FISHNET STOCKINGS

By Connie Wrzesniewski

Broken glasses and bottles were scattered around the floor. Bodies lay stretched out all over the place, slung over chairs and propped against the bar. The mirror behind was shattered and the dance girls were left cowering behind the curtain and beneath nearby tables. The headline in the Cottonwood Gazette the following week would read Stagecoach Saloon Wrecked In Gambling Fight, March 20, 1880. Cottonwood, Arizona could be proud of its spirited residents. 
You can never be sure when it comes to gambling. Win or lose, Clyde Ames always acted sure of himself whether or not he was. And if the poker game broke out into a fight, that was even better. The more action there was, the more he liked it. Even if he was at the root of the problem sometimes, he was mostly honest and he considered gambling at poker an honest profession. That’s more than he could say for the rest of them. Clyde walked over to the poker table where the fight had begun.
“What have we got here?” he said looking down at the black spider planted on top of his bankroll. 
“It must have crawled down from the stage,” called out a petite flame headed dance girl from under the table in the far corner.  “I noticed it just before the fight broke out.”
“Well, we’ll just have to find a home for it,” he said. “Let’s get something to carry it in. I can’t just leave a good luck spider here, after it guarded my winnings. There must be an old sarsaparilla bottle hanging around here somewhere. Maybe a jar would be better.”
“How about this little oil lamp,” she said. “It’s never been used, so it should be good. You could put something across the top of the chimney. A piece of net might work.” She handed the small lamp to him which she took from the corner table where she’d been crouching. “I could give you a piece from my dress to cover it. It’s torn anyway.” Nell was used to undressing for men so it was not a bother to lift her skirt and tear off a piece of net. “That’ll do just fine, Nell,” Clyde said, taking the lamp from her. He scooped the spider from the stack of bills into the lamp chimney with a stray card from the game. Then he pocketed his money while she tied the net across the top. He handed her a bill which he’d palmed from the top of his cash pile. Tipping his black Stetson, he nodded, winked and thanked her, then strode quickly through the back door of the Stagecoach Saloon with a broad grin on his face, cigar clenched between his teeth. As he left, he spotted the sheriff in the cracked mirror entering through the swinging front doors.
When he arrived at his Cotttonwood Cattle ranch, he set the lamp on the wide sunny kitchen window sill where it would be warm.  Each day since then, he fed the black widow a diet of flies which he caught in mid air single handedly before dropping them into the lamp, a task which gave him great pleasure given the large amount of the troublesome critters found around the screen door at all times of day. Occasionally, he fed the black widow a moth or two just for good measure, a special treat. Every morning when he sat down to breakfast he carried on a conversation with the insect. Growing fond of it, he even named it. While eating his usual breakfast of a half dozen eggs and quarter pound of bacon one day, he looked over at the lamp.
 “A beautiful black widow like you ought to have a name,” he said to the spider. “After all you did guard my money while I wrangled.” 
Elbows propped on the kitchen table, fork hanging from hands joined at his forehead, Clyde stared through bloodshot eyes at the creature. Whenever he had a hangover, this was his preferred position at the breakfast table. Remembering his long lost love who’d died from a stray gunshot to her head in a barroom brawl at the Stagecoach Saloon, he grew nostalgic. It was he who’d started that brawl having had too much to drink and too little money left on the poker table. He’d never forgiven himself since it was his gun that fired accidentally.
It was two years since his beloved Maddy’s demise and he still missed her desperately. A picture of her in fishnet stockings stretched over her pretty long legs, black high heels and emerald green dress flashed into his mind. There was no one like her and there never would be. His breath caught in his throat each time he thought of her.
With each day Clyde grew more attached to the spider, drawn to it in a most unusual and powerful way. He was unable to master any control over his feelings where the spider was concerned. Each night he’d pick up his guitar and sing while the insect was stilled by the sounds. First thing in the morning he’d go over to the lamp, pick it up and talk to the widow as though it were a person. “Good morning, milady,” he trilled. Following breakfast, he’d pick up his guitar and sing to her once more. This became his morning mantra.
 “Oh, Maddy, how I do miss you,” he said looking absently at the spider with unwavering eyes the color of his dark mustache. “That will be your name milady ─ Maddy.” And with that he put down his fork, nabbed the fly above his head and fed the newly christened spider her breakfast. He turned to the screen door and kicking it open, left for his morning ride. “Enjoy your breakfast, Maddy,” he said, a cigar between his teeth.
