Stay With Me (17 page)

A conscientious pimp. Sarah wanted to be mad
but realized that she couldn’t hold it against the man. After all,
he provided a desired service to his customers.

“I heard you recently lost your piano player.
I’d like to have the spot, if it’s still available.”

“John know you’re asking about this?”

“Yes,” she lied.

“He don’t mind?”

“He knows I love to play.”

“Saloon starts to fill up about seven
o’clock, right after the dinner hour,” Thomas said. “You’ll need to
play until midnight. You get a break every hour. Ten minutes. No
going upstairs with any men. Not until your shift is over.”

“No problem.”

“Your whiskey is free. Pay is three dollars a
night. You can put a tip jar out. Half goes to you, half to the
house.”

“Fair enough. Any special requests?”

“Yeah. Make ‘em dance.”

She pointed at the man sleeping at the far
end of the bar, his head cradled over his folded arms. “I hope your
expectations aren’t too high.”

“Don’t worry about him. He’s new in town.
Don’t expect he’ll stay around too long. Said his name was
George.”

“You don’t care if he sleeps here?”

“He said he don’t sleep much at night
anymore. I think he might be a little crazy. I caught him talking
to the empty stool next to him, yesterday, just like there was
somebody sitting there. But he’s had money to spend on whiskey and
cards. That’s good enough for me.”

Commerce. Greed. Not everything had changed
from the good old days. “When do I start?”

“Tonight.” Thomas pulled out his
pocket-watch. “You’ve got three hours. I hope you’re not planning
to wear that.”

Sarah looked down at Franny Goodie’s dull
brown skirt and tan blouse. She’d been so busy the last few days,
she’d almost forgotten how hideous she looked. She needed an outfit
with some color, some spark, some appeal. She certainly didn’t have
any money to purchase anything. That left one option. “Susanne’s
letting me borrow some things. Can you unlock her door?”

A half-hour later, Sarah walked back to the
hotel. She climbed the steps, her arms full of gowns. She knocked
on the door with her foot. “Suzanne, open the door.”

She waited and finally, the door slowly
opened. Sarah walked in, past her friend. If anything, Suzanne
looked worse. She’d been crying, making her swollen nose even
redder. Her hair, her pretty short hair, stood up on end. Her lip
had started to bleed again.

“Thanks for letting me in,” Sarah said,
trying hard to hide her concern. “These dresses weigh a ton.”

Suzanne walked back to the bed, slipped
underneath the covers, and turned so that her back faced Sarah.

“I should have asked first,” Sarah said, “but
I thought you might be sleeping. I had Thomas unlock your
room.”

“I don’t want to get dressed.”

“Not for you,” Sarah said. “Although I think
you definitely need to get dressed by tomorrow. These are for me. I
got a job at the saloon.”

“A job?” Suzanne rolled over and looked at
Sarah. She had her bloody, cracked lips pressed together. “You’re
taking my place? How could you?”

“Oh, no. Not that kind of job. I’m going to
play the piano. Maybe sing a few songs. That’s it.”

Suzanne didn’t look convinced. “You’re
leaving on Wednesday.”

“I was. I’ve decided to stick around for
another week.”

“Why?”

To kick your butt. To make you start
living again.
“It’s been months since I’ve been back to
Cedarbrook. There are friends I want to catch up with. I haven’t
had the chance.”

“Oh.”

Sarah relaxed. Suzanne looked like she bought
it. Hook, line and sinker. Thank goodness Suzanne hadn’t met the
real Sarah. She’d know that Sarah One wouldn’t have friends anxious
to pick up where they’d left off. “Since I’ll be around, I thought
I’d pick up a couple extra dollars.”

“Playing piano?”

Sarah nodded. “Strictly downstairs work.”

Suzanne chuckled and Sarah had a glimpse of
the woman she’d met at Fred’s house. The woman she’d been before
her spirit had been beaten out of her.

“I probably should have stuck with downstairs
work,” Suzanne said.

“It’s never too late.”

Suzanne shook her head. “Sometimes it is.
Sometimes the hole we dig for ourselves is so deep, we can’t crawl
out of it.”

“I suppose,” Sarah said, inspecting the hem
of one dress. She didn’t want to look too vested in the
conversation. “When the hole is that deep, those are the times we
need a helping hand.”

