Jubilee Trail (8 page)

“Oliver, tell me a word for it. I mean, tell me the words you thought of when you saw her.”

Bringing a pencil from his pocket, Oliver tore a strip from the margin of the printed program. His eyes teased her as he scribbled on it and pushed the bit of paper across the table. On it Garnet read, “Splendid strumpet.”

Garnet nodded thoughtfully. She crumpled up the paper with a vague feeling of astonishment. She didn’t know just what she had expected, but she had not known that when she saw a strumpet she would see a person of such rare quality. Looking down at her program, she said,

“Juliette La Tour—the name sounds French. There aren’t many Frenchwomen as fair as that.”

“I don’t think she’s French. Nearly all performers in this sort of show take highflown names. She’s probably called Bessie Jones back where she comes from.”

“Oh, stop being so matter-of-fact. It’s a lovely name anyway.”

There was a male quartet, then a troupe of acrobats, then Juliette or whatever her name was came back. She was more provocative than before in a princess gown of blue velvet, with a gold chain around her neck and gold bracelets outside her gloves. This time she was accompanied by several men, and she exchanged a musical argument with them, beginning, “What do you expect of a girl who looks like me?”

When the curtains closed for the intermission Oliver asked Garnet if she would like more champagne. She shook her head. She was too excited to want anything.

The curtains opened again. The star displayed her charms in a series of breathtaking gowns, then there were several numbers without her. Then at last, she climaxed the show with an exhibition that was announced on the printed program as a dance.

She appeared in a dress of filmy black over pink, and long black lace gloves. The music began slowly, and she kept time to it with a graceful swaying that showed them a lot of gauzy pink petticoats frothing around her black satin slippers.

As the music gradually became faster she raised her arms and began to move her hips. At first it was a slow, seductive twirling that still only fluttered her skirts. But as the tempo of the music increased, her whole body began to turn and twist and ripple. Her skirts lifted and swirled around her, showing them her long slim legs glistening through tights of black lace. She moved faster and faster; the pink skirts rose about her shoulders and drifted down and whirled up again and spun outward. By now they saw that most of her bodice was gone, leaving nothing but two semicircles of black lace to tease them with her breasts, as the gloves and tights of black lace were teasing them with her arms and legs. Swift waves of movement went through her, up and down and back again. The skirts were like a rosy cloud blown around her, never letting them see everything at once nor anything for more than an instant at a time, and never quite revealing as much as she kept on promising.

It was a brilliant performance, and outrageously beautiful. They began to applaud long before she had finished. As she went on they applauded louder, adding shouts and whistles of admiration. In her chair before the stage, Garnet sat bewitched.

She knew she ought to be scandalized. But she just couldn’t be. Oliver had no doubt used the right noun to describe that woman, but he had also used the right adjective. She was splendid.

The dance went on and on. If the spectators had had their way it would have gone on indefinitely. But at last the dancer whisked out of sight. If their enthusiasm had been noisy before, it burst like an explosion when she had finished. Garnet sighed in rapture. That wicked, wonderful dancer, these shouting people, everything—this was
life.

The dancer came back several times to curtsy. But though they were clamoring for more, she only laughed and shook her head. Her laughter was gay and teasing, as though she were telling them they had had their money’s worth, and if they wanted more they could come back tomorrow night.

The curtains closed. The show at the Flower Garden was over.

B
EFORE THE SHOW
,
GARNET
had been too excited to eat. But now she said she was hungry. Oliver told her there was a room at the hotel open for late suppers.

When they went through the lobby, a clerk handed Garnet a package that had been delivered for her that afternoon. “What have you been buying?” Oliver asked as they sat down at table.

“A book of engravings.”

“And what,” he inquired, “are you going to do with a book of engravings on the California trail?”

“Don’t be so practical. It was such a dear old shop, and the salesman was so nice to me, I just had to buy something. I want a crab,” she announced as the Negro waiter came over to them.

