FOR IF DREAMS DIE
"Hold fast to dreams, for if dreams die, life is a broken winged bird that cannot fly." Langston Hughes
Note: The gentleman's name is pronounced [a-LEN], rhymes with "again."
Alain Dupré lifted his mouth from Kitty's soft lips long enough to murmur, "A very large man is watching us from the doorway, and, judging by his scowl, I don't think he's all that happy with what he's seeing."
His soft Creole accent fell pleasantly on her ears, instantly propelling her back to a time and place she wasn't certain she wanted to go. But she wasn't certain she didn't want to go there, either. She unhurriedly pulled her mouth away. "That would be the marshal," she responded quietly.
"Don't tell me it's against the law to kiss a pretty girl in Dodge." Alain feigned horror.
"No, Alain, it's not against the law, and I'm glad to see you, but could you be a little less demonstrative, please?" Kitty eased gracefully out of the dark-haired man's embrace. "Sit down, I'll get us a drink. Napoleon still your pleasure?"
He nodded. "One of them." He lifted a cryptic eyebrow.
Kitty brought a bottle of the brandy and two glasses to the table and slid into the seat next to her unexpected visitor. "Okay, Alain, I won't pretend I'm not curious. You're a city man. What brings you to this little cow town?"
"You do."
"I suppose I should be flattered."
"You should. That's a sincere compliment. I've never forgotten you, Kitty. I've gambled my way from New Orleans to San Francisco a dozen times with stops in every major city in between, and I've yet to meet anyone like you. I came to Dodge specifically to seek you out. I have a proposition for you, Kitty."
It was nearly midnight before Matt Dillon again paused in the doorway of the Long Branch Saloon. As always, his blue eyes sought out the stunning redhead who had been his woman for half a dozen years. He saw her standing at the end of the bar, a hard-boiled egg in one hand, chatting with two of the local ranchers. There was no sign of the dark-haired man he had seen earlier.
Another hour passed before the big lawman walked by the saloon again. This time the bar was dark, its doors closed and locked. He moved away from the building and tilted his head upward, not realizing he was holding his breath until he expelled it in a whoosh when he caught sight of the flickering light he had been seeking. Smiling slightly, he rounded the corner and approached the back stairs, climbing quickly and knocking on the old wooden door.
Kitty opened the door, her hair down and tumbling across her shoulders, a pale blue negligee tied loosely around her slender waist. "I was wondering if I'd see you tonight. Where were you all day?"
He shrugged. "Around."
"Well, yeah, it's just kind of unusual for an entire day to go by without seeing you at least once—when you're in town, that is."
"I came by this afternoon, but you were…uh…busy."
She looked at him a moment, frowning slightly, and then she remembered Alain's words: A very large man is watching us from the doorway.
"Matt, if you want to know who he is, just ask." She poured a glass of rye and handed it to him.
He shook his head. "It's just that he looks like trouble, Kitty. Trouble you don't need and I don't want."
"Alain's not trouble, Matt. He's a gambler, and, while I doubt he's a hundred percent honest, he's not trouble. Not by Dodge standards, anyway."
"What's he doing here?"
"Always the lawman, aren't you?" She smirked. "As a matter of fact, he came all the way up here from New Orleans with a proposition for me."
Matt raised his eyebrows, but said nothing.
She filled her own glass and nodded toward the settee. "Sit down and I'll tell you all about it." She settled next to him, close enough to be within the circle of his arm, but far enough away that she could watch his face as she spoke. She drew a deep breath and began. "His name is Alain Dupré, and I've known him forever. He was a regular at Panacea's, and I saw him around for a long time before I actually met him. Then, when I was fourteen, I graduated from suffering through the afternoon pick-up poker games—smiling and looking pretty, bringing drinks to the tables, emptying ash trays—to working the high stakes parties at night. That meant wearing prettier and more revealing dresses, being friendlier with the men, and earning tips for spending money. Alain took a liking to me, and he was…well, he was a client, Matt."
"The bast…" Matt exploded. "You were a child, Kitty."
"Easy, Matt. This isn't bad—really it's not. Do you want to hear or not?"
"Yes…no. I don't know. Do I?"
She nodded. "I think you should, just so you don't get the wrong idea. Alain was a client, but not in the usual sense. What he wanted was for me to sit on his lap while he was at the poker table. He called me his good luck charm. I would sit on his lap, and he would kiss my neck, maybe fondle my breast a bit, but that was about it. Truthfully, I was fascinated by the games—both the actual stud or draw being played on the table—and the mind games the men played with each other. Also, Pan had schooled us well in the art of poker, and I was pretty sure I could have played a lot of those hands better than most of the men. One night I decided to tell Alain so. Not at the table, of course, but later."
"Does 'later' mean what I think it means?"
