...and a delusional whore the only thing separating him from the booty.

William Etty “Promise what?”

“You won’t call me that again.”

“Okay, I promise.” He laughed and decided to tease her a little. “What are you, then?”

“I’m an entertanoar.” She straightened her back proudly as she made the declaration.

“A what?”

She thought hard about it, knew that wasn’t quite right and tried to remember the correct word. It wouldn’t come to her so she repeated the same word, with the accent on a different syllable this time and an extra consonant for good measure. “An entra, entratrainoar.”

“An entertainer?” Ramon laughed politely. She was an entertainer certain enough.

“No, no, a person that’s in, in business. I’m a business lady.” She poked herself in the breast with a thumb, defiantly.

“Oh, an entrepreneur.” He stood up dramatically and, pretending to pull a hat from his head, made a deep bow. “A thousand pardons, my lady Hilola. I did not know.”

She was pleased and smirked a little as she pulled her knees to her chin. Ramon grabbed a blanket from inside the tent and carefully covered everything below her waist. It seemed everything she did, every movement she made, was designed to keep him distracted.

He laughed out loud. What a predicament. What a crazy predicament to have more money than he’d ever need in his life. Money enough to put him in good graces with el Presidente Díaz, and set his mother up in a fine Spanish villa for the rest of her days, all sitting, just a few feet away, and a delusional whore the only thing separating him from the booty. Allingham: Desperate Ride