It isn’t a perfect solution. It leads to an expectation that, if some women take credits for sex, maybe they all will, if the price is high enough. I dealt with my share of offers when I first arrived, and in the early days of my relationship with Dalton, plenty of residents suspected I hooked up with him just to put a very big barrier between myself and the male population.
However, I will admit that Isabel regulates the sex trade as tightly as she does the booze. Part of that regulation is making damned sure every woman who does it wants to do it, is safe doing it, and can say no to any client. And woe to the man who asks twice once he’s gotten that no.
At this time of day, the Roc is closed. It’ll open at five, and Isabel’s “girls” won’t be on duty until nine. That’s a recent development, as Isabel tries to make the Roc more accessible to female patrons. I’d pointed out the unfairness of having half of the bars virtually off-limits to female patrons. Isabel saw my point, and we negotiated the nonbrothel early-bird hours.
I open the doors and walk into the Roc, which looks like a Wild West saloon. I’ll admit that part of the “female-friendly” schedule changes are totally selfish on my part. The Red Lion can be stuffy. The Roc is a place where you can grab a drink and park yourself at any table and be welcomed into the conversation.
Right now, the inside is dim and cool and smells of pine shavings. The shavings cover the floor, both for atmosphere and easy cleaning at night’s end, shavings swept up in the morning and fed back into that evening’s fire as kindling. We are conservation kings in Rockton. Also, the shavings smell nice and add to that old-time saloon atmosphere.
I walk behind the bar to the most secure door in Rockton: the liquor safe. It’s closed, and I raise my hand to knock just as a noise sounds from overhead. The very distinctive sound of bedsprings squeaking … along with other distinctive sounds that often accompany that one.
I could leave and come back in an hour. That would be the right thing to do. My business with Phil isn’t urgent. Not as urgent as his current business. However … Well, really, this is just too much fun to resist.
I take a jug of iced tea from the underfloor cooler, pour a glass, and wait. The sounds subside after just enough time for me to finish my drink. Then I head upstairs, calling, “Isabel?”
I reach the top of the steps. “Isabel? It’s Casey. I’m looking for Phil, and I was told he was here—”
The door at the end opens, and a woman steps out dressed in a wrapper. Isabel Radcliffe. Former therapist. Current bar and brothel owner. And while I’d love to claim the title of most powerful woman in Rockton for myself, I have to concede it to her. She controls the booze and the sex, and that makes her the queen.
Isabel is forty-six years old and quite possibly the most glamorous woman I have ever met. She’s full-figured and attractive, but it’s more than that. It’s confidence and style, and she oozes both. Brilliant. Manipulative. A sheer force of nature, one I have butted heads with since I arrived, which doesn’t stop me from now considering her one of my closest friends. Nor does it stop the head-butting. We’d hate to lose that.
“I found Phil, didn’t I?” I say as she pads barefoot down the hall.
Her smile answers for her. It’s wicked, and it’s very, very pleased with herself, and I can’t help laughing. She’s had her eye on Phil since he arrived, which I’d been glad to see. She’d spent the last year in mourning for a lover—claiming she was over him, while not so much as glancing at another man. This is a welcome turn of events.
I’m about to comment when footsteps sound behind me. As Dalton comes up the stairs, I say to Isabel, “So, was he worth the chase?”
“Definitely,” she says, leaning against the wall. “I’ll admit I was concerned about that. He’s very pretty, and too often, men use that as an excuse for lackluster sex. Women do, too, I presume. So it’s a relief to get a partner who is both pretty and proficient.” She glances at Dalton. “Am I right, Sheriff?”
Dalton arches his brows.
“Just say yes,” I say.
“Considering I don’t know what she’s talking about, that seems unwise,” he says.
Isabel smiles. “Oh, believe me, it’s wise. Unless you want to say that Casey here is lovely to look at but terribly dull to bed.”
Dalton looks at me and jerks a thumb toward the closed door down the hall. “Phil?”
“Yes,” I say. “And Isabel assures us he’s both pretty and good in bed.”
“Just what I wanted to hear.” He strides down the hall and bangs his fist on the door. “Phil? Get your pants on. We need to talk.”
“Don’t keep him long, please,” Isabel says as she heads downstairs. “Twenty minutes would be optimal.”
I shake my head and join Dalton as the door opens. Phil is fully dressed, as if he’d just been talking inventory with Isabel because the bedroom is a more comfortable place to do business. His fly is down, though, and the back of his hair stands on end.
“Zip up,” Dalton says as he walks past.
Phil does and then spots his glasses on the nightstand and grabs them, which is a shame, because I was going to try confirming my suspicion that the lenses are plain glass. Phil reminds me of those stock-photo pictures of young businessmen, where they stick glasses on a male model and take a picture of him with a stack of files, as if every corporate department is filled with guys who look like this.
“I was just…” Phil begins, struggling for an excuse.
“Taking Isabel’s inventory?” I say.
He actually blushes. It’s kinda cute. He’s stammering an excuse when Dalton says, “No one cares if you’re sleeping with Isabel.”
“Well, yes,” I say. “I can think of a few women—and men—who’ll be disappointed that you’ve chosen a partner. But we don’t care. It’s a long cold winter, and Isabel is a good choice to make it a little warmer.”
“Yeah,” Dalton says. “Up here relationships can get complicated. Expectations start low and soar fast. Isabel’s a safe bet. It’ll be straight sex. No danger of attachment.”
Phil checks his glasses for smudges and then puts them on. “Yes, of course. That was my thought. As much as I admire Isabel, you don’t need to worry about me forming any undue attachment.”
“I meant there’s no danger of her forming one.”
Phil goes still, and the look on his face … I could say something, smooth over Dalton’s bluntness. Once upon a time, I would have. Now, well, Phil will get over it, and if this makes him work harder to win Isabel’s favor, she’ll appreciate that.
“So, we’re back early,” I say.
“Yes, that’s right,” Phil says, adjusting his glasses. “You are. What happened?”
“We have a baby.”
Phil blinks. “You’re having…”
“Already have one. She’s at the clinic.”
More blinking. Dalton’s lips twitch as he leans against the wall to enjoy the fun.
“She…?” Phil says. “You had a … baby?”
“No, we have a baby. Rockton does.”