French Postcards

by Lilyjack

A complete and utter suspension of disbelief on your part, dear reader, is required for proper enjoyment of this practically plot-free fic. The story is set late in Season Two, as will be revealed by brief mentions of a particular Season Two episode. Many, many thanks to hellomatt for her tireless beta services. I think what started out as a tiny vignette has turned into a nice story, thanks to her advice. It's only two chapters, but I hope you all enjoy it. ~lj

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Chapter 1

"Alchemy"

"Just lie down, my dear, and keep that silk sheet over you. You're not chilled? That shade of gold is beautiful against your skin. Alas, the color makes no matter, does it? No one will ever behold those cerulean eyes and stunning titian hair unless they are fortunate enough to see you in the flesh here in Dodge. But, nonetheless, I shall endeavor to preserve your ethereal loveliness in exquisite shades of ivory, of cream and beige, all courtesy of the alchemy of shadow and light… Now, my lady, shall we begin?"

Rounding a rickety tower of empty crates and barrels, Matt Dillon froze mid-step, lips parted, eyes riveted to the scene that lay before him. Across the sun-streaked, abandoned storeroom, a voluptuous figure reclined upon a red velvet chaise. The couch was adorned with richly embroidered fabrics, but she - and there was no doubt the figure in repose was a woman - seemed to be wearing nothing more than golden silk draped over her body. She lay on her belly, her head turned toward the far window. But there was no mistaking those smooth, bare arms and shoulders visible above the fabric, nor the fiery hair, nor the pale pink cheek he could view only in profile. There was absolutely no doubt that the lady in question was his close confidante Kitty Russell.

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Earlier that day, after a disappointing lunch of watery beef stew and rock-hard biscuits at Delmonico's, Matt had been cornered by an agitated Wilbur Jonas. The old shopkeeper reckoned something peculiar had been going on at the former Fletcher Washburn & Company Emporium. Washburn had closed up shop and skipped town three months prior, and the building still lay vacant.

Ever-watchful Jonas had noticed a considerable number of comings and goings at that former emporium the past few days, most of the visitors girls who worked with Kitty at the Long Branch or at the myriad of other saloons and bawdy houses in Dodge. "Ya' might oughta look into that, Marshal," the grizzled shopkeeper had sternly advised, peering over his spectacles at the Marshal. Matt hated to admit it to busybody Jonas, but his curiosity had most certainly been piqued, and he'd decided he would pay the empty store a visit.

Official business, however, had circumvented his plans. First, he'd been summoned to break up a bloody knife fight at the Alafraganza Saloon. He'd had to haul the drunken offenders back to the jail and fetch Doc to tend to their sorry hides. Then, outside the Feed and Seed, he'd been forced to politely suffer the concerted efforts of Mrs. Mabel Clifton to coax him into coming for supper on Sunday with her family, a family that included eminently marriageable daughter Lorna Mae. Matt had barely escaped by the skin of his teeth.

Finally, Matt had found time to check out the old emporium himself. He'd loped down the boardwalk, saying hello or simply nodding his head to courteous citizens he met along the way. The towering marshal had shaded his eyes with cupped hands as he peered through the storefront window-glass and finally rattled the doorknob. Disconcertingly, he'd found it unlocked. He'd ducked his head in, glancing at the empty shelves lining the walls, the dust-filmed countertops. Not a soul in sight. He'd spied an open doorway to the storeroom in back, so he'd headed over to investigate.

And that's when he had spotted her. The astonishing sight had knocked the breath clean out of him. Kitty Russell was resting upon a couch covered only in a silky bedsheet. He'd frozen alright, rooted to the floor, observing as a well-dressed man approached the chaise. The man reached out a hand toward her…

"Hold it right there…" Matt was surprised to hear himself demand aloud. His booted feet finally propelled him forward. "What's goin' on here? Kitty, are you okay?"

"Matt!" a startled Kitty exclaimed, clutching the golden fabric close. "What are you doin' here?"

That's when Matt turned his head to take in the rest of the room. The dapper, rather handsome man was obviously a dude. He stood patiently smiling, his slender, sensitive hands clasped in front of his black waistcoat and black satin embroidered vest. The man was of middling years, gray peppering his neatly trimmed beard and nearly shoulder-length wavy brown hair.

