"Everybody can feather their nest, but it's not just anybody that can lay an egg!"
Caroline eyed the brat, "You want the best, you need to pay for it. But I'm well worth it when it comes to bringin' customers in."
“Humph! Well, there’s no point throwin’ good money after bad.” Retorted Arabella primly, folding her arms, looking pleased with herself and not quite realising that she’d just actually insulted herself with that line.
Then she returned her gaze to Ralph, "Is she always this annoying?"
Ralph chuckled, "Mostly."
What the heck was wrong with Ralph? wondered the Virginian girl… he was being all … nice. It fair made her skin crawl.
The little harpie wasn't done yet though, “But don’t give up. There’s a town called Whitefish, just down the road, I hear the saloon there is looking for some…… ‘ singers'.”
The cowboy leaning on the bar now jumped into the conversation though not really taking his eyes off the pretty stranger, "Now girl, you know Whitefish is a ghost town now. From what I hear you was there even when it burnt up."
“Oh yes!” agreed Arabella, almost forgetting about Caroline for a second at the chance to relay her favourite, most dramatic story all about herself “A whole house fell right on my head, and when they dragged me outta there and brung me to Kali, they pronounced me dead and put me in that there barn over there with all the dead folks…” she pointed out towards the street “… and if you don’t believe me, there’s a picture of me in the Funeral Parlour and it says it’s a Rigor Mortis portrait.”
She looked Caroline up and down and added triumphantly "I bet you ain't got your photy-graph in no funeral parlour!"
"So.....add deceiver to your list of talents then?" Caroline smirked at the girl.
“Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never harm me!” sniffed Arabella, still with arms folded and nose in the air, pleased that she had cleverly won that argument. She felt it just needed just one more thing to round it off nicely, so she stuck her tongue out at the unwelcome stranger, too.
Ralph snapped out of it with a sudden frown, "Now Arabella, you git back to those floors. Especially the far corner where that salesman fella threw up last night. And behave yerself."
"Miss Mundee, you wait right here and I will go get the owner. She will want ta see you...that I'm sure," he informed her.
Reaching down below the bar he came up with a bottle of whiskey and set it in front of the cowboy, "If you want another shot, pour it. Put the dime on the bar."
And with another sharp glare at the troublesome Arabella, he turned then headed up the stairs bellowing as he did so,"Matilda!"
“I think she’s gone out!” lied Arabella loudly "Maybe you better call back next month."
Caroline spared the child a Cheshire Cat smile "You heard your boss. A good employee does what they're told."
The pot girl couldn’t disobey a direct order from the mesmerised automaton that was once Mr Flandy, so, giving the sickening Miss Mundee one last withering look, Arabella started to walk slowly back to “Vomit Corner”, but not before hissing the word “Traitor!” to the Cowboy at the bar and muttering “I always did hate Mondays!” to herself.
Just then the cowpoke spoke up once more, "Ummm, Miss Mundee, can I buy you a drink?"
Caroline turned to the man and her smile instantly switched over to innocent sweetness, "Oh? Why you are such a gentleman, hon. You most certainly may, my throat is parched from that long hard stagecoach journey."
“I think she’s gone out!” lied Arabella loudly "Maybe you better call back next month."
Ralph was already determined to find his business partner and besides, he was used to not listening to much of what Arabella blathered on about. At times the child could almost drown one in words.
Caroline chided the brat to do as her boss told her to. It seemed she was going to have to deal with a good deal of hostility from this one. No matter, she had always tried to get along with fellow employees, she really did. But that did not mean she would put up with guff. Saloons were roughhouse places and personality conflicts sometimes turned into physical confrontations and violence. Caroline was not above such things. Like that time a ill-tempered cook and her brawled in the kitchen. It was name calling at first but then escalated into slaps and fists. When that did not solve the issue, the cook had reached for a knife. Caroline still had not backed down but ended the fight finally when she walloped the bitch with a roundhouse swing of a frying pan. The gal didn't wake up for almost an hour.
