Finch snorted. “That’s as may be. But Tom here has work to do. You go on and have your fun. I’ll have your saddle for you when you’re through.”
As the cowboy headed for the door, Tom managed to work up the nerve to ask, “Mister, how much does it cost to go to Mamie’s?”
The cowboy winked at him and said a number that Tom could manage — if he didn’t turn over all his wages to Pa like he’d been doing. Pa did say, when Tom started working for Finch, that Tom was a man now and should have some money of his own. This might be the time to act like it.
Once the cowboy left, Finch didn’t turn out to have all that much for Tom to do. He’d probably been trying to “protect” Tom from the cowboy, as if Tom had asked for such. He’d about made up his mind to ask if he should go on and leave, for all it was just midday, when Dolly Finch walked in, her little girl Hope bouncing along behind her with the dinner basket.
Tom couldn’t help but notice how pretty and curvy Mrs. Finch was, for all she was so much older than him. When she took the basket from Hope and put it down on a bench, her chest swayed, and Tom could feel himself start to sweat. He backed into a corner, but he couldn’t get away that easy — Mrs. Finch smiled sweet at him as she unpacked the basket and set aside Tom’s share. He nodded back, feeling stiff and stupid and six kinds of fool.
If he couldn’t even keep his head clear and his thoughts clean when the boss’s wife walked in, maybe he’d better make his way to Mamie’s pretty soon. It was high time he became a man, as much as he still could. And it wasn’t as if he had much chance with decent girls. The one or two he’d seen noticing him, the last year or so that he was whole, didn’t look at him the same way, after.
He might not know what he was about, but the girls there would know how to show him. They probably wouldn’t laugh at him much, not if Mamie ran the place as tight as he’d heard.
Doc Gibbs seemed to think it’d be all right. He’d even said there was a girl there Tom might like. And now he thought about it, that made Tom plenty curious.
How many times had Tom walked by the tall building with the bright red trim and the red lanterns, wondering what it was like inside? The first time must have been before he learned just what went on in there, when all he noted was how fancy it looked. But over the years, he went from a confused “something naughty” notion, to puzzlement over why anyone would want to see half-naked ladies, to understanding and feeling the same.
It was growing dusk, and the lanterns glowed. His heart beat pretty fast as he finally, finally touched the doorknob and pulled it open.
The first thing he noticed was the piano music coming from the bar. But next second, he saw the women, sitting and standing all around, in fancy dresses with short sleeves and cut low to show bosoms, and lacy petticoats underneath.
His head could’ve been mounted on a swivel as he looked from one to another. But it stopped short when he saw a girl he thought he’d seen before, on the street that day he’d come to town with Pa. But hadn’t that girl had yellow hair? This girl’s hair was red, a pretty bright-copper color that made him think of firelight.
No, it was the same girl, he could swear it, however she’d managed to change her hair. The same pretty face and fetching shape, and a sort of freshness to her. She caught him looking and smiled at him, friendly but kind of bold — no wonder, given where she was. What she was. No wonder he’d never seen her at a church social.
Then movement caught his eye from the wide staircase with the shiny banister. A woman was sweeping downstairs, graceful but quick. He didn’t know as he’d ever seen Madam Mamie before, but it had to be her. She was older than the other women, and her dress wasn’t cut so low or so bright-colored, but more than that, you could tell just looking at her that she was in charge and wouldn’t take no guff from nobody.
Sure enough, she held out a dainty hand with painted nails and said smiling, “I’m Mamie. Welcome to my place. Your first time here, isn’t it?”
Her eyes scanned him from head to foot, just barely slowing down when she got to where the wooden leg peeked out of his trousers, and then up again. “I have just the girl for you — Amanda Jane over there. Mandy! Come meet this fine young fellow.”
A woman who might be in her middle twenties stood up. She had a lot of paint on her cheeks and eyes and lips — well, they all did, but more than some — and thin eyebrows with kind of a funny shape to them. She came toward Tom with a business-like kind of walk and a smile he had the notion she’d smiled hundreds of times before, exactly the same every time.
