Page 14 of Native Hawk
“I kind o’ like the looks o’ your new girl.”
“Catalina?” Miss Hattie forced a laugh. “She ain’t for sale.”
“Name your price,” he said. “Three dollars? Four? Every woman’s for sale. It’s just a matter of for how much.”
Catalina stiffened. She was definitelynotfor sale…at any price.
“You’d be wastin’ your money,” Miss Hattie said.
He shrugged. “It’s my three dollars.”
Three dollars—just for spending a few hours with a man. It took Catalinathree days, working from dawn to dark, to earn such an amount.
She forced her attention back to her work. Dipping the rag into the bucket, she wrung it out with a twist and a squeeze, imagining it was Delbert’s neck.
“Trust me, Del, you don’t want her,” Miss Hattie said.
“Says who?”
“Honey, she wouldn’t know a tallywag from a polliwog.”
“I could teach her…real fast.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet you could,” Miss Hattie agreed, “but then who would scrub my floors?” Before he could come up with another argument, she called upstairs, “Mary, honey! Look who’s here!”
Mary thankfully obliged by opening her door with a gasp of delight. “Delby, sweetie!” She gave him a childish pout. “I thought maybe you’d forgotten all about little old me.”
“How could I forget you, darlin’?”
She came out to the balustrade and gave him a coy smile. All the men downstairs voiced their appreciation. Apparently, one glimpse of Mary in her ruffled pantaloons was enough to persuade Delbert to forget all about Catalina. He shoved two silver dollars into Miss Hattie’s hands and took the stairs two at a time.
When he was gone, Miss Hattie sidled up next to Catalina and murmured, “Sorry about that, honey. Delbert’s a bit…persistent. But Mary knows how to handle him. I’m sure he’ll leave you alone now.”
Catalina nodded. It wasn’t that she couldn’t defend herself. She was perfectly capable of cutting a man down to size with a few sharp words or a kick between the legs.
But she was afraid such behavior would not be agreeable to Miss Hattie. Miss Hattie treated her clients as if they were kings, even the ones who acted like peasants.
It wasn’t the first time a man had mistaken Catalina for one of the prostitutes. Most of the men were mortified and apologetic when they realized their error. But to be honest, a few times she’d wondered how sinful it would be to pretend shewasone of them. In one discreet evening with a few gentlemen, she could make half a month’s wages.
Emily even suggested that Catalina might get herself a regular. Some of the ladies considered themselves kept women. They had men who visited so often, they were almost like husbands. A girl could make a nice living that way and even make believe she was in love.
But of course Catalina would never do such a thing. She couldn’t live with herself if she did. If she ever gave herself away like that—and at the moment she had no interest in such a distraction—it would be to one man only, in marriage, a devoted man with whom she would spend the rest of her life.
The women who worked here didn’t seem to consider the lasting consequences of what they did. They were young and beautiful now. They had companionship and amusement. They could have any man they wanted.
But what would happen when they grew old, when the men chose younger, prettier companions? Who would come to their side then? Who would share their laughter and tears when they were gray and wrinkled?
The stain on the floor was faded now, so she dropped the rag in the bucket and hauled herself to her feet. There was just enough time before supper to pick fresh wildflowers for the salon.
Just as she lifted the bail of the bucket, she heard a gasp and a loud crash. Jenny, the young saloon girl, who couldn’t get used to the men pinching her backside, had dropped a tray…again. Shards of crystal burst on the wooden floor. Wine made red rivers across the planks, dissolving into the shoreline of carpet. Jenny’s cheeks were flaming as she mumbled out an apology and fled the salon in tears.
Catalina sighed, looking at the mess. Now she’d have to forego the flowers. It would take her an hour to clean up every splinter of glass, and she’d never get that dark stain out of the rug.
She glanced up at the closed doors on the second floor and tucked her lip under her teeth.
In a single month, plying the trade of the ladies upstairs, she could make enough money to buy a sewing machine. Then Miss Hattie could hire someone else to scrub floors and polish furniture, and she’d never have to do it again.
She tried not to think about it as she slogged the bucket across the floor to the crimson lake that was soaking into the carpet.
