because he liked her. Good boy.
“Well,” he said.
“Do you get paid now?”
“I believe so, Ma’am.”
“All right. Come on.”
She moved unsteadily into the kitchen. She heard him behind her. She started into the dining room.
“Should I wait here, Ma’am?”
She felt unaccountably annoyed. “My name’s Naomi.”
“Yes-“
“Follow me. I have my purse-“
She chose her footsteps slowly, and heard him behind her. They moved through the dining area, and living room, into the hall, and entered the bedroom. She glanced at him. He stood inside the door, not sure what to do with his hands. He was very tall. He smiled at her. She smiled back. She took her purse from the dresser and held it out.
“Here,” she said, “take the money.”
“But-“
“Whatever it is.”
He went stiffly to her, took the purse, opened it, fumbled inside, and found only a five-dollar bill.
“I have change,” he said. He returned the purse to her and dug into his pockets. She dropped the -purse on the bed and sat down on the edge, next to the crumpled rose bedspread. She watched him as he made the change.
She crossed her legs. “I like you,” she said. “What’s your name?”
He looked up from the bills in his hand. Her negligee had fallen away from her legs, and her thighs were exposed. He flushed. “Johnny,” he said.
Quickly, he held out the change. She reached for it, but took his wrist instead. “Come here,” she said. “That’s not what I want.”
She pulled him, and as she did so she got to her feet. The cord at her throat, loosened, fell away, and the peignoir was open. She saw his eyes drop, and his Adam’s apple bob, and knew that he saw the brown nipples and knew that this would be a good day.
“I want you,” she said, smiling crookedly.
He was all breath and fright. “I’m not allowed to, Ma’am. I’d get in trouble-“
“Don’t be silly.” She closed the distance between them, lifting her arms around his neck. “Now, kiss me.”
He reached down to remove her, but his hands missed her ribs and came to rest on the immense breasts. He pulled his hands away as if he had touched flame.
“I’m married,” he gasped. “I got kids-“
“Kiss me; love me-“
“I can’t!”
Reaching behind, frantically, he tore her arms off him, then wheeled, and almost running, in great, grotesque strides, he dashed out of the room.
She stood very still, riveted almost, listening to his receding footsteps in the living room, the kitchen, and then, after a moment, from far away, the service porch door slamming.
She did not move. That’ll be something to tell the boys, she thought. Filthy little prig. Probably castrated anyway. What would he know about love? Jack rabbit. She looked down at her swelling breasts. She felt sober and nauseated, and could taste the brandy high in her throat, and it was sour.
For three weeks this had not happened, and now it had almost happened. Why had it happened? What was wrong? She sank down to the bed, and then lay on it, curling her legs beneath her. She felt the tears on her face, and then her body shaking and shaking as she began to sob. Her stomach was in her throat, and she
wanted to retch. She stumbled to her feet, felt her way into the bathroom, and was ill. After long minutes, pale and weakened, she returned to the kitchen. She relighted the burner, and, waiting for the coffee to heat once more, she wandered to the window. The Chinese elm was full, and birds were all about it. Somewhere beyond, a dog barked, and she could hear the children in the street. It would be hot again today. She wondered what she would do.
Kathleen Ballard sat at her formica table and studied the list in the open folder. She had been sitting many minutes, content to smoke and take a break since she had telephoned Naomi Shields. She ran her eyes down the checked names. Ursula. Sarah. Mary. Teresa. Naomi. They had consumed over an hour-she knew the press release by heart now-and
“Well,” he said.
“Do you get paid now?”
“I believe so, Ma’am.”
“All right. Come on.”
She moved unsteadily into the kitchen. She heard him behind her. She started into the dining room.
“Should I wait here, Ma’am?”
She felt unaccountably annoyed. “My name’s Naomi.”
“Yes-“
“Follow me. I have my purse-“
She chose her footsteps slowly, and heard him behind her. They moved through the dining area, and living room, into the hall, and entered the bedroom. She glanced at him. He stood inside the door, not sure what to do with his hands. He was very tall. He smiled at her. She smiled back. She took her purse from the dresser and held it out.
“Here,” she said, “take the money.”
“But-“
“Whatever it is.”
He went stiffly to her, took the purse, opened it, fumbled inside, and found only a five-dollar bill.
“I have change,” he said. He returned the purse to her and dug into his pockets. She dropped the -purse on the bed and sat down on the edge, next to the crumpled rose bedspread. She watched him as he made the change.
She crossed her legs. “I like you,” she said. “What’s your name?”
He looked up from the bills in his hand. Her negligee had fallen away from her legs, and her thighs were exposed. He flushed. “Johnny,” he said.
Quickly, he held out the change. She reached for it, but took his wrist instead. “Come here,” she said. “That’s not what I want.”
She pulled him, and as she did so she got to her feet. The cord at her throat, loosened, fell away, and the peignoir was open. She saw his eyes drop, and his Adam’s apple bob, and knew that he saw the brown nipples and knew that this would be a good day.
“I want you,” she said, smiling crookedly.
He was all breath and fright. “I’m not allowed to, Ma’am. I’d get in trouble-“
“Don’t be silly.” She closed the distance between them, lifting her arms around his neck. “Now, kiss me.”
He reached down to remove her, but his hands missed her ribs and came to rest on the immense breasts. He pulled his hands away as if he had touched flame.
“I’m married,” he gasped. “I got kids-“
“Kiss me; love me-“
“I can’t!”
Reaching behind, frantically, he tore her arms off him, then wheeled, and almost running, in great, grotesque strides, he dashed out of the room.
She stood very still, riveted almost, listening to his receding footsteps in the living room, the kitchen, and then, after a moment, from far away, the service porch door slamming.
She did not move. That’ll be something to tell the boys, she thought. Filthy little prig. Probably castrated anyway. What would he know about love? Jack rabbit. She looked down at her swelling breasts. She felt sober and nauseated, and could taste the brandy high in her throat, and it was sour.
For three weeks this had not happened, and now it had almost happened. Why had it happened? What was wrong? She sank down to the bed, and then lay on it, curling her legs beneath her. She felt the tears on her face, and then her body shaking and shaking as she began to sob. Her stomach was in her throat, and she
wanted to retch. She stumbled to her feet, felt her way into the bathroom, and was ill. After long minutes, pale and weakened, she returned to the kitchen. She relighted the burner, and, waiting for the coffee to heat once more, she wandered to the window. The Chinese elm was full, and birds were all about it. Somewhere beyond, a dog barked, and she could hear the children in the street. It would be hot again today. She wondered what she would do.
Kathleen Ballard sat at her formica table and studied the list in the open folder. She had been sitting many minutes, content to smoke and take a break since she had telephoned Naomi Shields. She ran her eyes down the checked names. Ursula. Sarah. Mary. Teresa. Naomi. They had consumed over an hour-she knew the press release by heart now-and
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