Beginner's Luck (11 page)

He pointed toward her in desperation. “I want you.”

He took her by surprise, and she regarded him warily. “What's yer name?”

“Duane. How about you?”

“Sally Mae.” Then she smiled sweetly. “I'll show you a real good time, Duane.”

She hooked her arm in his, and hobbled toward the door. He followed her into a labyrinth of small rooms covered with canvas doors, and heard beds creaking, sighs, moans, curses, grunts, oaths, and other peculiar semihuman and quasi-animal sounds. “Oooohhhhh,” a man cried in the darkness, as though dying from a wonderful new disease.

She entered one of the rooms, lit the oil lamp, and beckoned for him to follow. She had a narrow cot, a dresser covered with tiny bottles, and a wooden chair. This is where she lives, like an animal in a stall, he thought sadly.

“You all right?” she asked.

Duane nodded nervously, wishing he could run out the door, but they'd laugh him out of Titusville.

“Yer first time, huh?”

“No,” he lied, “I did it lots of times before.”

She held out her hand. “Fifty cents.”

He reached into his pocket, handed her a dollar. “That's okay,” he said embarrassedly.

“Take yer clothes off, and I'll be right back.”

She limped into the corridor, but Duane didn't feel like removing his new clothes. He was afraid someone would steal them, and he'd never been naked with a woman before. I can't go through with this, but what'll I say when she comes back? he asked himself.

Honesty is the best policy,
Brother Paolo had told him. Duane sat on the edge of the bed, pushed his hat on the back of his head, and waited for Sally Mae to return. He'd always dreamed that his first love would be a beautiful, passionate sacrament, but instead he was in the cribs with a poor cripple whom he didn't even know.

The curtain was pushed to the side, and she returned to the small enclosed area. He placed one finger in front of his lips, then moved toward her. “I lied before,” he whispered in her ear. “I've never done this before. Please don't be mad at me, and I don't want my money back, but could I just walk out of here, and nobody has to know?”

Her eyes went soft on him. “If you leave so soon, everyone will know what happened. Why don't you lie down for a few minutes, and we can talk.”

Duane sighed in gratitude. “You're very kind.”

He placed another dollar in her palm, she dropped it into her bosom, and then kicked off her shoes. She lay down sideways with her back to the wall, and made room for him. “C'mon.”

He took off his hat, pulled off his boots, and stretched beside her in the darkness. Their bodies touched, and somehow, despite embarrassing circumstances, he was forced to conclude that she felt rather nice, and didn't seem crippled when lying down. Her perfume was harsher than Vanessa's, but the effect was the same. He realized that she was probably no older than Vanessa.

“You really never done it afore?” she whispered into his ear, as her warm breath wafted through him, weakening his fortifications. “Yer just funnin' me, ain't you?”

She kissed his lips, and she tasted like ambrosia in the darkness. Meanwhile, the man in the next stall, only inches away, bellowed like a buffalo in heat. She touched her cheek to Duane's, and more fortresses crumbled inside him. He felt her breasts against his shirt, the first breasts of his life, and his final reserves were devastated. He placed his hand on her silk gown, and discovered that she was wearing nothing beneath it, producing a sensation unlike anything he'd ever known. A strange new artery pounded insistently in his throat, as she breathed into his ear: “It's warm here. I think I'll take me clothes off.”

She arose beside him, pulled the sash of her gown, and it opened like curtains, revealing a landscape of breasts and stomach. In an instant, she was back on the bed, wrapping her arms around him, licking his lips.

He thought the top of his head would blow off, as he clutched her toward him. It was his first flesh-and-blood encounter with feminine energy, and felt like she were swallowing him alive.

“Yer awful good-looking,” she murmured. “When I saw you out there in the parlor, I hoped you'd pick me.”

His male vanity rocketed through the roof, but then he reminded himself that he was in the cribs, and she probably said it to every cowboy who walked through that door. His hands roved up her naked back, as she unbuttoned his shirt.