He enjoyed an active part in running his ranch despite the employment of capable hands at the Double C. After a few hours of rounding up strays, he quit and turned toward home riding at a slow canter, leaving behind the swirling brown dust and dry heat. The air would be a little cooler back at the saloon which is where he intended to meet the two o’clock stagecoach and pick up his mail once he changed his clothes.
* * * * *
Clyde tied Brady to the hitching post outside the Stagecoach Saloon and waited for the Wells Fargo mail delivery which would bring him news of the cattle drive from Turkey Creek, a very important event which would make him even wealthier than he already was. The sheriff walked over and sat down next to him on the wooden bench.
 “What brings you out on such a hot day, Mr. Ames?” said Phinias Bolton, looking directly into Clyde’s eyes. His own ice blue eyes were forged into his tanned face beneath a shock of grey hair and his jaw line appeared to be chiseled in granite.
“Just a mail pickup, sheriff,” he said. “I could ask you the same thing.”
“Me, I’m always around looking to keep trouble at bay.”
“What makes you think you’d find any trouble out here on the porch with me?”
“I thought you might know something about the vendetta that’s going on between the Sly gang and the local cattle ranchers. You wouldn’t happen to be involved in it would you?”
“What would make you think anything like that? I’m a law abiding citizen.”
“You weren’t law abiding a few months ago when the brawl took place ─ the night the saloon was wrecked. Furthermore, you did win Brady from Joe Sly in a poker game right in this very spot.”
“I wasn’t even here that night.”
“The word around town says you were, Clyde. A cowhand in the fight said I just missed you leaving through the back door. Maybe you ought to keep your drinking down as well as your temper. Both always manage to get you into trouble.”
Clyde adjusted his black string tie and loosened his collar. He stroked his mustache, then rubbed his chin. Rising from the bench, he walked over to meet the stage. “Sheriff, you can count on me anytime, you know that. If you need to get a posse together for any reason at all, you can always count on me. I love excitement especially when I’m in control of it.”
“That’s your biggest problem, Clyde.” 
“Wrong sheriff, my biggest problem might be the mail, if I don’t get what I’m expecting.”
When the mail arrived, Clyde was not disappointed. The letter which he awaited held the good news. The cattle drive from Turkey Creek would arrive within the next week or so barring any unforeseen events.
“See you around, sheriff,” said Clyde slipping the letter into the inside pocket of his jacket and went inside the saloon. Phinias Bolton left and returned to his office. Drinking was not one of his long suits.
Clyde lingered at the bar for some time smoking, drinking and passing the time of day with a few of the boys. Nell soon beckoned to him from the stage. He sat down at a table, winked in her direction and motioned with his head for her to join him. Nell was always interested in hearing about the spider since she had a hand in finding its new home. Each time she saw him, she inquired about his unusual friend. Fascinated by this unique friendship and the fact that it gave her an excuse to socialize with him, she never missed an opportunity to get his attention. Whenever he visited the saloon they wound up talking and drinking for an hour or so, their own friendship eventually blossoming. It was during one of these conversations that she asked to visit the spider which triggered a more intimate friendship. Quite often the two left the saloon together and returned to his ranch. Today was no different. Clyde left with the flashy looking dance girl and they galloped away on his horse in the direction of the Double C. Arriving home, he went straight to the spider’s window, Nell following. 
“Hello, milady. How are you this afternoon?” He slipped in a fly which he had caught on the way in through the back door where he’d left Brady hitched to his post. The insect became agitated at the sight of Nell and began skittering around her close quarters trying to escape. This happened whenever Nell entered the house. It was clear that she was unwelcome as long as Maddy was the “lady of the house.” The spider became even more agitated with the couple’s flirtations. Their intimate behavior was unwelcome. But loneliness was a thing that Clyde could not endure and if Nell was available, he certainly was not going to turn her away.
* * * * *
It was well past the time that the cattle should have arrived at the Double C and word of the Sly brothers rustling efforts had spread. The sheriff asked Clyde to get up a posse before any further trouble arose. The town was bathed in warm sunshine when they started out, but before long a storm arose. The winds, propelled by the heat, whistled and roared, pelting them with raindrops. Sagebrush and tumbleweed flew in every direction and the day ended with no prospect of a normal pinkish purple sunset behind the mountains. Nevertheless, the brothers were rounded up in the gulch and the cattle were rescued as the grey dusk fell. A mist soon hugged the tops of the cottonwood trees. 
* * * * *
Things had changed drastically when Clyde returned home. The kitchen window had blown in and the oil lamp had toppled to the floor, the chimney shattering. Maddy was finally free. Clyde searched the house frantically but this proved fruitless.
