitted.
She shrugged. “It’s true, I guess.”
“No, it’s not,” Horse said.
Cody laughed and Sarah blushed again. “Oh my God, Horse!”
“What?” He shrugged, smiling.
“Okay,” Cody interrupted. “On that note, Jamison, you wanna get out of here?”
I grinned. “Thought you’d never ask.” I turned to Sarah with my nose scrunched up. “No offense?”
“None taken.” She smiled.
Cody walked to the door and held it open for me. I crossed in front of him and enjoyed the split second of being in his airspace. Once I was through, he followed close behind, and as far as I was concerned, we were off to chase an evening of adventure.
Behind us, Sarah hollered, “Try not to get arrested.”