Hopefully it would never come to that with this kid because she would not enjoy hurting the girl but if she had to, she would. She was going to work here come hell or high water, that was that.
***
By the time Ralph came back down, this time accompanied by another well dressed blonde woman, Caroline had already downed her drink and saw to it he had paid for two. Three dimes were on the bar top. She turned then to face what must be the most important individual in the joint, the person who would make the decision to hire her or not.
Ralph presented the lady, "This here is Matilda Devereau. She owns the Star Dust and exactly the person you want to speak with. And this here is...."
His hesitation at remembering her exact name gave Caroline her opening.
"Well, how do you do, Miss Devereau. I am Caroline Mundee. I am pleased to meet ya," she closed the distance.
Matilda was looking her over up and down, something fully expected. She was smiling but it was guarded, "Miss Mundee. Ralph here sez you came about the entertainer job?"
"Certainly did, I came all the way from Helena to snap up this here job of yours. I love the look of the place too by the way. But it's missing something.....I mean you got a piano and a stage. But I've heard you don't got a professional entertainer. Well, you do now. Me!"
Matilda smirked, "Oh I do? Helena...how did you know we were looking for help by the way. Just curious."
"A friend sent me the advertisement," that was close enough to the truth.
"So you can sing then I assume?" Matilda inquired though she knew the question would be answered with a 'yes'.
"And dance too. And mingle with the customers, get them to buy drinks, serve them drinks, hell, I can even get behind the bar if you need me to," Caroline assured her.
"Do you play piano?" Matilda asked.
"Nope, don't know how to read music but was told you got a piano player," answered Caroline.
"We do. That would be the young lady right over there, her name is Arabella. Come over here, dear," Matilda gestured for the girl to approach.
Caroline closed her eyes for a brief instant. So that is the piano playing girl Crabbe was talking about? She had not put two and two together it seemed. But she recovered quickly and smiled.
"We already met," she left it at that for now.
"Everybody can feather their nest, but it's not just anybody that can lay an egg!"
"Do you play piano?" Matilda asked.
"Nope, don't know how to read music but was told you got a piano player," answered Caroline.
Arabella, kneeling on the floor, pretending to clean up the sick, was watching the whole proceedings suspiciously, peeping over the top of one of the tables. When she saw Miss Matilda turn in her direction, she dived down and then came up again, all surprised smiles that she was being summoned. She was terrified of the owner of the Saloon; the more things she did wrong, the more scared she became of being told off about them, it was a weird and destructive circle of attention seeking and wrongdoing and mortification about being brought to task about her trespasses.
"We do. That would be the young lady right over there, her name is Arabella. Come over here, dear," Matilda gestured for the girl to approach.
Caroline closed her eyes for a brief instant. So that is the piano playing girl Crabbe was talking about? She had not put two and two together it seemed. But she recovered quickly and smiled.
Arabella approached with the demure smile and steady tread of a bride walking up the aisle, she was on her best behaviour now that Mz. Devereau had her beady eye on her.
"We already met," she left it at that for now.
Arabella smiled so pleasantly that even her teeth looked less wonky than usual.
“Did I hear that you require a piano playin’?” she simpered sickeningly “Why, that would be my real pleasure. Do you have sheet music Miss Grungy, or will you give us a popular tune I might know by ear?” she asked with a saccharine smile like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, as she deliberately got Caroline’s name wrong.
We already met," Caroline left it at that for now.
Arabella smiled so pleasantly that even her teeth looked less wonky than usual. Caroline didn't believe it for a minute. The little witch was playing up to her employer.
“Did I hear that you require a piano playin’?” the girl simpered sickeningly “Why, that would be my real pleasure. Do you have sheet music Miss Grungy, or will you give us a popular tune I might know by ear?”
Matilda wasn't stupid and she knew Arabella quite well by now so she decided to chime in, "And you will do your very best to hit all the correct notes, is that not so, Arabella?"
