š¶ I ain't looking for a lie to believe, my own'll do me fine š¶
Strangervilleās saloon was in full swing. Men who were worried about feeding their families or women scared their men may never come home from California finally had a place to drown their worries or lose them in the high of a shared laugh. Where illegality and excess had amplified the spirit of drink a decade before, now palpable relief and struggle had taken its place.
In between pouring a never ending stream of whiskey and beer, Josephine watched the woman across the bar. She had thought that outselling her would be easy. She had been dismissive, gruff, and even downright rude; and if there was one thing that Jo had learned in New Orleans, it was that she could sell anything with a suggestive glance better than the disdain she often really felt.Ā
Only this woman made no effort to hide the ribs and insults she seemed to lay out like easy jokes. She would swoop down to tables, seemingly calling each and every patron by name, laughing roughly and loudly before bringing them one beer after another. Part of it infuriated Josephine, but another part wouldnāt let her tear her eyes away from her every move.
She seemed comfortable running the place entirely alone, throwing Josephine a wink in between customers as though to say: Iām going to win, city girl. And thereās nothing you can do to stop me.
At the end of the night with the last drink served and the final stumbling patron seen to the door, Josephine and the woman sat at the bar, tallying their earnings. As Jo reached the end of her stack and set it on the counter, the woman was still counting. She finished with painfully slow fanfare and put the pile neatly beside Josephineās. It was clearly and discernibly higher. āWell looks like we have a clear winner here, and we know what that means, donāt we?āĀ
Then she smiled in the same dismissive way that she had earlier that day, and moved her gaze to the stack of ones Jo had set down, āNot too shabby for a first night though. Most people in this town donāt trust a new face but you did better than I expected. And Iāll admit, the extra help was nice. A decade of sitting at home did nothing to temper these drunks, and I could use you around most nights.ā
Jo straightened her spine and covered her eyes. Suddenly the job seemed like pity, the money nothing but a tether to a place she hated and people who had betrayed her. It wasnāt hers, and it certainly didnāt give her the sense of self or freedom she had expected to find. All the stacks told her was that she had lost. Lost to some tall and stocky woman at her own game in someoneās elseās bar in some fucking desert town she couldnāt even give a damn what the name was.
Her head swam and she started to separate from herself, to forget where she was or who she was. If she could feel her legs she would have stood to run, run to the edge of this town into the desert, away from this place and these people and all of these feelingsā¦
āJesus Christ, are you okay?ā The words had come like static from a radio, from a voice she didnāt recognize or really care to please.
āWhat? I ā I just,ā Josephine stubbed out her cigarette straight on the bar as she gathered herself and turned to stand. Only she couldnāt, because she still couldnāt feel her legs or sense where she was, even as her pride and anger started to flood back to her flushed face. āI was just thinking on your offer. Iām afraid I canāt take it.ā
The woman laughed, the sound shaking off the remaining clouds around Josephineās head. āThat sore of a loser, huh? Well that prideāll earn their respect a lot faster than your pretty grins. Come back tomorrow night, weāll go again. Iāll teach you a few names, see if we can tip the scales.ā
Josephine looked up at her. By that point she could have moved to stand, walked back across town with her head held high and the secret of her loss hidden carefully away from the man waiting for her at home. Only there was no pity in the womanās face, only a wry if good natured sense of superiority that Jo was more than familiar with from her own mirror; and up this close it was hard to deny that even with its hardened lines, there was a beauty to the womanās face, so much so that Jo wanted to reach out to the hand extended to her even more.
As she did so the woman let her hand stay in Joās a moment longer than she expected. āWelcome aboard Miss Duplanchier. Now's as good a time as any to introduce myself. Iām Valcita. Valcita Grove. But you can call me Val.ā
Then Jo realized that she was right. Her face was beautiful, the same way that the shadowless desert was beautiful in the full heat of the midday sun. Her heart beat faster as she imagined running into it again, not in fear this time, but in freedom, smiling as her world went up in flames behind her.