Oliver ordered a crab for her and a cup of coffee for himself. But just as she began to eat, Oliver sprang up. He had caught sight of two of his employees, passing the door that was open between this room and the lobby. He wanted to tell them the salt meat had arrived this afternoon and could be packed first thing in the morning. They had to carry salt meat for the first part of the trail, for they would not run into buffalo until they had passed Council Grove. If he could speak to his men now, he wouldn’t have to go out so early tomorrow. Would Garnet mind eating alone while he talked to them?

She did not mind, so Oliver went outside. Garnet ate the rest of her crab. Several other customers, having finished their suppers, left the room, and she was alone with the waiter. To have something to do while she waited for Oliver, she began to look at the book of engravings.

The pictures were of beautiful girls, one to a page. Under each picture was a fanciful name—Veronica, Esmeralda, Melisande, Mignonette, Florinda. Garnet smiled as she read them, wondering if there were any real women with such names.

A step sounded in the doorway. Garnet half closed the book, thinking it was Oliver coming back. But she heard a swish of silken skirts, and as she looked around she caught her breath. The person coming into the room was the silver-blond actress from the Flower Garden.

The actress was alone. Her clothes were showy and expensive—a plaid silk dress and a mantle of squirrel fur, and a fashionable dark blue bonnet with a plume.

Garnet felt the ripples running up her spine again. The fabulous creature was passing right by her own table; Garnet could have reached out and touched her if she had not been too well-bred to do so. And evidently the actress was going to sit down and eat her supper here, for the waiter was coming forward to meet her. He was bowing in pleased welcome. She must be a favored customer. Garnet hoped Oliver would be a long time coming back.

“Good evening, Cicero,” the girl was saying to the waiter. They appeared to be very good friends. “What have you got for me tonight?”

Her enunciation was very distinct, and she had a trained stage-voice, clear as music. The waiter rubbed his hands.

“Something mighty fine, ma’am, mighty fine. They call it étuvée de viandes, it’s got chicken in it, and ham and beef, and lots of vegetables and bay leaf and seasonings, oh, it’s mighty fine.”

“It sounds like it. Lord, I’m hungry. Bring me the stew, lots of it, and some rice with cream gravy, and a big pitcher of milk. And some biscuits and strawberry jam.”

“Yes ma’am, I sure will. And what about some oysters first, while they’re steaming up the stew in the kitchen?”

She gave an undignified but appreciative whistle, and kissed her fingertips in the air. “Yes, of course, oysters. With horseradish. You’re a wonder, Cicero, I don’t know how I lived so long without you.” Then she began to speak more seriously. “Tell me, Cicero, how’s Larry been today?”

He shook his head. “Still right poorly, ma’am. He gets stronger, I think, but it takes a long time.”

“Yes, I know it does,” she said with sympathy. “Here.” Taking a bill out of her purse she slipped it into his hand. “Get him something real pretty to play with. That’ll make him feel better.”

“Thank you, ma’am, thank you. He sure will appreciate it, ma’am. You’re mighty nice to us.”

“Oh, shut up. Go crack those oysters before I starve to death.”

“Yes ma’am,” Cicero agreed. “Now you sit right over here, ma’am, side table away from the draft.”

He drew out the chair for her before going off to crack the oysters.

The actress sat down and proceeded to make herself comfortable. She threw back her shawl, took off her bonnet, and put up her hands to loosen her hair. She had on dark blue kid gloves that matched her bonnet.

Garnet felt ashamed of herself for staring. She tried to pretend she was interested in her book. Turning the pages, she looked at the pictured faces with their fantastic names: Veronica, Esmeralda, Melisande, Mignonette, Florinda.

Somebody opened a door in front of her. This door, which was opposite her own table, led directly from the street. Two men came in from outside. The door banged behind them, and they called, “Hey, waiter!”

Garnet started in alarm. The men were well dressed, but they were unsteady on their feet. They looked around, demanding of the air, “Where’s the waiter? Can’t a man get a drink?”

As the waiter had gone out, the room was empty but for Garnet and the actress and the two strange men. The actress sat at a side table and they did not see her, but Garnet was directly in front of them and they saw her at once. One of them pointed at her, exclaiming joyously, “Hi there, sweetheart!” They started toward her.

