A Little Touch of Sin, The Bird Cage (Open)

Early March 1869
Sunset

So far, it was a lazy afternoon. The drapes were open yet, and light from the sunset filled the room like gold dust. Lorelei, in a red off-the-shoulder dress and kid-skin heels, and a jeweled hair comb that sent diamond-like shatters of light whenever she turned her head just so, lounged on a settee nearest the empty hearth with a novel in one hand and a steaming cup of tea in the other. She’d seen a few men come and go, but the night was young, and for the moment she was content just listening to the tick of the grandfather clock and the quiet chatter of the ladies.

A warm, rolling Scottish brogue startled her from behind: “I emptied the whiskey barrels.”

Inclining her head, she looked up into Stephen’s glinting gray-green eyes as he leaned against the back of the couch. He looked nice in a crisp linen shirt and suspenders. Smiling, she teased, “And you didn’t leave me any. Tsk.”

He feigned a hiccup, and after a moment’s pause, reached casually over her shoulder to steal the cup of tea from her hand.

“Be forewarned,” she said, turning back to her book. “It’s my own special brew.”

He wafted the cup beneath his nose; the opium was odorless against the aroma of the tea. He shook his head playfully. “Ah, no wonder you’re so pleasant today.” He handed back the cup. “I thought you were going to cure that habit.”

“I’ve far too many headaches.” A smirk lifted the corners of her carmine lips as she took a sip.

“Right, right. Let’s not forget the neuralgia, the sleeplessness…” He was mocking her now, and the tone of his voice made her giggle behind the pages of her book. “Bullocks,” she finally heard him grumble as he wandered towards the kitchen.

The pair, along with Margarita, had been in charge of the Bird Cage a month already. There was still a lot to accomplish in order for it to match the picture in her mind’s eye, but Lorelei had to give herself some credit for the work she’d done. There was Stephen, of course – her trusty bouncer who’d been putting his muscles to work à la moving the parlor furniture (most recently to make room for her new rug that would double as the dance floor). The bar, located in back for now, was adequately stocked, mostly with rye whiskey until she could afford to add some variety.

And then there was Margarita, the young Mexican girl Lorelei employed to cook for the girls and take care of their laundry. It was rumored that Margarita had killed a white man (in self-defense, Lorelei was inclined to believe) but the Bird Cage’s self-imposed “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy kept the madam from asking too many questions. The less she knew the better.

Lorelei asked of her girls a flat rate of $30 a week for full room and board (including food and laundry) as the Bird Cage boasted six rooms, or “cribs,” upstairs. With sessions ranging from $5-$20 and overnight stays from $25-$50 depending upon the woman’s skill and beauty, she figured this was plenty to keep them from going into arrears and still have money to spend. Not to mention the tidy little profit that it left in her pocket after she’d paid her own dues.

All she requested was that the girls bathe at least three times a week and work six days (noon until dawn) as they were able. For her part, Lorelei arranged for Margarita to cook a complimentary breakfast for the men to get them out of bed and out the door as early as possible. What the girls did before noon and on their day off, she cared naught.

Things were slowly but surely coming together, and Lorelei was anxious to see what this evening would bring.

Early March, 1869
The Bird Cage
Sunset


Someone rapped on the door, and then it opened without waiting for an answer. In stepped a short, old lady, her hair back in a loose bun, leading an extremely uncomfortable-looking man in a vest with a bent pair of glasses. He shuffled in behind her, head and shoulders visible around the diminutive woman as he closed the door, appearing to be trying to disappear behind the woman in spite of the size difference.

He blushed and cringed further when he saw the woman lounging in the room, and as he fought with his discomfort, he reflected on how he had come to even be in this town in the first place.

He and his mother had arrived that morning in their creaky mess of a covered wagon, hauled by an aging ox named Bo, who had lain down once they entered the town and refused to move.

“Well,” his mother, Prudence, had said, “It looks like we’re staying right here. Edward, we’ll need to find somewhere to stay the night. If I have to sleep in this wagon one more night, I swear that I will burn it. At least then it’ll be more comfortable.”

Edward had nodded assent. He had also been heartily sick of nights spent face-down on the splintery wagon bed. So, with little encouragement from his mother, Edward set off to try to find a place for them to stay.

He need not have looked. After half a day of searching, the quest yielded no results, save one possible lead. One old man had laughed when Edward asked about a room to let, and then told him to look for “the Bird Cage.”

“There’s always a bed open there,” he had cackled.

Of course, that doesn’t lend itself to great confidence, but as the afternoon wore on into evening, Prudence had stood from where she had been lying against Bo.

“We have nowhere to go except this ‘Bird Cage’ place,” she had said. “So let’s go, then.”

“Mother, about this place…” he had said.

“Yes, Edward?”

“It’s a…”

“Yes?”

“Mother, the Bird Cage is a…”

“Edward, you are stammering.”

“Well, yes, but, um…”

“Come along, Edward.”

“Yes, mother.”

And so, they had arrived, the sun a fading red halo on the horizon, at the Bird Cage.
Edward was not generally one to enter such an establishment, despite one incident when he was young and was dared by the local group of boys to enter one, called the “Nook and Cranny.” A kindly Madam had given him a great big lipstick-filled kiss on the cheek before throwing him bodily back out into the street.

As red-faced as he had been then, it was nothing when compared to his current discomfort, now that he understood all of the… *ahem*… mechanics… of the establishment.

Of course, this was not helped by the fact that he had been preceded into the home by his elderly, but in no way subdued, mother.

“My son and I need a room to stay in,” she said, glancing, annoyed, at her red-faced son behind her, “and we heard that there are rooms available here.”

Edward, for his part, merely cringed.