Much Ado About Madams

by Jacquie Rogers

  Holly looked like the schoolgirl she should have been, but the rest of the ladies could never be mistaken for ordinary students. Dressed in their finery, the prostitutes all looked respectable other than their garish hair colors and makeup. Sadie had removed her apron, but a splotch of flour decorated her cheek.

  Holly smiled.

  Trinket glowered.

  Felicia sneered.

  Petunia cowered.

  Chrissy studied the ceiling.

  Sadie rested her floury cheek on her right palm.

  Fannie raised her left eyebrow.

  Lucinda knew it was time to show her mettle, and for the first time, she didn’t quite know what to do. No one needed to know that, though. She relaxed her throat, hoping her first words as a teacher came across with authority. She breathed in.

  A loud noise, definitely gastro-intestinal in nature, rumbled through the room.

  Petunia dashed to the window and fanned the curtains to draw air. Holly sprang to the door and opened it wide. Sadie, Felicia, Chrissy, and Fannie hurried to the back of the room. Only the offender, Trinket, stayed seated.

  “Lordy, woman! Your smell could knock a maggot off a three-day-old carcass.” The ladies giggled at Fannie’s remark.

  Lucinda’s eyes watered. She tugged the scented hankie from her sleeve and daintily covered her nose. “Ladies, please be seated.”

  She changed her lesson plan.

  “Today, we will learn about deportment.”

  Chapter 3

  Lucinda surveyed the blank looks on the faces of the seven ladies seated before her. “Deportment is the accepted behavior appropriate to ladies in a business atmosphere.”

  “Hell, we already know that,” commented Trinket. “We’re all in business.” The ladies tittered.

  “I’m speaking of a respectable profession, such as teaching, maybe dressmaking, or even owning a boarding house.”

  Trinket crossed her arms and huffed. “I’d druther stay here than be locked in a room full of brats or empty chamber pots for some lunger who’s gonna die anyway.”

  “Shhhhh!” six voices hissed at her.

  Lucinda chose to ignore the remark. She’d inspire Trinket to change her mind soon enough. “We’ll start with sitting. A lady sits with her back straight, and her chin up.” Chairs scraped as the women all changed positions.

  “Very good,” she acknowledged as she looked around the room at seven straight backs and seven jutted chins. She also saw seven pairs of legs splayed and seven pairs of feet planted on either side of their chairs like a bunch of giant crickets. “Ahem.” She paused to make sure she had their attention. “A lady also keeps her appendages together. Lucinda waited, but none of the ladies moved a muscle.

  “What’s appendages?” asked Chrissy.

  “Your, er, ankles and knees. You must always keep your ankles and knees together while sitting.”

  The women shifted positions again.

  “Damn, I feel like I’m gonna fall of this flimsy chair,” grumbled Chrissy. The rest of the class nodded in agreement.

  “You’ll get used to it, although it may be a little uncomfortable at first.” Lucinda remembered the aching leg muscles she endured the first few months she’d spent at Miss Hattie’s School for the Refinement of Young Ladies. “For now, you’ll only have to sit properly during deportment lessons. Later, when you’re more accustomed to this posture, you’ll be expected to maintain your lady-like seating during the reading and writing lessons, too.”

  She smiled at them. “You all look very nice. If you have any questions, please raise your hand and I’ll answer them.” Seven bodies sat ramrod straight, knees together. Five faces looked at her expectantly. Trinket still glowered. Felicia yawned.

  Lucinda decided to ignore Felicia’s gaping yawn. “We’ll learn how to divert our bodily functions tomorrow.” She picked up the pile of slates on her desk. “I’ll hand each of you a slate and chalk. Your first name is printed on the top half. Your task is to copy it.” She gave each woman her respective slate.

  Fannie carefully copied her name.

  Chrissy gripped the chalk, clenched her tongue between her lips, and set to work.

  Holly squealed—actually it sounded more like a squawk—with delight, and copied the letters in her name twice.

  Petunia drew her letters slowly.

  Felicia delayed until the most of the other women were nearly done, then wrote her name with a beautiful script.

