"I do not say it is true, Fancy—only that it is possible. We do not come unbound into this life."
The words rumbled uncomfortably in Fancy's subconscious, as she heard her daughter's laughter. The child was happier now, everything would be just fine.
The tall, handsome figure at the back of the saloon leaned casually against the wall with arms crossed in front of his chest. Beyond the glare of the improvised footlights, Fancy recognized Chance and felt her heart constrict. This was the third time she'd glimpsed him watching the show, a strange expression on his face that she couldn't put a name to. He never stayed to speak with her, just watched for a while, then left before the show was done.
She forced herself to ignore her racing pulse and pay attention to her next cue. One of these days the confrontation would come... the moment of looking into each other's eyes and finding what lay hidden there. She was almost grateful that the moment wasn't now.
Chapter 57
"Miss Fancy!" Lem's voice carried over the din in the saloon. "Trouble, Miss Fancy." Lem Cleary, the sheriff's deputy, was a nice boy, not bright but big and well-meaning. "Got a Chinaman in the jailhouse says he knows you. Name of Woochy or somethin' like that."
Fancy grabbed the boy's arm and squeezed it elatedly. It had been two months since Magda had said she'd try to contact Wu; she'd all but given up on finding him. "Oh, you gorgeous man, for bringing me such good news!"
Hurrying over the uneven boards that served as sidewalk, Fancy heard Wu's high-pitched shrieking even before she reached the jailhouse.
"May the gods pour boiling oil on your genitals! May the worms eat out your stinking entrails! May your manhood be consumed by maggots!" Lordy, he's in rare form, she thought as she burst through the jailhouse door.
Wu cowered in the corner of the only cell, his hands shielding his head from assault. Embarrassed, the sheriff stopped his upraised arm in mid-arc. The Chinaman had been beaten; his skin was discolored, his eye blackened; a bloody gash ran from scalp top to temple, and blood splotched his familiar dark garments.
"You really know this feller, Miz Fancy?" the sheriff asked.
"I most certainly do, Sheriff. Whyever is he in jail?"
"Ran a cropper of a couple of Jack Benedict's boys on the street. Sassed 'em good in American and Chinee. Goddamnedest mouth on 'im you ever heard! Screamin' things about people's gentiles... if you'll forgive my language, Miz Fancy. Cain't believe he's a friend a' yours." The Chinese were often hated and feared in mining towns; some said it was because they took jobs from white men, others said it was because wherever they went, opium went too.
"Is there a charge, Sheriff?" Fancy asked, trying not to laugh. She'd found her woman-in-distress act was generally the most effective when faced with men in authority.
The sheriff stood easier and scratched at his head. He had a thick thatch of steel-gray hair with a tendency to curl at the ends.
It gave him a dandyish air, at odds with his rough clothes, massive shoulders, and paunch.
"Well, now, young lady, I don't rightly know about that. Sassin' a peace officer, I s'pose for starters. Disturbin' the peace, somethin' of that nature. Usin' obscene lingo..."
Fancy mustered up an injured look. "Oh, dear, and I need him so badly, too, Sheriff. You see I've hired the man to work in a new business Jewel and I are starting, and I need his special expertise."
"Hope you're plannin' a cursin' business, then, missy. 'Cause I cain't say I ever heard a better expert than this ol' boy."
Sheriff Harley nudged the Chinese with his toe. "He's all yours, such as he is."
Wu rose with surprising agility. He opened his mouth to speak, but Fancy silenced him with a fierce look that faded instantaneously as she turned her gaze back to the sheriff.
"I must say, Sheriff, that's most gentlemanly of you. I give you my word of honor I'll keep Wu out of mischief."
"Sort of thought you and Jewel were more in the business of getting people into mischief than keeping them out of it," Sheriff Harley said as he opened the creaky door and stepped back for her to pass through. No one in town was really certain if Fancy's interest in Jewel's business included the whorehouse part of it, but it occasioned enough speculation so that the righteous housewives of Leadville gave her a wide berth.
"I'm branching out, Sheriff. You just watch me."
