Buttercup Read online

  “My Pa preached about these people. Sil, we... we should go from here,” Jelly stammered. “We should go now.”

  “Sorry, toots. Take the con elsewhere. C’mon!” He snatched Jelly’s collar and pulled him away from the witch. Several tents had card games or shuffling shells, the usual carnie tricks. Nothing compared to the barker’s call.

  “Step right up fella's. Hey you! That's right, I'm talking to you. This you want to hear! Not another show better than this one, boys. You know it's the trooth! Always the finest, the freshest pussy when Tiny’s Carnival comes to town. Got a flower that’s ripe for the picking tonight. One night showing only...”

  Silvio pushed his way into the crowd to get closer, dragging Jelly by the back of the neck.

  “They call her Buttercup, prettiest little flower you ever will see.” The midget stumped his wooden cane on the podium. “Dare any of you to find a gal, colored or white, that gives you half as good! She’ll make it dandy, boys. That’s Tiny’s promise!”

  “We should go. What if someone finds the hooch we left,” Jelly whispered. Silvio’s eyes lifted to the flapping sign over the event tent. It whipped about by the stormy winds. He could smell pending rain mixed in with the bullshit the little man was selling. Still he was curious. Who was the gal they called Buttercup?

  “Shut your trap, Jelly,” Silvio hissed, not wanting to seem like a sap around the other men. No one noticed Jelly’s whining. He fished in his pockets. He had ten dollars as a down payment on the run. Another twenty waited for him on delivery. He supposed he could spare a dollar for them to have a good time. “I think we going to see a show.”

  Jelly stepped back instead of forward. He shook his head; the fat meat along his jaws began to jiggle along with his double chin. “My Pa won’t approve.”

  “Jelly, boy, you need to loosen up. Your Pa, Sheriff Tuck, hell all of Jefferson County can kiss our ass! We got money and now we gots means. Now we get us some Buttercup. She might even let you sniff it!” he chuckled.

  Jelly paled.

  Silvio hooked his arm around Jelly’s neck and yoked him forward, forcing him to walk at his side. They moved through the pinned back fold of the tent. The place was filled with others. Rickety foldout chairs offered a place to squat, but most men preferred to stand. If anything, they wanted to see who would replace Lady Joyce.

  A tall Indian, with shoulders about a foot wide, collected coins in his hat. Silvio dropped in a folded bill. The Indian looked at it for a moment, and then his eyes flipped back up at him. Dark and mean, they narrowed on Silvio before he offered change. It wasn’t a look that Silvio took kindly. He knew a shake down. If he and Jelly were pegged as marks they would have an even harder time trying to tag on with the carnies out of the county. He pushed Jelly to the front, keeping an eye on the Indian who just stared after them.

  “We shouldn’t,” Jelly protested. He stumbled awkwardly over his feet. Silvio forced him down in a seat.

  “Take a load off. Either way, it’s coming out your half.” Silvio slapped him on the back and plopped down in the empty chair to his right along the front row. He’d seen a couple of girlie papers but not a real live show. It would be a good way to pass the time until Tuck and his men called off the hunt. But even more interesting was the money they collected at the door. He wondered about what a night’s take in a hoochie-coochie tent would bring. Just as quickly, he set aside the thought, though his pistol was down in his knickers pocket pressed into his thigh. Not even Jelly knew he carried it. He looked back for the Indian. There were two other men with him at the back of the tent, all staring. Things could get interesting.

  The dwarf was lifted to the podium. He walked along with the aid of a gnarled wooden stick, eyeing the crowd.

  “Where she at!” one fella yelled.

  “Pussy better rain gumdrops for a damn quarter!” another threw out.

  Silvio rocked back on the shaky legs of his chair. He chuckled. How special could some gal be in a dusty ole carnival like this, he wondered. The dwarf favored them with a toothless smile. “Not gumdrops, fellas. More like rose petals. The sweetest little flower you’ve ever seen. Not like the ones you got home waitin’ on ya, if’in you do.”

  Tiny was his name. He gave a bow-legged waddle over to the phonograph player’s crank, winding it up. Out of the curtain came a scraggly looking woman. Some laughed. Others snickered. Silvio just frowned. The old hag in a dress, a size too big, danced the Charleston.

