and call, his respectable appearance enhancing her own prestige. The caller examines them curiously. Jessie loves making a grand entrance like one of them Snob Hill ladies.
“Joaquin Miller,” she says. “Now, there’s a good egg even if he is an odd bird. He says he gimped that leg of his fighting the wild Cherokee, but have you noticed he never limps on the same foot twice? I am Miss Jessie Malone, proprietress and landlady of this establishment. What’s your name, buster?”
“I am Daniel J. Watkins of Saint Louis, London, and Paris.”
“Paris! You just blew in from Paris?” Jessie whips out her fan, concealing her excitement behind the lace. “Are they still wearing bustles in Paris, Mr. Watkins?”
“Heavens, no, Miss Malone. Mr. Worth has eliminated the bustle in his latest creations, which I for one most approve of. Now a gentleman can admire the long, slow sweep of a lady’s hip. Do you not agree, sir?” he says to Mr. Heald.
Mr. Heald stares, stupefied.
Li’l Lucy turns beet red and giggles like a lunatic.
Jessie shushes the girl but she can barely contain herself, either. A gentleman who can yap about Paris fashions! About Mr. Worth’s latest creations! Can you imagine! But her suspicious nature kicks up. Is he one of those odd birds who attends drag parties? She’s been hired to attend drag parties. There was one on Snob Hill where the whiskey magnate demanded that she lace up his corset extra tight. The long, slow sweep of a lady’s hip, indeed.
“Sure and aren’t you an outspoken young gentleman.” Jessie saunters over to him and circles him, making a show of brushing dust from the back of his jacket. She runs her hand down the long, slow sweep of his back. Young and vigorous, all right, with some little gun tucked in the back of his belt. It would be a crying shame for the ladies of San Francisco if he turned out to be a fairy. “You have an interest in ladies’ fashions?”
“Only when they’re being discarded.”
Li’l Lucy presses her palm to her mouth.
“And Mr. Worth,” Mr. Watkins continues smoothly, “has widened the sleeves and the front of the skirt. Tightened the waist and added fullness to the bosom, pardon my language, miss,” he says to Li’l Lucy, who is beside herself with giggles. “So that a lady like yourself, Miss Malone, will show the perfect figure. Like an hourglass, is how they put it.”
What gentleman in this burg has flattered her so shamelessly, can anyone tell her that? Jessie tosses her head and stands back, trying to size him up. Is Mr. Daniel J. Watkins of Saint Louis, London, and Paris a little too smooth? What is he, anyway? A gambler or a tool? She’s been scammed and chiseled before. She’ll tolerate no deadheads in her establishment.
“Tighten the waist?” she says forlornly, kneading her aching liver through the corset.
Now Mr. Watkins circles around her, staring blatantly, inspecting her. “I fear you will have to nip it in. But just a bit, Miss Malone.”
Jessie hasn’t blushed in fifteen years. The heat in her cheeks must be a sudden fever. “Jar me, we can all stand for some improvement.” Then she frowns. The Queen of the Underworld has a skin as thick as buffalo hide. She will not be stung by this pup’s insolence. She seizes a heavy brass ashtray, shoves it in his hands. “Smoking is permitted only in the smoking parlor, Mr. Watkins. I despise the demon weed.”
“I do apologize,” he murmurs, stamps out the smoke, and shuts his trap. A wary look of exhaustion crosses his face. It suddenly occurs to Jessie that young Mr. Watkins looks rather green about the gills. She glares at Li’l Lucy, who stops giggling at once. She sniffs, detecting the stink of choke-dog beneath the tobacco.
“What can I do for you, sir?” She crosses her arms and taps her toe, looking him up and down with a thundercloud on her face.
“Miss Malone, I am looking to lease a suite of rooms. I would prefer my own water closet and bath, if this fine establishment boasts such amenities. I’m told you may have something available.”
Jessie considers the possibilities. As it is, Li’l Lucy will have to add two weeks to the term of her contract for her medical treatment and resting-up time at Dupont Street. It’s high time for Li’l Lucy to get back to work. “Mr. Watkins, this fine establishment boasts many things, and a suite with a private water closet and bath