Kiss & Tell Read online

  “I wouldn’t call eating breakfast dilly-dallying,” Willy said.

  Miss Havisham pointed her cane at Willy.

  “Ma’am,” Willy added quickly.

  Miss Havisham rapped Willy on the back of the head with her cane. “Do not disrespect me.”

  “Ow. That hurt,” Willy said, rubbing the back of her head.

  “That was a level one rap. Take heed,” Miss Havisham said, “Or you’ll find out what a level two feels like. Now, off with you both. You’ve a late start on the day as is.”

  Allistair and Willy didn’t need to be told twice. Keeping one eye on the old lady’s cane, they backed out of the dining room. Once in the hallway and presumably out of earshot, Allistair whispered. “You’ve got to watch your mouth or you’re going to be black and blue.”

  “No, I’m going to get a helmet.”

  “Where’s costuming anyway?” Allistair said.

  “How would I know? Like there’s a big sign that says “Costuming?”

  “Go ask her where it is,” Allistair said, giving Willy a little shove toward the dining room.

  “Are you fucking crazy? She just hit me with a piece of wood. You go ask her,” Willy said, giving Allistair a little push toward the dining room.

  “No way!” Allistair hissed. “I’m not going in there.”

  “But you expect me to?”

  Allistair pushed Willy toward the dining room again, this time a little harder. “Go ask.”

  Willy pushed Allistair. “You go.”

  “No, you,” Allistair said with a shove.

  Willy shoved back. “You go.”

  Suddenly, Miss Havisham appeared in the doorway. “You both go!” she raised her cane above her head like she was Babe Ruth aiming for the outfield fence. Willy and Allistair ran for the front door and tumbled outside. Willy shut the door behind them.

  They stood on the porch a moment, gathering their wits and their bearings. Allistair took a deep, cleansing breath. “No smog around here,” she said. “It’s nice.”

  “No cars or factories,” Ernest said, sneaking up on Willy. He did figure eights between her legs.

  “Hey! Where you been?” Willy said.

  “Around,” Ernest replied.

  Allistair watched as Willy conversed with Ernest.

  “Did you get something to eat?” Willy asked Ernest.

  Ernest licked his lips. “Kippers. The kitchen woman likes me.”

  “It’s a good thing. She’s the cook.”

  “No shit,” Ernest said.

  “She’s deaf, you know.”

  “Again, no shit.”

  “How’d you know?”

  “I have my ways.”

  “Let me guess—you yowled and she didn’t hear you.”

  “Precisely,” Ernest said. He jumped up on the porch railing, picked out a spot in the sun and stretched out. “Nap time calls.”

  “Aren’t you going with us? Aren’t you’re supposed to be like our watch-cat or something?” Willy asked.

  “And what am I doing right now?” Ernest said, staring at them.

  “Watching us,” Willy said.

  “Precisely,” Ernest said.

  The front door opened, revealing Miss Havisham and her wicked cane. “Still lollygagging about, eh?” she said.

  Willy and Allistair ran out the front gate and into the street. Miss Havisham reached down into a potted plant near the door, picked up a dirt clod and threw it.

  Willy took the shot to the back of her head. “Ow!”

  Willy and Allistair scurried down the street, out of Havisham’s range. Or so they hoped.

  After a block, Willy slowed to a walk and rubbed the back of her head. “Why me? Why the fuck is she always nailing me?”

  “Where are we going?” Allistair asked.

  “I don’t know about you,” Willy said, “But I’m going to the saloon. I need something for this knot on the back of my head.”

  “I hate to break this to you, but the saloon won’t have any ice. There was no readily available ice in the 18-whatevers,” Allistair said.

  “Who said anything about ice? I need a drink.”

  Miss Kitty

  Willy and Allistair stepped through the batwing doors of the saloon. After being in the bright sunshine, it was like entering a cave. Once Willy’s eyes adjusted, she saw exactly what she had expected to see. Every saloon in the Wild West must’ve had the same interior decorator. There was an enormous polished mahogany bar on the far side of the room. Behind the bar was a large mirror and shelves with dozens of liquor bottles. On the other side of the room were poker tables and wooden rail-backed chairs. The only lights were a few well-placed kerosene lanterns, which at the moment weren’t lit.