She sprang up in fright. But before she could push back her chair they had reached her. One of them caught her wrist and gave her what he thought was an inviting smile as he exclaimed,

“Good evening, pretty thing! What you doing all by yourself?”

“All by yourself,” the other repeated. “That’s too bad, now we’ll take care of that.”

“I’m not alone!” she cried, trying to jerk herself away. “I’m waiting for my husband!”

They appeared not to hear her. By this time the second man had caught her other hand. They both flopped into chairs, talking together.

Garnet looked around wildly for Oliver. But he was gone, and the door to the lobby was closed. She tried to pull her hands free, but they were holding her, and talking with all their might.

“Now now, you don’t want to run off, do you? Pretty girl, stay with us, buy you a drink—”

Then, suddenly, Garnet saw the fair-haired actress in the showy plaid dress. She appeared behind the two men, and slipped her arms around their shoulders. Leaning down between them, she began to whisper in a voice of friendly warning.

“I wouldn’t, boys, honestly I wouldn’t.”

They turned in astonishment. “And who do you think—” one of them began indignantly. But as he saw the tempting vision before him his hand loosened on Garnet’s wrist. The actress slipped past him, placing herself against the table so that she stood in front of Garnet.

“I hate to tell you, boys,” she advised them, “but you’re playing with fire.” She bent her head close to theirs and went on, her voice still a chummy half-whisper. “Her husband’s a steamboat pilot with a gun on each hip. He’s here with her, just stepped out and due back any minute, and only this afternoon he busted a fellow’s jaw for getting too close to her. I saw him do it, right in front of this very hotel.”

The two men were regarding her with interest. They had both let go of Garnet. “Say, I’ve seen you somewhere,” one of them was saying.

With a swish of skirts the actress lifted herself to sit on the table, pushing the book away to give her room. She was not looking at Garnet. Her attention was all on the two foggy-eyed men.

“Of course you’ve seen me,” she answered teasingly. “Can’t you think where it was?” She leaned sideways, supporting herself with one hand, and crossed her knees at the edge of the table with a movement that uncovered several inches of black silk stockings with white clocks.

“What you doing all by yourself?” the other man asked. It seemed to be the only greeting his fuddled head could think of.

“Well, I
was
looking for somebody to keep me company. Only I don’t know why I should want to pay attention to a couple of gents who never have noticed me enough to remember me, after all the time I’ve been around.”

“Say, I know!” He slapped her knee, laughing as though the recollection were a great achievement. “Down at the Flower Garden—” He began to sing, decidedly off key, several bars of her song about “The time I’ve wasted saying no.”

“Now then, that’s better.” She smiled upon him in congratulation, and the other fellow, not wanting to be outdone, began to whistle in some slight relation to the same tune. The actress laughed intimately. “Well, it sure is nice to run into a couple of my friends, unexpected like this. And just when I was feeling kind of lonesome, too. Maybe we could all have a drink together, what do you say?”

They said that was fine. They said it in a great many bumbling words. Garnet huddled back in her chair, keeping very quiet. She was not frightened any longer. She almost forgot she had ever been frightened. She looked and listened, while the men chattered and the actress went on with her inviting lines and gestures, and all Garnet’s thoughts concentrated into one big awesome phrase: “So
that’s
how they do it!”

She was so fascinated that she was almost sorry when she heard the actress say,

“They lock up the bar in this married women’s hotel at ten o’clock, but there’s a nice place down the street where we can get anything we want. You know, Tony’s.”

They wanted to go to Tony’s, they must go to Tony’s right away, and they made a great noise about it. None of the three paid any more attention to Garnet. The men got up. Their girl-friend steadied the shakier of the two with a hand on his elbow. As they passed her table she picked up her shawl, and they all three went out through the doorway by which the men had entered.

Garnet stared after them. She had a feeling that she ought to go now, and look for Oliver. But the actress had left her bonnet, so she must have meant to return, and Garnet wanted to thank her. How nice she was, how very kind—Garnet hardly knew how to express the idea of protection offered in such a way, but it was very kind all the same.