The Dancer

by jfclover

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The Greeks would have called her a goddess, but I knew her only as Sally.  And though she insists that her sole passion besides loving me is to express herself in dance, I can’t tell her that most men know her as a simple saloon girl who struts her stuff at the Million Dollar Saloon.  A man will put up with a lot when it comes to a woman he finds worthwhile, and she is one of those women.

If I try to describe my nights at the saloon, I can’t say much more than my eyes are fixed on Sally.  The way she moves, and the way her smile lights a room, makes the rotten day I’ve had a far-off memory.  Even though other men are watching every move she makes, I can put their stares aside and know that at the end of the evening, I’ll be climbing the stairs with the woman I find more alluring than anyone else I’ve ever known.

I haven’t mentioned her at home.  Though I’m not ashamed, and I don’t regret my decision to court her as I would court any other woman, I have my reasons for staying silent.  Sometimes I don’t see things the same way the rest of the family might, so keeping Sally just to myself has been an option that seems to work best for now.  In time, my nights spent in town will become a distraction that will need to be addressed, but not just yet.   Pa and Hoss will have questions that I’m not ready to answer.  Sally is my business only.  No one else needs to bother himself with the intimate details of my life.

Even though I share her with a saloon full of gawking men every night, I can put their bulging eyes aside.  I’m dealing with their admiration of her in my own way.  I treasure my time alone with my thoughts and feelings; besides, she dances like an angel, and I’m as drawn in her direction as any man seated inside the saloon and watching the show.

I’d never consciously want to destroy a woman’s passion, but I’d give anything if Sally would tell me she’s done entertaining men with her short skirts, her black net stockings, and giving every man inside the saloon a peek at her fancy pink garters.

How many times have I reminded myself that I’m not a jealous man, but there are nights when I have great difficulty controlling my emotions.  The whoops and hollers, the men who reach out and try to grab her are nothing but an annoyance to me, but it’s that kind of behavior that keeps her smiling and performing her best Hurdy-Gurdy night after night.

I do my best to sit back and relax.  After crossing one leg over the other, I tip my hat forward in order to shadow my face.  Most of the patrons know who I am, and they know my connection to the dancer.  Those are the men who have enough sense to follow my lead, sit back, and watch.

It’s the rest of the fellas, usually off-shift miners and out-of-towners who can’t control themselves.  They’re the grabbers, the men who try to climb on stage and touch the netting surrounding her ankles.  Worse is when the bouncer is flinging someone else off the stage, and a drunk will sneak up behind him—enough so—that his hand reaches her inner thigh.  It’s more than I can take, and I’m out of my seat and darting toward the stage, but more often than not, someone grabs my arm or stands in my way. 

“Let the bouncer get him, Joe.”

I’m saved from a night spent in Roy Coffee’s jail, and I’m grateful for the interaction of men I don’t even consider friends, but at the time, they have more sense than I do.  But a man has his limits, and watching this kind of behavior night after night is a test of my often-unrestrained temper.  But Sally is worth every minute I spend smiling, laughing, or gearing up for a fight.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Even though the cattle drive ran smoothly, it sure feels good to climb back into my own bed, lie between soft linen sheets, and cover myself with a goose-down quilt.  The only thing that might improve the overall feeling of bliss is entertaining the thought of holding Sally close and running my hands over every inch of her body.

After being gone for nearly three weeks, a mountain load of chores will need our attention. But then I can clean up, ride into town, and be sitting inside the saloon, waiting for the first show of the night to begin.  Since we arrived home two days early, Sally will be surprised to see me.

After I slip on my jacket and fasten my gun belt, I hear a knock on the front door.  “Roy.  Come in.”

“Little Joe.”

“Pa’s upstairs.  Hang on and I’ll—”

“I came to see you, Son.”

“Me?”

“That’s right.”

“Okay.  What’s up?”  The sheriff finds the rim of his hat worth gripping tighter than need be.  “Roy?”

“Sally Milton is dead, Joe.”

“What?”

“There was a brawl after her second set, and Miss Sally … well, she got caught by some drifter’s bullet.  It was an accident, Joe.  Pure and simple.”

As much as I try, I can’t wrap my mind around Roy’s words.  I’m dressed and ready to ride into town, and he gives me news that turns my world upside down. 

Coming down the stairs, I hear my father’s footsteps.  He doesn’t know about Sally.  No one does, but Pa has a sixth sense sometimes, and it doesn’t take much to realize that Roy’s news is bad news.

Pa moves in close.  His hand skims across my shoulder.  The sheriff has shaken my world, but my father won’t leave my side unless I ask.  Although I’m not a child, I will always treasure my father’s gentle touch.

The End

3 – 2026