Nan Ryan - Naughty Marietta

A long polished bar stretched the length of the back wall. He headed directly for that bar and for a stiff drink.

A bald, rotund man stood behind the bar, wiping glasses on a clean white cloth. He looked up, smiled and asked, “What’ll it be, sir?”

“Bourbon,” said Cole. “And hopefully a bit of information.”

The fat man smiled and said, “Try me. I know just about everything that goes on in Central City.”

“Then you’re my man,” Cole said with a smile before he downed his bourbon in one long swallow and shoved his glass across the polished bar. The barkeep poured him another. Cole said, “And your name?”

“Harry,” he said with a grin, rubbed his gleaming bald pate and added, “Not that kind of hairy.”

Cole smiled, reached a hand across the bar. “Cole Heflin, Harry. I was just upstairs at the opera.”

“I figured,” said Harry, firmly shaking Cole’s hand.

“The star of the opera can’t sing, Harry.”

The barkeep laughed heartily, jowls and belly shaking. “You noticed, did you?”

“I noticed. I also noticed a prosperous, silver-haired gentleman seated in a private box who appeared to be taken with the opera’s lovely young star, Marietta.”

Nodding, the barkeep looked around, then leaned across the bar. “He’s absolutely mad about that red-haired singer.”

“I assumed as much. Who is he?”

“Taylor Maltese,” said Harry as if Cole should recognize the name.

“I’m a Texan,” Cole explained.

“Then you don’t know who he is?”

Cole shook his head.

Harry said, “He’s Taylor Maltese, owner of the Maltese Mining empire. Rich as old Jay Gould. Owns silver mines all over these mountains as well as many other lucrative enterprises.”

“And this Marietta, she’s his…?”

“Yes, she sure is.” The barkeep laughed and confided, “I’ve never seen a man as smitten with a woman as Taylor Maltese is with that gorgeous redhead. He’s like a puppy dog, always following her around, nipping at her heels, begging her to toss him a bone.”

“And does she?” Harry just grinned and gave no reply. Cole pressed on. “I noticed a rather evil-looking character standing at the back of Maltese’s private box. Scar face and all. Bodyguard?”

“He’s called Lightnin’,” the barkeep said, nodding.

“Lightnin’,” Cole repeated.

“That’s how fast he is on the draw.”

“I see,” Cole said thoughtfully. “Lightnin’ the only bodyguard?”

“No, there are a couple of big, burly brothers, the Burnett boys. They shadow Marietta.”

That was bad news for Cole, but he didn’t let on. He sipped his second bourbon and said, “You know, I can understand this wealthy man’s infatuation with Marietta. She’s sure a pretty thing, isn’t she?”

“Looks like an angel,” agreed the barkeep.

“But there’s something I can’t understand,” said Cole. “She can’t really sing very well, so how is it she’s the star of an opera.”

The barkeep roared with laughter. “How do you think? Maltese owns the Tivoli Opera House.”

Cole laughed. “That explains it.”

“Maltese is so in love with that luscious singer, he pays his miners hazard pay to fill the opera seats every evening to cheer and praise his darling!”

Harry disclosed that the wealthy Taylor Maltese provided his adored Marietta with luxurious living quarters; a five-room rooftop suite above the Tivoli Opera House. Not only that, the multimillionaire had persuaded a renowned Italian voice coach to come to Central City to tutor Marietta. It was rumored that he paid the woman generously to teach and train Marietta. Exclusively. The voice coach was allowed to have no other students.

Cole listened as the talkative Harry supplied answers to questions that hadn’t been asked. “The voice coach, Sophia somebody, I don’t know her last name—you should see her, she’s bigger than me.” Harry laughed then and patted his big belly. “She lives in a nice little cottage near the opera house. Maltese pays the lease. Some folks wonder why she doesn’t live with her only pupil. There’s plenty of room in Marietta’s private quarters. But I guess Maltese doesn’t want anyone around when he visits his ladylove.” Harry winked conspiratorially.

Cole smiled and said casually, “I’m surprised he allows Marietta to live alone. Isn’t he worried she might entertain someone other than him in her quarters.”

“Not a chance of that happening,” said Harry. “He watches her like a hawk. Or, rather, his minions do. She goes nowhere without the Burnett boys tagging along. And, when she’s at home, one or the other of the brothers stands guard below on the sidewalk. Night and day. Maltese is no fool. The way I see it, she’s his, bought and paid for. And Maltese protects his property.”

“Can’t say that I blame him,” Cole replied. Just then, people, laughing and talking, began streaming into the foyer beyond the gaming room. Cole turned his head, glanced in their direction and said, “Looks like the opera is over.”

“Yes. I’ll be pretty busy now,” said Harry.

“Time for me to be getting back to the hotel,” said Cole. “Nice talking to you, Harry.”

“Same here,” said the barkeep. “You come again.” Harry screwed up his florid face then and added, “I’m losing my touch. We’ve talked for more than an hour and I know nothing about you other than the fact that you’re from Texas.”

“Not much to know,” said Cole. “I’m just your typical music lover, in town for a few days.”

When the final curtain came down, Maltese rose and exited his private box. His hands were red and stinging from applauding so vigorously. Marietta had taken several curtain calls and the audience, on its feet in a standing ovation, had whistled and called her name and tossed fresh-cut flowers onto the stage.

Now the great auditorium was swiftly emptying and Maltese, anticipating giving his beloved a congratulatory kiss, hurried backstage. The unsmiling, scar-faced Lightnin’ was a couple of steps behind.

Inside the flower-filled dressing chamber, Madam Sophia, proud of her charge’s performance, was embracing and complimenting the beaming Marietta. The two women had grown close in the months they had spent together. Marietta had few female friends, save the motherly Madam Sophia. She confided in Madam Sophia, told her things about herself that no one else knew. Once resentful and in complete disdain of Marietta, Madam Sophia had now become understanding and protective of the beautiful young woman.

Madam Sophia was aware of her pupil’s limited singing abilities. But she knew how desperately Marietta wanted to be famous, so she was determined to mold her eager pupil into a star despite her less than perfect singing voice.

Marietta wasn’t the first opera singer she’d coached whose voice was not exceptional. And, Marietta had everything else. With her youth and beauty and acting talents, she was surely destined for some degree of stardom.

“Did you count the curtain calls?” Marietta asked breathlessly, her face flushed with excitement, her eyes shining.

“Seven,” replied Madam Sophia, giving the taller, younger woman one last affectionate pat on the back. “Now turn around, dear, and I’ll help get you out of the costume.”

Sighing happily, Marietta dutifully turned. Madam Sophia’s plump fingers went to the tiny hooks going down the back of Marietta’s gown. As she worked, Madam Sophia said, “Such a grand opening night! Every seat filled and—” An urgent knock on the dressing room stopped her in midsentence. Madam Sophia clucked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “Maltese, I presume. Shall I tell him you’re not dressed?”