  “Trixie, boys!” said the midget.

  She was quite pathetic, panting, gyrating her hips at one man then the next. And when the clothes slipped off, Silvio wished he hadn’t chosen the front row. He noticed that Jelly kept his eyes down. He elbowed his friend in his fat belly. “Look at it. Hooch is right. Need an entire bottle to want some of that.”

  Jelly shyly looked up. Trixie tried her best, her skin all wrinkly with moles. “Her teat’s look like Maxine’s...our cow,” Jelly said.

  Silvio let go a laugh. He laughed so hard he nearly fell back in his chair. Shaking his head, he decided it was a quarter well spent. And most there felt the same, laughing and pushing at each other as the poor creature gave it her best. Then she went for the stealer. It started with knee knocking, and hands pressed under armpits while her arms flapped in a chicken-like dance.

  “You like that, boys?” the barker yelled out.

  “Hell no!” several yelled back.

  “If I wanted to see a dead chicken, I’d stayed back on the farm!” one man snorted. The others roared. Jelly finally laughed too. Silvio was glad to see him loosen up. The barker walked over to Trixie and gave her a pat on the backside to move it along. He waited for quiet. “Are you ready?”

  “Where’s Lady Joyce! That’s what I wanna know,” another man yelled his reply.

  The barker put up his hand. “You seen that pussy. This here is your special treat for half the cost. Now how’s that?”

  “Awe, stop stalling, Tiny, and bring her out already!” another yelled back.

  The others exchanged puzzled glances. Silvio sat upright in his chair, attention drawn to the shut curtain. Suddenly, he wanted to know more. The phonograph skipped, then blared a swing beat, a mix of trumpet and piano keys that anyone could dance to. And from nowhere, she appeared. Her arrival stunned them all into silence. None of them expected her to be colored. None of them expected her to be beautiful.

  “Buttercup!” Tiny announced.

  Buttercup strutted across the platform. She gave a girlish twirl, smiling sweetly. The hem to her yellow flapper dress swirled at her knees. The men in the tent fell silent. Either she didn't notice or didn't care. She rocked her hips back and forth smiling from ear to ear. The music played. The seductive rhythm slowly introduced her body to a controlled sway. Her hands were on her hips and she continued to work them in time with the music. As the melody rose in pitch and intensity, so did the tension amongst the men. Her bottom shakes, first shy and girlish, became purposeful, provocative.

  No one spoke.

  Buttercup bloomed before their eyes. She worked every inch of her lower half, stroking and touching herself through her dress. She put on moves Silvio would never want a beauty like her to do publicly.

  The tempo changed, and so did Buttercup. A slow jazzy tune skipped on the record. She ran her hands down over breasts and stomach, torturously slow. Then she reached both hands behind her to ease down the zipper. She turned as she did so but peeked innocently over her shoulder as the fabric began to peel away from her skin. The smooth brown flawlessness of her back was revealed. Her hair, a dark cloud of bushy curls, was pined on one side by a large silk yellow flower. She batted long even lashes at them over large brown eyes as the fabric moved down her curves and fell in a puddle of material at her feet.

  “Sil?”

  “Shut up, Jelly,” Silvio murmured.

  Buttercup, as they called her, had yet to reveal her treasures. Her arms crossed in front of her. She looked over her left shoulder and the
n her right while working her bare hips, save for the garter belt, stockings and heels. Silvio admired her back view, which was perfect symmetry. The air in his lungs grew solid. He struggled to breathe. Every man in the room felt it. A collective held breath waited for the true unveiling.

  She looked away from her admirers but opened her arms with a rounding whirl of her hips and gave a slow turn for all to be revealed. Silvio finally stood. Jelly blushed for what he considered wicked ways that Buttercup displayed. A harlot, a jezebel, he couldn’t stand it. Silvio knew his thoughts and felt the exact opposite. She was a goddess.

  Unabashedly seductive, Buttercup went down with hands to knees and opened her thighs for them. Soon, every man in the room knew why she was anointed with the name.

