You Can't Choose Love (16 page)

“Look here, if my son wants to hire a . . .” Abraham
Saville winked at the room in general, and then winked once more in Alma’s
general direction. “. . . an
advisor
, then I think we should not
begrudge the poor boy. Gentleman, honestly, just look at her. Can you blame
him?”

Avery DeBell and Bill Gaston looked less than
pleased, but Abraham Saville was a one-thirds partner of the Silver King Mine
Corporation, and they could not stop his son hiring Alma. The general consensus
was that Alma was a whore in all but name, and that suited Alma just fine. The
less they thought of her, the more surprised they would be when something
drastic happened.
And make no mistake, old men, something drastic
will
happen
.

Alma stood at Wallace’s shoulder, like the guard of
a king, watching.

“We need to increase hours by an hour a day,”
Abraham said, thumping the table.

“Increase pay by an hour a day, you mean?” countered
Avery, who wore no beard and was even thinner than Alma. “I do not intend to
squander our fortune on greed, my good man. Let us extract piece by piece, and
stretch out the longevity of this mine to its absolute maximum. Why do you want
to rush?”

“We are old,” Bill put in, who was round-bellied and
round-faced and spoke with heavy, slow words. “You have to admit that, Avery.
We’re older’n hell.”

Alma surreptitiously nudged Wallace in the arm. The
man was revealing himself as a disappointment. She needed him to act, to draw
attention. He was her tool in these matters. She had no use for blunt tools. If
he felt her nudge, however, he gave no sign.

The meeting went on like this for an hour, and then
Bill proclaimed that he was hungry, and like an English village when the bell
has been tolled, everybody filed out of the office at this signal. It seemed
Bill Gaston’s hunger was a timer by which the men kept their schedule. Alma
allowed herself a small smile at that. It was the only thing she had smiled at
today.

She and Wallace returned to his office. He fell into
his chair like a man deflated. “I might as well not even be there!” He rubbed
his eyes, bit his lip, fiddled with his hat, stroked his beard. “Ah!” he
snapped, and proceeded to rub his eyes, bite his lip . . .

“Sit still,” Alma said, as she took the seat
opposite him. “Are you a man or a child?”

He blinked at her. “Do not forget your place—”

“You are wrong, sir,” Alma interjected. “It is you
who forget your place. You walk in a man’s skin, and yet you behave as a
mouse.”

He would hit her now. Or he would submit to her. She
was ready for either, had a plan of action for either. If he hit her, she would
weep, and say she was sorry, and play the
helpless
woman. But if he submitted
. . .

He sighed. “You are right,” he said. “I let them
treat me like fools.”

Alma rose to her feet, walked around the desk, and
massaged his shoulders. “You are a rich, powerful man,” she said, stroking his
ego as she stroked his knotted muscles. “But you care for your father too much.
You let your love for him cloud your judgment. I think – if I may be so bold –
you should allow me to call on him in a private meeting. On your behalf, of
course. I may be able to secure for you a more prominent position in the
organization other than sitting in this office.”

“This office has its perks,” he said. He reached
around and found her leg, squeezed it, and then moved his hand up, up, to her
lips. He pressed his hand down. Alma told herself this was business. She had no
time for pleasure. But she could not deny she liked his strong hands, his
beard, his hungry demeanor. He rubbed her clit through her trousers.

Alma grabbed his wrist. “You have not given me your answer,”
she moaned. “A man who leaves a woman waiting just might find himself submitted
to the same punishment.” She pressed his hand against her cunt, pressed it
hard, and then withdrew it.
Give him a taste and then withdraw
.

“Meet with him!” he huffed. “Yes, fine, fine!”

He turned the chair and grabbed her groin, pressed
his hand down, and rubbed her until she reached orgasm. Afterwards, he looked
at her in amazement. “I have never met a woman who does that,” he said.

“Does what?” she replied, casually stroking the
length of his cock through his trousers.

“Who shows her pleasure as plainly as that—as
honestly as that. Of course, whores will moan until the brothel falls down
around them. But they are paid. I know you are paid, but . . . Am I making any
kind of intelligible sense?”

“Of course,” Alma said, stroking him. She leaned
into him, kissed him on the lips. His beard tickled her, but she liked it.
“Will you make love to me?” she whispered. “Don’t you want to be inside of me?”

His gorgeous forest-green eyes widened. She could
see into this man’s character through those eyes. He was just a naïve man with
a rich father. He was just a naïve man living in a looming shadow. But that
didn’t matter for now. All that mattered was the beauty of his eyes and the length
and girth of his hard cock. That was all Alma cared about.

“Of course I do,” he returned, in a low whisper.
“Now? Here?”

“Now,” she confirmed. “Here.”

 She leaned over the desk and pulled down her
trousers, baring her slit and her ass, and arched her back to give him a full
view. She heard his quick intake of breath. Then she felt his hand on her ass
cheek, tentative at first, and then confident, grabbing her flesh. “You are a
siren . . .” His voice was low, whispered. Alma did not take it as an insult.
She had led men to rocks and seen them dashed and broken before; she could not
deny that.