Caroline was thinking on what she should sing. She did not have sheet music on her as that sort of thing was packed away with her luggage. She wanted to sing something lively, while she could do them, maudlin ballads were not exactly favorites with customers in her experience.
The newcomer now looked at the girl as she replied, "Just call me Caroline, hon. Since my last name is obviously too complicated for you."
"I have heard that this establishment was blessed with a fine piano player so I'm lookin' forward to performing with someone of yer talent. The last place I worked the piano player butchered those keys on a nightly basis."
She'd have to hope for the best now as she returned her focus on the Devereau woman. Hearing her speak, Caroline had a pretty good idea the woman was not hailing from the South. But just to make sure, she decided to float her song idea and see if it sank.
"How about John's Brown's Body? It was popular enough back some years ago during the war years. Granted I was a mite young."
Ralph, a Union war veteran, piped up, "I like that one!"
Matilda shrugged, "That's fine. Always thought it catchy enough myself."
"I'll sing that one then. So, hon, you know that one?" Caroline looked to the girl with the obvious southern accent.
"If not I can sing it without accompaniment," she smiled then.
ooc: Couldn't find a good version with a female singer but Seger's version used one of the verses that later versions left out as a bit controversial for a healing nation.
"Everybody can feather their nest, but it's not just anybody that can lay an egg!"
Matilda wasn't stupid and she knew Arabella quite well by now so she decided to chime in, "And you will do your very best to hit all the correct notes, is that not so, Arabella?"
“Oh of course, Ms. Devereau!” Arabella complied, even giving a little curtsy “Anything painful to the ears in the next five minutes will not be emanating from my direction. And I’m sure Miss Gumby will attempt to be equally in tune.”
The newcomer now looked at the girl as she replied, "Just call me Caroline, hon. Since my last name is obviously too complicated for you."
“Why, I always feel callin’ folks by their first names is so common, but as you wish Caroline.” She smiled smarmily.
"I have heard that this establishment was blessed with a fine piano player so I'm lookin' forward to performing with someone of yer talent. The last place I worked the piano player butchered those keys on a nightly basis."
Again, Arabella fluffed herself up into her idea of injured dignity. “Well, I ain’t no Clara Schubert, but I like to think I can play a little.” She said, affecting a modesty she didn’t really feel. “So, what are you going to try and sing for us, Caroline?” she asked, as if she were part of the auditioning panel, too.
"How about John's Brown's Body? It was popular enough back some years ago during the war years. Granted I was a mite young."
“Not that young!” murmured Arabella, but then remembered that she was supposed to be acting all nicey-nicey in front of Matilda.
Ralph, a Union war veteran, piped up, "I like that one!"
The way Mr. Flandry was goggling at the floozie, he’d have probably liked it if she’d sung a song called “Men with Beards Need Kickin’”, but it turned out that the owner of the bar liked it too.
Matilda shrugged, "That's fine. Always thought it catchy enough myself."
"I'll sing that one then. So, hon, you know that one?" Caroline looked to the girl with the obvious southern accent. "If not I can sing it without accompaniment," she smiled then.
John Brown’s Body? Seriously? This strumpet was going to sing a song about a quasi-religious martyr! She should change the lyrics to ‘John Brown’s body lies a-spinning it its grave”!
“Of course I know it!” replied Arabella airily “I may be a daughter of the South, but my Father was an abolitionist, and actually worked on the Underground Railroad to the great peril of himself and his family!” she added, rather snootily, and marched on (rather like soul of the eponymos hero) over to the piano.
As she placed herself on the stool, she announced “John Brown’s Body. Tempo: Strident, Forte.” She thought that sounded very professional. She didn’t like the gusied-up fancy piece of womanhood at all, but she knew in her heart of hearts it was because Caroline Mundee was doing what she hoped to do herself one day: be an actress or singer (or perhaps a circus trapeze artiste). The blonde woman had the drop on her in other ways too, she was undeniably good looking, and had mountainous bumps where Arabella had flat prairieland. Mind you, that was probably all padding and corsetry, Arabella grumped to herself.
