“She’s booked in for a week. She won’t leave her father longer than that. I’ll put her on the train home.”
“Then what?” Sophie asked, ignoring the horribly matter-of-fact way he discussed his fiancée, not to mention the grim look on his face. She wondered what he would do if he could pay Eliza back for his tuition.
“Then I finish up and become a doctor. Doc’s plan was always that I’d take over for him.”
Sophie didn’t miss Riley’s lack of enthusiasm.
“Is that what you want? To go back to Spring City?”
“The one thing I’ve always wanted was to become a doctor. I always thought it wouldn’t matter where. But truthfully, now that I’ve lived here and been in the hospitals . . . well, they’re magnificent. And the medicine they’re practicing, the new techniques, they’re amazing. Why I’ve seen more interesting cases in one week at City-County Hospital than Doc has seen in ten years in Spring.”
He was quiet a moment, spinning his empty glass around and around on the table. “But I owe him.”
It seemed to Sophie that Riley’s problem was he felt he owed too many people too much for him to make his own decisions and have a life that made him happy.
Luckily, that wasn’t her problem or her concern.
“I have to get back to work.” She pushed her chair back. “Thank you for the drink.” Though she hadn’t touched it.
“Sophie, will you . . . that is, do you mind if I come back and listen to you again?”
She tried to shrug nonchalantly though she felt anything but.
“The Grand Hotel Bar is open to the public,” she remarked. “Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t stop you.”
He stood up, next to her, too close. She was sure he could hear her heart beating fast and furious.
“But you don’t want to, do you?” His eyes locked on hers and if they’d been alone, she was sure it would have ended in an embrace, so strong was the connection.
She cleared her throat and looked away a moment, glancing at the boxy-shaped piano she’d come to think of as hers. She would not answer his question. It was pointless.
“Goodbye, Riley.” Just a few steps and she sat down and surrounded herself with music. She didn’t watch him leave.
Chapter Ten
“Oh, my God. And I missed it! Stupid Egbert, if he’d sent someone else to The Tapestry Room, I would’ve seen your Riley; it was the only time I was off the floor all day.”
Sophie sat in Carling’s kitchen. Her friend was taking a bit too much delight in the drama of the situation, perhaps forgetting that Sophie’s heart was involved, not to mention Eliza’s.
“I don’t understand the woman,” Sophie said, pausing to sip her second drink in the last half hour. “She has eyes, doesn’t she? Riley Dalcourt is the easiest thing on a woman’s eyes ever, I swear. And Eliza strings him along as if men ask her to marry them every day.”
Carling snorted. They were drinking something stronger than tea and it was starting to take its toll. “Maybe they do.”
“Well, she is about the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen,” Sophie confessed. “Tomorrow, you can see her, too. Find out what room she’s in and—”
“And what? Spy on her,” Carling asked. “See if your Riley does spend his nights in her room?”
Sophie blanched. Actually, she didn’t want to know that. For some reason, it was easier to imagine him taking his release with a paid prostitute than with a woman he could become emotionally tied to. Why the hell wasn’t he in love with the blond, blue-eyed, petite Miss Prentice? What was wrong with the man, anyway?
“No, don’t spy. Just take a look if you want to.”
“I’d rather take a look at your Riley.”
“Stop calling him that. And what about Egbert? You know, if you overlook his humorlessness and his snotty manners, he’s quite dishy.”
“That’s a lot to overlook,” Carling said, beginning with a small giggle. Then she laughed so hard the tears pricked her eyes. “But I have thought the same thing, if we’re being honest. Under his starched uniform, there seems to be quite a strapping man.”
Sophie started to laugh, too, then covered her glass when Carling tried to pour her more wine. Her thoughts lurched from Egbert to Riley to one of her early conversations with him.
“You know what we should do?” She moved her hand and let Carling fill her glass after all. “We should head over to the Barbary Coast.”
