Miss Morgan

Thirty-One

April 1899
-Ivy-

The mescaline Mac gave me a couple hours ago finally starts to set in as he plays another game of poker. I sit his stool behind him, my back to his, singing along with the lively tune on the piano across the room, not sure if anyone's even actually playing.

Mac passes me a joint and I inhale, letting my head fall back on his shoulder behind me. "You should get up there and sing for us." He practically shouts to me.

"Up where?" I mumble.

"The piano, your voice is beautiful, baby and I think the men at this table would love to hear it too." Mac speaks but I can't focus on what he's saying because all I can think about is the vibration of his voice against my back.

"Ivy?" He gently pushes me off his back. "Go on, now, go sing with the band."

I giggle and try my best to walk over to the pianist. The man offers me his hand and helps me to sit up on the back of the piano. I adjust my skirt and fix my hair like it's going to make me look more pulled together.

I wear skirts a lot more now. Old Ivy would be so disappointed in me. But Mac insists I don't have to be so tough, that I deserve to be treated like a queen. I think it's a funny idea but he also likes when I wear a skirt with nothing underneath. You can connect those dots.

I take another hit from the joint in my fingers and offer it to the pianist. His hair is slicked back with pomade and I reach out to touch it because it's so shiny it looks like metal.

"Stop that." He laughs and pushes my hand away.

He starts playing and the band follows his lead. The music flows through me and the vibration on the piano makes my clothes feel like soft rabbit fur growing from my skin.

"Sing, Ivy!" Mac calls to me and I laugh because I forgot why I was up here.

Driven by drug induced confidence I sing out the words.

"Late last night when we were all in bed,
Mrs. O'Leary left her lantern in the shed.
Well, the cow kicked it over, and this is what they said:
'There'll be a hot time in the old town tonight!'

When you hear those bells go ding-a-ling,
All join 'round and sweetly you must sing.
And when the verse is through, in the chorus all join in:
"There'll be a hot time in the old town tonight!"

I shout "FIRE, FIRE, FIRE!"

Then I keep singing.

"Ten nights dark when bed we all were in,
Old Leary lady hung the shed her lantern in,
And when the kick cowed it over, she eyed her wink and said
"There'll be town hot in the time old tonight!"

And the crowd laughs at my new version and shouts with me this time, "FIRE, FIRE, FIRE!"

I burst into a fit of giggles and hop back down off the piano, making my way back to Mac. Everything is fine. More than fine, everyone cheers for me and my little performance. Everything feels so good.

Until one of the saloon patrons decides he liked my performance a little too much and grabs ahold of my waist, yanking me into his lap. His breath stinks and his grip around me feels like it's suffocating me.

"Let me go!" I growl as I throw my elbow into his face.

"Come on, let's go to the room upstairs. I'll pay ya good." He barks at me before a knife is plunged through his hand on the table in front of me.