  “Holy shit, it’s dark in here,” Willy said, bumping into a chair and banging her shin. “Ow, shit!”

  “Welcome. What can I get you?” a low, sultry voice came from the bar.

  Willy squinted into the dimness. What she saw took her back to her childhood and for a minute she wondered if she might be dreaming. It was none other than Miss Kitty of Gunsmoke fame. She was sitting on a stool in front of the bar. Her red hair was elaborately coiffed and she wore a low-cut mauve-colored dress. She even had the same black mole on her right cheek. She was just as Willy remembered—eyebrows thick as caterpillars, blue eye shadow, and red lipstick. Well, almost like she remembered her. She might’ve been a little thicker around the waist. She might’ve gone a little heavier on the make-up, but hey, Willy thought, we’re all getting older, right?

  Willy’s heart triple-timed in her chest as she approached Miss Kitty. Her childhood crush steamrolled right over her better judgment. She was smitten all over again.

  Willy looked from Miss Kitty to the painting that hung over the shelves of liquor. It was a Rubinesque painting of a scantily clad Miss Kitty. Willy didn’t know what to look at—the painting or the real thing. She was beginning to feel light-headed.

  “You okay, sugar?” Miss Kitty asked.

  Willy shook her head and took a few deep breaths. “You look just like Miss Kitty,” she said. Dizziness crept over her and she quickly sat on a barstool. However, it was a revolving stool and Willy revolved right off it, sliding toward the floor. Miss Kitty caught her under the arms and hauled her back to her feet.

  Geesh, she sure had strong arms, Willy thought. She sat back on the stool and tried not to slip off again. Allistair sat down next to her.

  “Little early in the day to be dipping in the barrel, ain’t it?” Miss Kitty asked.

  “No, ma’am, it’s just you. You’ve taken my breath away. I’ve been a fan forever.”

  “She’s not the real Miss Kitty,” Allistair said peevishly.

  “I’m as real as you’re going to get ‘round these parts. Can I get you something?” Miss Kitty said, her voice low and gravelly. “Coffee? Tea? Beer?”

  Allistair stepped between Willy and Miss Kitty. “My friend here has been hit in the head. A couple of times. Do you have any aspirin?”

  “Hit in the head?” Miss Kitty asked.

  “I got beaned with a cane and a dirt clod,” Willy explained.

  “Let me guess, Miss Havisham nailed you,” Miss Kitty said. “You gotta watch her. For an old woman she’s got a real good aim.”

  “No shit,” Willy said.

  Miss Kitty stepped behind the bar, opened a cooler and began to fill a rag with ice cubes. “Just do as she says and you’ll be all right. Now what’s your name, darlin’?”

  “My name is Willy and this is Allistair. We got hired on last night.”

  “You two must be the new packages.”

  “Uh, yeah, you could say that,” Willy said. “You get a lot of us here?”

  “We handle packages from time to time—usually after a failed first attempt,” Miss Kitty said, handing Willy the rag filled with ice.

  “Let me,” Allistair said. She took the rag full of ice and worked on folding it into a pack.

  “Allistair said
you wouldn’t have any ice,” Willy said. “This being the Wild West and all.”

  Miss Kitty chuckled. She leaned over the bar, revealing a cleavage so deep it gave Willy vertigo. “Honey, not everything is as it appears.”

  “Ain’t that the truth,” Allistair muttered under her breath.

  Miss Kitty turned her attention to Allistair. “We just tell the tourists we don’t have ice. We even have electricity and flushing toilets.”

  “What did you mean earlier when you said ‘failed first attempt?’” Allistair asked, her voice an octave higher than normal.

  “We get the ones like you all. All twitchy and nervous from being chased. Running for their very lives.”

  “Well, that’s fucking comforting,” Willy said.

  “We were led to believe that the Witness Protection Program was fail-safe,” Allistair said.

  “Darlin’, there ain’t nothing in this world that’s fail-safe,” Miss Kitty said.

  “Anybody ever tell you that you have the most amazing eyes?” Willy asked.

  “Well, ain’t you a sweet-talker,” Miss Kitty said. “If you weren’t a nun I might show you a thing or two about love.”