“And what key would you like to attempt it in?” she asked sweetly, swivelling on her piano stool.
Then a curious thing happened that only another musician or performer would understand: much as she hated this interloper into her little world, Arabella strangely wanted her to do well. In fact, she actually felt anxious for her; empathetically recalling how nervous and worried she sometimes was before playing the harmonium in church when all ears and eyes were on her.
She turned again on her stool and looked up at Caroline and, for the first time, actually met the brassy young woman’s shining blue eyes and wondered if, beneath all her bluster, she was nervous.
“Well, ‘break a leg’, I suppose.” She heard herself saying the traditional thespian good wishes – it was bad luck, a veritable curse, to wish a body ‘Good Luck’ before any kind of performance. She turned, a little confused with herself, and looked down at the black and white ebony and ivory keys.
She played a few introductory bars, to give Caroline a feeling for the tempo and pitch of the song, and listened carefully to how the girl would tackle it: a good accompanist always concentrated as much on what the singer was doing as what their own hands were playing.
It was with sort of mixed horror and vast relief that she heard Caroline Mundee open her mouth and sing… brilliantly.
"Why, I always feel callin’ folks by their first names is so common, but as you wish Caroline.” Arabella smiled smarmily.
"Yet you always call me Ralph," the bartender pointed out.
Caroline huffed in amusement. If that attempt by the girl was to rile her, it signally failed. Now the hostile child did surprise her though in her reply about John Brown's Body.
"Of course I know it!” replied Arabella airily “I may be a daughter of the South, but my Father was an abolitionist, and actually worked on the Underground Railroad to the great peril of himself and his family!”
"Well, good for him. Sounds like a brave man," Caroline was always willing to give someone their due.
The girl paraded over to the piano but Caroline decided she was not going to bother heading up on stage for one short song. This dress was not one of her performing dresses anyhow. Her reluctant accompanist asked which key and when that was settled, began a few introductory bars. Caroline jumped right in and never hesitated. The girl did not let her down with any off-key notes. It wouldn't have stopped her anyhow because she'd done this number countless times and had not just every word of the lyrics down pat but all the gestures she featured were well rehearsed too. She didn't just stand there but moved back and forth as if addressing an audience packed before and below her, playing up to the nonexistent crowd with a mix of solemn looks at the right time and fervent enthusiasm when the words fit, especially the stirring choruses.
Most important of all maybe, for all her cockiness this young lady really did have a beautiful voice to go with her easy on the eyes looks. You only had to listen to her once to know that much.
Matilda realized it and exchanged glances with Ralph who barely nodded but his eyes showed he was impressed. Matilda was smiling by the time the song finished and Caroline did a stage appropriate bow. Even the two old fossils had stopped playing cards at their table and joined in the clapping.
"Thank you, thank you, "Caroline beamed, she lived for this sort of thing but she did not leave it at that holding out one hand in a gesture of acknowledgement to the piano player, "And to our wonderful piano player too."
"You can sing alright, Caroline. So why aren't you still employed?" Matilda got back to business quickly, it was her way.
"Cuz the saloon burnt down in a fire. Owner declared he wasn't about to rebuild and left town," Caroline had the answer.
Matilda nodded, satisfied with that answer then continued, "I would expect you to work long hours, bein' you'd be it as far as the position."
"Good! I am more than willin' ta work every day yer open. Long as I get time for meals and sleepin'. I've lived all my life in saloons since I was just a kid, this kinda thing is my world. Like I said, besides singin' and dancin', I can mingle with the customers, convince 'em ta buy drinks, I'm not averse ta going behind the bar too if you need help there," Caroline poured it on.
"Gracious, gotta love the enthusiasm, I will say that," Matilda admitted.
"I do have one condition and that's one I won't compromise on," Caroline got serious real quick.
"Oh? And that would be?" Matilda raised one eyebrow.
