The Green Lace Corset, стр. 15
She wanted to knock on the ceiling and ask the driver to slow down, but instead she held back the leather curtain and gasped for air. The sun shone from behind billowy clouds. Muddy ruts from previous travelers made the road rugged. To help settle her stomach, she tried to count the pines as they passed. When the coach rounded a bend, mud splashed up from a wheel and flew into her face. She closed the curtain with a scream.
Cliff laughed. She had to get out now. She put her fingers on the door handle. Cliff removed his hat. If she jumped out, she’d probably be killed, but it would be better than being in this stagecoach with a murderer.
11
That evening, Anne donned the corset, skirt, cowgirl boots, and black coat. Bushy hair updoed, she applied plenty of makeup and false eyelashes. She checked herself out in the full-length mirror on the back of her closet door, put a hand behind her head, wiggled her hips, and said aloud, “I am lovable, gorgeous, and sexy.”
She wrote it on a sticky note with a Sharpie and attached it to the top of the mirror. If this didn’t do the trick, she didn’t know what would.
Stars glittered in the sky as she rode a Lyft to Sockshop on Haight Street. She asked the driver to wait while she ran in and purchased a pair of fishnet stockings. She pulled them on in the Lyft’s back seat and texted Howard: On my way.
As they drove into Hayes Valley, the shops were just starting to close. Warning foghorns hooted from the bay. That eerie sound always made her feel as if danger were ahead; she shivered in her coat.
The driver dropped her off in front of Ruby’s. Country music beat a rhythm as she stepped inside the foyer and waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. Along the side walls hung framed antique posters. Small art lights illuminated each.
One poster had a sketch of a bandit, but because of his hat and the kerchief over his mouth, only his beady eyes showed. Anne wondered how the drawing could have helped find the bandit. The poster read:
WANTED
DEAD OR ALIVE
$1,000 REWARD
CLIFFORD CLIFTON, ALIAS CLIFF CLABOURN
SHOULD BE CONSIDERED DANGEROUS
BANK ROBBER, MURDERER
KANSAS CITY, 1885
“Cool.” She took a photo with her phone. The poster might work in one of her collages.
“Boot Scootin’ Boogie,” one of her favorite songs, began to play, and she entered the jam-packed space. Howard waved at her from a high bar. To the beat of the music, she strutted around the dance floor and wound her way through the tables, toward the back. She gave Howard a hug and hung her coat on the stool.
“Girlfriend, look at you.” Howard touched the sequins on her waist.
“Arizona vintage.” She wiggled her hips.
“Yeehaw! You look plum purty.’” He spoke in an exaggerated country drawl.
“You’re looking dapper yourself.”
His blond hair slicked back, he walked in a circle to show off his sequined vest and fitted jeans. “Yes’m. I’m always ready. Never know who I might meet.”
“I guess so.” He was such a character.
“I ordered us some ale.”
A waitress swung by and dropped off their beers.
Howard held up his stein. “To vintage shopping.”
Anne clicked her glass with his, took a sip. She leaned in and said, “I had the best time.”
“It’s too loud to talk,” he yelled. “Show me more pics.”
She handed him her phone, and Howard started scrolling through while she watched the crowd on the dance floor.
They finished their beers, and he ordered another round. The band switched to “Electric Boogie.”
Anne and Howard gazed into each other’s eyes and mouthed the lyrics. Ready? Let’s do this.
He took her hand, and she followed him onto the dance floor, lights flashing above. Step-touch, step-touch, she then shimmied her shoulders, feeling sexy dancing in the corset. But when it came time to turn, she missed the beat, her feet got all tangled up, and she bumped into the guy beside her.
“Sorry.” How embarrassing.
The guy shrugged, jumped in front of her, and pointed at his feet for her to copy his exaggerated moves.
Dancing had never been her forte, but she thought she’d be able to follow along to this one. When she still couldn’t get the hang of it, she returned to her chair but continued to sing along.
“You do know what the words are about, don’t you?” Howard yelled over the music as he sat back beside her.
She shook her head. “No. What?”
“Listen.”
She listened closely: electric, shakin’, pumpin’.
“A sex toy? Oh my God. No way.” She couldn’t stop laughing.
“I’ve heard the composer denies it, but you’ve gotta wonder.” Howard slapped his knee.
They finished their beer. When their server passed by, Howard ordered another round.
The music switched to Brooks & Dunn’s “Brand New Man.” Anne loved the song and watched the guy she had run into move smoothly around the dance floor, doing the cowboy cha-cha. Thumbs tucked into his front jean pockets, he rocked back and forth and did the turns perfectly. The buckle on his belt, big as a rodeo star’s, gleamed in the light. Anne imagined what he’d look like with his shirt off. He reminded her of one of the Thunder from Down Under dancers she’d taken Fay to see for her bachelorette party.
Maybe he really was a cowboy, sexy in his rust suede chaps and Stetson. Maybe he owned a horse or even a ranch out in Los Olivos, Napa, or Sonoma. They could ride from his property to go wine tasting. He’d sit real tall on a big palomino like Trigger, and she’d wear her green lace corset on a paint. An artist should always ride a colorful horse. Maybe he even played a guitar and sang like Roy Rogers.
A cowboy was exactly the kind of man she needed. He’d be much more