  Allistair slapped the ice pack on Willy’s head.

  “Ow!” Willy yelped.

  “Sorry,” Allistair said. She smiled big at Miss Kitty and changed the subject, “So, we’re supposed to report to costuming, but we don’t know where that is. We tried asking Miss Havisham but as you can see that didn’t go so well.”

  “You go past Max’s General Store and down the alley and you’ll see it on the right. It’s called Ye Old Tailor Shoppe. Tell him I sent you and he might go easy on you.”

  “Thanks,” Willy said. She held the ice pack up. “Can I keep this and return it later?”

  “Honey, you can come see me any ol’ time. First time’s free,” Miss Kitty said with an exaggerated wink.

  Willy slipped off the stool. This time Miss Kitty wasn’t there to catch her and she hit the floor with a loud thud.

  “Ow!” Willy said.

  “You deserved that,” Allistair said. She walked out of the saloon, the batwing doors flapping behind her.

  “Hey, wait for me!” Willy yelled.

  Dust Wrestling

  “Well, I hope you’re happy,” Allistair said, walking quickly down the street.

  Willy had to run to catch up. “Happy about what?”

  “You made a fool of yourself back there.”

  “What’d I do?” Willy asked.

  “You fell all over yourself for that whore. Talk about rode hard and put away wet. Did you see that five o’clock shadow under her chin? I’d say it’s about time for some hormone therapy,” Allistair said.

  “Don’t talk about Miss Kitty that way,” Willy said. She gave Allistair a little shoulder butt. “I’ve idolized Miss Kitty since I was a child and here you are beating her down because she’s gotten older. You’re no spring chicken, you know.”

  “That wasn’t even the real Miss Kitty. You do realize that?” Allistair said, giving Willy a shoulder butt of her own.

  Willy stumbled, but caught herself. “Oooh, look who’s jealous.”

  “Of what? That over-made-up, over-the-hill, I-need-a-shave, two-bit whore?” Allistair said.

  Willy stopped and put her fists on her hips. “Stop talking like that and I mean it or I’ll…”

  “You’ll what?” Allistair said, facing off with Willy.

  Willy hiked up her nun pants. “Don’t make me hurt you.”

  Allistair laughed. She quickly grabbed Willy by the arm, put her leg behind Willy and flipped her. Willy landed on her back with a loud oomph! A cloud of dust mushroomed around her.

  Willy grabbed Allistair’s ankle and brought her down on top of her. They rolled in the dust. Back and forth, over and under, they rolled, grunting and swearing and trying without much success to do each other bodily harm.

  Sheriff Jeb came out of his office, took one look at them and shouted, “What in the Sam Hill is going on out here?” He adjusted his chaps, lurched down to the street and picked both Willy and Allistair up off the ground by their collars. He held them apart like they were a pair of howling cats.

  “She insulted Miss Kitty,” Willy said, trying to give Allistair a swift kick but connecting only with air.

  “She was fawning all over that tart and I just pointed out the truth,” Allistair said, swiping at Willy but missing her by a good twelve inches.

  Sheriff Jeb shook them until they stopped struggling. He set them on the ground and stood between them. He glared at Willy. “So you got a thing for Miss Kitty? Well, I hate to break your heart but Miss Kitty is spoken for. She’s given her heart to One-Eyed Jack and he don’t abide no poaching on his territory. So you just better put your pecker back in your pants when it comes to Miss Kitty.”

  Willy dusted herself off. “I don’t have a pecker.”

  “I was speaking metaphorically,” Sheriff Jeb said, adjusting his chaps. “No more of this brawling in the middle of the street. We’re due to open tomorrow mornin’. This place will fill up with tourists and you two got to be on your best behavior.”

  “Or what?” Willy said. She puffed out her chest.

  Sheriff Jeb drew his revolver and shot her right between the eyes.

  Willy stomped her foot. “Dammit! I wish you’d stop shooting me all the time.” She stalked off down the street.

  Sheriff Jeb aimed his gun at Allistair. “Get a move on, missy. Or you’re next.”

  Allistair hiked up her skirt and ran after Willy. “Wait for me!”