Tom took a step back before he could stop himself. His cheeks hot, he stammered, “Thank you kindly, ma’am. But . . . I wonder if I might . . . spend my time with that other girl instead? The red-headed one?”
Mamie blinked, but she held her hand out toward the painted-up woman. “Never mind, Mandy. Young man — what’s your name?”
“Tom.” He hoped a first name was enough, here.
“Well, Tom, we aim to please! You have a seat at the bar and ask for whatever you’d like to drink. I’ll just talk to Jenny for a minute.”
Jenny — the name suited her — had started talking to another girl by then, but she heard her name and looked over. She tilted her head, quizzical-like, as Mamie moved off in her direction. Tom hustled to the bar and asked for a tall glass of whatever beer was most handy. When it came, he took such a big gulp that he like to choked.
* * * * *
Mamie took Jenny by the elbow and tugged her over to the corner furthest from the bar. “That young man should’ve gone with Amanda Jane, but he wants you. Makes sense — he’s got farm boy written all over him, and you’re as close to a farm girl as I have just now, not to mention near his age. But he’s got a wooden leg, and you need to learn what to do.”
He might have farm boy written all over him, but poor as she was at reading, she’d have added fine-looking. And maybe nice fella along with it.
Mamie was talking so fast and quiet it was hard for Jenny to follow. “This may be his first time with a woman, which’d be good so he won’t be comparing things to how they were when he was whole. From how he looked walking in, I’d guess he still has his knee. That’d make things a lot easier. He could lie atop you, but he might not balance real well. You’d best hold him tight enough that he can’t topple. He won’t think anything of it. If I’m wrong and he has less leg than that, you’ll need him lying on his side or on his back. You can make lying on his back sound good by saying you’re dying to play cowgirl and ride him.”
Mamie looked over at the bar, probably to make sure the boy hadn’t run off. “Leave it up to him whether to leave the wooden leg on. Either way, make sure you don’t bump up against the leg or the stump, whichever, or it could hurt him and shut everything down.”
Jenny took a deep breath. This was going to be different, but not all in a bad way. At least she wouldn’t have to remember all the not-to-dos she had to keep in mind for the older, richer, snootier customers.
And she probably shouldn’t sing to him. Young as he was, he might take it as singing him a lullaby.
She’d seen plenty of men leer at her, or stare at her chest, as she went to take them upstairs, but she couldn’t recall seeing a fellow’s face light up like Christmas morning and a brand new sled.
When she grabbed his hand to lead him, he gripped it almost tight enough to hurt. Excited and nervous both, she figured. It made her feel kind of excited and nervous herself. A nice change from bored or worse. But also strange. It was almost like she was at home and entertaining a gentleman caller in the ordinary way. Except she’d never lived anywhere with two stories and a staircase between them, not to mention rugs and chandeliers and fancy wallpaper and such.
Speaking of which, Tom — Mamie had introduced them downstairs — kept looking around like he’d never seen the like. Growing up nearby, he’d probably been wondering about this place for years. She took her time on the stairs to let him get his fill of gawking.
A
t least, gawking at the place. When she led him into her room and let go of his hand, he did his looking straight at her, his face saying he couldn’t hardly believe his eyes.
She gave him a big smile. He was easy to smile at — young and good-looking, and he seemed a friendly sort. And not drooling or eying her like a big thick steak.
She was about ready to invite him to sit on the bed when he talked first. “You’re so pretty.”
Was that a blush heating up her cheeks? She hadn’t blushed since she couldn’t remember when. Maybe the day Mamie interviewed her and went through all the things she’d best be prepared to do. “Why, thank you!”
“And, and you’ve got such nice teeth.”
She hadn’t heard that one before. He probably wasn’t used to being around folks who cleaned their teeth regular, like Mamie insisted on.
Time to move things along. Mamie had her notions of how long the girls took with any one customer, unless she knew they’d pay extra for longer. “How about you sit down and get comfy? And I’ll do the same, all right?”
