"Thank you, Mr. Rollins. Will this afternoon be all right, say around two o'clock?"
"Two o'clock will be fine, Miss Logan," Devin said as he finished the last of his coffee.
"I couldn't help but overhear your conversation," the waitress said as she cleared away Devin's dishes. "I know they're looking for kitchen help at the Frontier. The pay is good, I'm told. I'd apply myself, but my father owns this drugstore so I have to work here."
"Thanks for the tip. Do you know Mr. Rollins?"
"He comes in once or twice a week. He's very nice. You said you're new in town, right?" Fanny nodded. "Have you seen the town, the Bright White Way?"
"I haven't been out after dark. I'd like to see it, though."
"Then let's do it. Tonight. You're probably going to get the job with Mr. Rollins, so you can celebrate. I know where you're staying. I'll come by for you if you don't have anything else to do. It's Friday night so things will be going on. Do you want to go? By the way, my name is Bess Otis. Bess is short for Elizabeth."
Fanny eyed the freckle-faced redhead. She liked her infectious grin, the way she swiped at the crumbs on the counter and chuckled when she said, "The ants have to eat too. Pop would kill me if he saw me brush the crumbs on the floor."
"I'd love to go. Do you gamble?"
"Oh, yes, ten dollars every week. One of these days Fm going to win big, real big. Maybe I'll get to be as rich as Mrs. Thornton."
"Who's Mrs. Thornton?"
"Just the richest woman in this state. She might even be the richest woman in the world for all I know. Her picture is always in the newspaper. Mr. RoOins is her lawyer. He's on the town council with my dad, that's how I know. Mrs. Thornton comes in here all the time to buy her sundries. She buys candies by the sack and eats them as she's going out the door. She always wears the latest fashions, and she's so pretty you just want to cry that you're so plain. What time should I pick you up?"
"How about eight o'clock?"
"Okay. Dress up."
"I am dressed up," Fanny said.
"No, I mean fancy. Wear makeup. You're pretty now, but makeup will make you gorgeous. Wait till you see me. I could have any one of those high rollers like this," she said, snapping her fm-gers. "I don't want them though, I have a steady boyfriend. He shoots pool on Friday nights with his friends, so I'm free. It works out real good. There's no need for him to know everything I do. I have a lot of fun, and when I lose my ten dollars I go home. So, do you have any makeup?"
"Lipstick and powder. We didn't wear much makeup back in Shamrock."
"This is Las Vegas, Fanny. I'll come early and we'll put on our makeup together. I even have false eyelashes."
"Aren't you afraid people will think you're . . . loose? Aren't you worried about your reputation?"
"Nope. I'm not doing anything wrong, and I'm having fun. I want to have fun now so that when I get married I won't mind staying home and having babies. The way I see it is, I have to get all of this out of my system now. Gambling gets in your blood, though, so you have to be careful."
"I don't think I have to worry about that, I don't have any intention of throwing my money away. Do you ever win?"
"Hardly ever. In the old days the old prospectors kept going up to the hills when they knew they were risking their lives during the winter. They were looking for the big strike, the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Some of them even found it and they still kept going back hoping for a ^j^^ct-strike. It's called gambling fever. Once it gets you it doesn't let go."
"Is that going to happen to you?"
"Probably. I'll fight it, though," Bess said airily.
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"I like this drugstore, it reminds me of Mr. Banebury's store back in Shamrock. It even smells the same. They have a lunch counter, too, just like this one. The donuts are on a plate under the glass dome. The menu is always the same, egg salad, tuna salad, chicken salad, and ham salad. Mrs. Banebury puts sweet relish in the ham salad, do you do that?"
"No. Maybe I'll try it on Monday. I get so sick of this place sometimes, I want to just sit down and cry. I know there's more to life than making salads and serving customers, I know there is. I want it, too," Bess said.
"The grass is not always greener on the other side of the fence," Fanny said quiedy.
"I know that, but it doesn't stop me from dreaming and hoping. That's half the fun. It's almost time for you to go to Mr. RoUins's office. You can use our bathroom if you want to freshen up. It's the door next to the toothpaste aisle. I'll see you about seven, Fanny, It's going to take us at least an hour to get ready."