Behind him was a variety of open steamer trunks full of Oriental rugs, exotic tasseled fabrics, mirrors and other items for a lady's toilette. Small stools and chairs were scattered on the floor around the trunk.

He stepped back to stand next to a contraption Matt recognized as a camera. It was supported by a wooden tripod like the one that doomed Professor Jacoby had brought to Dodge a few weeks ago in search of exciting western drama to photograph.

But this fellow apparently was not interested in photographing rough cowboys with guns or grisly murders. No, this man had a decidedly more delicate and seductive photographic study in mind. Matt pushed his hat back off his forehead, his ears turning pink when he spotted an abandoned pile of clothing thrown across a chair. It included what looked like the lavender dress Kitty had been wearing earlier that day when he'd visited her at the Long Branch. He asked somewhat insistently, "Kitty, what are you doin'?"

"What does it…" she impatiently huffed as she struggled to sit up gracefully. "…look like I'm doin'?" Her brow furrowed crossly as she tugged the sheet higher and tucked it securely under her arms.

Matt took a step closer, asking her quietly, "Do you know this guy?" He jerked a thumb towards the faintly amused photographer.

"I know his name. Well, no, I don't really know 'im, but… " Kitty sighed heavily as she irritably twisted and modestly rearranged the folds of her slippery silk covering. "How did you know I was here, Matt?"

"I didn't. I just heard that people were seen comin' in and out of this abandoned building, and I dropped by to check on it."

Clearing his throat, the photographer took his cue to step forward, extending his hand to Matt. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but my name is Gabriel Albright. I am the owner of Albright Photography Company." He pointed to the silver star on Matt's chest. "I take it you're the marshal?"

Matt tried to focus on what the photographer was saying, but the whole time he was acutely aware that Kitty was sitting there wearing practically nothing, watching him. The flush in Matt's ears began to travel down his neck. "Yes, I'm the marshal, but…"

Albright smoothly interrupted, "Marshal, it is indeed a pleasure to meet you. Let me ask you a question. You have no ordinances in Dodge against photography of any kind, do you?"

"Well, no, but…"

"Actually, Marshal, I must admit to being a bit coy. I'm well aware of your laws here," Gabriel Albright quickly but politely informed him. "I checked into the matter before I ever travelled to Dodge. You know, the Western American territories are much more liberal in allowing the expression of art in its many forms, including photography. Some sorts of photography are outlawed back East."

"You don't say," Matt drily responded.

"Photographs of beautiful women, such as your friend Miss Russell here, are in high demand. The market for evocative, artistic photography in the past few years has nearly exceeded the supply, so I am traveling the country in search of the loveliest subjects to share with admiring patrons of the arts."

Matt, shoving his thumbs in his belt, eyed Mr. Albright askance. "What's that got to do with Kitty here?"

The use of his model's first name was not lost on Gabriel Albright. He smoothly replied, "Oh, yes, I assure you, there's a tremendous demand for lovely artistic subjects just like the stunning Miss Russell." Albright held a finger in the air for emphasis as he explained, "You know, the French are the entrepreneurs, always the frontrunners when it comes to artistic expression. They've been creating beautiful photographs in the style of paintings by the old Renaissance masters, Greek and Roman sculpture for over thirty years now, since the dawn of the modern age of photography."

Matt just stared a hot hole in the photographer. Then he looked at Kitty. She appeared wide-eyed, unsure. Kitty had been quite reluctant to have her photograph taken by Professor Jacoby. Now here she was, facing the camera lens again. What had made her change her mind? "Albright, you don't mind if I have a quick word with your…lovely artistic subject here, do you?"

"No, of course not, Marshal. I'll just step over here and prepare my plate, select my next background. I'm considering putting Miss Russell in front of a full-length mirror, perhaps brushing her hair…" His voice drifted off as he busied himself digging through the contents of his trunks.

Matt sidled closer to Kitty. She sat up straighter, tugging the silk fabric higher. He kneeled down on one knee next to the chaise, clearing his voice self-consciously, looking up into her eyes earnestly. "Why are you doin' this, Kitty?" he asked in a hushed tone.