She could see his breathing speed up as soon as she sat on the little chair and took off her shoes. She got up and turned her back to him, standing right up against his knees. She could feel two of them — Mamie’d been right about that. And somehow she’d managed to forget about the fellow’s wooden leg for a minute. She’d better keep it in mind. “How about you undo my laces?” She had ways of shedding the dress without such help, but it’d get him started touching her, which he seemed a little shy of.
His fingers weren’t as clumsy as she’d thought they might be, nor soft like some of the customers who spent their days at some desk, nor yet as rough as cowboys’. As soon as he’d unlaced her far enough, she turned back toward him and shimmied out of the dress, making sure to bend over and give him a nice view. His jaw actually fell down, which she wanted to chuckle at but didn’t. Seeing as he liked the front of her so well, she reached around and undid her corset herself, then did the same to unfasten her petticoats. That left her standing there in nothing but stockings and garters and a smile.
Tom probably didn’t know he was panting. He opened and closed his mouth a couple of times before he managed to ask, “Do I need to take off . . . .” That was as far as he got.
From his not wanting to say more, he probably meant his wooden leg, but to cover all points, she just said, “You don’t have to take off anything, cowboy.”
When he flinched and glowered, she realized she’d took a wrong step. It didn’t need him growling at her, “I’m no cowboy.” Maybe he’d thought of being, before.
She took his hand and said, “I’m sorry, Tom. I didn’t mean that. Cowboys don’t clean up as good as you.”
That took him off stride enough to lighten up a little. She kept going. “Anyhow, you take off just what you want to. I’ll admit, though, I’d surely like to see more of you.”
He studied her face like he was trying to read lie or truth, and stood up slow. He tugged his shirt out of his trousers, fumbled at the buttons, and got it off, tossing it onto the floor. He might like the look of Jenny’s chest, but she liked his better — some light-colored hair but not bear-thick, and plenty of muscle. She let her face show him how she was admiring him, and waited to see if he’d keep going. It wasn’t any big surprise that he didn’t, much — just unbuttoned his fly and let his maypole jump out, all ready to get to work.
Now for the tricky part. Except she couldn’t let him know it was tricky. She’d best decide, right now, which of those positions Mamie listed would be least likely to go wrong. Him on his back would be easiest on the both of them. And of the two conditions, being shy part of a leg and being grass green, her guess was he was more prickly about the first. So — “Now, then. There’s different things we can do, but seeing as I’ve done this a lot, and you, I’d guess, not so often, I can show you something you maybe hadn’t thought of, that’d also make things easy. How about you lie back on my nice big bed, and —” Mamie notwithstanding, she’d better not mention cowgirls, not after that misstep before. “— And I’ll give you a fine old time while having plenty of fun myself. Let’s get started, can we?”
By the time she’d made him happy, and he’d got his pants buttoned up and his shirt back on, she was feeling pretty pleased with herself. Which didn’t exactly explain why, as he was set to leave, she pulled him back toward her and gave him a soft warm kiss. She couldn’t recall having done that before, ever, not once she was a lady of the line.
And he tasted sweet.
Chapter 5
Tom might just as well have floated home on a cloud, fine as he was feeling. It did bring him some way back down, just for a minute, when he went to bounce on his toes and almost fell over, but he shook it off. That sort of thing happened often enough, and an evening like this one surely didn’t. And the stars were shining bright above, like they were celebrating along with him.
Jenny had managed things so well that his stump didn’t hurt more’n usual. And what pain he was used to didn’t seem to matter tonight.
Only thing was, he could’ve turned right around and laid with Jenny one more time and been that much the happier.
How soon could he manage another visit? He’d a deal of thinking to do about what he was going to do with his wages from now on. How often they’d go into Madam Mamie’s pocket rather’n Pa’s, and whether he should be saving up for something, though he’d no clue for what.