Fanny paid her check and left a fifty-cent tip before she headed for the toothpaste aisle. Had she made a mistake in agreeing to go with Bess? Would working for Mr. Rollins, even on a part-time basis, be a mistake? Maybe she should just pack up and go on to Los Angeles and let Jake-whatever-his-name-was find her. The money couldn't be that important to Jake if no one came looking for it. A horrible thought struck her as she was applying fresh lipstick: What if Jake had died? What if the men who came to pick him up didn't know he gave her the money? What if they thought the robbers took it? If that was the case, no one was ever going to claim it. Her heart started to pound, and she had to take deep breaths until she calmed down. What was she supposed to do? Suddenly she wanted to cry. And what should she do with the money in the safety deposit box if she went on to Los Angeles? Should she leave it here in Nevada or take it with her?
Anger started to build within her. This wasn't her doing. She didn't a.sk to be put in this position, she didn't ask to be robbed. What she should do was turn the money over to the police and forget about it, but she knew she wouldn't do any such thing. She tried to calculate, in her head, the amount of money the bank would charge for long-term rental—like twenty-tive years. That was stupid too. The money should earn interest.
An hour later, her typing and shorthand skills put to the test, Fanny waited for Mr. Rollins's decision. "Can you start on Mon-
day morning, Miss Logan? Your hours will be from nine until one, two if you take a lunch hour. Is that agreeable?"
Fanny extended her hand and smiled. She had a job. Her first real job in the business world. Her salary was generous, more than she'd expected. If she were to stay on here, she would be able to get her own apartment, providing she found another part-time job for the afternoon. Maybe she would look into the job Bess spoke of She shook her head; she wasn't staying on here in this sleazy town; she was going to follow through with her plan to go to California.
Fanny spent the remainder of the afternoon reading on the front porch of the boardinghouse. She was feeling homesick again. She sniffed and then blew her nose. She would not cry, she absolutely would not. But she did. If she was home, she'd be starting supper, probably peeling potatoes and dusting the pork chops with flour, shelling peas or shucking com if it was ripe. Maybe she'd be squeezing lemons. Daniel loved a pitcher of lemonade on the table, and he drank most of it. Brad always added more sugar. Her father drank strong black coffee with his meal. She herself always spread Mrs. Kelly's homemade strawberry jam and butter on her bread at mealtime. She didn't do that here at the boardinghouse because there was no jam on the table. Maybe jeUy bread at mealtime was just something people in Shamrock ate. Since she wasn't sure, she didn't want to risk embarrassment by asking.
Yes, she was definitely homesick.
Fanny was waiting on the front porch when Bess Otis arrived prompdy at seven in her father's cream-colored De Soto sedan. She hopped from the car carrying a string bag loaded to the top and hus-ded Fanny inside and up the steps. "Don't mind me, Fanny, I get like this every Friday night. We can't do any extra riding round because there's just a smidgen of gas. We might even run out. I hate this gas rationing. I just get so excited that maybe this is the night. You know, for something wild and wonderful to happen. What should we do first? Show me what you're going to wear, Fanny, that looks like a church dress. Don't you have anything frilly or lacy? Lo
ok at my dress!" Bess pulled a dress out of her string bag—a crimson-colored, off-the-shoulder dress whose ruffles were festooned with little string balls.
"Where . . . where did you get it?" Fanny asked.
"I made it. I took sewing in school. They don't sell dresses like
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this. You should see my green one. I alternate them. Wait till you see my headdress. I copied it from the flappers. I added my own touches. It's my style, Fanny. I wanted something that said this is me, Bess Otis. If some guy asks me my name I tell them it's Elizabeth Adrian. Adrian is my middle name, so I'm not really lying. So, what do you think?" Not waiting for a reply, she said, "I have to put on my eyelashes and fringe out my hair a litde. The makeup goes on last, lots and lots of rouge. Pancake covers most of the freckles."
"My goodness," was the best Fanny could come up with.