  Trinket frowned, her slate empty.

  “Let me help you,” Lucinda offered.

  “I don’t wanna write this name.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I want a different name. Cultured ladies ain’t named such stupid names.”

  Lucinda agreed it was a horrible nickname, so she asked, “What’s your real name?”

  “Trinket. I said I want a new name, not the name some broke down whore gave her baby.”

  Lucinda began to think Trinket had a permanent frown on her face, but then, who’d want a name of an insignificant bauble? And who knew the grief of a daughter growing up with a prostitute for a mother. She knew, and even though Trinket had no idea of the link between them, Lucinda felt compassion welling in her heart. “Well, then, what would you like to be called?”

  Trinket looked up to the ceiling, unseeing in her concentration. “Trina. That way y’all won’t have a hard time remembering.”

  Lucinda smiled. “I like that.” She erased the ket and printed an a on Trinket’s slate. “There. How’s that?”

  Without answering, Trinket proceeded to copy her new name.

  Lucinda straightened and announced, “From now on, we’ll call you ‘Trina’ in class.” She looked around the room. “Can everyone remember?”

  Six heads nodded.

  Petunia stuck out her lower lip and raised her hand.

  “Yes, Petunia?”

  “Did you put ‘Petunia’ on my slate?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Well, I wanna make my real name, Patricia.”

  Lucinda knew that soiled doves often changed their names. Her own mother used Pansy instead of her given name, Elizabeth. In fact, she hadn’t even known her mother’s real name until the lynching.

  She took Petunia’s slate, erased Petunia and wrote Patricia. She walked to the front of the class and asked, “Anyone else?”

  Fannie said, “Not me. My real name’s Frances but I been called Fannie all my life, so I’ll stick with it.”

  “By the end of our lessons, you’ll be able to write anything, including your Christian name.”

  “Where the hell is everyone?” thundered a masculine voice from the front room.

  The ladies hid their slates under their skirts.

  “Damned women, anyway,” the brothel owner muttered as he entered the office and removed his hat. He scrutinized the women sitting quite properly on two rows of chairs. “What’s going on here?”

  Fannie spoke up. “We’re having a meeting. You have a problem with that?”

  He shot a glance at Lucinda. She quickly broke eye contact. Why did such a scoundrel have to be so handsome? She fussed with the already neatly tucked hankie in her sleeve.

  “No,” he cocked his head toward Lucinda, “but why’s the lady still here? And why would she be invited to your meeting?”

  Brothel owners held prostitutes like slaves and treated them worse. Not wanting to divulge her true purpose, she answered, “I can’t leave until the next stage.”

  To divert the conversation, Fannie said, “Thanks fer the new dresses and bonnets, Reese.”

  Reese? Reese was the first name of the man who had signed her letter of hire. Lucinda wondered just how many Reeses there could be in a town the size of Dickshooter. “What’s your last name, sir?” She bit her tongue on asking such a forward question, but something was definitely off-kilter.

  “McAdams, if it’s any of your business.” He tossed his hat on his desk. “Sorry, girls, but I need to work in my offic
e.”

  Reese McAdams! Lucinda’s stomach flip-flopped. Was this all a scam? Did Dickshooter have a school at all? Just why did he bring her here?

  Fannie grabbed Lucinda’s arm. “Let’s get some dinner.”

  Sadie hadn’t cooked dinner yet, but since she was anxious to get Fannie alone, Lucinda willingly followed her out the door. “Come upstairs with me, Fannie. We need to renegotiate.”

  “I got no more money.”

  “You don’t have a schoolteacher, either. I quit.”

  * * * * *

  The schoolmarm pivoted smartly and ascended the stairs with the grace of a queen, but Fannie couldn’t let the whores down after all the scheming they’d done to make new lives for themselves. And her, too.

  “Wait! Let’s talk.” Fannie ran up the stairs and followed Miss Sharpe into her room.

  The furious woman whirled around and planted her hands on her hips. The look on her face would’ve scared a hardened Blackfoot warrior. “Talk? We have nothing to talk about because there is no school in Dickshooter, is there?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Then why did Mr. McAdams hire me?”

