The Gamble (I) (20 page)

“And Agatha says she’s gonna get me a stool so I can see up on the table better and reach into the water barrel.”

Another laugh.

Then Agatha got down to business. “The dresses are ready for fitting.” She brought them out and hung them on a high rod. “They’re going to be quite, quite stunning.”

They were. Especially on three such exquisite bodies. Agatha couldn’t help envying the girls as they slipped from their robes, displaying wasp waists shaped by flattering corsets with spoon busks running down the center fronts. Upon Agatha’s request, all three had worn their high-heeled boots so the hem lengths could be properly adjusted. Agatha had never been able to wear high-heeled shoes. How shapely the women’s ankles and legs looked in them. Watching was almost as much fun as wearing them herself.

Jubilee and Ruby stood atop the worktable while Agatha and Violet marked their hems with chalk. Pearl lounged on a chair, waiting her turn.

“You know that cowpoke named Slim McCord?” Jubilee inquired.

“That tall, skinny one with the nose like a carrot?”

“He’s the one.”

“What about him?”

“He tried to tell me it gets so hot on the trail sometimes that they have to dip the horses’ bits in the water bucket to keep ‘em from burning their tongues.”

From the corner of her eye, Pearl flashed a glance to make sure Willy was listening. “You believe that?”

“Hmm...” Ruby appeared thoughtful. “I dunno. But what about old Four Fingers Thompson, who claims whenever the chuck wagon runs out of salt he licks the horse’s sweat from his saddle?”

Willy listened to every word, enthralled.

“Listen to this one, everybody!” Pearl said excitedly. “Old Duffield asks me, ‘Ya know how t’ tell when the wind’s pickin’ up in Texas?’” Pearl let the mystery build, then angled a glance at Willy. “You know how, Willy?”

He shook his head, then scratched it.

“Well, accordin’ to Duffield, you nail a log chain on top of a post, and when the wind blows it straight out—that’s calm. When the last link snaps off, you can expect rough weather.”

Everyone laughed and Willy plunged gaily against Pearl’s lap. “Aw, you’re just funnin’ me, ain’t you, Pearl?”

She tousled his hair and smiled.

The girls always brought an air of festivity, and they, along with all the other employees of the Gilded Cage, had taken an interest in Willy. Agatha loved having them in the shop. When the fitting was done and they left, it seemed dull.

Willy sat on the threshold of the back door, playing with a green worm and scratching himself. He bent at the waist, watched the worm crawl across his boot, and scratched his neck. He sat straight and watched the worm crawl from index finger to index finger, then gave his armpit a good workover. He put the worm on his knee and scratched his crotch. He set the worm on the ground and scratched his head.

“How would you like a bath, Willy?”

He pivoted on his backside. “A bath! I ain’t takin’ no bath!”

Agatha and Violet exchanged wry glances. “Why not?”

“Pa never makes me take none.”

“Take
any,”
she corrected, then hurried on. “Well, he should. Baths are important.”

“I hate baths!” Willy declared emphatically.

“Nevertheless, I think you need one. I have a token. All you have to do is give it to Mr. Kendall at the Cowboys’ Rest and you can have one free.”

Willy jumped up as if he’d suddenly remembered something. “I gotta go down and watch ‘em load the cows on the cattle cars. See ya, Vy-let. ‘Bye, Agatha.” He scuttled off without a thought for the worm, which by now was crawling up the doorframe.

At four-fifteen that afternoon, Agatha knocked on Gandy’s office door.

“Come in.”

“It’s me.” She entered to find him squatting before the safe counting a stack of bills. Immediately, he stretched to his feet.

“I thought you were fittin’ the girls’ dresses this afternoon.”

“We’re finished already.”

“When will they be ready to wear?”

“Another day or so.”

Everything looked the same, except for a tall glass jar of black licorice whips that hadn’t been on the corner of his desk before.

“Is there some problem?” He nonchalantly flung the stack of bills onto his desk.

“Not with the dresses, no.”

“Well, sit down. What is it?”

She perched on the edge of an oak armchair. He dropped into his swivel chair and unconsciously reached for his vest pocket. The cheroot was half withdrawn before he realized what he was doing and tucked it away.

“It’s Willy I’ve come about.”

A crooked smile captured Gandy’s lips and his eyes dropped to the apothecary jar.

“Oh, that Willy, he’s somethin’, isn’t he?”