Bess took a full minute to assess Fanny's sapphire blue Empire-style dress. "There's nothing you can do with it. We'll have to work on your hair and makeup. I brought an extra pair of earrings for you in case you didn't have any flashy ones. Earrings are a must. I think we should stuff your bra, too."
"Oh, no, I'm not doing that," Fanny said in horror.
"Okay, but I stuff mine. Don't you just love these red shoes? There's something absolutely decadent about wearing red shoes. What color are yours?"
"White. It's summertime."
"You have led a sheltered life. Wait till you see some of the outfits in town. Your eyes will roll back in your head. This is your first time, so maybe by next week you'll get a feel for all of it. I could whip you up a dress like that," she said, snapping her fingers. "Of course you have to buy the material."
"I . . . I'll think about it," Fanny said weakly. "I'm not the flashy type, Bess."
"I didn't think I was either. Look at me now!"
Fanny didn't know whether to laugh or cry. She decided to laugh so that her first evening on the town wouldn't be spoiled. She would worry about next week when the time came.
"Can you really walk in those shoes?" she asked.
"I had to practice for months, but yes, I can walk in them. Fast too. Now, let's see what I can do with you."
"Can't I just go like this? Pretend I'm an out-of-town relative who . . . who isn't up on the latest fashion? I need time to ... to work up to an outfit like you're wearing."
"At least let me do your hair. The earrings and some rouge v^l help. I see your point, though, so don't worry, you won't embarrass me," Fanny wanted to dive under the bed and hide. Who was em-barra.ssing whom? If Bess showed up in Shamrock wearing her outfit, she'd be run out of town on a rail. The good people of Shamrock
would call her a slut without even knowing her. That was the name the town had given her mother when she left her family.
"Rouge is great if you put it on right. I like to blend it high on the cheekbones. You have good bones, Fanny. I didn't put too much on, it goes with your outfit. I like your hair piled high with these little tendrils. It makes you look mysterious. The earrings are perfect, not gaudy. You look great, Fanny. Do you feel comfortable?"
"Do you, Bess?"
"Hell, yes. Let's get this show on the road. Are you bringing any money to gamble? I'll teach you how. Just this once. If you decide to go again, it will be your decision, but tonight I want you to feel a part of the town. Okay?"
"I have ten dollars in my purse. I'm ready. I am excited, Bess."
"You should be. We're gonna have a ball."
"Oh my lord," Fanny said later, her voice filled with awe.
"Isn't it beautiful? It's called the Great White Way."
"Who pays the electric bill?"
"Who cares? Come on, we're going to park the car and walk the rest of the way. I love it when people stare at me. I'd love to be one of those showgirls. I could strut around like that. I know I could. I bet you could, too."
"Never!" Fanny gasped.
Fanny gawked like the tourist she was. No matter where she looked, which side of the street, there were casinos and saloons. The Overland Hotel beckoned on the left, on the right, the music blared from the Boulder Club. In between the larger clubs, bars, cafes and smaller clubs, equally well lit, enticed customers with what Bess called come-ons.
"Come on, Fanny, we're going to the Sal Sagev bar and have one of Mr. Martin's famous sloe gin fizzes. They're delicious. I have one when I get here and one when I leave. Around ten o'clock I go to the White Spot Cafe for something to eat. You can gamble while you eat. Everyone does it. There's Ronzone's, it's a department store. Even though it's closed at night, it's still lit up. You can come here and shop, they have some great stuff. It's like my dad leaving the lights on at the drugstore at night so people can see in. He says it's good for business."
"What's that?" Fanny demanded.
Bess laughed. "That's the Pioneer Club. We're going there after we have our sloe gin fizz. The sign is five stories high. It's a cowboy and his arms swagger back and forth. I bet you never saw anything
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like that in Pennsylvania, huh? You can see it all along Fremont Street. You can even see it from the railroad depot. You should see the passengers stretching their necks. You ready, Fanny?"
"I'm ready."
Fanny didn't know what she expected, but tlie noise of the crowds, the loud music, the whirl and thrum of the slot machines pounding at her head, this wasn't it. She thought about the controlled, orderly gambling events in the church basement back home. The fundraisers were always for church repairs.
