Ivy Get Your Gun

by Cindy Brown

  The dressing room door was open, and the two wigs sat on the counter, pinned to Styrofoam mannequin heads. One of them was a red up-do with a green feather pinned to it. The other, long blonde curls with a small straw hat fastened on top.

  I squeezed into the saloon girl outfit, then put my arms through the white dress, and Velcro-ed it up the front. Pretty impressive, this two costumes at once business. The saloon girl outfit acted like sturdy undergarments and the white dress slipped right over it. I put on a wig cap, bobby-pinned the ingénue wig to my head, tucked the mannequin head with the red wig under my arm, and walked softly back to the stage, hoping I might overhear something more. And I did.

  “Yes!” Chance yelled. “YES!” He grabbed Billie in a hug and whirled her around. I hadn’t needed to be quiet. All of Gold Bug Gulch could’ve heard him.

  “Thank God,” Billie said. “Now put me down.”

  “What happened?” I used my ditz voice. After all, Chance didn’t know I wasn’t dumb. “Did they fix the toilets?”

  “That too,” said Billie. “But Chance is whoopin’ and hollerin’ on account of a phone call he got from the sheriff’s office. They just ruled Mongo’s death an accident.”

  “Seems awfully expedient to me.” I sat in my truck in Gold Bug’s parking lot, talking to my uncle on the phone and watching Billie and Chance walk to his pickup. She’d looked a little dazed all through rehearsal, while Chance had been almost manic.

  “Yeah, but it would be pretty hard to prove it was anything except an accident,” Uncle Bob said. “And sure, the decision was made pretty fast, but I’ve seen quicker. You have to remember that Gold Bug Gulch probably brings in a nice bit of money for the area, even just starting out. And then there’s the fact that we’re one of the most gun-friendly states in the union.”

  Chance opened his truck’s door for Billie. She stood beside it for a moment, then got in. He shut the door behind her and ran around to the driver’s side. Literally ran, like he was afraid she might get out again.

  “And Chance could still be sued by the family,” Uncle Bob said. “Or brought up on charges, most likely negligent homicide.”

  “Homicide?” Chance and Billie pulled out of the lot and onto the highway, toward Wickenburg.

  “Yeah,” said Uncle Bob. “He’s not off the hook yet.”

  Chapter 29

  “But you always say that a bad preview means a good opening night,” said Cody, who had attended his share of bad previews with me. He sat on my couch next to his girlfriend, Sarah.

  “But this was a bad dress rehearsal and we don’t have a preview,” I said. “I’m not sure that counts with the gods of theater.”

  “The gods of theater?” Sarah had dressed for her date with Cody in a flowered top and pressed jeans and let her dark curly hair hang free past her shoulders. My brother had spiffed up too, his blond hair and favorite blue shirt both freshly washed.

  “That’s just Ivy’s way of talking about luck and superstition.” Matt carried a big bowl of popcorn in from the kitchen.

  “And fate,” I said. “Don’t forget fate. Like the fate I’m facing: having to be onstage in front of an audience tomorrow after today’s disaster.” Not only were Billie and Chance off during rehearsal, the melodrama was comical in all the wrong places, mostly due to our costume changes.

  “Your wigs really fell off?” asked Cody.

  “Both of them. Twice each. And my costume kept unzipping itself.” The white dress fit a little too snugly, so every time I raised my arms, riiiiiiiip, the Velcro opened wide down the front. Billie promised to fix it before our opening show.

  Matt sat the popcorn on the coffee table in front of the couch, slid the DVD into the DVD thingie, and joined me on the floor. My couch fit three people, but tightly, so it made sense that he sat next to me. Still, I made sure to keep an inch of space between us. After all, Cody was right there.

  “Cody,” said Sarah. I felt her pluck something from my hair. “Popcorn. Your brother,” she said with fondness in her voice.

  “Oops. Sorry,” said Cody. The menu popped up on my TV screen. “Matt, you bought this movie for Olive-y?”

