Greetings all; the characters in my stories exist in my head, but there might be real life inspirations for some of them. Who knows?
This is a totally made up love story between a lonely prospector and a pansexual actor, singer, dancer who was performing soul, jazz, blues, and disco music over a hundred and forty years ago.
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Friday evening in 1870-something inside Mario's saloon.
Tacy was singing a slow soulful rendition of The Arkansas Traveler when a weathered looking man standing at the bar caught her eye. She glanced at him and smiled; he nodded at her. He then waited patiently until she and her four man band finished playing the last song of the set. The drummer, saxophone player, guitar player and pianist left the stage, but she lingered for a few moments to accept tips from men who were no doubt lusting for her.
When she finally stepped down onto the saloon floor the outdoorsman approached her and said, "You have a mighty fine singing voice."
"Thank you," she responded sounding huskier than he'd expected to hear.
"I hope you won't take offense at my forwardness, but you're pretty too," he said as he unconsciously licked his lips while studying her high yella complexion and reddish hair, which was no doubt due to a slave master being somewhere in her bloodline.
"Thank you again, and no offense taken," she replied with a smile as she took him all-in in an instant. He looked like he'd lived a hard life, but she liked his nappy beard and gentle expression, and best of all he smelled clean which was her minimum requirement before she'd spend time talking to men who approached her.
"What's your name?" she asked after deciding that he was acceptable.
"Ezekiel Prescott," he replied. "Call me Zeke."
"Nice to meet you Zeke, I'm Tacy Brady."
"Pleased to make your acquaintance Miss Brady," he stated, tipping a fedora that looked brand new.
"Please call me Tacy."
"Alright. Tacy, can I buy you a drink?"
"Thank you Zeke. But I don't drink spirits. They're not good for my voice.
"If that's the case please don't drink any hard liquor and mess it up. Dog gone I've never heard anybody sing like you before."
"That's because I sing from my soul," she stated. "I started singing like that when I was in church and I felt the holy ghost. It was my way of glorifying the Almighty."
"I'm not much of a church go-er, but I'd go to hear you sing," he said, with sincerity in his voice.
"Thank you," she replied and smiled genuinely.
"Yes 'am, I like your soul singing, I sure do," he exclaimed.
Of her three talents, singing, dancing, and acting, singing was her favorite, so his praise of it won her over. "Let's sit while we talk," she said as she got a waitress's attention, then led him to an empty table.
A thick brown skinned woman met them there with a sarsaparilla for her and another mug of beer for him. "It's my treat," said Tacy when she saw the puzzled look on his face.
"Much obliged," he said as he helped her with her chair.
"You're quite welcome," she replied, feeling pleased with herself.
"Ahhh. I think this tastes better than the one I bought for myself," he said playfully after taking a swig.
"Mmm hmm," she responded with a grin, now thoroughly enjoying his company.
He grinned back at her with surprisingly clean teeth, then he drank another swallow of his beer. "How did you go from singing in church to singing in a saloon?"
"It's kind of a long story. I grew-up singing spirituals while I was living on a plantation in Virginia, then I moved to Washington DC after the war. I was going from church to church singing for different congregations when I met the fellas in the band. They told me that my singing style matched the way they played, and I'd be the perfect lead singer for them; with me out front we could all make a living putting on sings. One thing led to another and I ended up here."
"Virginia and Washington DC, where's that?" he asked.
"Back east," she replied, then she turned the tables. "How about you, what were you doing before you started prospecting?"
He took a swig of his beer, then clenched his jaw before saying, "I grew up like you did, except I was on a ranch rather than a plantation. I stayed there after the war was over because I didn't know where else to go until the man who owned the ranch sent me on a cattle drive so I could lookout for his stock. We brought the herd to the railhead here in Denver, and I didn't go back to Texas. I've been here looking for gold every since."
"Do you like prospecting?"
"It's alright," he replied, then he took another swallow of beer.
"What are you going to do when you strike it rich?" she asked cheerfully.