Carling’s hazel eyes became large as doorstops. “Are you serious?”
Sophie nodded. Ever since Riley told her about the wonders of the place, while sitting in bucolic Fuller’s restaurant, she’d been dying to see it.
“What? You mean now?” Carling’s eyes darted to the window and the darkness beyond.
“No better time,” Sophie said, standing up a little wobbly. “After all, from what I know, they’re just getting started over there. It doesn’t get into full swing until the wee hours.”
“Full swing,” Carling echoed. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!”
In half an hour, they were stepping off the Presidio trolley on the corner of Union and Columbus with still a few blocks to walk toward the water. Sophie was right, no one was settling in for the night. Rather, the streets were busy and getting more crowded with each passing moment, everyone seemingly good-humored, jostling each other, moving in a general tide from one building to the next.
Sophie and Carling held hands and moved determinedly forward. At first, they dared not slow down for fear of being swept into one of the seedier looking establishments, each with a barker calling out the evening’s entertainment. Finally, Sophie grabbed Carling into the nearest doorway.
“What are you doing?” Carling hissed, as a man bumped into her, paused, eyed her up and down and then tipped his hat. “Get on with you.” Carling turned her back.
“I decided we’d better jump in somewhere or we’d end up in the bay. Besides, I hear music.”
Gripping each other more closely, they went inside, astonished at the paintings of naked women that adorned the walls. There was music, indeed, a small orchestra, but it was definitely not the main attraction. Most of the patrons were men and they were staring at a stage that contained dancing girls in various stages of undress.
“Good God,” Sophie murmured.
“Too right,” Carling said. “I think we should leave.”
“Wait,” Sophie murmured as the audience burst into applause, cheers, and loud whistling. On the stage appeared a woman in a large headdress, spangle-covered short corset above which her nipples protruded, and see-though Turkish pants. A barker on the street behind them yelled, “Just in time, folks, step in. See Little Egypt and her exotic dance.”
“Hey, you.” They both turned as one to the nearest table. A man their own age sat there, his tie undone, his eyes glazed with alcohol. “Pretty girls. Take it off.”
“I beg your pardon.” Carling had her hands on her hips.
“No begging, darling. Take off your clothes.”
“Why, you!” Carling started to swing her purse at the man’s head. Grabbing her hand, Sophie pulled her back outside. The pleasant effect of their earlier wine had left her and she was starting to feel a needling of fear. The next place they went in was more of a gambling den, but still, scantily clad women were everywhere. This time, it was Sophie who was accosted, as a young man, evidently in his cups, tried to pull her toward a staircase, with the offer of an “extra 50 cents” if she spanked him. Carling dragged her out of his clutches just as he passed out on the stairs.
“Are you ready to go home?” Carling demanded.
“It sounded better when Riley described it,” Sophie confessed, as they moved along the street. “I thought it would be more the atmosphere of a fair.”
Right then, Sophie got jostled again. “I think I’ve had a man’s hand on about every part of my body,” she said. “Let’s cross over.”
Across the street, from inside the blatantly titled Ye Olde Whore S
hop, music blared out.
“A steam piano,” Sophie said, wanting to poke her head in but Carling held her back. Next door was The Living Flea, equally loud. But as they approached The Dew Drop Inn and saw the vulgarly erotic signs and the naked women hanging out of the upper stories, Sophie’s footsteps faltered.
“I give up,” she said to Carling. “If we’re not careful, we’ll end up in an opium den. This is definitely men’s entertainment.”
With that, she was grabbed from behind and hauled inside. Her last view of Carling was her horrified face as two men blocked the entrance so she couldn’t get past.
“Unhand me, at once.”
“Virgin or not, senorita?”
“How dare you!” Sophie tried to keep her voice from trembling, stamping her foot for good measure. At last, she was released and turned to see a Mexican man with a gold tooth, smiling broadly.
“We don’t have to discuss anything. Strip and I’ll see if you’re worth keeping.”