  “Yeah…”

  I jumped in. “I’ve had it on hold at the library for ages. I even checked with the library. They think someone took it.”

  “Maybe you should investigate,” Cody said.

  “Ivy Meadows, overdue book detective.” Matt grinned at me. “I like it.”

  “It might be less dangerous,” said Sarah. Cody had regaled her with one too many stories of my escapades.

  “I don’t know,” Matt said. “Someone might throw the book at her.”

  “Omigod,” I groaned. “You sound like Uncle Bob.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “Did you get the part yet?” asked Cody. “Of Annie?”

  “No word, but I haven’t heard that they cast it.” I crossed my fingers.

  “You’re auditioning for this part but haven’t seen the movie?” Sarah asked as the credits began to roll.

  “I know. I couldn’t even get hold of the script—oh, duh.” I slapped myself on the forehead. “I probably could have found the screenplay online. Oh well, doesn’t matter now. And I did read a bunch about Annie Oakley. Did you know she was a Quaker? It’s one of the reasons she always dressed so modestly. They tried to talk her into sexier costumes, but she wouldn’t do it. Even sewed her own costumes. She could do anything…ha! That’s a song from the play…do you know ‘I Can Do Anything Better Than You?’” I asked Matt.

  “I don’t know, I do make a mean omelet.”

  “No, it’s a song…” I stopped. Matt was smiling at me. “Oh. Ha!” Then I sang, “Any egg you can break I can break better, I can break any egg better than you…”

  “Olive-y.” Cody sighed exaggeratedly. “Can we just watch the movie?”

  One hundred and seven minutes later, we sat silent as the end credits rolled.

  “But…” said Cody.

  “Yeah,” said Matt.

  “I thought you said Annie didn’t wear sexy costumes,” said Sarah.

  “She didn’t. She wouldn’t. She would have never worn that strapless outfit.” My jaw ached. It had been clenched for nearly one hundred and seven minutes.

  “She was dumb,” said Cody.

  “She was not dumb. She may have been uneducated, but she was not stupid.” I grabbed the remote and turned off the TV. “I am so pissed for her. If Annie saw this film, she’d roll over in her grave and shoot someone. Did you know she spent five years of her life fighting a false story about her in the newspapers? A Chicago paper said she was jailed for stealing a man’s trousers in order to pay for cocaine. Turns out it was a burlesque performer who called herself ‘Any Oakley.’ The real Annie traveled the country and spent tons of money until she had her reputation back. She would have never stood for this…this drivel.” I jumped up and walked the few steps to the TV.

  Matt was reading the back of the DVD box. “It does say the film is loosely based on her.”

  “Loosely! It’s the exact opposite of her—okay, of what I know of her.” I took the offending DVD out of the player. “They made her seem dumb—”

  “I told you,” said Cody.

  “And man-crazy,” I continued. “When it was Frank Butler who wooed her.”

  “I’m sure they did it to create a good story,” Matt said. “You know, like Eliza Doolittle getting made over?”

  “Omigod, that scene where they decided to make Annie look ‘pretty’? I thought I was going to scream.”

  “I didn’t like that,” said Sarah. “What’s wrong with freckles?”

  “Nothing.” Cody took Sarah’s hand.

  “But worst of all was the way she decided to lose her marksmanship contest at the end, just so Frank wouldn’t feel threatened by her. I can
’t believe it. They took this amazingly strong woman and made her a simpering husband-hunter who gave up her integrity for a man.” I burst into tears. Wow, where did that come from?

  Matt jumped up and hugged me. I let him for just a second—it felt so good—then pushed him away. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m so upset.”

  “Because you don’t like people calling other people stupid,” said Cody. “Especially when they’re not.”

  “I think that’s it,” said Matt. “You do have a strong sense of justice. And this,” he waved at the TV, “just seems unfair.”

  “That’s it. It’s not fair, especially to someone like Annie. But that said…”

  “Yeah?” said Matt.

  “If I’m being fair, I have to admit…” I wiped my eyes. “The music was pretty awesome.”