His finger moved to her hole, wet – so, so wet – and
slid inside of her. He stood up. She heard his belt unbuckling, and then the
tip of his cock brushed her clit, brushed her lips, and then brushed her hole.
“Do it!” she urged him. “Do it! Do it!”

He pushed his cock inside of her.

*   *   *

After the sex, Alma pulled up her trousers and stood
by the door. She wanted to waste no time in making her play. Like a general,
she needed to begin her operations, set her soldiers in place, get them
marching. There was a lot to do. “I am going to see your father,” she said, her
body aching from the rutting, her cunt throbbing from the orgasms.

“Okay.” Wallace was so exhausted he could barely
keep his eyes open. His head drooped and his chin bounced against his chest.
Alma left the room, walked down the hallway, and knocked on Abraham Saville’s
door.

After a few moments, his voice came, gruff: “Come
in!”

Alma walked into the office and stood with
downturned eyes. It was better to seem deferential with this man. The very fact
that he had kept his son from the business for so long spoke to his desire for
power, for importance. He saw himself above other men, more important than
them. Alma had learned long ago that men were simple creatures; if you treated
them how they wanted to be treated they would take an instant liking to you.

“What is it?” Abraham said, sitting behind his desk.
He gestured impatiently to the seat opposite.

Alma seated herself, faced the man. “First of all,
sir, I would like to express my astonishment and my appreciation of the way you
dealt with your colleagues in the meeting. I certainly learned a great deal
just by sitting in.”

Abraham inclined his head. “Go on,” he said.

“But I have to say I feel it is beneath a man of
your caliber to neglect his son in business matters. Not to be rude, sir, but
you are no longer a young man. None of you are. It is my understanding that
neither Bill Gaston nor Avery DeBell have sons. Who, then, does this business
go to when you perish?
Your
son, sir, and it is my impression – my
conviction – that you have neglected your son in business matters.”
All
whilst his seed spills into my undergarments
. She did not allow herself to
smile.

She waited for his reply calmly, marble-faced:
carved, implacable. Abraham Saville was a taut man. He reminded Alma of knotted
rope. His arms and legs were tough, twisted with sinew, covered in thick grey
hair. He stroked his long grey beard and then rubbed his bald head, as though
it was a magical lantern and his reply would emerge. “Hmm,” he said, at length.
“I have to admit I have never been spoken to like that by a woman. You, Miss
Abrams, are a curious specimen indeed. A beauty, to be sure . . . the most
beautiful woman I or anybody in this town ever laid eyes on. But there’s more
to you than beauty, isn’t there?”

“I like to think so,” Alma said.

“What would you have me do?”

“Simply allow your son to take over from you from
time to time. Oh, of course he does not expect to take over completely. But
what if he worked in the mornings and you worked in the afternoons? Would that
be so problematic?”

“Did he send you?” Abraham suddenly snapped. “Did my
boy send a woman to—”

“No, no,” Alma laughed, like the very concept was
hilarious. “He does not know I am here. He is too proud to ask you himself.”
Too
cowardly, more like
.

“Hmm!” Abraham slapped the table. He leveled his gaze
on Alma. She knew that expression well. He was searching for a weakness. He
would not find one. Even if Alma’s heart beat marginally faster, even if her
palms sweat a little too much, her face never showed a thing. He leaned his
elbows on the table, and then nodded. “Fine, tomorrow morning.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Alma rose and made to leave the room. She was at the
door when Abraham called her back.

“Yes, sir?”

“You’re a widow, aren’t you? Who was your husband
anyhow? And I can’t seem to place your accent. Where are you from?”

“My husband’s name was Charles Abrams. He was an
importer of tea leaves and lived in the east. I came west when he died because
the east was too painful to me. As for my accent, sir, I was born in England
but I have moved around so much that my voice, I fear, is a frightful
mishmash.”
One half-truth, one half deceit, let him decide which is which
.

“Okay, Miss Abrams.” He waved at the door.

Alma left and returned to Wallace’s office. He was
sitting with the pose of a man desperate for news: back so straight it was a
wonder his spine did not break; fingernails tap, tap, tapping the desk, bottom
lip caught in his upper teeth. When she entered he leapt to his feet. “What did
the old bastard say? He said no, didn’t he? He doesn’t want a thing to do with
me.
Me
, his only son!”

“Calm, my love,” Alma said, placing a soothing hand
on his arm. “Tomorrow morning you will make the rounds of the mines. You will
take the morning shift, now. And you will take me with you.”

It wasn’t a question.

When she returned to Beryl’s, it was late and the
bar was packed wall to wall with miners and whores and serving girls and young
boys darting between the tables with trays of food and drinks. The miners were
loud and boisterous and dirty but Alma did not mind them. Her mind was on what
she had told Abraham about England, about where she was from. She disliked,
greatly, when Father entered her mind. Like a malicious disease he would enter
her consciousness, infecting everything. The memory of a thousand bruises would
leave phantom imprints on her skin. The memory of a thousand humiliations would
bring twisted sneers into her mind’s eye.