"Why do you think, Matt?" she whispered back insistently. "He's payin' me a lotta money. Lots more money that I could ever make on a…a regular day, a whole week of regular days, actually."

Apparently overhearing their conversation, Albright offered helpfully over his shoulder, "And I'll pay her more…dependent upon what shots we take."

Matt shifted his body to stare at Albright until the man coughed a little and turned back to his work, sorting through metal plates in a black box.

Kitty's brows beetled. "I need the money, Matt."

"What for?"

Her lips thinned as she looked at him in consternation. "Did you ever stop to think I don't wanna always be a workin' girl?"

Matt's face flushed.

She continued quietly but determinedly, "That I might have bigger plans?"

"Well, sure, but…" Matt shifted his weight to the other knee then rubbed a hand over his chin. "But you're here with him all alone. Anything could happen."

Kitty frowned. "Matt, stop and think what you're sayin'. How is this any different from a normal day for me? But all this fella' wants to do is take my picture. It's a heckuva lot better than a normal day if you ask me." She pointedly arched a brow at him.

Matt's eyes darted away from her intent gaze. "This is a little different, Kitty. Look around you. You're isolated in this empty storeroom. Usually, Bill Pence or Sam is downstairs to help you out if you need it. And I'm usually right down the street, too. All you'd have to do is yell and I'd be there quick as a wink."

Kitty lowered her voice further. "Matt, I've talked to some of the other girls who posed for him – nothing happened to them. He just took their photographs."

"Kitty, I don't like this. It's not safe."

She leaned over to whisper in his ear, "He is gonna pay me a lot of money, Matt, money I need. And he promised no one would see my face, only in profile. No one would recognize me. He says he'll take these all the way back East to sell. No one knows me there."

"But…"

"I'm perfectly safe," she insisted.

Albright strode forward then, watching the young man and woman, overhearing their intimate conversation. "Please pardon the interruption, but…" He smiled at them both in turn. "…you can trust me, Marshal."

"And just why should I trust you?" Matt asked him point-blank, standing to face the man.

A corner of Albright's mouth turned up and he paused a beat. Then he invited, "I'll tell you what, I'll let you stay right here and keep an eye on my beautiful subject. You can make sure nothing untoward happens to her."

Kitty's mouth dropped open. Matt's flushed complexion travelled up to his hairline. He screwed up his mouth for an instant and then placed his hands determinedly on his hips. "Just maybe I'll do that, Albright."

Kitty cried, "Oh no, you won't."

Matt turned to face her. "Why not?"

"Well…" She frowned at him, her own cheeks turning pink. "…because!"

"Well, Kitty," Matt drawled, crossing his arms over his wide chest. "… aren't you already accustomed to…this sort of thing?"

"This sort of thing?" Her voice raised a notch. "Well, not in front of you!"

Matt asked quietly, "Why not me?"

"Well, because…" She frowned and studied her fingers as she absently stroked the soft red velvet of the chaise. "…you're different, that's why."

Albright interjected with an amused expression on his face, "I'm rather surprised, Marshal. I would've thought a man of your standing in this fine town would have patronized the favors of the most beautiful girl in Dodge."

Kitty and Matt both exclaimed simultaneously, "No!"

Kitty's cheeks flamed red as Matt's expression blackened. "Whatta you mean talking about a lady like that, Albright?" Matt took a menacing step toward the photographer, but Kitty grabbed his arm.

"No, Matt!" she insisted. "He didn't mean anything by it."

Albright held up both hands. "I'm very sorry, my dear. I meant no offense, I assure you."

Kitty, holding onto Matt's shirt sleeve, glanced back and forth between the two men. "None taken, Mr. Albright."

Albright gave a slight bow, clearing his throat. "I must remind you that my photographic plate is coated with colloidal chemicals, and time is of the essence. Each plate must be used quickly, or it will be ruined."

Kitty pursed her lips and carefully crossed her arms. "Fine, have it your way then, both of you. Go ahead, Mr. Albright, with your photographs. My bodyguard here can just cool his heels over in a corner."

"Excellent, my dear! Let's get started…"

tbc

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