  “He didn’t. I writ the letter myself and signed his name. The girls and me wanted to learn our letters.”

  “And why the big charade?”

  “I don’t know what that is, but we do have a school. We had our first class today. I never said a thing about children or schoolhouses. If I’d told the whole story, you know damned well you wouldn’t never have come out here.”

  Lucinda removed a hatpin and swept her bonnet off her head. “Of course I wouldn’t have accepted your offer. My reputation is all I have, and now you have compromised it.” Her hand shook so much she rattled a feather loose from her hat.

  Fannie thought she saw a tear threaten in the furious woman’s eye. No doubt, Miss Sharpe was as mad as snake tied in a square knot. Still Fannie was determined to get herself and the girls educated and respectable. “We’re paying twice what a schoolteacher’s worth, but you ain’t getting a penny of it until one full month is up. So if you have stage fare tucked away in the lining of your trunk, get it and leave. Otherwise, me ‘n the girls want you to learn us our letters.”

  “Teach you.”

  “Right. Since you’re keeping your bargain, I’ll see you in class tomorrow.” Fannie rushed out and shut the door behind her. Miss Lucinda Sharpe needed to do some thinking about things, such as how easy it was for a single woman to end up working on her back.

  Fanny remembered her first time. A slick-talking, smooth-moving man named Stuart had flirted with her at the eatery where she waited tables. She’d known better than to leave with him, but he was the most handsome, charming man she’d ever met. Next thing she knew, she woke up, drunk as a skunk while some filthy gambler dressed to leave the hotel room she hadn’t remembered going to. The five dollars she’d found on the nightstand hadn’t made up for the loss of her virtue, but it was more than she’d made waiting tables all week.

  Fast Hands Stuart had hired her to work in his fancy house in St. Jo, and eventually had asked her to run the Comfort Palace in Dickshooter. When Reese inherited, he had asked her to continue as madam. In fact, he rarely interfered in its operation. He seemed more interested in his other business interests.

  Reese wasn’t at all like his daddy. Never once had she seen Stuart without a drink in front of him, cards in his hand, and a whore on his knee. Reese hardly drank at all, gambled only in business, and had never once used any of the women at the Comfort Palace.

  Fannie managed to get to her room without talking to anyone. She closed the door and flopped onto the plush red velvet divan Reese had bought for her. After considerable thought, the realization came to her that Miss Sharpe needed a personal reason to stay—not just money, but something that would make her not want to leave. She decided to call another meeting with the girls.

  Half an hour later, the girls and Sadie had gathered in Fannie’s room. Fannie opened the discussion. “Girls, we have a problem. Miss Sharpe wants to leave and she don’t seem to cotton to Reese.”

  “I knowed it wouldn’t work out,” grumbled Trinket.

  “We need to make her fall in love with him,” added Holly.

  “We need to make sure our plan does work out,” suggested Petunia. “She’s pretty enough. Reese should want to get into her drawers after he gets used to her, don’t you think?”

  Fannie nodded. “She’s pretty, all right, but she’s turning out to be a might stodgy.”

  “More like stubborn as a constipated mule,” interjected Trinket.

  The group tittered and nodded. Fannie went on, “Holly’s right. We need to make good and sure him and Miss Sharpe get tangled up in love before either one of them finds out.”

  “She likes his looks,” commented Felicia. “I’ve seen her sneak peeks at him when she thinks no one’s looking. If she wasn’t such a pickled up old prude, she’d have been in his britches already.”

  “She doesn’t look pickled, she only acts that way. Besides, they haven’t been together much,” observed Holly. Maybe we should figger out a way to strand ‘em so they’re forced to keep each other company.”

  Fannie held up her hand to quiet the whores. “She’s not a prude, she’s a lady—something we all need to learn how to be.”

  Chrissy jumped up. “I have a plan! When we know Reese is out at the ranch, we could take Miss Sharpe out there and run off.”