Suzanne shook her head. “It’s not that easy.
People may reach out but sometimes, no matter how much you want it,
no matter how hard you try to hold on, you slip back. You can’t get
out of the hole. It’s too deep. You’re too far down.”

“Then somebody needs to get a ladder. A tall
one.”

Suzanne didn’t say anything. Finally, she
shrugged and rolled over, once again giving Sarah her back.
“Problem is,” she said, her voice flat, “that when you put a ladder
in soft dirt, it sinks. Then you’ve got nothing. Just like
before.”

Sarah, discouraged but not ready to give up,
picked up her dresses. She’d find a rock in that hole, something
sturdy to balance her ladder on.

And then, she’d find a way to make Suzanne
take her hand and together they’d walk out, one rung at a time.

When Sarah started playing the piano at
seven, she entertained an audience of nine including Thomas
Jefferson and two tables of four men each. Thomas poured her a
whiskey and looked surprised when she asked for a big glass of
water on the side. Seven of the eight remaining men ignored her.
She preferred that over the lone man who looked up and stared at
her, his face turning red, his eyes blinking furiously.

Another Sarah One hater? Sarah understood the
feeling. She pretty much hated Sarah One, too. Not knowing what
else to do, Sarah ignored him and kept her eyes on her sheet music.
She started off with “Buffalo Gals” and “Jimmy Crack Corn” but soon
tired of that. Before her first set ended, she’d drifted into her
Billy Joel favorites.

“You’re pretty good.” Thomas filled up her
water glass.

“Thanks. Kind of a quiet crowd tonight?”

“It’s early yet. The music will draw them
in.”

“Nobody seems to be paying much attention,”
she said.

“Toby’s lost eight hands since you started
playing. I think you’ve got his attention.”

Toby. The staring man had a name. “Is he a
regular?”

“He’s been here the last three nights. His
wife went to Denver to see her sister.”

Sarah stretched her back, leaning from side
to side. “Just between you and me, I’m not expecting a big tip from
him.”

Thomas laughed. “You might be wrong. Last
night he drank himself silly. Money practically fell out of his
pockets. A dog licking his boots could have gotten a tip.”

I’ll remember that. Let me know if you’ve got
any requests.” She walked back to the piano and sat down, angling
her bench so that she couldn’t see Toby.

At nine when she took her next break, a few
empty stools at the bar remained but all the tables had filled up.
Most of the men played cards although two tables played some kind
of dice game. She felt like she’d crashed a nineteenth century
fraternity party. Everybody had a drink and most had a bottle at
the table. When the saloon door would swing open, the men would
look up, judge the newcomer, and he’d be invited to join a table or
relegated to a more solitary spot at the bar.

In the middle of her third set, the door
swung open and the noisy bar quieted immediately. Sarah lost her
place in the middle of “Oh! Susannah.” George, the man she’d been
warned about, stood in the doorway. He didn’t speak to anyone and
no one spoke to him. He took his seat at the end of the bar.

Thomas poured a whiskey and set the bottle in
front of him. George shoved some coins across the scratched wooden
bar. Sarah launched into “New York, New York” and watched him over
the top of the piano. He looked like a tired thirty. While his
tanned skin had just a few lines, the dark circles under his eyes
and his scruffy beard aged him. He had to be over six feet and two
hundred pounds but his clothes still seemed too big, like he’d
borrowed them from an older brother.

When Sarah ended her song, she stood up. She
needed a bathroom courtesy of the two glasses of water she’d drunk
after setting the whiskey aside. Sadly, she remembered Freedom’s
comment about the hotel having the only inside bathroom. “Thomas,
where’s the privy?” she asked.

“Out back, across the alley.”

“Thanks.”

“Unless you can see in the dark, you better
take a lantern,” Thomas instructed.

“Right.” Reason four hundred why she needed
to get back to her own time. Bathrooms with lights.

She walked out of the saloon and around the
corner. Three hundred feet away, she could see the small white
building. With her free hand, she picked up the edge of Suzanne’s
green dress, not wanting to drag it through the dirt. When she got
within twenty feet, the smell almost overwhelmed her. Taking as
shallow of breaths as possible, she opened the door, did what she
needed to do, and got the heck out of there.

