The Brothel

An interactive story based in the old west of Tucson, Arizona, circa 1880. The stories of the journeys, events and adventures of a Madame, her girls, and their customers. Room for everyone who wants to participate, nearly any role you can possibly dream up, just pm me with your character and entrance into the scene. Fun for all!

Known as Bel to the girls of her house, Sarah glances around with a quiet air of satisfaction and serenity. At 32 years old she’s lived through a lifetime of experiences, both good and bad. From growing up in the Five Points neighborhood in New York City to working in one of the most opulent houses in San Francisco and now, here she was with "Bel’s on", in Tucson, Arizona.

This is her town…and her moment, she can feel it, sense it, and taste it in the air around her. From the new Southern Pacific railroad running southeast to northwest through the heart of town, to the silver found in Tombstone and the copper boom in Bisbee, this is where it’s happening.

Striding out the front door and onto the dusty wooden boardwalk of Main Street, she lifts her skirts high, showing off trim ankles and lacy pantalets as she spins to face the building that is hers and hers alone. The large artistically painted letters above the screened in front porch proclaim with panache, “Sarah ‘N Dipity”.

She had smirked to herself at the description in the Tucson Citizen three weeks ago, welcoming her to town.

‘Sarah Cavanaugh, well known to the social register in San Francisco, “dips” to an indiscreet low in the streets of Tucson’.

Well, there was some truth to the article, put out by the catty wife of the local publishing mogul. Sarah was very very well known to at least half of the SF social register – the male half – and not a few of the female elite either... and she intended to be just as popular here.

It was true that when she’d first read the article she’d set her sights at retribution. Now, after less than a month they were making a breathtaking amount of money, with the mogul among her top clients. With a satisfied sigh she bustles back into the three-story building, thrilling once again at its magnificence.

The main entrance opens onto a large stately foyer graced with thick carpets, deep glowing wood and brilliantly lit with large chandeliers and even larger mirrors. A majestic marble archway to the left leads to the immense main salon, its far wall graced with four doors leading to smaller, private salons. To the right an enormous carved wooden door leads to the busy tavern next door, also owned by Sarah and a silent partner.

To the rear of the foyer a pair of doors, small and hidden in the shadows, lead to the kitchen area that services both house and tavern. The foyer ceiling, open through two levels gives way to the vast rise of a fumed oak staircase which draws the eye upward along it’s luxuriant sheen to the second floor. The second floor, nearly as extravagant as the main, houses nine young women at any given time in six luxuriant rooms and three smaller bed sitters. The open hallway lining the perimeter, bordered by an intricately carved oak railing recedes in the shadows at this time of the morning, the houses quiet moment between sunrise and mid afternoon. Come nightfall it will sparkle with the abundant gas lighting that graces the walls, bouncing off the rich satins and silks of the young women who parade down the grand staircase.

The final level of the house has a private set of stairs behind a beautifully carved door at the far end of the second floor and leads to Sarah’s own quarters and the ones reserved for her silent partner. The third floor also boasts it’s own private outside entrance, at the back of the structure that ensures the anonymity and privacy of the few intimate callers to grace her quarters.

Sarah finds her eyes glancing up in pride, mentally reviewing the young women that grace her house. She is proud of her girls, handpicked for their looks, their grace and their polish, each as individual as she herself and proud of it. Then a wry grin wreathes her face at one of the newer arrivals, a buxom, spirited lass with the fighting instincts of an alley cat and a mouth right off the docks, gracefully serene when sitting quietly, bursting with energy, wit and willfulness when in motion…an unlikely acquisition, she was proving to be one of the best assets of the new house.

Sarah's eyes catch the empty chair to the right of the main door behind her and light up with expectation. Another old friend from old times, Jebdiah Hedges is traveling south to fulfill the role of bouncer, caretaker and inevitably, if his reputation still held true, complimentary bed warmer for any and all in the house. She laughs out loud, her fond memories of the arrogant scoundrel getting the better of her.

She’d run across Jeb at a saloon in Ohio, on her way to San Francisco. She’d recognized him for the well-known gambler he was and after a subtle glimpse of the cash in her handbag and several less subtle hints directly to him, he’d invited her to play in a local big stakes poker game. She’d accepted, just barely in time, as a brawl had engulfed him and led to an impressive display of masculine muscle and a fine display of marksmanship on the street outside.

She’d thrown all of her savings into the game the next evening on a hunch. Her intuition had always been keen and she’d walked away with more money than anyone could safely carry. Jeb had offered to accompany her to across the country for an astronomical sum – only half of what he’d lost to her – and after the impressive display of skill the evening before she’d agreed.

Over the next several months she’d been dazzled by his quick wit, amused by his sense of humor, amazed by his strength and dismayed by his lack of common sense. His good looks and silver tongue had gotten him into more beds - and more trouble - on their way west than she herself had found. They’d enjoyed the camaraderie that grew between them. When the time came and Jeb had gotten restless with the inevitable routine in a city the size of San Francisco, she’d kissed him goodbye, wished him well and told him not to be a stranger.

She would not have believed the news that he’d settled down to raise a family if it hadn’t been written in his own nearly illegible scrawl and had ached for his loss when the Comanche’s had torn apart his world. She’d begged him then to come back to San Fran but he’d refused and she’d heard tales of his exploits and wild temper over the last seven years, read his nickname, Edge, and countless details of wild schemes and crazy adventures in many different papers. She’d written to him out of habit, when she’d opened the house in Tucson, and was amazed to find out her letter had found him, much less that he meant to take her up on her offer of a job. He’d be here in a couple of weeks and she couldn’t help but wonder how much he’d changed in the interim.

With another slow, satisfied smile Sarah grabs her hat and heads out to the market, filled with the vigor of the day, looking forward to the events and rewards of the evening in front of her and the future before her...