  Then their eyes met. By chance? No, this moment, he was sure of, was supposed to happen. She focused on him. She danced for Silvio, rising, and winking. He couldn’t stop grinning. From her pert breasts and dark nipples, to her flat tummy and the bush over her sex, she exuded the kind of appeal he never envisioned on gals like her. As if she knew what spell she cast, she rolled her hips directly at him, running her tongue over her full upper lip.

  Silvio squeezed his cap in his hand. He hadn’t realized he removed it. Biting down hard on his bottom lip, he felt tightness in his groin from the promise of what was just beyond his reach. Buttercup worked it for him. There was no doubt in the naughty way she fondled the lips of her sex, parting as an open invitation. Silvio actually took a step toward the stage, but she danced away, gyrating for another. Bringing her performance to an end, she did a cartwheel and then split in a climatic conclusion.

  The men went wild, rushing the stage. The Indian shoved them back along with other lot men that had mixed in the crowd. The Carnies were taller and stronger, determined to turn back those that thought the colored girl was theirs for the taking. Buttercup beamed at the mob-like attention and hand whistles. She blew them kisses, grinning from ear to ear. Silvio whistled through his fingers and clapped just to get her to look his way again.

  He slapped Jelly on the back of the neck and squeezed. “See, I told you the sweetest treat a quarter could buy.”

  Della couldn’t stop laughing. Tiny was hissing through clenched teeth like a rattler for her to get off the stage. Sure men ogled her on the sidelines, but when Lady Joyce was on the stage it was Joyce’s show alone. This night they were whistling for her, begging for more. Offering to pay!

  Buttercup’s eyes swept the pale faces. She blew another kiss to her adoring fans, waving at them all. It was then that she noticed him. He was one of many but the only one that made her blush, look away, and then back again. His dark hair was smoothed back from his face with the purest bluest eyes. Della blew him a special kiss, and he winked back. Stan lifted her and threw her over his shoulder, a direct order from Tiny. He carried her off stage. She waved at the dark haired fella with the eyes the color of blue-sky. He stood there with his hands in his pockets, watching her get carried away.

  “Now stay put until Lone Wolf come for you both,” Stan grunted, pushing her to get dressed. He then went back to herding the men out of the tent.

  She found Trixie pacing, her sunburned face twisted in rage.

  “Tiny did that on purpose!” Trixie spat.

  Della slipped on her yellow show dress. She had made the nut tonight though she’d have to share with Lady Joyce and Trix. Whatever was made over in tips was the split. Normally, she and Trix would only get about a deuce if Joyce starred and even less if more girls performed. Tonight would be more than that. She was sure. So to hell with Trixie and her pout. She couldn’t wait to find out from Tiny how much. Trixie cut her off when she tried to run out of the back of the tent.

  “You think you special? Well you ain’t! Just some darkie with a young nigger snatch. They’d want me before they’d ever want you!” Trixie sneered.

  Della laughed. “You wish, Trix. Problem is you forgot that this here is a Hooch Show, not a chicken coop. That bird dance you did had us all thinking you was gon’ lay an egg for sure.” She pushed past her, stuck out her tongue, and then ran out of the tent laughing. She laughed hard enough to cry. She was moving fast to get around being seen by Tiny’s men. It took him twenty minutes before he cleared the townies away.

  Ducking between the back trucks, she beat a path for Lady Joyce’s train car when suddenly blue eyes jumped out in front of her.

  “Hey there, pretty lady.”

  “Lordie! You gave me a fright!” Della stumbled back. She regarded him with suspicion, which was quickly eclipsed by curiosity. How'd he make it this far and not get stopped by one of the lot guys, she wondered.

  Silvio smirked. He offered her a gentleman’s bow. Della’s eyes darted around them. She and he were the only ones on the east side of the carnival.

  “Forgive me. I just had to meet the star for myself. Name is Silvio, mam, but you can call me Sil.”

  He was cute enough to be interesting.

  “I’m Del-Buttercup,” she said with a smirk.

  “Yes, you are the prettiest flower in Kentucky. That was quite a show, Miss Buttercup.”

  She nodded, grinning for him and giving a polite courtesy. Then she crossed her arms and stared him down. “I’m done. Show over.”

  “Right. I didn’t mean...”

  “I know what you meant. What you want?” she huffed. He stood there staring for a few minutes, as if unsure of the question. Della smiled at the cute way his brows drew together and his nose pinched. “You hard of hearing?”

