Part 16 (2/2)
Nice.
”So what happened between your sister and Keelie Keller that prompted the vitriol?”
Vitriol? Who knew I'd need to bring a pocket dictionary along on a bike ride?
”It's personal,” I said.
He snickered. ”Personal? Not anymore. You're everywhere!”
I winced, took one more look at my belching face, and decided that no way did I intend to be immortalized for the world to see looking like a bullfrog letting loose with a bullhorn-amplified croak.
I got up and walked over to the terrible tandem, put one hand on the rear seat, and held the phone out with the other one. I touched the camera icon and the phone clicked.
I looked at the photo I'd just taken and frowned.
”What's the deal? I so don't want a picture of you.”
”If you're trying to take your own mugshot, you have to turn the phone around or press the b.u.t.ton to reverse the camera, ditz,” Van Vleet informed me.
”Oh.” I saw the b.u.t.ton he referred to. ”Gotcha.”
I put the camera out in front of me, a.s.sumed my earlier cute cowgirl pose, c.o.c.ked my head to one side, smiled, and took the picture.
I reviewed the photo. I looked like a movie poster for a Death Walks Among Us horror flick. I took another. And other.
Snap. Review. Delete. Snap. Review. Delete. Snap. Review.
”Oh, for crying out loud, enough already. Take a picture, post it, and be done with it already!”
”Sorry for wanting to produce a quality viewing experience for my followers,” I said.
”If we wait for a quality photo of you, we'll miss the d.a.m.ned ride,” Van Vleet said.
Is that a promise?
I settled for a mediocre picture with a ”Gearing up for TribRide: Getting ready to dip my tire in the wide Missouri” cheery caption I so wasn't feeling.
”What time do we shove off?” I asked.
”Nine-fifteen,” Van Vleet said.
A forty-five minute reprieve.
I watched group after group of cyclists of varying sizes, s.e.xes, shapes, and ages, dip and take off. In the midst of the organized chaos, a now familiar bus pulled into an adjacent parking lot.
”Speak of the devil woman,” I muttered.
Two black SUVs and a white Econo-line van pulled behind the bus and stopped. Manny DeMarco got out of the pa.s.senger side of one of the SUVs. A sliding door on the van slid open, and several cameramen exited the vehicle, converging on the bus, cameras at the ready. A crowd flocked to the bus. It wasn't long before the bus door opened and Keelie Keller exited, her cast of cohorts close on her heels.
”Good morning, Ioway!” Keelie waved to the crowd. ”TribRide rules!”
”Whoo hoo!” The crowd cheered. I resisted the urge to put my finger in my mouth and gag. Who did she think she was? POTUS stepping off Air Force One?
”I'm super thrilled to be here in Iowa and taking part in the totally radical TribRide! Whoo hoo!”
Well, well, well. Reality Red was singing a different tune this morning.
”If you're done rubber-necking, we better get lined up,” Van Vleet advised, pus.h.i.+ng the tandem down to where the traditional tire dunking would take place.
I grabbed my helmet and trotted after him, casting a curious eye to where the celeb, joined now by her entourage, clowned around with fellow cyclists. A young girl approached Keelie and handed her a bouquet of wildflowers. She smiled and took them. More flowers and tokens of affection pa.s.sed from drooling, doting subjects to the reigning reality princess.
Newsflash: This is America. The only monarchs we allow are orange and black, have wings, and only live for two months tops.
We received the go-ahead signal to dip. Poised to lift the front tire into the water, a sudden scream pierced the excited chatter around us. Stunned, I turned in the direction of the commotion. The bike tilted precariously towards the water.
”What the-!”
I self-corrected. Van Vleet counter-corrected. I could feel the bicycle begin to tip. I looked up in time to see Van Vleet hurdle off the bike, leaving this lowly red s.h.i.+rt to go down, down, down, into the murky depths of the river.
I came up sputtering.
”Now that's what I call a ceremonial 'dip',” Van Vleet said, whipping his camera out of his f.a.n.n.y pack to snap a picture of me in all my water-logged glory.
”I thought the captain was supposed to go down with the s.h.i.+p,” I fumed, when I managed to haul myself out of the water.
Van Vleet shrugged. ”I'm new at all this.”
I attempted to shake the soppy tangle of hair out of my eyes, managing only to distort my vision more.
”Where is she? Where is that psycho sicko?”
What on earth? I frowned and shook my head again. Drops of water shot out left and right.
”Get out of my way! Where is she? Where is the rat killer?”
Rat killer?
”There you are!”
I turned. Keelie Keller advanced on me, a look on her made-up face that told me this was one encounter that wasn't gonna end up on the cutting room floor.
”Where's your sister?” Keelie asked. ”Or are you the sick and twisted nutcase who's responsible? Maybe you're both in on it.”
I shook my head again, and noticed Manny had taken up a position to Keelie's right.
”What is she talking about?” I asked Manny.
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