Christie And The Hellcat Part 8

56.

A grubby boy of about seven was gaping at her from the sidewalk.

"Hey, Brad," she called. He blushed. "Run and tell McGillivray there's another client needs measuring for a pine box, will you?"

Brad gave an eager nod and hared off down the street. Zee straightened, gave the body a last glance, and headed back to the brothel to check on Lazy Alice.

As she entered, the girls crowded round her, all wanting to either kiss her, slap her back, or shake her hand. On the bench by the door several of the brothel's regulars looked on, disgruntled at being kept waiting.

A sniffling Alice was receiving medical attention from Madam Angie herself. Zee went across to give the girl an encouraging pat on the shoulder.

"Thanks, Brodie," said Angie. "Gribble went too far."

"She gonna be all right?" Zee nodded at Alice.

"A little scarring, I expect. Nothing too bad thoughyou got to her in time."

As though to emphasize that life went on, someone turned on the player piano and started pumping its pedals, and Diamond Dust Kate struck a saucy pose and began to sing along to "The Girl I Left Behind Me."

Clubfoot Liz pressed a shot gla.s.s on Zee and winked at her. "Now, about that game of poker we were in the middle of."

Zee smiled, tossed back the whiskey, and followed Liz into the back room.

GIF.

The doorbell tinkled and two fashionably dressed young women hurried into Madame Clemence's shop.

Christie eyed them, then returned to her perusal of G.o.dey's Lady's Book. The seamstress had finished using her as a human pincushion a little while ago and had allowed her to get dressed and take a seat downstairs. She had never been so glad to sit down in her life.

Madame was now sorting through beading and tr.i.m.m.i.n.g swatches in the back of her shop.

"Disgraceful!" said one of the new arrivals to the other. "She shot him down like a dog."

"I know." Her friend's voice was full of pleased outrage.

57.

Christie blinked. She?

"And you know where she is now, of course, don't you?" continued the first speaker. "Angie's Palace."

A little squeal. "My dear!"

"Isn't she too shocking for words? No wonder they call her h.e.l.lcat."

Christie put aside her magazine and stood up. She reached for her bonnet and with trembling hands tied the ribbons under her chin, then she grabbed her bag.

Madame Clemence's a.s.sistant appeared, looking as downtrodden as ever, and approached the two women. "How may I help you, ladies?"

"Well . . ." The taller of the two began a complicated saga about a ball she was going to attend in the near future.

"Excuse me, Jeanette." Christie's interruption earned her an indignant glance from the two women. "But will you please tell Madame that I must cut our appointment short." Her pulse was racing. What am I doing? "I have . . . other business," she continued, "that requires my immediate attention."

"Oh but, Miss Hayes!" Jeanette looked dismayed. "I'm sure it will only take a few more"

"You have already taken more than enough measurements, and made more than enough decisions about my trousseau than are surely necessary," said Christie as firmly as she was able. "If you'll send the account to Mr. Younger, as we agreed?" The girl nodded. "Then I'll say good day to you."

Then she escaped out of the gloomy store and onto the hot, dusty street under a cloudless blue sky.

As she hurried toward Angie's Palace, which, as she had feared, was the brothel from whose balcony those disreputable women had made fun of her earlier, she wondered if she had lost her mindthe impulse to see Zee was so overwhelming.

She crossed the street, careful to lift her hem clear of a patch of fresh sawdust stained red, then noticed the undertaker's wagon trundling away, with its shrouded cargo in the back, and realized what the sawdust's purpose was. Her sense of unreality increased, and she quickened her pace, fearing if she came to a halt now she might never be able to move again.

After all, she rationalized, I must thank her for the flower bulbs.

58.

The brothel's gaudy swinging doors were straight in front of her.

From the other side came m.u.f.fled sounds of laughter, talk, and a piano playing "Oh, Susanna." She took a deep breath and pushed them open.

An overpowering mixture of musk and attar of roses. .h.i.t her, and she gaped at the huge room with its glittering chandeliers, costly mirrors, ornate furniture, and embroidered wall hangings in every shade of red she could imagine.

Everywhere she looked, there were scantily clad women, standing, sitting, lounging. One was at a table, dealing cards, another, wearing only her petticoat, was sitting on a man's lap, stroking his whiskers and whispering in his ear.

The laughter and talk faltered, and a sea of eyes turned toward Christie. She gulped.