She’d crossed the alley when Toby stepped out
of the shadows. Sarah swung her lantern in front of her, wanting
him to keep his distance.

“I’ve missed you, Sarah,” he said, weaving
from side to side. “It’s been a long time, you little bitch.” She
could smell the whiskey on him, like he’d taken a bath in the
stuff.

Great. Toby had not only known Sarah One, he
had a bone to pick with her. “I need to get back inside,” she said,
trying to step around him. “Thomas is expecting me.”

He moved, faster than she expected given the
amount of alcohol in his system, blocking her path again. He leaned
toward her. “What are you going to do? Sneak out of town again.
With my money?”

Yikes. “I’m not sneaking anywhere. I have a
job to do.”

“You spread your legs like a common whore,”
he said, “and you think you’ve got the right to act like a
lady.”

Could it get much worse? Sarah One had been
his lover? “Get out of my way,” she said.

“You said everything would be fine once you
got the money from your dead husband’s mother. You said we’d go
away together.”

“You’re drunk,” she said.

“Your damn right I’m drunk. You left me with
nothing, Sarah. How was I supposed to explain the missing money to
my wife? Did you think she wouldn’t notice? Did you think she
wouldn’t know that I’d been a fool for a woman?”

Sarah thought she might throw up. “Get out of
my way.”

He shoved her, hard enough that she stumbled
back. “You’re going to pay,” he said. “I’m going to—”

“Get your Goddamn hands off of her.”

Distracted, Toby whirled around. Sarah used
the seconds wisely, running around him.

John stood twenty feet away, his gun pointed
at Toby’s chest. “Sarah, get behind me,” he said, never taking his
eyes off Toby.

“Stay the hell out of my business,” Toby
said.

John shook his head. “You’re in my business.
Now Sarah, do what I told you.”

She did, placing herself two feet behind
him.

“You bastard,” Toby yelled, running full
speed toward them. Sarah stepped back. John stuck his forearm out,
catching Toby right at the larynx. The man dropped to the ground
like a stone, gagging and coughing.

“Oh, jeez,” Sarah said, holding up the
lantern.

“He’s fine,” John said, dismissing the man.
“He’ll catch his breath.” He turned to look at her. “Are you
hurt?”

Sarah lowered the lantern. She’d seen the
concern in John’s beautiful brown eyes. It made her yearn for
things that could never be. “I’m fine. Why are you here?”

“I’m not sure,” he said.

“I don’t understand.”

“That makes two of us. I stopped by the
hotel. Freedom said you were at the saloon. When I asked Thomas if
he’d seen you, he looked surprised and said you’d made a trip
outside.” He took a step closer. She moved the lantern in front of
her, as if the light might save her.

“What the hell is going on, Sarah? What are
you doing in the saloon at night? It’s not safe.”

Sarah dug her toe in the dirt. “I got a job
at the saloon,” she said.

“What?”

He’d barked the word, so intense that she had
the fight the instinct to flee.

“Not that kind of job. Man, what is it with
you and Suzanne? There are other kinds of work.”

“Sarah.” His tone said it all. He wanted to
know what was going on.

“I told you I’m playing the piano at church.
Well, church isn’t the only place in need of a piano player. Thomas
Jefferson hired me to entertain his customers.”

“Entertain?”

His voice thundered down the quiet alley.
“Could we move along?” she asked. She pointed at Toby who lay on
the ground. “I don’t really want him to be part of the
conversation.”

John gripped her arm and practically dragged
her to the end of the alley. “You’ve got three seconds,” he said.
He didn’t remove his hand from her arm. She could feel his heat,
his energy, his solid strength. His steel will.

“Before you do what?” she baited him.

“You don’t even want to know,” he said.
“Talk.”

“At four o’clock this afternoon, I asked
Thomas Jefferson for a job. He said yes. I started playing at
seven. Right now, Thomas is probably pacing behind the bar, cursing
me because I’m late getting back from my break.”

“You little fool,” John said. “Don’t you know
the kind of men who spend their nights at the saloon? These are men
with nothing to lose. These are men like Toby Ryan.”

“Everyone,” she said, “with the exception of
Toby, has been polite. They haven’t even said two words to me.”