"Yeah, I have my doubts too. If they only wanted to train him as an entertainer, why would they ask for custody? It just doesn't make sense." The woman left the café and called her best friend from a street corner, her face full of worry.
She was far from home and alone in an unfamiliar place. You couldn't exactly say she was trapped, but she was certainly walking into a tiger's den.
"But then again, he just turned fourteen last month. If I don't give up custody, they can't take him to the United States on his own. This might be his only chance in life. I don't want him to grow up and end up like me," the woman continued.
"I want to go with him too, but I can't even afford a plane ticket to the United States right now..."
After talking for a while, the woman hung up and lit a cigarette, pacing anxiously.
Then she noticed the hole in her sleeve. It was just like the life she and her son were living—fragile and at the mercy of the wind.
The woman stamped out her cigarette, apparently having made up her mind, and hurried back into the café.
She took her son by the hand and started for the door.
"I'm sorry, but I can't accept those terms," the woman said without looking back.
"Wait! We can work something out. If you don't trust me, I can get in touch with some important people and have them become your son's guardians. Young Arthur and Justin Timberlake have both shown interest in your son. I mean, they want to sign him," Scooter called after her.
"Young Arthur? And Justin!" the boy cried, wrenching himself free of his mother's hand.
His mother had no choice but to stop.
Vroom!
A thick cloud of black smoke billowed from the pickup's tailpipe. With the diesel engine roaring, the truck hit the gas and tore free of the mud. Its enormous tires were actually taller than Ryan, making the truck's cab look tiny by comparison. It was a bizarre sight, like a racehorse pulling a toy cart.
Ryan and the two girls stood at the edge of the mud pit as splashes of mud smacked into several women nearby, who were wearing Stars and Stripes bikinis.
Ryan heard several curses in a Southern drawl.
In the United States, the strangest people tended to be found downtown in big cities. By contrast, residents of the outskirts and rural areas looked more normal—or at least, that was how it seemed.
Another "monster truck" charged into the mud pit. Its tires were no smaller than the last truck's. It was a uniquely American custom-car culture, perfectly suited to the rough-and-ready nature of the South. Big Machine Records even used a monster truck as its logo.
This Wild Trucks event was more like a custom monster truck show than a competition. There wasn't much to it beyond the novelty. Ryan, however, watched with rapt interest. It was like watching a giant excavator—men were naturally curious about these rugged machines.
Taylor and Abigail seemed distracted. For convenience, both had tied back their long, loose hair. Taylor's hair was so long and thick that she could only tie it into two buns.
For a moment, Ryan even thought about trying out those two handlebars—a classic case of wanting what was on his plate and what was in someone else's bowl.
They were both pretty open-minded. If he "played his cards right," a threesome might not be out of the question, Ryan thought hopefully.
Just then, Taylor spotted a place nearby that rented four-wheeled ATVs. The two girls dragged Ryan along, determined to go for a ride.
"Can either of you ride?" Ryan asked.
"What's so hard about that?" Abigail wrapped an arm around Ryan's, not at all concerned that Taylor was standing right there. She looked up at him and added, "But I don't want to ride."
Taylor glanced at the mud pit, which was nearly three and a half feet deep. She wanted to give it a try, but her rather questionable driving skills made her hesitate. She also didn't want to get her new clothes muddy.
So the two girls climbed onto Ryan's ATV, one in front of him and one behind.
Abigail sat in front, with Ryan's arms around her. Taylor sat behind him, holding on to him.
As soon as they were settled, Ryan lightly tapped the accelerator, making the ATV lurch forward again and again. Taylor, sitting behind him, bumped into his back with each jolt.
Taylor furrowed her brows, realizing it was one of Ryan's tricks.
"Try speeding up," Ryan chuckled.
The ATV turned onto the dirt path beside the pit. It had rained the day before, and the track was a little muddy. The earthy scent mingled with the freshness of the greenery and the two girls' distinctly different shampoos, leaving Ryan feeling refreshed.
Abigail, sitting in front, was still being naughty, deliberately shifting around to tease Ryan.
"Ow!" Abigail suddenly yelped.
"What's wrong?" Taylor asked from behind.
"Ryan's being so naughty," Abigail complained.
"Stay away from him." Taylor furrowed her brows.
"Yeah, stay away from him." Abigail braced herself with her legs and let the breeze brush across her face. It felt amazing.
Ryan didn't bother arguing with the two of them, who were clearly in cahoots. Instead, he looked around and noticed that pickups were lined up along the edge of the mud pit all the way into the distance. There were easily over a hundred, and a huge number of Southern white girls had turned up in bikinis.
They were all farmers' daughters, just like the women in country singer Gretchen Wilson's 2004 song "Redneck Woman": "I ain't never been to no barroom to drink champagne"; "Victoria's Secret, well their stuff's real nice, but I can buy the same damn thing on a Walmart shelf half price"; "I'm barefoot in my own front yard with a baby on my hip"; "I'm not high class, I'm just white trash"; "I say, 'Hey y'all' and 'yee-haw.'"
They didn't look very old, but they had the sturdy builds of women who worked for a living: thick, shapely thighs and healthy, sun-kissed skin.
Now that was the kind of woman he liked, Ryan thought.
What puzzled Ryan was whether there were really that many farms nearby. Or did every family have seven or eight kids? That seemed a bit unusual.
As they passed a vehicle blasting music, a woman dancing on it provocatively shook her butt at Ryan. He immediately realized that the whole event was a "party" too, with party promoters recruiting girls. Even if the women only showed up in bikinis and did nothing else, getting so many people there was proof enough that the promoter had deep local connections.
About twenty minutes later, the three of them reached a deserted area. There was a small, secluded mud pit beside a stand of trees, and it was very peaceful.
Taylor had been somewhat restrained earlier because she was a celebrity, but now she finally had a chance to have fun. She immediately took off her top, revealing a strapless, backless one-piece swimsuit underneath. Abigail tossed her clothes onto the grass nearby too. The two girls shrieked and jumped into the mud, flinging it at each other like children. Ryan got caught up in it as well, so he jumped in too. The three of them had a wonderful time.
As evening approached, the three "mud people" made their way back and rinsed off in the public showers. At nightfall, the music grew louder, and the place turned into an open-air barbecue party. Ryan had been right: with a party this big and so many facilities, it couldn't have been put together on a whim.
The girls in bikinis were insiders and could enter directly, while outside visitors had to pay. It was clearly a commercial event.
"We're done washing up." Taylor got dressed and took off her swim cap, letting her blond hair fall loose again.
Just as the three of them were about to leave, someone recognized Taylor and shouted, "Yee-haw! That's Taylor Swift!"
The three of them had no time to react before a crowd surrounded them.
Before you continue