"Well, well, if it isn't Little Miss Lost," called the redhead who had teased Christie earlier, her voice barely audible above the manic tinkling of the piano, which, oddly, seemed to be playing itself.

It must be one of those new-fangled self-playing ones I've read about. Wonder what it's doing here?

The redhead stretched, then rose from her chaise longue and posed. "See something you like?"

Christie's reply died in her throat.

"Leave her alone," came a woman's commanding voice.

She turned to see who her rescuer was. A middle-aged woman wearing a splendid rose-colored Turkish costume and embroidered satin slippers (Madame Clemence would have had the vapors) was coming down a staircase toward her.

"She's not here to see you, Mary," continued the woman, her gaze pinning Christie like a b.u.t.terfly. "Are you, dear?"

"NNo."

The woman halted in front of her. "Well, child? Why don't you tell me who you have come to see?" When Christie didn't reply, she continued, with a wink to the onlookers, "I don't bite. Well, not unless someone pays me to." The sally provoked a wave of merriment.

Christie's cheeks warmed. "Brodie," she croaked. "Deputy Zee Brodie. Is she here?"

"Ah." There was a wealth of meaning in the older woman's tone.

"The good deputy does indeed stay here when she's in town. I take it you would like to see her, Miss?"

59.

"Hayes. Christie Hayes."

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Hayes. I'm Angie Tucker, the owner of this establishment." The madam glanced at the watching wh.o.r.es and gestured. "Fun's over, girls. Haven't you got anything better to do than sit gawking at this pretty young thing and speculating about our favorite deputy's love life?"

"No," came the chorus of grinning replies.

"No indeed." Smiling like the cat that had got the cream, Angie turned back to Christie, whose cheeks were now burning. "This way, Miss Hayes, if you please."

Chapter 11.

The poker game was going Zee's way. She was still wearing her undershirt, Levi's, and socks, but Serena was down to her chemise and stockings, and Nellie the Fox and Rowdy Molly were both clad only in their drawers.

She cast an appreciative glance at their bare b.r.e.a.s.t.s then at her cards (three aces), and leaned back until her chair was balancing on its hind legs.

"Your bet," she told Molly, who shot her an aggrieved glance.

"You cheating again, Brodie?"

Zee smiled. "Who, me?"

Molly's humph was drowned by the sound of the door opening, and Zee glanced round to see who it was. Angie was standing in the doorway, and with her wasHer chair went over backward with a crash.

A rueful Zee got to her feet, rubbing the back of her head and trying to ignore the laughter coming her way.

"Christie?" She gazed at the blonde woman in the demure gingham dress and bonnet. "What are you doing here?" She moved toward Christie, took her elbow, and guided her back out the way she had come. "Did anyone see you come in?"

Something soft landed on her head and draped itself over her eyes, and she reached for it as Nellie called, "Don't forget your shirt, Deputy." Laughter and whistles followed her out into the corridor, and she stubbed her big toe on the doorjamb as she went.

"d.a.m.n!" she muttered, but didn't pause in her rush to get Christie away from all this depravity.

"I was in Benson," Christie said breathlessly, as she took the stairs Zee indicated. "So I thought I'd come and see you."

61.

Zee guided her along the corridor to her bedroom, and with a relieved sigh bundled her in and closed the door behind them. She crossed to the window, drew the curtains so no one could see in, then turned to look at her.

"Are you loco? What about your reputation?"

Christie wrung her hands. "I know," she said. "But I had to come."

Zee blinked at that, then shook her head and, since there was no chair in her tiny box room, gestured at the bed. "What's done is done, I guess. Sit."

Christie sat down on the narrow bed. She set aside her little drawstring bag, then untied her bonnet and took it off.

Zee realized she was still carrying her shirt. No point in putting it on now. She flung it on the dresser. Left my boots downstairs too. She sat on the bed next to Christie.

An awkward silence followed. Christie was the first to break it.

"Thank you for the flower bulbs. They meant a lot to me."

"Hope they ain't all cactuses. One bulb looks much like another to me." Zee studied Christie, whose soft cheeks pinked under her scrutiny. "So, you had to come to Benson, huh? What for?"

"Fred insisted I visit that Parisian seamstress, Madame Clemence."

Zee laughed. "If she's Parisian, I'm Governor of Arizona." She wondered how Fred could insist, then it dawned on her. "For your trousseau?"

"Yes."

"You're gonna marry him?"