"Damned if I won't, Miz Fancy," he agreed as she waved goodbye. "That's one fine-lookin' woman," he murmured to the deputy when she was out of earshot. "There ain't a man in Leadville wouldn't like to get hisself a little piece of that."
"Son of a poxed pig!" Wu hissed at the same moment. Fancy fought back an urge to throw her arms around him right there on the dirty street and kiss his welcome cheek for all she was worth.
Wu Chin bowed to Jewel, his face a mask. He wore a dark blue cotton dress; his hands were tucked out of sight within the wide sleeves.
Jewel waved him and Fancy to a seat. The Crown was nearly empty, for it was morning; Rufus was sweeping up the debris of broken glass and bed-straw from in front of the bar. A thin beam of pallid sunshine filtered sleepily through the windows.
"So you're the one Fancy's been tellin' me about," Jewel began, obviously in charge. "What exactly do you know about runnin' a laundry?"
"All Chinamen know about laundry," Wu said. Was it irony or bitterness beneath the words?
"Must be a real clean country, China." Jewel thought she might as well put him on notice right away she wasn't to be messed with.
"Look," Fancy interrupted hastily, "there's money out there waiting to be made. I want to grab it before anyone else does. Wu's hardworking and smart. He'll do a good job for us."
Jewel looked unconvinced. She tilted her chin at Wu. "What've you got to say for yourself?"
Wu pursed his thin lips but said nothing.
"Whose money we plannin' to use for this business anyway?" Jewel pursued.
"Mine and Wu's. Yours, too, if you want in on it."
Jewel breathed in a significant breath, which caused her bosom to rise and fall so that it seemed she had made a statement of some important kind. Then she leaned forward in the chair.
"I'm in. But you and me will own it, and the Chinaman works for us."
Wu spoke before Fancy could answer.
"Money, one-third, one-third, one-third." He indicated the women and himself with surprisingly well-cared-for hands. The nails were longer than Fancy remembered. "Work hundred percent Wu. Business belong to Wu!"
"Son of a bitch! No little yellow bastard's gonna use my money to fund a business he owns. You're nothin' but a Chinaman!"
"You nothing but whore. Wu not hold that against you." His audacity caught Jewel off guard. "Chinaman, whore, what difference if we make money together? Money good deodorant!"
Fancy saw Rufus' jaw unclench and Jewel fight to control laughter. "Son of a bitch," she said again.
"Daughter of motherless dung heap," Wu replied. A small twitch of the mouth, which might have been a smile, accompanied the words.
Jewel laughed out loud. "Money, one-third, one-third, one-third," she said, controlling herself with effort. "Ownership, one-third, one-third, one-third."
Wu narrowed his upturned eyes in calculation as apparent as if he'd pulled out his abacus. "One-third, one-third, one-third. Wu get paid salary for work."
"Fair enough."
"Big salary."
"Don't push your luck!" Jewel rose from her chair, but she winked at Fancy as she turned. The deal was exactly what she'd intended it to be when she'd begun the negotiation; perhaps the same could be said of Wu. But I'm the biggest winner here, Fancy thought contentedly. The cabaret was only the beginning, a way to get capital to invest in other businesses—businesses that wouldn't depend on youth and beauty, as acting did. All you needed to succeed in business was intuition, ambition, and avarice, all of which she possessed in plentiful amounts—plus the courage to strike while the iron was hot. Other people might think she was headstrong, but her ability
to leap while others hesitated was going to make her a fortune. If Jason had taught her anything, it was how to cash in on a boom-in-progress.
"Well, I'll be dipped!" Jewel slapped her knee for emphasis. "How the hell d'ya do that?"
Wu smiled and tapped his abacus.
"Wu count money, fucky, fucky! Wu not make mistakes."
"Mistakes? You slant-eyed machine! You not only don't make mistakes, you do sums so fast it makes my head hurt."
Wu grinned and Rufus, standing behind the bar, winked at Fancy.
Jewel and Wu, whose relationship had gotten off to a rocky start, had developed a grudging friendship, although the level of swear words rose in decibels and inventiveness when they were together.
"Tell me about this bathhouse idea of yours, one more time," Jewel prompted. "I never heard tell of the like."
Wu bowed in acquiescence. "Wu build house, big tub inside. Fit many men, many women."