  “No, well... I...”

  Then came the rain. The clouds exploded. Della squealed. She shot like a bullet across the grass. She could’ve run for Lady Joyce’s train car but she rounded it, feet sloshing in the mud puddles. She rushed straight into her tent. When she turned around, she found cutie-pie had followed. “Tiny catch you in my tent, he’ll kill you’,” she warned, not bothering to demand he leave. He just stood there watching. She glanced back at him once more. “You gon’ watch me change? It’ll be a dollar.”

  He reached in his pocket and threw five bills on her cot. Della stared at the money in disbelief. She looked to him and then the money.

  “You’re the prettiest colored girl I’ve seen. You can have it. All of it.”

  “If’in I give you something more?” she asked, hands to her hips.

  “Not if you don’t want to. I mean, I rather sit and just stare at you,” he smirked. Della laughed, knowing the score.

  “Della!” Lone Wolf yelled outside of her tent. She grabbed his hand and pushed him to the far corner. Snatching up the loose bills, she tucked them inside the front of her dress. She stuck her head out of the fold of the tent in the rain. She had to squint to see through the downpour that dripped into her eyes and nostrils.

  “Yeah!”

  “You know better.” Lone Wolf marched over angrily.

  “I gettin’ dressed. Tell Tiny I’ll stay in my tent. I won’t come out. It's rainin'. Nobody come fer me out here any ways!”

  He stopped mid-step, the rain falling, his dark mane stuck to the sides of his head. He crossed his arms over his massive chest and looked up to the sky as if he just noticed the storm. He leveled his gaze on her once more.

  “I’ll go see Lady Joyce when I done changin’. Just need to catch my breath is all.”

  “Stay in this tent. I’m sendin’ one of the greenies to watch over here,” he grumbled before turning away and disappearing into the downpour.

  Della slipped back in.

  “Your Christian name is Della?” Silvio asked.

  “My name is Buttercup to you.”

  Her visitor walked around her tent. He looked at the meager possessions she owned, stopping to touch the music box.

  “Don’t touch that!” she snapped, moving quickly toward him. She picked it up. “Belongs to my mammy.”

  “Oh I...”

  “A fin is a lotta’ money. You givin’ it to me? You sure? Cause if I scream they’ll...” br />
  “Fin?” he frowned.

  She plucked the bills from the front of her dress. “Five dollars, a fin.”

  “Oh,” he gave a one-shoulder shrug, “It’s yours. I got plenty. Got my own thing.”

  “What thing?”

  “Me and my boy. We run hooch through these hills.”

  Della smirked. She set down the music box on the card table and shook her wet locks. “You ain’t no runner. Too young. What is you? Seventeen, eighteen?”

  “Twenty. Don’t laugh at me, doll. I don’t like to be laughed at,” Silvio snapped.

  Her smile faded. She stood there staring at him. “If you such a big shot hooch runner, why you want to give anything to a colored gal for her time?”

  “Cause I want to buy something else with that money.” Silvio stepped toward her. Della’s eyes held his. He was tall and broad shouldered to be so young. When he stopped before her, he fingered the fringe along the sleeve of her yellow dress. “Sheriff is out for me. Gotta get out of this county. You can speak to the midget for me and my friend to hitch a ride out. The people I work for will pay him for his effort.”

  “Tiny don’t cut no deals with townies.”

  “Which is why I’m not askin’. I want you to do it.”

  “What about me?” she asked, an evident pout in her voice.

  Silvio frowned, not understanding.

  “I thought you wanted to see me? I saw the way you was staring when I was on stage.”

  “I...well I...”

  “That’s my show you know. I pull them in from town to town,” she bragged with an upward toss of her chin.

  Silvio shook his head, confused. “You sure about that?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “What’s that mean?”

  “It means you look like you’d be more than some hooch dancer,” he said, smiling.

  She stood there at first, not sure of his answer. She studied him for the trick; slowly she smiled, understanding the compliment. “I got other talents.”

  “I’m sure you do.” He moved in close. His hand went to her exposed shoulder, then up the side of her neck. His touch was gentle, light. His face moved in closer. “So what say you, Buttercup... will you help us?”