Rainbows and Rapture Read Free

off.”
    He laughed good-naturedly and ambled back to his seat.
    Surveying the smoke-filled room, Russia saw there was a good crowd. Almost every table in the place was occupied with rowdy, card-playing men. Many of them appeared to be well on their way toward drunkenness. It was her experience that the drunker the man, the better he tipped. If enough of the men tipped her for singing, she wouldn’t have to invite any of them into her room. With that hope uppermost in her mind, she sashayed to the bar. “Y’don’t mind if I sing some, do you?” she asked the barkeep.
    He slid a whiskey to a thirsty cowboy four stools down and began wiping a clean glass until it shone. His right cheek bulged with a wad of tobacco; his long mustache bobbed on his shirt collar as he chewed. “What’s a-matter? Business upstairs slow tonight?”
    She closed her eyes in disgust when he spat a stream of tobacco juice into a brass spittoon. “No, it ain’t, but that lumpy mattress you got up there is the punishin’est thing I ever laid myself down on. ’Sides that, my git-up-and-go has done got up and went. I’m plumb nelly weary o’ upstairs business tonight. Now, you gonna let me sing, or ain’tcha?”
    He laughed, gesturing toward the piano and the man who was seated in front of it. “The girl wants to sing, Mort. Play somethin’ for her and let’s see if she’s any good.”
    Russia smiled when she saw that Mort was a man no bigger than the little end of nothing whittled down to a fine point. She leaned close to him and whispered into his ear.
    He nodded and began to play the bawdy ballad she’d requested. While he tinkled out the introduction, Russia performed her usual promenade through the saloon. Her hips swaying to the lively rhythm of the music, she swept past various tables, flirting outrageously with the bolder men and winking at the shyer ones. When she arrived in front of the huge, sparkling-clean window, she realized she had every man’s complete attention. Taking a deep breath, she began to sing.
    The cheering men quieted immediately, many of them grimacing in pain as her sour notes jangled their ears.
    “She sounds like a dyin’ nanny goat,” one burly man whispered to his fellow listeners.
    “Sounds more like a cat in heat to me,” his companion muttered, cringing when Russia screeched out a particularly high note.
    “Well, I don’t give a damn what she sounds like,” another man declared, digging into his pocket and pulling out a wad of bills. “With a face and body like hers, who the hell cares about her voice?” Chuckling, he rose and staggered toward the window. After smoothing out the bills, he slipped them into the plunging bodice of Russia’s gown, deliberately taking his time in doing so. His fingers lingered on the plump, white swells of her breasts; his smile grew broader.
    Other men followed suit, and soon there was a long line of amorous cowboys waiting for their turn to tip Russia. As she began the last stanza, she peered down at her dress and realized she’d made enough money to see her through the next two weeks! Exhilarated, she sang louder, giving everything she had to the final line of the song.
    The sound of shattering glass accompanied her final note. Mort stopped playing. Some of the men covered their ears. Stunned silence ensued. All eyes were riveted on the window.
    There was no window. Other than a few shards of glass still stuck in the frame, the rest of it had crashed to the boardwalk outside.
    The barkeep looked straight into Russia’s wide eyes. “Look what you done, girl.”
    The expression in his narrowed eyes and the twitching muscle in his cheek told her his every thought. He looked like he was going to kill her! Swallowing, she glanced through the hole that used to be a window. “I— Gods and little fishes, them high notes is plumb nelly powerful, ain’t they?”
    “Your shriekin’ broke the whole damn window! Dammit, you couldn’t carry a tune if it had a