  Ye Olde Tailor Shoppe

  The bell over the door dinged as Willy and Allistair stepped inside. “Ho. Lee. She. It,” Willy breathed.

  “For once, I agree with your assessment,” Allistair said.

  The costume shop was filled with mannequins. Lots and lots of mannequins. Some were missing heads. Some were missing legs. A few were missing arms. All were nude. It was like a jumbled-up mannequin orgy.

  Hanging from racks and crowded onto lopsided shelves were bolts and bolts of patterned material and rickrack and lace and packets of buttons. Needles and thread galore. Everything a costumer could ever need or want.

  “Fag heaven,” Willy said.

  Allistair whapped her arm. “That’s so politically incorrect.”

  “I’m sorry, but not really,” Willy said.

  Allistair craned her neck, looking around. When she didn’t see anybody, she cupped her hands around her mouth and called out, “Hello?” There was no answer. “Anybody here?”

  “Twenty bucks says the costumer is the biggest fucking fairy we’ve ever seen,” Willy whispered.

  “This is a western town, not a gay rodeo,” Allistair said.

  “Hellooo,” toodled a voice. A tall man pranced out of the back room and stopped in front of Allistair and Willy. He was dressed as an Indian—more like the Indian from The Village People than a real Indian. His long dark hair was pulled back into a braid and instead of pants he was wearing a loincloth. A beaded chest piece hung over his torso. He wore a nametag on a leather string around his neck that read ‘David.’ “Oooh, what do we have here?” he lisped, giving them the once-over.

  “You owe me twenty bucks,” Willy said to Allistair.

  “Hi, David,” Allistair said. “We’re reporting for our costumes.”

  “Dah-veed, honey, it’s pronounced Dah-veed,” David corrected.

  “Oh. Sorry,” Allistair said.

  “They said you were nuns but I didn’t believe them,” David said. He swished around them, studying them closely. “We’ve got some good bone structure here and oh, my God...” He clasped his hand over his mouth and looked at Willy.

  “What?” Willy asked. “What’d I do?”

  “Oh my God, girl, are those eyelashes real?”

  Willy blinked. “Yeah.” She blinked again.

  “They are to die for.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, yes, yes,�
�� David said, circling Willy. “I can definitely work with this.”

  “Fine. Just as long as I’m Calamity Jane. I want real buckskin,” Willy said.

  David wagged his finger in her face. “No, no, no, sister. You are going to be a saloon girl. You know how long I’ve waited to find breasts like these to fill out one of my dresses?” On the word breasts he put his hands under Willy’s boobs and lifted them as high as they’d go. “Please tell me these girls are the real deal.”

  Willy slapped his hands away. “Don’t touch the boobage.”

  David was nonplussed by the slap. He took a step back, arched an eyebrow, put a hand on his hip and threw the other in the air over his head, exclaiming, “Finally! My prayers have been answered. The Goddess has seen fit to send me a woman with breasts!”

  “I have breasts,” Allistair said timidly.

  David ignored her and concentrated on Willy. “We are going to un-strap those puppies and let them out of that spandex cage you have them imprisoned in. They are going to roam free!”

  “Um… no, they’re not,” Willy said. “They’re staying in my sports bra and being covered up with buckskin.”

  David pursed his lips. “Oh, sister, I don’t think so. We need more whores, not more gunslingers.”

  “I’ll be a saloon girl,” Allistair said, raising her hand in the air.

  David spun around and gave her a cursory glance. “You’ll be the schoolmarm.”

  “A marm?” Allistair said with a wounded voice. “But I have the soul of a saloon girl.”

  Willy and David laughed.

  David spun on his heels, sashayed to a nearby rack, peeled an exquisite emerald green dress off its hanger and handed it to Willy. “This will go perfectly with your coloring.”

  “I’m not wearing that fucking thing,” Willy said.

  “I’ll wear it,” Allistair said.

  David ignored her and flung the dress at Willy. “Changing rooms are over there.”

  “I’m not going to be a saloon girl unless she has to wear one of these dresses, too,” Willy said.

  David sighed. “Fine,” he said with an air of exasperation. He pulled a high-necked gray and purple checked dress off a hanger and tossed it to Allistair.