She sat on a stall and ordered a whisky. Men gave
her sidelong glances, or turned their noses up at her, or openly gazed in lust.
She did not mind. She had already tamed two of the most powerful men in town.
She was protected. Solomon moved to and fro behind the bar. “Solomon!” she
called, hardly thinking.

He came to her, gaze down. “Yes, ma’am?” he said.

She realized she did not have much to say; she just
wanted his company. She just wanted to blot out Father’s fists and bared teeth
and raised voice. “We should have a visit sometime,” she said. “What do you
think? What time do you finish this evening?”

“Ma’am?” Solomon’s voice was shaky.

Alma leaned in. “Do not worry,” she said. “If you
like, it can be a secret meeting. In the stables, when the town is sleeping?”
She tried to catch his eye but he wouldn’t look at her. There was something
infinitely fascinating about his muscular body and his shy countenance; that
unusual mix of shyness and power intrigued her.

Though he did not meet her gaze, he nodded quickly.

“Good. See you then!” She leaned back and drained
her whisky.

The night moved around her. Men laughed and called to
each other, but eventually they had to drag their bodies off to wherever they
slept. They would rise early in the morning and be down in the pits, smacking
the earth with picks and waiting for that manna-like silver. She knew, too,
that these men were only the miners from the mines near Calico. The miners from
farther out slept near the mines, so that their existence was more completely
comprised of work alone.

The bar had emptied around her. Alma’s head was
pulsing with the whisky, a pulse strong enough to push away Father, thank God.
Beryl leaned across the bar and gave her an ear-to-ear smile. “You look tired,
Alma,” she said.

“I don’t have time to be tired, Beryl, as I am sure
you can sympathize with.”

Beryl’s smile grew wider. “Do you want to know something?
I am finding, to my surprise, that I like you very much. You have an
inexplicable effect on people.”

“Oh, it is not so inexplicable,” Alma said. “People
– men and women alike – desire beautiful things. Without being too immodest,
one must admit that I am beautiful.”

Beryl shrugged. “Yes, I suppose you are.”

Alma left the bar and walked outside and then into
the stables. Horses snorted and coughed and the stable boy approached her.
“Here,” she said, and handed him some money. “Go and play somewhere else for
half an hour.”

Without a word, he left. She stroked Roach’s nose
and tickled her under the chin. “I know you’re restless, girl,” she said.
“Don’t worry. Tomorrow, we’ll ride.”

Somebody coughed behind her. She turned, and Solomon
took a nervous step forward. “Ma’am,” he said.

“You don’t have to call me
ma’am
or
miss
,”
Alma said. “I am no special person. Just call me Alma.”

“Alma?” he said uncertainly. She knew this was
strange for him. He was not used to ladies – or anybody, she supposed – showing
him anything other than disdain. But that was why she was attracted to him.
There were strong people and then there were people with the potential for
strength. Alma had always found the latter more interesting. Yes, in her work
time she would pursue Wallace and whoever else she had to tame to reach her
goals. But this was her time . . .

“Yes,” she said. “Come here.”

There must have been some part of him that was as
intrigued with her as she was with him, for he walked to her, stood so close to
her that she could feel the heat of him, smell the sweat of his body. She
touched his chin, lifted his gaze so they were looking eye to eye. “You don’t
have to fear me,” she said. Her voice was untouched by the machinations which
usually gripped it. She was herself.

He stared into her eyes; his eyes were wide,
fascinated. “Folk don’t usually show me much kindness,” he said quietly, his
lips quivering as though the effort of looking into her eyes was too much, too
strange.

“I am not folks,” Alma said. “I pretend to be them
and I infiltrate their lives and I laugh when they laugh and I smile when they
smile. Yes, I do all that is expected of me. But I am not them.”

“Why are you telling me, Alma?”

She moved her hand from his cheek to his chin.
“Because I do not want to be lonely. And I see in you something which has long
been inside myself.”

“What do you see?”

“Fear. Fear of everything. Fear of other people and
fear of yourself.” She brushed her thumb along his lower lip. “You are a
handsome man, Solomon. Will you kiss me?”

His Adam’s apple shifted as he swallowed. “Kiss . .
. you?”

“Yes.” She moved her hand through his hair, soft on
her skin. “Have you ever kissed a woman before?”

He shook his head and glanced down. But then, he
glanced back up.

“Would you like to?” Alma asked.

He nodded.

“Be brave, then,” she said.

Slowly, he leaned forward. Alma waited for him. This
was an important moment for him, she could tell. She did not close the
distance. After a few seconds, his lips found hers. Clumsily, he kissed her.
But as she kissed him back – as their lips opened and their tongues touched –
his clumsiness was replaced by passion. She heard him moan; she moaned in
return.

Then she broke off the kiss, and wrapped her arms
around him, and buried her face in his chest. “We will be good friends, won’t
we?”

“Yes,” he said gravely, and embraced her with his
strong, safe arms.