Her eyes followed the path of his. “He’s an angel. It appears he’s been coming to visit you quite regularly.”

Gandy nodded and chuckled. He cupped his fists loosely and rested his chin on them. “You, too?”

“Yes, every day.”

He noticed her staring at the licorice and explained hastily, “They’re not just for him. I like ‘em, too.”

She smiled, sensing his reluctance to seem too taken with the boy. “Yes, I’m sure you do.”

As if to prove it, he lifted the glass cover and helped himself to one, then angled the jar her way. “Have one.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to decline, but her mouth began watering. How long had it been since she’d had a licorice whip? “Thank you.”

Gandy clinked the cover back on, took a bite of his candy, and sat back, chewing. Agatha nibbled hers, then absently studied the limp black licorice stick in her fingers. She glanced up and placed the wooden token on his desk. “I’d like to trade this in.”

He gave it a cursory glance, then rested his gaze on her. His dimples appeared, along with a teasing grin. “I’m afraid you’ll have t’ go down t’ the Cowboys’ Rest for that. We don’t give baths here.”

“For Willy,” she explained.

“Willy?”

“He smells.” She paused eloquently. “And he needs a bath worse than any human being I’ve ever met.”

“So send him down there.”

“He won’t go.”

“Tell him—”

“I’m not his mother, Mr. Gandy, nor his father. Willy says his father doesn’t make him take baths, which is altogether too obvious. When I suggested his going alone, he took off like a shot to watch the cowpokes load cattle.”

Gandy took another chaw of licorice. “So what do you want me t’ do about it?”

“He’d go with you.”

“Me!” Gandy’s eyebrows flew up.

“He worships the ground you walk on.”

“Now wait a minute.” Gandy rose from his chair and moved as far away from Agatha as he could get. In the corner near the window he turned and pointed at her with the floppy candy stick. “I’m not the boy’s father either. If he needs a bath, let Collinson see to it.”

Agatha spoke calmly. “That would be ideal, wouldn’t it?”

She took another dainty nibble of licorice. He threw his on the desk.

“Why should
I
do it?” he asked in exasperation.

She continued reasonably. “I’d take him there myself, but it wouldn’t be proper. Women don’t go to public baths. You go there anyway on a regular basis, don’t you?”

Gandy looked thunderous. “I don’t mind havin’ him come up here now and then, but I’m not goin’ t’ start squirin’ that ragamuffin around as if he were my own. He could get to be an infernal nuisance. And I’m not goin’ to be around this town forever, you know. It wouldn’t be good if he grew attached to me.”

Agatha brushed a nonexistent piece of lint off her skirt and said succinctly, “I think he has lice.”

“Lice!” Gandy stared at Agatha, aghast.

“He scratches incessantly. Haven’t you ever noticed?”

“I...” Damn the woman! Why didn’t she leave him alone? Gandy took up pacing, running his fingers through his hair.

“Have you ever had lice, Mr. Gandy?”

“Most certainly not.”

“Been bitten by a flea, then?”

She had the aggravating power to make him answer when he didn’t want to. “Who hasn’t? We had dogs and cats when I was young.”

“Then you know it’s not the most pleasant thing in the world to be infested. Fleas bite and jump away. Lice stay and suck. They’re constantly on the move in a person’s—”

“All right! All right!” Gandy’s eyes slammed shut. He held up both palms in surrender. “I’ll do it!” He opened his eyes, scowled at a corner of the ceiling, and cursed softly under his breath.

Agatha smiled. “His head will need scrubbing with kerosene first.”

“Jesus!” Gandy mumbled disgustedly.

“And his clothes will need washing. I’ll see to that.”

“Don’t put yourself out, Agatha,” Gandy advised sarcastically.

“I’ve left the token to pay for his bath.” It looked ridiculous lying on the desk next to his stacks of money. “Well...” She rose to leave. “Thank you for the licorice stick. It was a wonderful treat. I haven’t had one in years.”

“Humph!”

Amusement got the better of her and she smiled cajolingly. “Oh, come on, Gandy, it’s not so bad. Just pretend the kerosene is that atrocious Kansas sheep dip you sell downstairs.”

He stood with both fists on his hips. His dark eyes lost none of their attractiveness when his expression grew fierce.

“Agatha,
you’re
the damned infernal nuisance, you know that?”

She looked at his mouth and burst out laughing.

