I had never seen so many people in one place. Buildings never seemed to end and came in all shapes, sizes, and designs. The smells were a strange hybrid of ocean salt, fish, food, and the typical grime that comes with lots of people living together. Just passing through the train station, I heard languages I didn’t recognize, and it made my heart pound. Near the steps leading down to the rabble of the city, a woman played violin so beautifully it nearly made me weep. She had her hat out for tips and only had a couple of coins tossed in.
One thing that immediately stuck out was the lack of shifted forms. I had taken for granted how open and accepted it was in Stallion Ridge to be shifted. While New Haven was the hub of Old World culture, it was still stuck in ancient human rules.
The only time I saw more than one or two shifted forms was in the rougher parts of town, near the saloons and docks. That was where people without much had to start.
Luckily for me, I liked it rough.
Cal had used his status as mayor to get me connected with a room in a tenant building that I could afford. It was as close to cheap as we could find, but wouldn’t be a place I could stay unless I found work quickly. The building was a bit run down, but it had four walls and a roof, so I wasn’t complaining.
My landlord, Miss Venit, was only tall because her hair stuck two feet into the air. The small elderly woman was a barrel, with a whip-crack voice and a hard set of rules. I would pay on time, pay in full, keep the noise down, and no goddamn pets. Ever.
I thought it best not to ask about employment after she snarled at my ratty suitcase.
There was no time to waste when it came to making money. My room was tiny, had peeling wallpaper and a bed that was questionable, but it was damn better than an alleyway. Which meant I needed to work for it.
I, of course, knew of fast ways to get money and wasn’t above leaning on such assets in a pinch. I hardly wanted to be known as the Starlet Harlot, at least not this early in my career. Instead of a saloon or brothel, which there were plenty of, I sashayed my happy ass to each and every restaurant, cafe, flower shop, jewelry store, and any other business I could find that would even give me the time of day.
After a couple of hours of kissing ass, flirting, complimenting, and lying through my teeth, I was able to get hired on as a waiter at Glass Geese, a fine dining experience for the rich and wealthy of New Haven. Better clientele meant tips and possibly rubbing elbows with the influential people running the town. It was a fantastic gig.
“No dresses,” Mr. Bosman, the owner of Glass Geese and my new boss, didn’t look up from his paperwork as he spoke. The lantern light from his desk made the bald spot on top of his head shiny. “Black slacks, black vest, white shirt, black bow tie. Short hair only -- I don’t need hair getting in the fucking food. Shift starts at nine am sharp, and you don’t leave until I say.”
If I wasn’t a shifter who could control the color, length, and everything else about my hair, I would have told him to fuck off. And slacks? I hated slacks. I liked my legs and happy bits in lace at all times.
“Of course,” I said, all sugar and sunshine. “Anything else, sir?”
“If you’re late, you’re fired. Weekly schedules are posted every Monday.” When he finally looked up, his eyes swept over me appraisingly. I absently fixed my hair a bit, hoping to maybe charm him. “Bring that dress with you tomorrow.”
That shook me from my seduction. “Pardon?”
“Bring the dress,” he drawled, like he was talking down to a child. “I want to give it to my wife. You haven’t gotten any stains on it, have you?”
“I love this dress.” I didn’t know what the hell I was expecting from admitting that to him, because he tossed his pen down and leaned back in his chair. It wasn’t just the skin on his balding scalp that was shiny and gross.
“You want this job or not?”
It was just a stupid dress. It was my favorite dress and the one I was hoping to use to audition in, but I also needed to eat.
“I’ll have it with my first thing in the morning.” I forced a smile that dropped as soon as Bosman got back to his paperwork. He shooed me out without looking up again.
Since it was my last day with my favorite dress, I figured I could prance around in it a bit longer. Maybe if I was lucky, I could get someone to buy me a drink. If I was luckier, someone could fuck me in it one last time.
Bosman never mentioned that it needed to be clean. Just no stains. I could manage that.
Traveling from Stallion Ridge all the way to New Haven left me a touch short on spending money, but I didn’t have to eat much. I could make a couple of dollars stretch quite a ways and could usually charm someone into filling in the gaps, in all the ways that implied.
Uptown was my first foray into what New Haven had to offer as far as entertainment went. While I knew I couldn’t afford a damn thing, I wanted to pretend I could for a little while. The rich knew how to flaunt with style in Uptown. I nearly came in my panties at the imported fashion behind walls of glass. The dresses were in styles I’d never seen before, with daring cuts that showed enough stockinged leg that it nearly made my eyes roll back in my head.
And the colors. Oh, sweet, well-hung god, I wanted each flavor of dress, gown, and goddamn heels I saw.
There were heels that were designed to look like you were standing on a blooming rose, the petals tipped in black and gold. Red, of course. Matching a killer crimson gown with a corset lined in gold buttons, black accents, and just the classiest bit of rose petal design work along the edges.The mannequin in the killer dress had one leg posed forward, a sultry stocking peeking through the daring slit.
If I were to adorn such a masterpiece, I would be unstoppable. Men would fall to the ground in worship and hand over the world while I danced on roses and wiggled my bustle.
Unstoppable.
Once I daydreamed in excess and made myself nice and depressed about never being able to even touch the goddamn dress, I sulked all the way back to my new neck of the woods. I was starving and didn’t have it in me to go stalk the theater just yet. There were plenty of little dives to step into for a quick bite, open kitchens that catered to those who worked for their money, and a rather bustling little saloon.
I always felt at home in saloons. There was honesty in the place people went to let go; for sex, drink, gambling, or just a bit of music and conversation. The music flowing from The Hightide was quick, upbeat piano played Satyr-style. Needless to say, the fast-paced tune was jaunty and fun, so it was never played anywhere that required a bloated sense of worth.
It was damn perfect for the real folk in saloons.
When I pushed through the double doors of The Hightide, I found the source of the music that had me swaying my hips.
Sitting at the piano bench was a lean drink of sexy that drew me in like a horny moth to a blazing flame. It wasn’t shocking the man playing piano Satyr-style was just that: a Satyr in his shifted form, not giving a single shit about standards, wearing fitted slacks and a vest hugging tight to his frame. The mess of black curls around his ram-style horns nearly covered his ears, and his slacks were cut at the knee so his furry, cloven feet could stretch out comfortably. Of course, his fur matched the ink black of his curls.
It wasn’t just that the man was stunning, with a proud, straight nose and full lips, but it was how he moved that filled me with something like awe. His fingers danced over the ivory like he was drinking in the notes through his hands, the muscles in his toned forearms flexing and rolling under his olive skin. With each wave of music, he’d sway and bob his head, one hoof tapping in time with the beat.