is the new owner of this
house.”
The tension in the parlor could not have been thicker. We
girls, discomfited, stared from Opal to Jacobs and back while Jacobs leered at
us, looking us up and down like so much meat on the hoof.
Marcos clamped his lips together in anger and evaluated
Jacob’s muscle. They, in turn, dropped their hands to their sides and held them
in readiness, hinting at the guns that had to be hiding beneath their
suitcoats.
“Marcos.” Opal’s voice broke through the crackling
hostility. “Mr. Jacobs will not be retaining your services as he steps into his
management of this house.” She lifted an envelope with a weak, trembling hand.
“Your pay. Please take it and excuse yourself with my thanks .” Her
address to Marcos, again, was laced with sarcasm.
Big Jim took the envelope from Opal’s hand and held it out
to Marcos. The man looked from the envelope toward Jacobs and his men and back.
Finally, snatching his pay from Big Jim, he stormed from the room and out the
front entrance.
“As I mentioned during our negotiations, Mr. Jacobs, you
would do well to watch out for that one,” Opal drawled.
She struggled to her feet and Big Jim assisted her. “And
now, ladies,” Opal wheezed, “I bid you farewell. Big Jim and I are departing for
a warmer, drier climate, one better suited to my health.”
With no further word, Opal, leaning heavily upon Big Jim’s
arm, walked from the house to a waiting carriage and drove away.
Tabitha’s laugh broke Rose’s rapt attention. “Well, of
course, Opal had planned ahead! We should have known she would. At least, I should have known. Apparently, Big Jim had already packed her clothing and
personal belongings and removed them from the house.”
Tabitha leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. “As
soon as the door closed behind Opal, we became acquainted with our new
‘master’: Jock Jacobs.”
“Well, ladies! I’m right proud t’ be yer new boss man,”
Jacobs grinned. He looked around for a spittoon. When he spied one, he spat
toward it—missing it completely—and grinned again. “Y’all kin jes’ call me
Jock.”
I do not need to say much about this period. Jock Jacobs was
a pompous, vulgar man who lived to make money and spend it on debauchery. He
had won a large cash pot in a poker game and, out of his winnings, he paid Opal
a small fortune for her house and clientele.
However, his business practices drove off Opal’s more
discriminating customers in short order. In
only six months the house had eroded to the level of a common bordello,
a brawling, riotous whorehouse.
As keenly as I had hated Opal, I had also, on some level,
respected her business acumen. But Jock? I not only despised Jock Jacobs; I
loathed him for the crude, lowlife creature he was.
The house immediately began losing money—what with Jock
drinking heavily every night and the loss of the “standards” upon which Opal
had built her flourishing business. I watched Jock fritter away Opal’s “good
reputation” with growing concern.
Within a year, Jock had racked up serious outstanding bills
with the house’s creditors. The other girls in the house did not perceive how
precarious the situation was, but I had an inkling.
One evening in the fall of that year, Jock closed the house
for a private party. He lectured us on how important this party was and how he
wished us to be on our best behavior, catering to his guests’ every desire.
As it turned out, Jock had invited his guests to examine
“his girls” and make offers for them. Of course, he did not say as much in
front of us, but I caught on to his ploy. While the other women were doing
their best to flatter the men and display themselves to their best advantage, I
did the opposite.
My old tricks—my serpent’s tongue and acid wit—were just as
sharp and biting as they had been eleven years ago. In less than an hour, I had
insulted and ridiculed Jock’s every guest. Of course, I
house.”
The tension in the parlor could not have been thicker. We
girls, discomfited, stared from Opal to Jacobs and back while Jacobs leered at
us, looking us up and down like so much meat on the hoof.
Marcos clamped his lips together in anger and evaluated
Jacob’s muscle. They, in turn, dropped their hands to their sides and held them
in readiness, hinting at the guns that had to be hiding beneath their
suitcoats.
“Marcos.” Opal’s voice broke through the crackling
hostility. “Mr. Jacobs will not be retaining your services as he steps into his
management of this house.” She lifted an envelope with a weak, trembling hand.
“Your pay. Please take it and excuse yourself with my thanks .” Her
address to Marcos, again, was laced with sarcasm.
Big Jim took the envelope from Opal’s hand and held it out
to Marcos. The man looked from the envelope toward Jacobs and his men and back.
Finally, snatching his pay from Big Jim, he stormed from the room and out the
front entrance.
“As I mentioned during our negotiations, Mr. Jacobs, you
would do well to watch out for that one,” Opal drawled.
She struggled to her feet and Big Jim assisted her. “And
now, ladies,” Opal wheezed, “I bid you farewell. Big Jim and I are departing for
a warmer, drier climate, one better suited to my health.”
With no further word, Opal, leaning heavily upon Big Jim’s
arm, walked from the house to a waiting carriage and drove away.
Tabitha’s laugh broke Rose’s rapt attention. “Well, of
course, Opal had planned ahead! We should have known she would. At least, I should have known. Apparently, Big Jim had already packed her clothing and
personal belongings and removed them from the house.”
Tabitha leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. “As
soon as the door closed behind Opal, we became acquainted with our new
‘master’: Jock Jacobs.”
“Well, ladies! I’m right proud t’ be yer new boss man,”
Jacobs grinned. He looked around for a spittoon. When he spied one, he spat
toward it—missing it completely—and grinned again. “Y’all kin jes’ call me
Jock.”
I do not need to say much about this period. Jock Jacobs was
a pompous, vulgar man who lived to make money and spend it on debauchery. He
had won a large cash pot in a poker game and, out of his winnings, he paid Opal
a small fortune for her house and clientele.
However, his business practices drove off Opal’s more
discriminating customers in short order. In
only six months the house had eroded to the level of a common bordello,
a brawling, riotous whorehouse.
As keenly as I had hated Opal, I had also, on some level,
respected her business acumen. But Jock? I not only despised Jock Jacobs; I
loathed him for the crude, lowlife creature he was.
The house immediately began losing money—what with Jock
drinking heavily every night and the loss of the “standards” upon which Opal
had built her flourishing business. I watched Jock fritter away Opal’s “good
reputation” with growing concern.
Within a year, Jock had racked up serious outstanding bills
with the house’s creditors. The other girls in the house did not perceive how
precarious the situation was, but I had an inkling.
One evening in the fall of that year, Jock closed the house
for a private party. He lectured us on how important this party was and how he
wished us to be on our best behavior, catering to his guests’ every desire.
As it turned out, Jock had invited his guests to examine
“his girls” and make offers for them. Of course, he did not say as much in
front of us, but I caught on to his ploy. While the other women were doing
their best to flatter the men and display themselves to their best advantage, I
did the opposite.
My old tricks—my serpent’s tongue and acid wit—were just as
sharp and biting as they had been eleven years ago. In less than an hour, I had
insulted and ridiculed Jock’s every guest. Of course, I
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