After straightening up and washing down a hastily eaten sandwich with some cold coffee which served as dinner, he settled down to a fidgety sleep in his bedroom. The celebratory drinks at the saloon finally took effect and it wasn’t long after, that his breathing became somewhat regular and he began to snore softly. It was then that Maddy decided to crawl from inside his guitar. She worked her way feverishly to his bedroom and crawled up the tattered spread on which he lay. Slowly, she inched her way up his body as he slept until she reached his lips. There she paused and gave him a prolonged and passionately stinging kiss. He was immediately paralyzed. Death would follow soon. She began to weave a web to cover his face. If nothing else, she’d deemed Clyde deserved a proper burial and a proper burial demanded a covering for his face. Once the web was finished he slept the deep sleep of eternity while she slumbered comfortably on his shoulder, exhausted from her day’s work. She slept soundly, literally sucking the life from him, as her own body drained the warmth from his. Eventually, he turned ice cold.
* * * * *
Maddy woke several hours later to find that her legs had begun to twitter and shake violently. Soon, her entire body began wriggling. As her legs worked in an intense scramble they began to weave a net over a pair of long sinuous legs which had sprung from the bottom of her shell. Then it split open allowing the upper half of the reborn female body to emerge. The red dot on her underbelly slid into place above her chin forming a perfect pair of bow shaped ruby lips. 
Once the metamorphosis was complete, Maddy stood an exquisite five feet eight inches tall ─ the dance girl as she was in her former life. Her dark eyes sparkled and glittered; her teeth flashed in a dazzling smile. Bending down, she kissed Clyde’s hands which she’d arranged crosswise over his belly. As if at a funeral she stared solemnly at the corpse, a tear sliding down her cheek. She spoke her first words as a woman.
	“I will love you for eternity, Clyde, but this is the way it has to be,” she said to the corpse. “It was either you or me. Nell will get her’s, too. I’ll find a fitting home for both of you. This one’s mine. Remember? It’s written in your will. The one you never changed. It automatically goes to my next of kin, my twin sister, in the event I’ve preceded you in death. That’s me.”
	Maddy turned on her heel, and pranced out the back door, her emerald green dress swishing. She hopped over Brady’s fly infested droppings onto his back, yanked the reins and rode off into the misty morning. Phinias Bolton, stopping by to thank Clyde for his honesty in rounding up the Sly gang, thereby, ending the vendetta, entered through the front door. Noticing the broken window, he chose not to knock. He found the body and the carcass beside it assuming that the poisonous spider had killed him.
After a suitable amount of time, Maddy, posing as her twin sister, returned to the Stagecoach Saloon to reclaim her job. Welcomed with open arms, she danced nightly amidst the drinking and gambling. It wasn’t long after that Nell was found lying dead on the stage with a broken neck. She’d accidentally fallen over the upper railing where the private dressing rooms were situated. The truth of the matter was that she met Maddy on the balcony as they scrambled upstairs during a brawl. It was Maddy who ensured that Nell got her just due as she elbowed her in the ribs and gently nudged her over the railing.
	“So long, friend,” she hissed under her breath as Nell dropped to her death.
* * * * *        
The Stagecoach Saloon was never quite the same after the two had died. Clyde’s ghost often roamed the upstairs halls accompanied by the smell of cigar smoke. His presence could also be found at the gambling table moving key cards around to make it look like cheating. Major rumbles were triggered typical of the one which claimed Nell’s life. Clyde enjoyed a good fight even in death. He also enjoyed moving shot glasses around the bar in the same manner as he did the cards, the same bawdy behavior resulting.
Nell’s ghost roamed the upper balcony often colliding with Clyde’s at the hallway. This caused doors to open and shut late at night. And in the middle of Maddy’s solo number lamps flickered and dimmed sending an occasional fly or moth to distract her and ruin her performance. At times the lamps were completely extinguished for the remainder of the night, resulting in the crowd’s dispersal and refusal to return. Business dropped off and the saloon closed.
	In time, the abandoned saloon’s roof had begun to sag and the windows were shot full of holes for good measure by the townspeople. Ultimately, it was boarded up. Leaving Nell’s ghost to haunt the saloon, Clyde’s followed Maddy to the Double C. But, the dance girl never found any peace at the ranch where she was persistently plagued by flies and moths. It was Clyde’s ghost who opened the back door to allow them in with the grace and charm he’d always possessed. Sometimes he pitied her, allowing his cigar smoke to linger and pervade the air, giving her a reprieve from the damning insects. After all, he did still love her, even after death.