The rodeo was in town.
If you were driving down the Las Vegas Strip, past exploding volcanoes, pirate ships, the Statue of Liberty, Eiffel Tower, nine story Coke bottle and gargantuan flashing hotel signs, and if you were a stickler for detail, you might have noticed the limp flags hanging from light posts, lamely fighting a losing battle for attention. They read “National Rodeo Finals Oct. 15th - 24th, West Valley Center”.
Billy Delrogh noticed them. In fact, they were almost the only thing he noticed.
Seven years ago, when he was just five years old, Billy became a rodeo fan. His father, Robert, had been a senior vice-president of marketing at Johnson & Johnson in New York for most of his career. But when J & J hired a consultant to help them figure out how they could run more efficiently and profitably, one of their bright ideas was to offer senior management early retirement in a way they couldn’t refuse.
Which actually turned out to be O.K. with Robert.
In the last few years, he’d begun to notice his enthusiasm for New York dwindling. He was also having second thoughts about raising Billy there.
His debate was that while the city was the center of the universe, with its museums, theater, publishing and possibilities, it was also headquarters for the kind of perverse crime that lands on the front page daily, and urban paranoia that leaves you no choice but to walk with your eyes looking behind as much as ahead of you. Of course, September 11th had done nothing to improve that.
Besides, having Billy in a private school, which was the only real option in New York, was giving him a first class education but also shielding him from the very things the city had to offer.
So when the early retirement offer came down, Robert took it. He cashed in his stock options and profit sharing, and decided he was going to take Billy someplace new that had different things to offer.
Space is what he wanted one of those things to be. Despite the fact they lived in an extraordinarily spacious condo on Central Park West, Robert felt Billy should have the opportunity to grow up with a real yard to play in, instead of a cement balcony nine stories above traffic.
Before Sarah died giving birth to Billy, the condo had meant more to them than just a great place to live. Robert struggled for years as a mid-level executive at Johnson & Johnson, and Sarah had had to put up with an unreasonable number of late nights, missed holidays and family dinners with an empty place setting where Robert should have been but wasn’t. She’d taken a part time job as a cocktail waitress at a bar called Rendezvous in the east village just to help make ends meet. It was demeaning, and she grew weary deflecting nasty pick-up lines from drunken losers and losers trying to get drunk.
Persistence was what Robert had always told her. Make yourself indispensable to the company, they’ll see your value and they’ll reward you for it. And he was right. Eventually, they did. The title, the money, stock options, the corner office. All as a way of rewarding the fine work, and recognizing the contribution he’d made to the company’s bottom line.
What success meant more than anything to Robert was at last he’d be able to repay Sarah for her sacrifice. So they rewarded themselves with their dream condo, and the promise of a family to come.
It was exactly the kind of place people with rich fantasy lives imagine they’d live when they think about living in New York. But since Sarah’s death, it'd become a constant, sad reminder to Robert that he was raising his boy alone. While Billy was the most beautiful gift Sarah could have left as her legacy, the truth was that this oversized apartment, with their footsteps echoing on hardwood floors, the muted sound of the traffic coming in the weatherproofed windows, and the two of them rattling around in it only served to constantly remind him of the hole in his heart since she died.
In conversations they’d had while she was pregnant, Sarah always told Robert if anything ever happened to her she wanted him to show Billy things he wouldn’t normally be exposed to in the city.
The circus. The tall boats. The rodeo.
She wanted wide horizons for her son, and she wanted him to appreciate life beyond the cement and skyscraper world he was growing up in. Robert hated it when she talked about dying before he did. Each time she mentioned it, and she mentioned it far too often for a woman her age, he emphatically assured her she’d be around to watch Billy grow up, and see that he learned and saw everything she wanted him to.
It was an assurance he now felt foolish giving.
So, on the very day Billy turned five, a day each year that caused both great grief and celebration, Robert was perusing the New York Times. He turned the middle page of the sports section, and there it was. An ad for the Watkins Family Rodeo at Madison Square Garden.
Remembering his promise, he scooped up Billy, grabbed their coats, and they were off to a rodeo. In the middle of New York City.
He smiled up at Sarah as he closed the door.