"That's real democratic," Jewel said, obviously taken with the idea.
"Miners filthy disgusting pigs."
"You won't get no argument from me on that."
"Plumed Birds wait in tub for miners..."
"He means the girls," Jewel called over her shoulder to Fancy and Rufus. "He talks real colorful, don't he?" She-was teasing Wu, but he accepted the words with good humor now. He'd made his own assessment of Jewel's character and was content to be her partner.
"Plumed Birds introduce them to delights of cleanliness!"
"Delights of nakedness more likely. I like the sound of it. What'll we charge 'em for the delights?"
"Wu charge fifty cents for bath, dollar twenty-five, if Painted Bird is required for further delights."
"Just a doggoned minute there, Wu. What the Sam Hill do you mean Wu charge! This here's a partnership, ain't it? And my girls get a dollar fifty for any 'delights' they provide."
"Birds of Jewel get dollar fifty. Birds of Wu get dollar twenty-five."
Fancy and Rufus exchanged a glance that said, "Better run for cover."
"Birds of Wu! What goddamned Birds of Wu?"
"Wu import pleasure girls from China for fucky, fucky!"
"You cut that pidgin crap with me, you yellow cocksucker." Jewel was obviously astonished at Wu's boldness in moving in on her territory. "Who'd want a yellow whore anyway?"
"Some men like steak, some chop suey," Wu replied, unimpressed by Jewel's explosion. "Pleasure Birds of China know things Jewel's Birds cannot imagine."
"Oh, they do, do they? Like what?"
"Like how to make old cock young and young one like bull. How to make pleasure last beyond man's wildest dreams. Besides," Wu continued loftily, seeing that he had her full attention, "Wu consider to share profits with his partners." He bowed toward Fancy and Jewel. "Wu is civilized businessman." He tapped his abacus. "Eighty percent Wu, twenty percent Fancy and Jewel."
"One-third, one-third, one-third!" Jewel and Fancy chorused simultaneously. The Chinaman nearly smiled as he spoke.
"Wu get paid salary for his honorable labor. Very high salary."
"Break out the good stuff, Rufus," Jewel called to the bartender, benevolently. "We got to celebrate this little yellow bastard puttin' one over on us." No one in the room was happier than Fancy; three businesses were considerably better than one.
Chapter 58
Fancy finished the show and started the obstacle course toward her dressing room behind the bar. The passage of thirty feet could take ten minutes because of the men who surged forward to flirt with her after each performance.
She'd nearly reached the door that led to a few moments of quiet, when she saw the stranger. He was dressed all in black and even from a distance was arresting. The newness had long since faded from his shirt and trousers, and his black serge coat was covered with the dust of many trails, yet he seemed fastidiously groomed and carried himself with dignity.
The black Stetson hat he wore showed silver on the band, and the brim worn low across his forehead gave his face an air of mystery. Something distinguished him from the milling crowd of men—a sense of stillness that was unexpected... a steadiness and confidence that girded him like a mantle.
Endurance was written in his somber eyes and his movements were so graceful, they seemed effortless, yet beneath the easiness, an eerie alertness quickened. The quiet eyes watched, the quiet body was poised to spring—the man's contradictions breathed tension into the air around him.
His face was clean-shaved, but the shadow at his chin was that of a heavy-bearded man who must take pains to appear shaven. He had a straight nose and a mouth, neither too full nor too narrow, and a dark mustache. He wasn't handsome, but he was undeniably sensual. Fancy felt a tingle in the blood.
You could never forget those eyes, she thought, puzzled and mesmerized. They were vaguely hooded, beneath the hat's wide brim, full of knowledge and of sorrow—not of the self-pitying kind, just world-weary and beyond illusion.
Fancy realized she was holding her breath, and wondered how the stranger had done that to her from across the floor. She could see his gaze was taking in the room and it seemed to her every man it touched on must have felt seared by the glance.
The dark eyes met Fancy's in their passage; he didn't smile, yet there was a minute tightening of the small lines around his eyes and mouth that might have passed for acknowledgment.
Fancy was about to make her way to the bar to ask Rufus if he knew the man, when two things happened simultaneously.