"I ain't and never was and never will be a whore. I don't do that at all. I would just simply quit and walk on out before I would consent to such," Caroline asserted with a finality.
"We don't have hookers in this place, my dear. Not to say some enterprising young misses don't on occasion take one of our customers on out and engage in their business on their own," Matilda informed her.
"Excellent! That's it from me then. Other than talking money, I am ready and willing to accept your job offer and start as soon as you tell me," Caroline was back to smiling.
Well, Matilda was not about to discuss money in front of any customers. Only Ralph knew about that part of the saloon operation and even he left the details and accounting to her.
"Very well, why don't we head on upstairs to my office and we can come to a suitable arrangement regarding your wages," she gestured with a wave of her hand toward the stairs.
Caroline nodded but just before she started up along with Matilda she glanced at Arabella and flashed a smug smile. Then up the two women went to finalize things.
Ralph realized the girl had not finished her scrubbing yet but he certainly wasn't oblivious enough not to realize this was not going as Arabellla had wanted and was no doubt going to make a fuss about it least wise til time eased the disappointment.
"Say, you want a saspirilla, kiddo?" he offered.
"Everybody can feather their nest, but it's not just anybody that can lay an egg!"
"Thank you, thank you, "Caroline beamed, she lived for this sort of thing but she did not leave it at that holding out one hand in a gesture of acknowledgement to the piano player, "And to our wonderful piano player too."
Arabella didn’t turn around, she just sat numbly and dumbly staring at the piano keys. The invader was a success, a great success, and she had even helped her. What had she done? She asked Lord Jesus and God the Almighty, what had she done to deserve such a horrible, terrible fate? What sin in deed or thought had she committed, that she be sent this aggravating nemesis?! She had sinned, she knew. She had sinned in thought. Maybe it was all her own fault, she decided, self pityingly.
She listened dolefully as her surrogate ‘parents’ welcomed in this undeserving prodigal daughter, it was sickening, hearing them heaping praise on her about her talent: sickening because it was true.
Caroline nodded but just before she started up along with Matilda she glanced at Arabella and flashed a smug smile. Then up the two women went to finalize things.
Arabella turned then, and caught the triumphant look: but she was now too crestfallen and defeated to offer any resistance, she just nodded sadly. That was it. Done. The world had ended.
She stood up and on shaky legs started to look around for where she’d left her bucket and flannel, almost in a daze.
Ralph realized the girl had not finished her scrubbing yet but he certainly wasn't oblivious enough not to realize this was not going as Arabella had wanted and was no doubt going to make a fuss about it least wise til time eased the disappointment.
"Say, you want a saspirilla, kiddo?" he offered.
Arabella just looked at Mr Flandry blankly for a second: then it happened, her face flushed and the two old card players in the corner later testified that steam literally blew out of her ears!
“Sarsaparilla? Sarsaparilla?!!” she panted, hyperventilating… but she could put it into words, the feeling of sadness, betrayal, self-pity, anger: she just couldn’t find the words to express them and explain why she felt so utterly, utterly broken by the floozy getting the job as their resident singer. So, she did the next best thing, and just yelled “AAAARRGGGHHH!!!” and marched out of the door to the back kitchen, trying to hold back the tears.
Two seconds later, she marched back in. She'd forgotten that she still had to clean up the floor. But before she did, she skidded to a halt and turned on the bearded barman.
“And for your information, Mr. Flandry, I only ever called you Ralph oncst, and that was when I was so worried and upset that you’d been shot by them bank robbers and was so glad to see you alive and safe!!” she blurted, before resuming her march to the corner, shouting an emotional “What’re you gawkin’ at?!” to the two card players, who quickly looked back down at their cards, before throwing herself onto the floor to clean up the sick.
Self-pity is a wonderful incentive to action on occasion. Later inspection of that corner revealed that there was not only no trace of the salesman’s vomit to be found, but the floor-boards in that small area were scrubbed totally clean of wood varnish, too.