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Goodnight had to ride around the sign three times before he could be brought to believe that the town was actually called Grope Butt, while Billy merely waited him out, smoking.
"I don't see why you are surprised, these towns all have dumb names. We have already been to Intercourse once and Climax in two different states."
"Now that is a lofty and noble goal Billy," Goodnight agreed, halting next to him and Billy looked at him, silently raising his eyebrows.
"Why, to get you to Climax in every 38 states and ten territories ," Goodnight leered before setting off into the bustling little town of Grope Butte.
There was a saloon, a church and school, a dry goods store, a livery a timber yard and tucked among the shops was a photographers studio selling portraits, carte de visit and postcards.
"Get spruced up Billy, we are having our picture taken," Goodnight said, grinning like a cat with a canary.
The man in the photography studio turned a friendly grin to Goodnight but when Billy walked through the door, dressed in his swaggering best, freshly shaven and his hair brushed until it gleamed, his jaw dropped and he stared at him with round eyes.
"Jared," he said to the boy sweeping the studio floor, not taking his eyes off Billy, "run out back and start putting emulsion on the new glass plates. Then you can run on home."
"Sure Rick," the kid said chirpily, "how many do you need?"
"How many?" the man repeated, as in a trance, still staring at Billy, "How…how many? I don't know, just do whatever we've got," he said waving a hand dismissively. "We're gonna need 'em."
Goodnight beamed at him, delighted to find a kindred soul, someone else understanding that Billy was the most beautiful thing in this godforsaken world.
"My good man," Goody said, clapping the shocked young man on the shoulder, who started violently, tearing his eyes away from Billy and then closed his mouth with audible snap, " we very much desire to have our picture taken."
They took two full portraits before things got off the rails. In the first Billy was seated in the studio chair, his knives proudly in his lap and Goody standing behind him with his rifle besides him and a hand on his shoulder, a portrait fit for any mantelpiece or desk before the photographer nervously cleared his throat.
"There is another pose that would work very well, composition wise," he bleated, and Goody, always blessed with the ability to recognise his own kind, knew he had hit pay dirt.
"If we angle the chair, you sir, sit there and you sir, with the knives, can sit… just so on the armrest, and put your arm around his shoulder…" his voice died away, Goody presumed overtaken by the vision of Billy nearly perched in his lap, as he gamely put his arm around Billy's waist (to keep him from falling off the chair, of course). Billy put his own arm around his shoulder and where his free arm hung down and Goody's rested on his leg, their hands nearly met and closed the circle. He was required to look up at Billy during the photo but gazing at Billy had never really been a problem and judging by the slight smile which hovered around Billy's mouth he didn't object either.
The flash went off and the Rick busied himself with removing the glass plate from the camera while Billy leaned himself more securely against Goodnight and even went so far as letting his cheek rest against his head. The photographic studio didn't have any windows and the door was locked.
"We do,uh,we do have some costumes in the back for gentlemen who enjoy taking some more, um…theatrical pictures, and…" he wiped the sweat of his forehead with a handkerchief and eyed their affectionate pose, "and sometimes I take a series of pictures which form a small narrative and send it out to certain select subscribers who enjoy such fictional pictorial stories."
Goodnight was game as long as he didn't have to wear anything resembling a soldiers uniform and Billy gave an evil side-eye to a cone shaped straw hat like the one immigrant Chinese workers wore and picked out a gentleman's bowler hat and jacket. Goody picked a handsome silk evening robe and and they both tied new cravats on and felt very handsome indeed.
"I will be an gentleman reading at home," Goody said and sat down in the chair with a book in his hands, to which Billy rolled his eyes but then Rick nodded and put up a door frame and said excitedly "And then there is a surprise visit from your gentleman friend, who is injured…"
"I've been stabbed," Billy said laconically and clutched one of his knives in his hand and the final pose was of Goody starting from his chair, book forgotten in one hand and of Billy leaning in the door frame and clutching his side.