The men in the room appeared to have taken the stranger's measure just as she had. Like the parting of the Red Sea, a pathway cleared before him—men moved backward or sideways to provide him passage, as tamer beasts part ranks for a predator.
As the space around him opened, Fancy focused on the elegant black cartridge belt from which hung a set of holsters, tooled in the Spanish fashion and tilted slightly forward. The plain ivory butts that protruded were the only white in the blackness of his garb. She couldn't see from where she stood if there were carvings on the handles, but the ivory gleamed yellow from long use. The pistols were so much part of the man's anatomy that it had taken a while for her to focus on their separate existence.
As the power of the stranger's presence communicated itself by some mysterious osmosis to the room, the second surprise took place.
Jewel had been leaning over the crap table, when her eyes rose from the game and met those of the stranger. She ceased to laugh; she straightened visibly, then moved toward him as if drawn by magnetic force.
The man's face softened in some way Fancy couldn't name, showing profound relief, although no perceptible change had taken place there. How Gitalis would have envied this man's ability to show emotion without overtly changing expression. Jewel and the stranger walked toward each other slowly. Fancy felt she was watching some fabulous drama unfold, for the electricity in the air between the two was nearly visible to the naked eye. Finally, they stood face-to-face. Neither said a word; they didn't touch and yet their touching on some intimate level reached Fancy all the way across the room. She raised her eyes to Rufus, who had come to the end of the bar where she stood.
"Who in the hell... ?" she whispered, then realized with confusion that Rufus' eyes were bright with unshed moisture.
"Ford Jameson." His reply was low and final, as if the name explained everything. As he said it, Ford and Jewel by unspoken agreement turned toward the stairway that led to the second floor where Jewel lived.
As the door closed behind them, Jewel turned to the man she'd loved so long and walked into the arms he held out to her. He was not a large man, but there was intense power in the sinewy body. She let this strength flow from him into her; he let the comfort of "her welcoming breasts fill his life, for however brief a moment.
"I knew you were coming," she whispered.
"It's been a long time, Julia." He held her tightly to his heart and rested his head wearily on her shoulder. His voice was curiously husky, as if it had been injured and repaired, yet i
t was gentle and at odds with the danger that lurked within him. He was the only one in the world who called her Julia now.
"How long can you stay?" she asked, leading him to the chair beside her bed and bending to pull off his boots. They were tooled black leather like the gun belt, old and trail-worn.
Ford watched her as she tugged off the boots and caressed his tired feet with love. He unhitched his gun belt and handed it to her; she placed it carefully on the table beside the bed. Jewel saw Ford automatically judge the distance from table to door; she had turned the bedside chair to face the door with the same unconscious understanding of his need. She crossed the room and checked the bolt, then knelt again beside his chair and saw he had undone the buttons of his shirt and trousers.
"I can't say how long, Julia," he told her gently, touching both hands to her face and tipping it upward, searching her eyes for understanding.
He saw the tears mist them, but she nodded unprotesting.
"Whatever time we've got..."
"As long as I can, you know..."
"I know."
Undoing the buttons of her gown, Jewel raised herself toward him; her breasts swung free of their covering. The man filled his hands with her pliant flesh and with what seemed like a groan torn from the deepest part of his soul, he pulled her to him. She was all he'd ever known of belonging.
Ford buried his head in her abundance, his mouth sought her nipple like a dying man finding water in the desert. He sucked hungrily, longingly, yet with infinite care.
Jewel moaned with her own need and reached for his risen organ with skilled hands—just the feel of him, the weight of him, the reality of his flesh incited her.
"I've missed you, needed you..."
"Oh, please do that, just like that..."
She had never wanted anyone as she wanted Ford. He ached for the release that her silken wetness could provide, but forced himself to give before taking, for he loved this woman, had always loved this woman. Ford slid his muscular body down her belly and buried his mouth in the most secret source of her. Jewel cried out with the exquisite pleasure of his lips and tongue; she opened herself as she never did with other men. Tongue, lips, fingers, touches so tender and knowledgeable, they drove all else from her world. Swollen pleasure so intense, she felt faint with its perfection.