Devonne Brown

“What was wrong with the last gentleman caller? He was taller than you and wore a suit of the finest cut. He didn;t even grease his hair like you said you hated.” Cindora’s father, Mr. Weston poured another bourbon in disgust and slumped in his chair. His daughter made him want to pull hanks of hair out of his head, out of her head.

“He brays like a jackass, and only talks of his fine business. He’s an accountant. I don’t care who his clients are and who owes who money. I want to go dancing and wear corsages. He didn’t even bring me a bouquet and all he could talk about was how much money he made. Something’s wrong with his soul,” Cindora explained to her father. She was quite matter of fact.

She poured a bourbon for herself. 

“Women are not supposed to drink bourbon in the middle of the day, Cindora. It’s unbecoming. What if Mr. Buchannon walks in and sees you with a full glass of bourbon in your hand?”

“I suppose it’s better than seeing me with a half glass full of bourbon in my hand, don’t you? Mr. Buchannon drank plenty of bourbon last night. The more he drank, the more clients he told me about. He gossips more than any woman I know. He has better hair and eyelashes too. No wonder he didn’t take me dancing. He likes to drink too much to stay steady on his feet.”

“Cindora, he’s one of the last suitors in town, he’s wealthy and quite a catch. You could do much worse,” Mr. Weston topped off his bourbon, and looked down at the maps and charts on his desk. He owned most of the town, what he didn’t own, someone wanted to sell him. Everyone needed money and he had most of it in his bank. 

“I could do much better by not taking a husband at all. Why do I have to get married? I don’t need a husband to give you grandchildren if that’s all you want. You don’t even like the man.” Mr. Weston hadn’t thought of this, and the bourbon made him smile at the thought. 

Cindora was right. By God, what did she need a husband for when she could have children whenever she pleased if she chose to do so. Cindora Weston knew his business as well as he did, so much so he often sent her out to deal with whatever needed to be done. She always came back and had done a satisfactory job. His only child was son and daughter in one, the perfect package. If she wanted to dance all night then that’s what she should do. Even if she was a little off beat.

“What shall I say next time he calls, Cindora?”

“If he has flowers, tell him to go dance.”