Scarlett was a big-boned gal from New Orleans, with wide hips and a gigantic bosom. Scarlett knew enough French to communicate with the third woman, Monique, who was twenty, French, and spoke practically no English. Because French-speakin’ people were so rare in this part of the country, it was thought that wherever Scarlett went, Monique would follow.

Of the three, Monique was the looker.

“Well, the top whores like Lola Montez, are fine as cream gravy,” I said. “Lola bathes in champagne every day, and wipes her butt with rose petals.”

“Rose petals?” Gentry said. “Honest? Wow! I’d love to meet her!”

Scarlett said, “If you do, maybe she’ll let you wipe your ass with the thorns.”

“Well anyway,” I said, “them type a’ whores are what you call courtesans. Denver, Seattle, San Francisco—that’s pretty much it. The next level is your parlor house whore, where they have a madam and professor. The professor’s a piano player. They serve you and your gentleman food and drinks and then he’ll ask if you want to go for a walk.”

“A walk?” Gentry said.

“That means upstairs, to your bedroom.”

“The music, food, and drink part sounds good,” Gentry said.

“Well, it’s somethin’ to shoot for.” 

Scarlett said, “We heard tell you’re honest, Mr. Love.”

“I reckon I am,” I said.

“Then be completely honest with us.”

“Ma’am?”

“We need to know what to expect when we get there.”

We looked at each other a minute, and then I said, “I s’pect Monique will land in one a’ them  parlor houses.”

“But not us?”

While I thought about how to answer her question, Scarlett whispered to Monique, and patted her knee, reassuringly. Scarlett was no beauty, but she appeared to have a good heart.

“How old are you?” I said.

“Twenty-six,” Scarlett said.

To Gentry I said, “I mean no offense, but are you pimply all over?”

“Just my face and the back of my neck.”

“Your figure’s good.”

She smiled.

I said, “Any rashes, birth marks or scars?”

“No. I can show you, if you like.”

I held up my hand. “Not necessary. I’m just thinkin’ it through.”

We all sat quiet a minute. Then I said, “I’ll try to get the two of you with Mama Priss.”

“Who’s that?” said Gentry.

“Priscilla Bright. She’s a madam, a friend of mine. She runs your next level of whorin’, what they call a brothel.”

“Like here,” Scarlett said.

“Not this nice,” I said. “You’ll make your own food, do your own laundry, and buy your own clothes. But you’ll make ten times the money.”

“How’s that possible?”

“There’s a lot of money comes through Dodge, and women are scarce. One miner rode eighty miles to get a pancake breakfast from one of Priss’s girls. Another was so homesick he walked thirty miles just to hold a woman’s baby. What I’m sayin’, if you nurture ’em, these men’ll pay you ten dollars for a poke, and twenty-five for an overnight.”

“Jesus!” Gentry said. “How much of that do we get to keep?”

“Half.”

Monique whispered somethin’ to Scarlett. Scarlett said, “How much will Monique get?”

“Monique’s high end,” I said. “She’ll fetch a hundred a night.”

Scarlett’s eyes went big as saucers. She whispered it to Monique, and the pretty girl’s face broke into a wide grin.