  Chapter 30

  After stopping in Sunnydale to set up the four wildlife cameras I bought with Arnie’s credit card, I drove out Gold Bug Gulch, pulling into the parking lot at six thirty. Yep, six thirty a.m. Even so, the plants beat me there. Several big panel vans were already in the parking lot. I pulled up next to the one that had “Alan Greensman” painted across its side.

  A hefty guy in a green shirt got out of the van. “Mornin’, Ivy.” He sniffed the air and wrinkled his nose. “Phew. Looks like we have our work cut out for us.”

  “Hey, Alan. So you think we can do it?”

  “I brought the most highly scented plants I could find: stock, gardenias, jasmine, a bunch of hanging baskets of sweet alyssum, and fragrant petunias, that sort of thing.”

  “And I,” I waved at the back of my pickup, “brought backup air fresheners and battery-operated fans.”

  Alan’s pudgy face creased in a smile. “You are just short of brilliant.”

  I nodded my thanks. “Let me show you where to set up.” We walked toward the town.

  I’d met Alan about a year ago on a film that was shot in Arizona but supposed to be set in Hawaii. He and his crew had transformed the landscape of the resort where we filmed from desert to tropical paradise, just by adding potted palms, hibiscus, and a load of other lush-looking plants.

  “Only these few buildings are open.” I pointed at the saloon, the opera house, and the reptile house. “The jail photo booth and blacksmith are also open, but I think they’re far enough away from the septic tank that the smell won’t be an issue there.”

  Alan rubbed the morning stubble on his face. “I don’t think we have enough plants to hide that.” He waved at the kitty-littered brown sludge pond down the hill.

  “I was thinking more diversion than screening. Kind of like when someone is coming over to my apartment but I don’t have time to clean, so I buy flowers on the way home. All anyone sees is the flowers.”

  “Ah ha. So you want us to put these plants along the front porches of the buildings, to draw people’s eyes away from the mess.”

  “Exactly. It’ll look pretty and they’ll walk right into a good smell. I also have floral-scented air fresheners we can tuck into the plants and place inside the buildings too.”

  “Did you say something about fans?”

  “That was my friend Arnie’s idea. I bought a bunch of those small personal battery-operated fans. We can tuck them into the plants too.”

  “So the scent is blown toward the tourists.”

  “Right.” The strains of “Maple Leaf Rag” floated out of the saloon. “The piano player I hired should distract folks too.”

  “Nice. But…” Alan looked at the sludge puddle. “You sure you don’t want me put a few plants around that, to try and screen it?”

  “Nah. I’ve got an even better idea.”

  “Look, Mama. Goats!” The little boy pointed down the hill where three goats grazed in the grass. “Can we go see them?”

  “No.” The boy’s mom pointed at a sign I’d planted on the edge of the hill. “It says not to disturb them while they’re working. Besides,” she wrinkled her nose, “they’re a little stinky. Let’s go see the blacksmith instead.”

  “You’re a genius,” said Billie, who stood beside me on the porch of the Arnold Opera House underneath a hanging basket that hummed, thanks to one of Arnie’s fans. “The flowers I get—though it’s a damn good idea—but how did you ever come up with goats?”

  “I was trying to think of something smelly that people still like. Sort of like stinky cheese.” As if on cue, one of the goats gamboled in the grass, and the crowd said, “Aww” in almost one voice. “I’d heard that people rent them out to get rid of undergrowth. Sort of like organic lawnmowers.”

  “Hey!” Nathan strode toward us from the parking lot. “What is all this?”

  “I tried to find you earlier,” I began.

  “Isn’t it great?” said Billie.

  “Who gave you permission?” Nathan got right in my face.

  I stepped back. “You did, when we talked yesterday.”

  “Gondranmedry.”

  “No, I am not going to drain you dry. I kept the costs under the two thousand we talked about—”

  “Two thousand?!”

  “What the hell?” Josh steamed toward us like a freight train. “Get those goats out of there.”

  “But they’re working to distract—” I said.