The next pose was Goody holding Billy's prone form in his lap.
"Wh..what are you doing?" young Rick squeaked as Goody deftly started unbuttoning Billy's waistcoat and shirt.
"He has to examine the wound, of course," Billy explained smoothly as Goody gently placed a hand on his bared pectoral and Billy wound his arms around Goody's neck and sweetly tipped his head back on his shoulder, exposing the long gorgeous line of his throat.
"Of, of course," Rick said, "hold still please."
The next image showed Billy's wound to be fatal and Goodnight kissing the lips of his dead friend in despair, albeit with Billy's arms wrapping around him pretty enthusiastically for a dead man. One hand was definitely resting very snugly on his bottom.
Then they did an image of One Cowboy looking Very Enviously at Another Shirtless Cowboy's Very Fancy Spurs.
Another image was of Laundry Day in A Cowboy Camp with shirts and union suits strung on a line and Billy and Goody in convivial conversation around a paper fire as naked as they day they were born (apart from keeping their boots on) with coffee pots and cups in strategic positions.
"Do we have to keep the boots on?" Billy asked with interest at this was something Ricky asked them to do.
Ricky nodded. "Its very important to keep the boots on so they can see its modern day. If you wanted to see naked people without boots on you can just go look in an art museum, the antique fellas are always naked without shoes on but if you have your boots on you know you are modern day fellas like you and me."
Goody and Billy looked at each other and shrugged.
They also made a longer series of Miner With a Snake in His Pants which required one miner to examine very closely the large bulge in the other miner's pants, which then nefariously turned out to be a snake and the first miner had to stick his hand down his trousers to retrieve it, a lengthy operation which required two slides since the snake was very wily and the final slide showed the miners embracing in gratitude, however one of them was a False Friend as he could clearly be seen slipping the snake down his friend's trousers.
And then they ran out of glass slides.
Goody reflected this was probably just as well as Billy had a certain gleam in his eyes and you could never really tell what was going to happen then, and even if it usually meant that he had a good time, he quite fancied heading back to the hotel to see where that wily snake had gotten off to and young Rick looked quite pink and also like had his own trouser snake situation going on.
"What do we owe?" he asked and if Ricky said he wanted a kiss from Billy Goody was going to have to deck him, but in a cheerful, understanding sort of way.
Ricky looked a bit dazed, having probably spent at least three months worth of glass plates in one go just nodded and said "Pay me for the two portraits and, uh do you want to sign up for the the subscription stuff?"
"Do we want to sign up?" Goody asked, "do we ever."
He frowned for a moment. "So this here subscription, it runs through the year? And if the fee is paid you just send it to the address?"
"Yes, due to the nature of the materials we have to be very discreet," Rick said watching Billy change back into his shirt with the air of a small child watching a shop window at Christmas.
"So, provided the fee is paid and there is an address we could just send this anywhere?" Goodnight said, eyes slightly glowing now and a manic smile.
*
The telegraph clerk eyed the man in front of him. He was handsome black man, all dressed in black with a Marshall star on his chest and big bushy side-whiskers. He seemed very agitated.
"I wish to send a strongly worded telegram." he said, glowering something fierce.
"Of course sir," the clerk said, fumbling with the pen. "How was the name?"
"Sam Chisholm."
"And the message?"
Mr Chisholm pushed a filled out yellow telegraph form under the slot in the till and the clerk eyed the message, written with some emphasis.
GOODY!STOP MY EYES! STOP STOP AT ONCE YOU BASTARD! STOP
He read the message through, company policy stated that they were never to act as if they read the customers messages but he felt at this case warranted an exception.
"We only change the charge after ten words so if you wanted to add SICK FUCKING to BASTARD it would be the same cost. There is an extra charge for the exclamation points though, they are hard to send."
Mr Chisholm sighed deeply.
"Keep the exclamation points son, they are integral to the message. And as for the additions, I like how you are thinking."