"Isn't this great?" Bess said as she slid onto a stool at the bar. "I heard this bar and all the brass in this room cost almost S30,000." She ordered two sloe gin fizzes. "Drink slow, so we can flirt if we want to. Men always want to buy me drinks, but I say no."
Fanny sipped at her drink. It was good. She looked around, amazed at the number of people drinking and gambling. All the women seemed to be dressed like Bess. She felt self-conscious; were people staring at her? She watched as money and chips changed hands. The wide range of emotions on the patrons' faces puzzled her. She saw elation, anticipation, anger, fear, and depression. She mentioned it to Bess.
"Winners and losers. That's what it's all about. Last year a man was in here and he shot up the place. It was in all the papers. He later killed himself because he gambled away all his family's savings. You can't do that. When you come here you have to have a plan. You never gamble more than you can afford to lose. Ten dollars is my limit. If I was addicted to this, I'd be gambling away my hope chest money. I would like to win, though, so I can get some real sterling silver."
"Ehzabeth, I've been looking for you." The voice was oily and slick-sounding. Fanny turned to stare at the man next to Bess. He was dapper, his hair greasy and slicked back flat against his head. She thought she saw a trickle of oil running down to his ear. His face was pockmarked, his teeth crooked and yellow beneath a straggly mustache. His suit was dark, double-breasted, his tie cream-colored over a grayish shirt. To Fanny's inexperienced eye, he looked embalmed. She itched to get away.
"Mattie. This is my friend . . . Francine. She's visiting from New York City. She's a schoolteacher."
Mattie nodded his gre2isy head. "How about me buying you pretty girls some supper?"
"I'm sorry, Mattie, we can't, but thanks for asking. We ate ear-
lier. I promised to show Francine the town, and she has to be home early tonight. Maybe next week."
"You say that every week, Elizabeth." He waved a diamond-studded finger under Bess's nose to make his point.
"I think it just seems that way," Bess said playfully. "We're going over to the Boulder Club. Do you want me to make any bets for you, Mattie?"
Mattie reached into his breast pocket and withdrew ten silver dollars. "You win, we split it, right?"
"Absolutely."
"You ain't won nothing yet. It's been a whole year. You're a lousy gambler. Try the slots tonight instead of poker."
"Whatever you
say, Mattie. If I win, I'll be back around eleven-thirty. If not, I'll see you next week. How about Palmer?"
"Ask him yourself, he's coming this way." Fanny watched as Mat-tie drifted off, his twin approaching from the front. Bess went through her routine again and pocketed ten more silver dollars. She did it twice more before they exited the building.
"See, now I have fifty dollars to play."
"Do you ever win for them?"
"Nope. Like Mattie said, I'm a lousy gambler. Don't worry, if I did win, I'd split with them. That's the deal. All the girls here do it. Mattie and the others, they can't leave. They walk the floors hoping to spot cheaters, that kind of thing. It's that 'grass is greener' thing again. They think the Boulder Club pays off better than this place. Sometimes I do it the other way around. I tap the guys at the Boulder Club and come here to gamble." She laughed. Fanny thought the sound was nervous and fearful.
"Aren't you afraid those men will get fed up giving you money and try . . . you know . . . something funny."
"Heck no. If I won, they'd know in a minute. They know I'm not keeping the money. That's what you mean, isn't it?"
"Not exactly, Bess. They look . . . unsavory."
Bess laughed again. "That's because they are. Listen, would you like to see Mrs. Thornton's casino? You don't see the kind of people there that you see here. I'm not dressed right for her place. Her establishment is very, very classy. There's two men at the door who decide who gets in and who doesn't. You could get in the way you're dressed. Sometimes Mrs. Thornton sings. She hires quality entertainment, and her tables pay off on a regular basis."
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'*Maybe next time. Let's just go to the Boulder Club so you can gamble."
"It's getting to you, huh?"
Fanny wanted to say, no, it isn't getting to me, I just want you to get rid of your money so I can go home. Instead she said, "Sort of. Before we leave, show me where NIrs. Thornton's casino is. What's it called?"
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