  “They’re eating the grass. This is a delicate riparian area.”

  “You sound like Frank,” muttered Nathan.

  “I sound like someone who gives a good goddamn about what happens to this land.”

  “Stillsounlifrank.”

  “Get them out of here, or there’ll be goat on the grill tonight.” Josh looked like he’d be happy to kill and butcher them himself.

  “Okay,” I said. “Sheesh. My phone is in the dressing room. I’ll call the goatherd right away.”

  “Good.” Josh turned and strode down the street toward his forge. Nathan stomped up the stairs to the saloon, mumbling something even I couldn’t understand as he ducked under a bower of jasmine.

  “How do you account for that?” Billie talked to me but watched the two men as they walked away. “Coulda sworn they were mad that you saved the day.”

  Chapter 31

  “Save me!” I cried.

  This was where Chance was supposed to, yes, save me. As Blackheart, he had tied me to a train track then dashed offstage. His change in the wings was pretty simple: he just had to take off his long black coat and trade his villain’s black top hat for his hero’s white cowboy hat. Then he would run back on and untie me. But instead he just stood there in the wings next to Billie, who had picked up the “Applause” sign.

  “Save me!” I yelled again. The recorded train noise grew louder.

  Chance just stared at the stage. Then he pointed at a spot about a foot from my face.

  “Aaaah! Save me!” I wasn’t acting anymore. “Help!” The biggest hairiest spider I’d ever seen crawled toward my eye. My eye. The audience screamed. I struggled with the ropes, but Chance had tied them tight.

  “I’ve got you, my dear,” said a strange-sounding voice behind me. Someone slid arms under my armpits and dragged me away from the spider. “Don’t worry,” Billie whispered in her real voice. She was wearing Chance’s cowboy hat. Must’ve run onstage in his place. “Tarantulas are mostly harmless and really slow.”

  Looking sheepish, Chance walked on holding up the applause sign. The audience clapped—at first. “Look at that,” I heard someone say. “Is it real?”

  It was real, it was a Gila monster, and it was onstage with us too. “It’s slow too,” Billie said into my ear as she untied the ropes that bound my hands. “Just stay away from it, and we should be all right. It’s poisonous, but it can’t kill us. I don’t think.” The foot-long black and orange lizard padded center stage, paused under a stage light, and lifted its head. The audience burst into applause.

&n
bsp; “Didn’t know they could train those,” someone said.

  “Chance,” Billie whispered, just loud enough for the three of us to hear. “Go get the guy from the reptile house.” He was off like a shot. “And Ivy, we need to clear the theater before any of these critters make their way into the audience.”

  “All’s well that ends well,” I said to the audience. I couldn’t improvise to save my life, but I could recite Shakespeare. “So thank you all for coming and have a safe drive home.” Yeah. Really couldn’t improvise. I headed toward stage left, away from the Gila monster. Billie followed a few feet behind. I was almost to the wing when I heard a collective gasp from the audience. Then, a rattle.

  “Don’t move,” Billie said behind me. “Stay really really still.”

  “Is it…?” I’d only heard that rattling sound in the movies.

  “A diamondback,” she said quietly. “Crawled out from behind one of the flats.” I began to turn my head to see. “Really.” Billie’s voice, though soft, was sharp. “Don’t move.”

  I heard footsteps. They got softer as they moved away from me, leaving me alone onstage with a pissed-off rattlesnake. I wondered if shaking in my boots counted as moving.

  Footsteps came back across the stage. The audience murmured. “Okay,” Billie said. “Now I want you to take a few slow steps toward the wing.”

  “I thought it was dangerous to move.”

  “It is. But I need you to distract the rattler.”

  So I was bait. Great. But I took a slow step. The rattling intensified. “Ohhh,” said the audience.

  “Ladies and gents,” Billie said softly. “I need you to be absolutely quiet. Go on, Ivy.”

  I took another step. The sound of my heart pounding was drowned out by even louder rattling. Then…

  “Gotcha!”