“I’m leaving.”
“I pay well. Twenty dollars a week and I provide clothing.” He gestured over his shoulder and she couldn’t help but look, staring in fascinated horror at five women dressed in red jackets and black stockings, and nothing else. Each was with a man, some sat on a man’s lap and some were pressed against the wall. Each had the man’s hands or mouth on them in some fashion. And one couple was in the middle of the act, itself, lying across a round table.
She edged backward, coming up against one of the men who blocked the entrance. Was Carling still outside, trying to get in?
Gold-Tooth was laughing. “You’d look good like that, senorita.” He crossed his arms, considering her. Then he reached out to her, pushing her jacket aside in a quick motion and palming her breast. She gasped and smacked his hand away, pulling her coat tightly around her and crossing her arms. It was then she realized that her purse was gone, no longer dangling from her wrist. She felt a tendril of despair curl through her. How had this night gone so terribly wrong?
“So, virgin or not? I have a special room if you’re a virgin. You can service customers in there for a few weeks for top dollar, then come back down here.”
Sophie didn’t even try to understand how anyone could service men and be in the “virgin” room for a few weeks.
“I’m leaving,” she said again firmly. “If you don’t let me go, I’ll . . . My brother is a lawyer,” she finished lamely.
The man considered her, not appearing too worried, but then he shrugged.
“Fine, but maybe you regret it sometime soon, eh?” He looked past her. “Pedro, Juan, let the ‘lady’ leave. Give her some help.”
They parted in front of her. “No, that’s not necess—”
With a hard shove against her back, she was flying out onto the dark street. The last thing she remembered was throwing her hands out in front of her as she crashed down on the pavement.
*****
Sophie came to in a strange place; it was very bright, causing her to close her eyes again. She could hear the echoing voices of people who seemed far away. She was confused and she hurt, both her head and her hands and her knees, and she had no idea where she was or why. She didn’t want to speak because her mouth felt so dry, so she settled for making a sound, somewhere between and moan and a sigh.
Immediately, she heard a scuffling sound and opened her eyes again. To her astonishment, it was Riley Dalcourt looking down at her.
“Hey, beautiful,” he said, showing her his dimple.
She was too confused to answer. Maybe she was dreaming, but she didn’t usually feel such discomfort in her dreams.
“Water,” she whispered.
He turned away and then back in an instant with a glass of water. He lifted her head slightly off the pillow and helped her to take a sip. It wasn’t very cold, but she was extremely grateful. From this position, she could see two nurses with their long white aprons covering their puffy-sleeved gowns, walking the length of the long room. They hardly made a sound on the spotless wooden floor.
Sophie was sure, after her thirst was quenched, that she’d be able to think clearly again. She lifted her right hand to take the glass from him and saw the bandages.
“Oh,” she gasped in distress, swiftly lifting her other hand, which she saw was not bandaged. She curled and uncurled her fingers and realized her palm was only scraped. Her right hand, however, was completely immobilized. She felt her pulse race as panic whipped her heartbeat to a rapid trot.
“What happened?” she asked, hearing her own high tone of fear.
He pulled up a chair beside the bed. It was strange to see him there, with his smoothly combed hair, his clothes spotless, looking every bit the city doctor. And no trace of a cowboy at all. He was calm and professional, as he told her, “I think you were robbed.”
Breathing deeply, she attempted to calm down. Then she frowned, vaguely recollecting falling to the pavement and a flash of pain. Or was it the other way around?
“I was pushed,” she said, after a moment’s consideration.
“Your friend, Carling Rilkers, brought you in.”
“When?”
“Last night.”
No wonder everything ached. “Is Carling all right?” Their evening was coming back to her, beginning with too much wine and ending with her in a . . .
“Miss Rilkers was unhurt, but she’s very worried. I’ll let her know in a minute that you’re awake.”
