Whiskey & Women

The Debt (Ivy Blanchard)

I’ll never forget the first day I was groped in the saloon. Back then I was of a more naïve nature. The memory still makes my face grow hot, which is a silly reaction considering the things that have happened since. Believe me when I say I was not always as I appear. The revealing clothing and immoral lifestyle have only recently come about. After three years of working at the saloon, I barely even notice the hands on my body. I suppose it might be hard to imagine ever getting used to such a thing. One does not generally grow accustomed to being groped, but to us it is rather common.

I say us because there are several women employed by Mr. Wesley McConnell. Oakton isn’t a large town, but it’s not small either. The saloon is the only one in a five mile radius. That is a partial reason why we have a large crowd most days. Some of the girls opt out of the extracurricular activities. I did at first, but when I found out about the money I had no choice. My family has been struggling for a long time. That’s the reason I came to live in Oakton. Well, that and my uncle’s death.

My Aunt Ellie refused to budge from her comfy home on the outskirts of town. She loves it here. All thirty four years of her memories are here. So my mother and father sent me to stay with her, alleviating their financial burden and supplying my aunt with a companion. The only problem was my uncle left no money behind. All he left was a large debt.

While he had been alive, he was a reckless drunk and became indebted to Mr. McConnell. He threatened my aunt for the money, and when he found out she had none, he offered me a job. I hadn’t thought any danger would come from taking the offer, but I kept it a secret from Aunt Ellie. She would have a heart attack if she found out how I was paying her bills.

By now the debt has been reduced dramatically. In two more months it will be gone entirely. I have started to question my course of action when my time is done, but the future appears fuzzy. I can’t seem to picture life outside the saloon. Sure, not all of it is rosy, but I’ve met some interesting people. People I’d go so far as to call friends.

Two men stand out in my mind particularly. They both began as mere customers looking for a good time. I was shocked to see them both come back within a few weeks. Johnny came back the first week, and Charlie came back the second. Week after week, month after month, year after year this continued. It wasn’t just for fun and games. They both had a habit of staying longer than normal and talking with me. Sometimes they’d tell me about their lives, and sometimes we’d talk politics. With each meeting, my fondness for them grew. I can't help but smile with satisfaction when they walk through the doors.

A knock on the door drew me from my thoughts. One of the other girls poked her head in to see me. “Ivy, one of your regulars is here.”

I nodded my acknowledgement and she closed the door again. My regulars. It could really be one of two. Johnny or Charlie. They were both different and appealing in their own ways.

Johnny is a tall man, not hard to miss when he towers over the others. He’s lean and tan from his work. He is a laborer on a rich man’s ranch a couple of town’s over. On cattle runs through Oakton, he always stops in to see me. His drink is scotch. On an average day, he downs a shot or two, but there are occasions when he hits the bottle hard.

It’s on those days he stays the longest. He wears his hair a little longer. It’s nowhere near Indian long; just long enough to run my fingers through the dark brown waves when his head is resting on my stomach. A shadow of growth is always on his jaw, no matter what time of day it is. He loves to run his bristly face on me to make me squirm. It makes him look handsome, but it’s uncomfortable as hell to touch. He has dark brown eyes that I often stare into when he’s talking to me. There is always so much emotion portrayed in them. Between him and Charlie, he’s much gentler in bed. He’s actually gentler in all ways.