  “Yup,” Trinket agreed, “at least they’d have to ride double for an hour to get back.”

  Felicia continued filing her nails, and, without looking up, said, “Pardon me, but just how the hell do you suggest we get her out there in the first place?”

  Fannie looked at each of the girls. “Well, one of you’s gotta come up with a bright idea.”

  “I can do it.” Sadie didn’t sound any too enthusiastic. “I can plan a picnic for her and take her out there. Then, while I’m tossing food out of the wagon, the horses could run off.”

  Trinket giggled. “I’d hate to be in Reese’s shoes. That woman’s sure to be mad as a bull with his balls afire.”

  After the girls finished laughing, Fannie asked, “Do all you girls agree to this plan?”

  Six heads nodded their approval.

  “All right, then,” Fannie continued, “Reese’s planning to go out to his place tomorrow morning and camp overnight. Sadie, if you strand her there in the evening—say, seven or eight—he might be inclined to wait until morning to bring her home.”

  “Y’all will have to get your own supper,” Sadie warned.

  “I’ll fix it,” offered Holly, her voice much stronger.

  “That’ll do it, then.” Fannie glanced at the grandfather clock. “It’s nearly four, so you’d better get ready for the gents.” She opened the door and the girls filed out.

  Sadie paused and pressed her hand to her forehead. “That little girl’s gonna hate my guts.”

  “Maybe,” Fannie consoled, “but if we want Reese to give the house to us so we can shut it down on our own time, we need him to get married to a woman who’ll force him to do it.”

  “You marrying up with Gus?”

  “That old coot ain’t asked me yet. He’ll be starting the new addition come morning, though, so he’ll be around every day for the next couple of weeks.”

  Sadie winked. “He’s here darn neart every night—must be broke by now.”

  Fannie felt her face heat up. Hell, she hadn’t blushed for years! “He don’t pay full price.”

  * * * * *

  Reese awoke with the dawn, thanks to the light shining through the crack in the barn roof. Damn, another thing he needed to fix. He pulled on his clothes and brushed the straw out of his hair. It’s a helluva state of affairs to sleep in a barn when he had a nice feather bed in the Comfort Palace. Right now that schoolteacher had her carcass in it. He shook his head. What a lovely carcass for such a righteous woman. It ought to be illegal for a woman with her kind
of brain to have a body made for lovin’.

  His lower parts chose that moment to remind him of how long it had been since he’d lain with a woman, kissed her breasts, and felt her heat surround him as he sank deep inside. He splashed his face with cold water from the trough, but nothing could keep the vision of Miss Sharpe’s face and her sweet curves out of his mind. Damn again.

  Buster whinnied for his oats. Reese grabbed a bucket and scooped a healthy portion into the horse’s manger. “You know, old boy, women are downright exasperating.”

  Greedily feeding on his grain, Buster flicked his tail at an early riser fly.

  Reese saddled the stallion as he ate. “Shit, if I was a horse, I’d just jump on her back, bite her neck, and have at it. You horses don’t know how damned lucky you are.”

  “Morning, Reese.”

  Startled, both Reese and the stallion looked at Sadie. “Hell, Sadie, you haven’t been awake at this hour since you came to the Comfort Palace.”

  She held out a flour sack. “Fannie told me you was going out to the place fer a couple o’ days, so I brung you some food.”

  Reese took her offering, unprepared for the weight. There must’ve been twenty pounds of food in that bag. “Well, thanks.” He never had got over his amazement at how the ladies took care of him. He’d always thought whores were selfish and dishonest. Not that some weren’t, but these ladies had always treated him good as gold.

  Sadie turned to leave. “I’ll see you tomorrow night, then?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’ll keep back some supper.”

  “Thanks.” Reese smiled at the goodhearted cook. She deserved more out of life than working in a whorehouse. All the ladies deserved more.

  * * * * *

  Fannie planted her fists on her hips and scowled at the drunk at the bar. “You can have coffee or sarsaparilla, but you can’t have no more drinks.” She was standing right next to him so she knew he’d heard her above the honky-tonk piano and the clinking of bar mugs.