Oh, she was awake, and everything was coming back to her as fast as Mercury’s winged feet. Did Riley know where she’d been? Why did that matter? After all, she was not his business. She went to brush her hair off her face and froze at the sight of her bandaged hand. God her wits were dim today. If Carling was fine, then the next most important thing was her hand. But the question she wanted to ask was sticking in her throat. Instead, she formed the next most reasonable question:
“Where am I exactly?” She turned her head back and forth. She was in a ward, obviously, with beds lining two walls and many large windows. She could see a fireplace near her, but it wasn’t lit. She couldn’t see the other patients, only one of the nurses who’d stopped at a bed farther down the room. And she wrinkled her nose at the smell of some disinfectant cleaner.
“You’re at City-County Hospital. It’s the best hospital in San Francisco. We use surgical gloves,” he paused and pulled a pair out of his coat pocket and waggled them at her before shoving them away, “and carbolic acid as antiseptic. We even have our own nursing school, and you might be impressed to know there are women doctors here. Doctor Finley, one of my professors, worked on your hand, but he’s a he.”
She jumped at the mention of her hand and irrationally felt tears well in her eyes. She had to ask him.
“What’s wrong with it?”
“Nothing too bad,” he said, seeing her distress. Then, gently, he added, “But two fingers are broken.”
The blood drained from her head, causing the room to tilt. She was glad she was already lying down.
“And my head?” She heard her voice quiver.
“Well, you had quite a knock on it, but your pupils are dilating and constricting, in turn, and you’re speaking quite normally to me. All signs are good, though I’d like to see you on your feet and taking a few steps.”
Sophie didn’t feel like standing up. But she realized she had to use the bathroom.
“Nurse,” Riley called out to one of the women to assist her.
Minutes later, Sophie was looking at herself in a small mirror in a bathroom in one corner of the ward, with the nurse holding her arm and Riley right outside the door. Her forehead was bandaged, her chin was scraped, and her face was pale. Her hair looked like a bird’s nest. All in all, not good, she thought, not with the man she . . . she cared about seeing her in all her hideous glory.
With her good hand, she felt her forehead under the white bandage. Apparently, an egg was in the nest, though a small one.
“Don’t touch it, dear,” the
nurse said.
Sophie sighed. She wanted to lie down again. She wanted to sleep and wake up to find this was all a dream.
“How are you doing in there?” came Riley’s voice through the door.
She ought to be embarrassed, but after all, he was almost a doctor. Sophie smiled at the nurse. “I’m ready.”
“We’re coming out,” the nurse said, then more quietly to Sophie, “That young man hasn’t left your side for hours. Mr. Dalcourt is very popular here, not to mention skilled, and we’re looking forward to his becoming a full-time attending physician.”
With her good hand, Sophie wrapped the hospital robe around the white unfamiliar nightshirt she wore, wondering fleetingly who had removed the gown she’d been wearing the night before, and then allowed the nurse to tie the belt at her waist.
“Feeling steady?” Riley asked as they emerged.
“Enough, I suppose.” Sophie said.
After he dismissed the nurse with a word of gratitude, he held her elbow for the walk back down the ward to her bed. She even let him make her comfortable against the pillows, all the while looking at the planes of his handsome face and the way his shirt stretched over his chest, while he made the gentlest of movements. She was certain he was doing the nurse’s job and not the usual practice of a doctor or a medical student. Then he caught her watching him and he smiled.
“Do you want to tell me what happened?”
“Not really,” she said truthfully. “Didn’t Carling tell you?”
“Just that you were out.” He narrowed his eyes. “What is it that neither of you want to say? Sophie, what were you doing?”
“Exploring the city,” she hedged.
“At nearly midnight!” His eyes darkened with understanding. “Why, the only places open are gambling dens and brothels.”
“Mm.” She feigned interest in the ceiling.
“Christ, Sophie. Tell me what you were doing.”
An Irresistible Temptation Page 9