. "And where should a man eat his roast beef and mustard sandwich, Harleykins?" She stroked him till he felt hard and pulsing as a jackhammer.
"At the kitchen table?" Oh, merciful heavens , he thought. This is gonna be good.
"That's right, honey-lamb. I got cold roast beef in my new Frigidaire, just waitin' for you, and all the mustard you want, and I'm gonna serve 'em both to you on the kitchen table, and afterwards you and me're gonna climb in that beautiful new bathtub and run some of that luscious hot water from my brand-new water heater, and we're gonna put some Dreft in there and get lost in the bubbles, and everytime you open your lunch pail up at the mill and see a roast beef sandwich without mustard, you're gonna remember who it is that treats you right—aren't you, Harleykins?"
They spent forty minutes on the kitchen table, and the things Lula did with that mustard would have sold millions of bottles, had the manufacturer had the ingenuity to suggest such uses.
Later, in Lula's shiny new porcelain tub, she ran her bare toes up Harley's hairy chest. His eyes were closed and his beefy arms rested on the wide edge.
"Harley?"
"Hm?"
"A stranger came into the cafe today."
"Hm." He sounded disinterested.
Two minutes passed in silence while Lula patiently rested with her eyes closed. She was bright enough to know that if she asked, she'd arouse his suspicion. But if Harley thought he alone could scratch her itch, he was sadly mistaken.
"Don't get many strangers through here," she murmured in due time, as if half asleep.
Harley lifted his head. "Tall guy? Wiry? Wearin' a battered cowboy hat?"
"Yeah, that's the one," she replied dreamily, following with a throaty chuckle. "Hey, Harley, how come you always know everything before I can tell you?"
He chortled and laid his head back. "You got to get up pretty early in the mornin' to put one over on old Harley."
"He just read the paper and moved on."
"Prob'ly lookin' at the want ads. I fired him from the mill today."
"What'd he do wrong?"
"Done five years in Huntsville State Pen for killin' a whore in some whorehouse down there."
Lula's foot hit the water with a splash as she sat bolt upright. "My God, Harley, he didn't!" Her blood ran fast at the mere idea of being in the same room with a man like that. "Lord, we women won't be safe on the streets."
"That's what I told him. Parker, I said, we don't want your kind around here. Pick up your pay and git."
So his name was Parker.
"Good for you, Harley." She lay back and stroked his genitals with her heel. Beneath the bubbly water they were sleek. She began growing aroused again, touching Harley, but picturing the tall, tacit cowboy who'd said so little and had hidden beneath the brim of his hat. Still waters, she thought, and felt her heart begin to race. Going to bed with a man like that would be the ultimate excitement; she imagined it in vivid detail—the danger, the challenge, the sexual drive behind a man who'd been cut off from women for five years. Lord a-mighty, it would be one she'd never forget.
"Bet I know somethin' you don't know, Harley." She let her toes climb his chest like an inchworm.
"What?"
"He went up to see crazy Elly Dinsmore about that ad she run."
"What!" The water slopped over the edge of the tub as Overmire shot up.
"I know damn well he did 'cause first he asked to see the paper, then he sat and read it, then he asked how to find Rock Creek Road, and when I told him he headed off in that direction. What else would he be goin' up there for?"
Overmire roared with laughter and fell back in the water. "Wait'll I tell the boys about this. Jesus, will they laugh. Crazy Elly Dinsmore ... ha, ha, ha!"
"She really is crazy, isn't she?"
"As a bedbug. Advertisin' for a husband. Christ."
"Course, what could you expect after she was locked up in that house all her life?" Lula shivered.
"I went to
"At the kitchen table?" Oh, merciful heavens , he thought. This is gonna be good.
"That's right, honey-lamb. I got cold roast beef in my new Frigidaire, just waitin' for you, and all the mustard you want, and I'm gonna serve 'em both to you on the kitchen table, and afterwards you and me're gonna climb in that beautiful new bathtub and run some of that luscious hot water from my brand-new water heater, and we're gonna put some Dreft in there and get lost in the bubbles, and everytime you open your lunch pail up at the mill and see a roast beef sandwich without mustard, you're gonna remember who it is that treats you right—aren't you, Harleykins?"
They spent forty minutes on the kitchen table, and the things Lula did with that mustard would have sold millions of bottles, had the manufacturer had the ingenuity to suggest such uses.
Later, in Lula's shiny new porcelain tub, she ran her bare toes up Harley's hairy chest. His eyes were closed and his beefy arms rested on the wide edge.
"Harley?"
"Hm?"
"A stranger came into the cafe today."
"Hm." He sounded disinterested.
Two minutes passed in silence while Lula patiently rested with her eyes closed. She was bright enough to know that if she asked, she'd arouse his suspicion. But if Harley thought he alone could scratch her itch, he was sadly mistaken.
"Don't get many strangers through here," she murmured in due time, as if half asleep.
Harley lifted his head. "Tall guy? Wiry? Wearin' a battered cowboy hat?"
"Yeah, that's the one," she replied dreamily, following with a throaty chuckle. "Hey, Harley, how come you always know everything before I can tell you?"
He chortled and laid his head back. "You got to get up pretty early in the mornin' to put one over on old Harley."
"He just read the paper and moved on."
"Prob'ly lookin' at the want ads. I fired him from the mill today."
"What'd he do wrong?"
"Done five years in Huntsville State Pen for killin' a whore in some whorehouse down there."
Lula's foot hit the water with a splash as she sat bolt upright. "My God, Harley, he didn't!" Her blood ran fast at the mere idea of being in the same room with a man like that. "Lord, we women won't be safe on the streets."
"That's what I told him. Parker, I said, we don't want your kind around here. Pick up your pay and git."
So his name was Parker.
"Good for you, Harley." She lay back and stroked his genitals with her heel. Beneath the bubbly water they were sleek. She began growing aroused again, touching Harley, but picturing the tall, tacit cowboy who'd said so little and had hidden beneath the brim of his hat. Still waters, she thought, and felt her heart begin to race. Going to bed with a man like that would be the ultimate excitement; she imagined it in vivid detail—the danger, the challenge, the sexual drive behind a man who'd been cut off from women for five years. Lord a-mighty, it would be one she'd never forget.
"Bet I know somethin' you don't know, Harley." She let her toes climb his chest like an inchworm.
"What?"
"He went up to see crazy Elly Dinsmore about that ad she run."
"What!" The water slopped over the edge of the tub as Overmire shot up.
"I know damn well he did 'cause first he asked to see the paper, then he sat and read it, then he asked how to find Rock Creek Road, and when I told him he headed off in that direction. What else would he be goin' up there for?"
Overmire roared with laughter and fell back in the water. "Wait'll I tell the boys about this. Jesus, will they laugh. Crazy Elly Dinsmore ... ha, ha, ha!"
"She really is crazy, isn't she?"
"As a bedbug. Advertisin' for a husband. Christ."
"Course, what could you expect after she was locked up in that house all her life?" Lula shivered.
"I went to
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