A/N: Immediately after the Deadwood fire, the sale of alcohol was prohibited for seven days to help control looting, fighting, and general mayhem in the aftermath.
On the seventh day, the Gem Theatre (Gem Saloon on HBO's Deadwood) was open for business, its four walls covered with a canvas tent roof until some time later.
After the kindness Alma Garrett Ellsworth had been shown by various Gem and Bella Union girls, I imagine she would have offered her house, one of the few structures not burned down, as a place to get ready for the official re-opening.
All characters and concepts other than historical ones belong to David Milch and HBO
No money getting made here
Gracious Manners, Grand Re-Openings
.
Soot and dirt were slowly coming out from under fingernails freshly clipped and ready for the silver-handled chamois buffer. Red and yellow and brown hair, rinsed clean of oil and ash, dried by the stove as combs made their way through tangles. A straight-backed figure in a dark plum dress wove between the girls, handing Madagascar hair oil to one, silver-handled fingernail file to another, then left the room to get more towels and check the time with Trixie.
"Annie, do my back."
"Well, hand me the fuckin' rag and I will."
"Shhh! Don't talk like that where she can hear!"
"Aw, she's all right. I bet she wouldn't take offense." Dora kept flipping through the ladies' magazine in her hands, enjoying the pictures and ignoring the print.
"Quit splashin!"
Chatter and giggles rose into a feminine din, curious hands unstoppering bottles of scent and offering sniffs to curious noses.
"What the fuck is the matter with you?" Trixie slammed the bathroom door open. Droplets of warm water and soap bubbles scented with hyacinth flew everywhere.
Annie spoke first.
"I didn't mean any disrespect to Mrs. Ellsworth, Trixie. We were just—"
Trixie went over to the huge bathtub and washbasins, glaring at the group of Gem whores, two in the bathtub, the others in or on towels around the washbasins.
"I told Al that I'd keep you all from embarrassing him if he took Mrs. Ellsworth's kind offer of her facilities so you could get ready for re-opening. She was nice enough to think getting ready in a warm house, with plenty of hot water, would be a fucking kindness. So it'd be much appreciated if you could refrain from acting like you're two years old."
Subdued by the scolding, the girls efficiently finished their baths.
Mrs. Ellsworth appeared in the doorway, elegant hands clasped at her waist like a debutante ball chaperone.
"I've sorted the clothing and…other items Reverend Cramed brought back from Sturgis as best as I could, smaller garments to the left."
She beckoned the girls, now all wrapped in towels and sheets, into her bedroom. A swath of clean cotton drawers, shifts, smocks, stockings, and a few corsets and the like were arrayed over her coverlet. Trixie moved quickly to stand between the girls and the new clothes, handing out an outfit to each one.
Alma stationed herself at her dressing table with comb, brush, and hair ornaments, smoothing down frizzy locks and forming braids and curls. Used to doing more restrained hairstyles, she found it entertaining to develop more dishabille looks that still had a touch of sophistication. She had opened pots of rouge and lip balm that were being passed from hand to hand. Jars of lubricant were passed around before being handed off to Wanda to take back to the Gem.
"Alma, the men ain't gonna be looking at their hair."
Alma continued brushing a fall of hair into a soft loop. "I'm aware of that, Trixie. But might they not be more appealing to the men if they are happy by what they see in the mirror?"
All the girls laughed at that.
Happy, sad, or indifferent, they would be appealing because they were whores in a saloon that finally was able to sell whiskey after a week of prohibition. But they all seemed to understand that Mrs. Ellsworth, with no real understanding of their lives, had good intentions and a good heart. And lovely posture.
She could talk about Philadelphia, and New York City, and fancy coming-out parties, and she made it all sound like funny stories, not like things they weren't good enough to ever do themselves. A couple of the older girls heard her make some remarks that made them think she'd had a few bad times herself in her day, but they just looked at each other and stayed quiet.
Trixie checked their teeth and breath while Alma put the last touches on a green ribbon braided into Dolly's upswept hair. Finally, thirty minutes before the Gem's reopening, the whores lined up, preening and touching their new finery. Their old clothes, not in good repair even before the fire, were piled in a heap to see if Wu's laundry could salvage anything.
Likely in another hour, half would be on their knees, half would be on their backs, and all would be in for a long night. But for just a little while, they had been girls getting ready for the evening with hyacinth soap, warm water, and clean clothes, almost like girls who didn't have to whore.
Alma's soft, sad "You all look lovely" and Trixie's brisk "You look much improved; now try and keep those clothes clean at least past the thoroughfare" were still in their ears when Johnny Burns came to herd them back to the Gem, a blanket for each girl to wrap up in for the muddy walk.
Trixie stood in the doorway looking at her. "Lettin' whores use your house to get ready for work is a fuckin' crazy thing to do."
"I know."
"A lot of town-folk are going to know you had them in here."
"I know."
Alma looked at the brush she was fiddling with, then looked back at Trixie.
"I find I am caring less and less what people think of me and my actions, and care more that I do what makes me happy, as long as I'm not hurting anyone."
Trixie's smile was tinged with worry, but a smile nevertheless.
"I know," she echoed. She watched Alma get ready to go walk Sofia home from school, and started the stove for dinner.
.
.