She pressed her lips against his chest. “You take them clothes off,” she murmured, “and I'll make a man of you.”

Duane's blood thundered, and he felt on fire. Far
be it from me to violate this fine old cowboy tradition, he admitted to himself. He rolled out of bed, untied his bandanna, hung it over the chair, and wondered how many other articles of male clothing had lain on that rickety wreck of furniture. He pulled off his shirt, jumped out of his pants, and dove on top of her.

“You're a wild horse,” she whispered, and then her lips became covered with his hungry mouth, as he clasped her in his strong arms. It was his first time naked with a woman, and the reality exceeded even his most lurid dreams.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

She touched him in a certain delicate spot, and he had to admit that this woman, whom he'd never seen before, had made him more excited than he'd ever thought possible. He wrapped his arms around her, and rolled her onto her back. Duane felt strong enough to run all the way to San Francisco, when something new and entirely unexpected happened, as if he'd been struck by lightning. My God, he realized jubilantly.
I'm doing it!

The bed squeaked noisily, joining the vast chorus of other abused and overworked mattresses in the area, augmented by hushed whispers, godawful moans, whimpers, sighs, and burps. What was I so worried about? Duane wondered, as he undulated frenziedly in the dark. This is the best goddamned thing I ever did!

D
UANE DRESSED IN THE FLICKERING LAMP
-light, as mattresses twisted and tossed all around him. Sally Mae touched her lips to his, then pushed him toward the door. “Time's up.”

She led him down the corridor, and somehow he felt taller, stronger, and brand new. Now he understood why men came to the cribs, and expected to return on his own someday. At least I'll have something interesting to confess next time I see a priest, he thought jokingly. They came to the parlor, where a new group of burly cowboys were engrossed in the selection process.

Duane leaned toward Sally Mae. “How's about one last kiss?”

Even as the words left his mouth, Duane knew
he'd said something ridiculous. The room became still, and everyone was looking at him. But it was too late to take it back.

“Ain't that sweet!” ridiculed a voice nearby. “He thinks the whore's in love with ‘im! Hey, kid—you give me fifty cents, I'll never fergit you. I'll even kiss yer pointy little head fer a dollar.”

The cowboys chuckled derisively, and Duane could see that they were in advanced states of inebriation. The cowboy who'd spoken wore a black bandanna, was Duane's height, but weighed thirty pounds more. The cowboy elevated his voice a few octaves. “How's about one last kiss, Sally Mae,” he mimicked, rolling his eyes with mock delight.

The cowboys laughed, and a few whores chimed in. Sally Mae looked Duane in the eye. “He can say what he wants, but I had a real good time with you, Duane, and you know it.”

“Sure she did,” hollered the obnoxious cowboy who had a blunt nose with a scar on his chin. “She has a real good time with
every
waddie who walks in here. Hell, I'll give her fifty cents, she can say it to me, too.” The cowboy pulled coins from his pocket, and he held the change to Sally Mae, and said: “Tell me you love me, darlin'. Say how much you care.”

Duane glanced at Sally Mae, who appeared embarrassed by the attention she was attracting.

“Wouldn't you gimme a kiss fer five cents?”

An expression of hurt came over her face, and Duane caught a glimpse of the crippled girl who was unable to fend for herself, couldn't get a husband, and wound up in the cribs. Only a fiend could take pleasure in humiliating such a creature, Duane thought.

“Whore—come here! I got somethin' fer you!”

The cowboy gripped his groin, and Duane felt rage come on like a tornado. “Leave her alone!”

Black Bandanna angled to one side, then the other, as he regarded Duane. “Mind yer business, Sonny Jim. I've squashed gnats bigger'n you.” The cowboy lunged forward, grabbed Sally Mae's arm, and pulled her abruptly toward the canvas door. She lost her balance, and was on her way to the floor, when Duane steadied her. Black Bandanna stepped backward, to see what had happened, and before he could get set, something crashed into his forehead. The room went black for a moment, and then he took a step backward, the tints brightened.

