Read Online Two-Gun & Sun by June Hutton - Free Book Online Page A

me. The barman, black-haired, red-faced, was polishing glasses and looked up, then started.
    Whisky, I said.
    Women aren’t allowed.
    And he twisted his big head around as though he were about to be arrested over my presence.
    I’m here to run the newspaper, I pressed, nodding down at my coveralls. Doesn’t that make a difference?
    His eyes shot over to the comatose customer, then back to me. Rules, he replied. This is
The Bombay Room
. A private club. No women.
    What’s your name? I asked.
    Ed.
    Ed. Lila Sinclair. Tell me: Is that man over there an esteemed member of your
Bombay Room
?
    I watched his eyes flicker to something below the counter, then to an upper side shelf with three china teacups that rested sideways in their saucers to reveal their decorated insides, all blue flowers and garden gates.
    Will you have a cup of tea? he asked.
    No—I began, then realized he was arching an eyebrow. Yes, I added. I meant yes.
    That a letter?
    I hadn’t realized I was still clutching it in my hand.
    Yes, it is. I came here for the post office, actually.
    That’s me, he said. Postmaster. I keep the mail under the bar, too.
    Too—how much is the, uh, tea?
    Same as two beer. And you have to sit at a table.
    Add the stamp to the bill, I said, and I slid the letter onto the counter along with the coins.
    I’ll take your laundry, too.
    My head must have snapped up with surprise. Same place, Parker had told me, but I hadn’t expected someone like Ed.
    This here’s the laundry chute for the hotel, he said.
    He slapped a dirty hand onto the boxed wooden trough that ran vertically up the wall behind the bar and was, now that I stood on my toes to see, disgorging crumpled cotton.
    Lots of room still in this basket underneath. Town people add to the load and then we roll it out.
    He held his grubby hands out for the lavender-grey suit.
    I clutched it tighter.
    You do the cleaning, too?
    Nooo, he said, horrified. We send it out to Lousetown.
    I let go then, and received a ticket in return.
    I stepped over to a table, lifted the sides of my coveralls like they were skirts, and sat. The cup rattled loudly in its saucer as Ed lowered it beneath the bar’s countertop, then carried it to my table. I lifted the chipped bowl.
    It was a stingy pour.
    I sipped the raw liquor, then said I’d like to order a meal.
    Sure enough, but you’ll have to order in the dining room. Sorry ma’am, but that’s where the kitchen is.
    I stood and smoothed my coveralls. It struck me then that had I worn a dress I might have got my cup of tea a lot sooner. I finished the drink in one small swallow and, head high, swung around and then through the side doors into the dining room, slipping into the first available chair at the first available table. My ears, neck and cheeks grew hot.
    They were all looking at me, their rows of eyes glistening, while the walls heaved with a constant hum of their comments and the room itself seemed to tip onto its side, trying to slide me out the doors.
    Nerves. I decided right then I would order a meal to take back to the shop. I blinked to right the room.
    It hadn’t been decorated at all, but its bare-board floors and metal walls made me stand out all the more. A wonder of an iron stairway at the far end, though, curving up to the rooms.
    Maybe it was the lack of sunlight or maybe the filth, but the diners—there was an odd colour to their skin. I would say green but maybe it was no colour, a white with no pink. Parker was of a similar hue.
    I picked up the paper menu and lost myself in the descriptions.
    It was just as Parker had described, with all sorts of delectable items. Cornish game hen with gooseberry sauce, trout with almonds, a roast of beef and Yorkshire pudding. I don’t doubt there are birds of some sort in the woods beyond the grey hills, deer as well, fish in the streams—well, make that the ocean. I’d seen what fish the stream produced.