Remembering and wanting kept him restless overnight, but he still couldn’t help grinning now and again over his breakfast. Ma and Pa kept sneaking looks at each other when they thought he wasn’t watching. Pa, at least, must have known something was up when Tom didn’t turn in his wages. He’d just as soon not know if Pa guessed why.
Walking to town went easier when he had more to think of than his leg and his day of work to come. First he pictured Jenny’s pretty face, and then her hair laying on her shoulders, and then her round squeezable bosom and even rounder backside, and every minute he could remember of what they’d done together. It seemed to take considerable shorter’n usual before he made it to the door of the shop.
Finch, now, after everything that cowboy had said, would be sure to figure things out if Tom came in all cheerful. He could act extra glum, but then Finch might think he’d gone to Mamie’s and made a mess of it. So he kept things businesslike, not chatting but not sulking neither, and Finch didn’t make any show of drawing conclusions.
Speaking of drawing. That’s just what Tom would’ve liked to do, draw a picture of Jenny, head and shoulders and just a little of what came below. It’d been a while since he got a hankering to draw. He used to do a lot of it, with a stick in the dirt or on his slate at school. Got a licking one of those times, drawing when he was supposed to do arithmetic. And then when he was maybe ten, he’d used his pocket knife to draw on a bit of leather he didn’t think anyone cared about. Turned out he was wrong, and he got a licking from Pa that time.
Wasn’t the lickings that stopped him, so much as not having the time once he got big enough to do more farm work. And since that plowshare took some of his leg and more of his use on the farm, he hadn’t thought about it, or about much else that he might do just from wanting to.
Today, though . . . when Finch finished cutting out a pair of boots, Tom asked, as casual as he could, “You have any use for what’s left of that piece? Because I might if you don’t.”
Finch looked at him kind of sideways, but he shrugged and tossed it Tom’s way. Mrs. Finch came in not long after, and that gave Tom his chance. Finch cared a deal about his dinner and never paid attention to much else while he was eating it. As soon as Mrs. Finch left and Finch dug in, Tom moved off to the farthest corner of the shop and laid the scrap of leather on the edge of a table Finch used for storage of this and that.
The biggest piece was about a foot by eight inches. Tom trimmed away the rest and looked at his knife, considering. It was just fine for cutting through leather, but not so goo
d for just scraping away one thin line at a time. What he needed for that was . . . Where was that tool Finch had used for the cowboy’s initials on the saddle, the one Finch called a swivel knife?
But Finch had gobbled his dinner already, and Tom hadn’t taken but a bite or two. He quickly tore away at the chicken leg and wiped his hands on his trousers.
He’d hardly be able to get at that tool without Finch knowing, even if it were right to do it. He’d have to fess up.
“Mr. Finch, when you close up for the day, could I borrow what you used to carve that cowboy’s initials? I’d treat it real careful and have it back in the morning. And I wouldn’t touch nothing but leather with it, the leather you let me have earlier.”
Finch wrinkled his forehead to make his eyebrows stick out even more than they did by nature. “What’ve you got to be carving? You wouldn’t be making one of them pictures that make fun of folks, carry-whatsits, of me, would you?” Clearly, that’d be as much as Tom’s job was worth.
“Oh, no, sir, I’ve no such intention. Just — just a drawing I’ve been wanting to do, on something that won’t wash away or rub out.”
Finch stroked his scraggly beard. “Well, all right then. You take good care of it, and if you lose it, you’ll be working to pay it back and not for whatever else you use your pay on. And you clean it like I showed you.” He fetched the tool and handed it over.
Finch might be grumpy and suspicious, and he watched his coin, but he wasn’t that bad. Not altogether. Or at least, not always.
By the time Tom made the walk home, ate supper, and did what chores he still could, it was full dark and he’d have been about ready for bed, but for the scrap of leather calling to him. He filled a lamp, lit it, and laid the leather out on the kitchen table. Pa, wandering out in his nightshirt and cap, saw what Tom was doing and hoisted an eyebrow. “Hope you came by that leather some way that won’t get you in trouble.”
What Frees the Heart Page 3