Duane stood in the middle of the floor, legs spread, cowboy hat low over his eyes. Black Bandanna touched his fingers to his mouth. A trickle of blood appeared.

“Go git him, Dave,” said one of the cowboys.

“Kick his ass,” added another.

The Mexican madam waved her frail arms. “If you want to fight—go outside!”

Two cowboys lifted her off her feet and carried her out of the way as though she were a tadpole. She responded with an ear-splitting screech, kicked her matchstick legs, and another cowboy covered her mouth with his hand, as Dave spat a gob of blood into the nearby cuspidor. Dave's eyes went mean as he glared at Duane. “Boy, I'm a-gonna beat the piss out of you.”

He lowered his head and charged, hurling a left jab to Duane's face, but Duane danced out of the way at the last moment, and put all his weight behind a
right cross to Dave's temple. The blow landed solidly, and Dave staggered to the side, his eyes closing.

Dave's shoulder bounced off the wall, and Duane followed with a left hook to the ear. Dave's head spun around, and a fist was rammed into his stomach, doubling him up. Duane took one step to the side, and threw an uppercut. It landed underneath Dave's chin, snapped his head, and sent him sprawling across the room. Dave sat on the floor for a few moments, blinking in astonishment, trying to figure out which horse had run into him.

Duane had reacted in a sudden flash of anger, without thinking, but now realized that three other cowboys were eyeing him with increasing hostility, and each carried a gun in a holster. They advanced toward him, and he raised his fists for the final round.

“Don't nobody move, or I'll shoot yer durned head off.” The voice came from the door, where the two guards stood, guns in their hands. “You want to fight—go outside.”

Sally Mae whispered into Duane's ear. “Let the others go, but you stay here for a while. Otherwise they'll kill you.”

Duane appreciated the logic of her suggestion, but felt jumpy and wild. Dave picked himself up off the floor, and touched his fingers to his pulped lips. “I'd like to get a piece of you outside, Sonny Jim. How's about it?”

“After you.”

The cowboy strolled toward the door, throwing punches into the air. “Gimme some room, and I'll clean the town with that li'l son of a bitch.”

Dave stepped outside, and Duane moved to follow
him, but Sally Mae grabbed his sleeve. “Come back to my room for a while. Please?”

My father died in a fight, Duane thought, and maybe I will, too, but if you don't stand up to them, how can you call yourself a man? He recalled Sally Mae cringing beneath Dave's heedless remark, and removed her hand from his shoulder. He followed the cowboys out the door, and the cowboys waited in the alley.

“I think we orter shoot him,” one said.

“Naw,” replied Dave. “I'll take care of ‘im myself.”

He raised his fists and advanced toward Duane, while another bunch of cowboys emerged from a nearby hut. “Looks like a fracas over thar.”

Dave smiled confidently as he decreased the distance between him and Duane, but Duane kept shifting position, dancing lightly on his feet, bobbing his head. Brother Paolo had been a pugilist during brief vacations from his undistinguished career as a
bandito,
and had taught Duane that you defeat a bigger man by constantly moving, making him miss, and making him pay.

“Just stay still fer one second,” Dave said, “and I'll knock yer block off.”

Duane stopped dancing, and made himself a stationary target. Dave wound up and threw a hard left jab to Duane's nose, but Duane darted to the side, firing a jab into the pit of Dave's stomach. Dave was wide open, and Duane's fist buried to the wrist into soft belly flesh. It was the identical spot that Duane had hammered before, and all the wind expelled from Dave's orifices. The cowboy keeled over, and Duane
caught him with a left hook to the head. Dave dropped to his knees, trying to clear his brainpan, and Duane flashed on Sally Mae reviled like Mary Magdalene. Before Duane could stop himself, he kicked Dave squarely in the face, and the cowboy flew onto his back.