His scowling lips were ringed with black, like a raccoon’s eye. He bristled and tried to look mean.
Damned interferin’ woman! Comin’ in here with those unsettlin’ pale green eyes and her maneuverin’ ways, makin’ my conscience act up, then laughin’ at me t’ boot.
“What in tarnation’s so funny?”

She opened the door, still laughing, and suggested over her shoulder, “Wipe your mouth, Gandy.”

When the tail of her bustle disappeared, he stomped into his apartment and peered at himself in the mirror above the washbowl. Angrily, he wiped the licorice from his mouth. But in a moment a willful chuckle threatened. He pondered silently for some moments. The damned woman was starting to grow on him.

He tallied up her physical attributes, one by one: the attractive mouth; the flawless skin; the determined jawline; the arresting opacity of her sea-green eyes; the surprising glint of mahogany-red in her artfully arranged hair; her
mode of dress, always formal and superbly tailored, but somehow right for her, her high-riding bustles. He’d never much cared for bustles before, but on Agatha they took on a certain undeniable sense of class.

He studied his reflection in the mirror.

Be careful, boy, you could fall for that woman, and she’s not exactly the triflin’ kind.

The skinny little boy, smelling of kerosene, and the tall sturdy man, smelling of cigar smoke, stood in a room redolent of wet wood. Two wooden tubs of steaming-hot water waited in the middle of the damp pine floor. In one corner a scarred hoop-back chair held two dingy Turkish towels, a bowl of unrefined soft yellow lye soap, and a stack of clean clothing.

“Well, shuck down, boy. What’re you waitin’ for?” Gandy removed his jacket and draped it on the back of the chair.

Willy’s lower lip protruded. “You tricked me.”

“I did not. You lost that game of five-card stud fair and square.”

“But I ain’t never played before. How was I s’posed t’ win?”

“That’s luck, Willy. It just happened t’ be with me durin’ that particular hand. And I thought Agatha told you not t’ say ‘ain’t’ anymore.” Gandy’s vest joined the jacket He pulled his shirttails out, unbuttoned the garment, and still Willy hadn’t lifted a finger to undress. Gandy put the crock of soap on the floor and sat down to remove his boots.

“Boy, I been without a cheroot now for nigh on an hour, and if you don’t want t’ go up like a firecracker, you’d better get yourself in that tub and get rid of the kerosene.”

Pouting, Willy dropped to the floor and began tugging at his curled-toe boots. Gandy watched from the corner of his eye and grinned. The boy’s lip looked twice as large as usual. His chin was flattened with disgust His disheveled hair made him look like an old blond hen that had taken more than her share of pecking from her coop mates.

“I gots a knot.” Willy refused to look up as he grumbled.

“Well, untie it.”

“I can’t. It’s too tight.”

Dressed in nothing but a knee-length cotton union suit, Gandy went down on one knee before the boy. “Here, let’s see...”

Willy had a knot, all right. All he had were knots. His bootstrings were a series of them. The boots themselves looked as if they should have been scrapped months ago. When they came off, the smell nearly knocked Gandy on his prat.

“Lord o’ mercy, boy, you smell like a boar’s nest!”

Willy snickered, burying his chin against his chest, and sheepishly tried to cover his mouth with a wrist. Then he reached out blindly and punched Gandy on the knee.

“Do not,” he mumbled.

“Well, at least like a polecat, then.”

Another punch.

“Don’t neither!”

“Whoo-eee! Takes my breath away! If it’s not you, who could it be?”

Willy’s face hurt from holding in the laughter, so he punched Gandy again and knocked him off balance.

Gandy smirked at him, dimpling. “Yessuh, I think I see four she-polecats waddlin’ toward the door right now.”

This time Willy’s laugh burst free before he could stifle it. His head came up and he thumped himself full-body against Gandy’s chest. “I don’t care. You still tricked me, Scotty.”

It was the second time Gandy had had Willy in his arms. Even smelling of kerosene and sour feet, the boy made his heart melt. With their faces separated by only inches, Gandy grinned and inquired, “You ready t’ get in that water now?”

“If I hafta.” The angelic expression returned to Willy’s face. “My head stings.”

They stood side by side, stripping. When they were both naked they faced each other, man to man, Gandy looking down, Willy up. Willy, with a penis like a tiny pink acorn; dandy’s nothing whatever like a tiny pink acorn. Willy, with legs like white matchsticks; Gandy’s
long and hard and sprinkled with coarse black hair. Willy, with ribs like a marimba; Gandy, with a torso like a full bag of oats.