She shook her head. "Hardly. I didn't know it at first, but Alain was…is…more interested in men than in women. I was a front for him. I just told you what he did in public, but he did far less in private—practically nothing. In retrospect, I suspect Pan knew this and gave me to him so I wouldn't get hurt…or grow up too soon, if you know what I mean."
"Pan's benevolence knows no bounds, it seems," he muttered.
She shot him a look and continued. "Anyway, at the end of the night, Alain would take me to dinner and sometimes to one of the after hours' clubs for more gambling. One night I got up the nerve to tell him he could have ended the evening a big winner if he hadn't been such a slipshod player. He got angry at first, but I went over every hand he had lost, every card he had held, discarded and drawn, and I pointed out where he had made his mistakes. By the time I finished, he was impressed. And it put a new twist on our relationship. From then on, I still sat on his lap, and he still touched me, and I touched him back, but now the touches were signals. I was telling him which cards to play, when to draw, when to stand pat…"
"So you were cheating…"
"Uh, not technically. I wasn't looking at anyone else's hand, wasn't telling him what cards they were holding. I was just helping him to play his own hand."
Matt laughed out loud. "You were a fourteen year old card sharp!"
Kitty laughed with him. "And I was a darned good one, too." She leaned her head back against his arm and closed her eyes, remembering. "Alain was kind to me. He never made any demands, never forced me to do any of the disgusting things the other girls talked about. He bought me nice clothes and took me to the theatre and opera and to all the finest restaurants—places I never would have had entry to without him. And he talked to me—about life and history and faraway places. He taught me a lot, Matt."
"Don't make him sound too generous. He was using you, Kitty." He shifted her closer into his embrace and murmured against her tumbled curls.
"Oh, I know he was using me, but I was using him, too. So long as I was with him, other men stayed away. They knew better than to mess with Alain Dupré's girl."
"Who was…is…he, besides a professional gambler who honed his trade with the help of a child?"
"Old money, Matt. Old family. Time was when the Dupré's owned half the property in the French Quarter. Alain was the youngest of three children. His sister Colette was lots older, and I don't really know anything about her. His brother Maurice was the proverbial black sheep, always in trouble with the law and in need of money—alcohol, women, gambling debts. But Alain was the crown prince. I doubt he ever held a real job in his life, he didn't need to. His idea of hard work was pouring over train and steamer schedules so he could travel from city to city looking for something to place a bet on. He followed the horses to Louisville and Lexington and Saratoga. When San Francisco became the new mecca for gamblers, he went there. He sailed to Europe for the opening of the casino at Monte Carlo. But he always went home—back to New Orleans, back to his family and back to Pan's." She sounded almost wistful as she nestled against the lawman's broad chest. "He's one of a kind, Matt, and I'll always be grateful to him."
Matt let his hand slip over her shoulder, his long fingers tracing lightly along the top of her breast. "So, are you going to tell me about this…uh, proposition?"
"I am. I'm just not sure what I'm going to do about it—if I'm going to accept it or not."
He tilted her face up to his. "Kitty? Maybe this is the part I don't want to hear."
She smiled. "It's a good offer. Alain has decided to become a legitimate business man. He's opening a gambling establishment in San Francisco, and he wants me to manage it for him. And he's offering me forty-nine percent interest in the business—in The Lucky Kitty."
"You mean sell the Long Branch and move to San Francisco?"
She nodded. "Well, I'd have to move, but I wouldn't necessarily have to sell the Long Branch."
"But why would you give up sole ownership of one business for forty-nine percent of another?"
"Profit, Matt. Forty-nine percent interest in a gambling house in San Francisco will, in the long run, result in a lot more income than a hundred percent interest in a saloon in Dodge City."
"But you don't need money, do you, Kitty?"
"No-o-o, not right now. I know money isn't everything, but…I need to think about this, Matt, and about the future. I'm not ready to make a decision yet, but it's tempting." She smiled up at him. "And it is San Francisco."
His lips brushed the top of her head. "I kind of thought you had given up on that dream. I mean, you haven't mentioned it in years."
"Ah, Matt—do we ever really give up on our dreams?" She smiled again and linked her arm in his as they walked toward the bedroom.
"Mmmm…" Kitty dropped a kiss on his shoulder and pushed the damp curls back from his forehead. "That was lovely, Matt."
She watched him brace his weight on his elbows and grin down at her. "Lovely enough to keep you from going to San Francisco?"
"Well…let's just say that performance definitely rates a spot in the 'reasons to stay in Dodge' column."
Even though it was too dark to see, she knew the color was rising on his handsome face as he continued, "Seriously, Kitty…"
"Seriously, Matt, I'd rather not talk about it right now. I have a lot of thinking to do, and I need to get some sleep."
As she settled against his side, she couldn't help but notice that the strong arm usually draped loosely around her waist was, tonight, holding her tight. And later, in the early dawn, she felt a gentle kiss against her tangled curls and a rich voice murmuring into them, "Please don't go away." Then the balcony door closed, and Matt Dillon stepped outside into the morning rain.
TBC