manlike 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 school with her mother, you know. Course, that was before she dropped her whelp and they locked her up.”
“You did?” Lula sat up and reached over the edge of the tub for a towel. She stood and began drying herself. Harley did the same.
“She stared at the wall a lot, and drew pictures all the time. Once she drew a picture of a naked man on a windowshade. The teacher didn’t know it was there and when she pulled it down the class went crazy. Course, they never proved it was Lottie See drew it, but she was always drawin’, and who else’d be crazy enough to do a thing like that?”
Harley stepped from the tub and began drying his legs. Suddenly he stopped and stared at the hairless insides of his thighs. “Damn it all, Lula, how’m I gonna explain these mustard stains to Mae?”
Lula explored the evidence, giggled and turned to the mirror, tightening one of the combs that held her upsweep. “Tell her you got the yellow jaundice.”
Harley guffawed and slapped her fanny. “Hey, Lula, you’re all right, kid.” Abruptly he sobered. “You’re sure tonight wasokay to do it—I mean, you couldn’t get pregnant or anything, could you?”
Lula grew piqued. “You’re a little late askin’, aren’t you, Harley?”
“Jesus, Lula, I depend on you to tell me if I need to use anything.”
She dabbed Evening in Paris behind her ears, between her thighs. “How dumb do you think I am, Harley?” She capped the bottle and slammed it down. He was always asking the same question, as if she were too ignorant to use a calendar. She’d answered it scores of times, but it always left her feeling empty and angry. So, she wasn’t his wife. So, she couldn’t have his babies. Who’d want ‘em? She’d seen his kids and they were stubby, ugly little brats that looked like bug-eyed monkeys. If she was ever going to have a kid, it sure as hell wouldn’t be his. It’d be somebody’s like that Parker’s, somebody who’d give her handsome, brown-eyed darlings that other women would envy.
The thought of it gripped her with a sense of urgency. She was thirty-six already and no marriage prospects in sight. She’d live the rest of her life in this stinking little dump where she’d probably die, just like her mother had. And when she got so old Harley didn’t want to do it on the kitchen table anymore—or couldn’t, for that matter—he’d retire to his rocking chair on the front veranda with his precious, boring Mae. And all those homely little monkeys of his would turn out more homely little monkeys and old Grampa Harley’d be happy as a tick on a fat sheep.
And she—Lula—would be here alone. Aging. Going to fat. Eating beef and mustard sandwiches by herself.
Well, not if she could help it, Lula vowed. Not if she could by God help it.
CHAPTER
4
Eleanor awakened to a pink sunrise creeping over the sill and the
“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 school with her mother, you know. Course, that was before she dropped her whelp and they locked her up.”
“You did?” Lula sat up and reached over the edge of the tub for a towel. She stood and began drying herself. Harley did the same.
“She stared at the wall a lot, and drew pictures all the time. Once she drew a picture of a naked man on a windowshade. The teacher didn’t know it was there and when she pulled it down the class went crazy. Course, they never proved it was Lottie See drew it, but she was always drawin’, and who else’d be crazy enough to do a thing like that?”
Harley stepped from the tub and began drying his legs. Suddenly he stopped and stared at the hairless insides of his thighs. “Damn it all, Lula, how’m I gonna explain these mustard stains to Mae?”
Lula explored the evidence, giggled and turned to the mirror, tightening one of the combs that held her upsweep. “Tell her you got the yellow jaundice.”
Harley guffawed and slapped her fanny. “Hey, Lula, you’re all right, kid.” Abruptly he sobered. “You’re sure tonight wasokay to do it—I mean, you couldn’t get pregnant or anything, could you?”
Lula grew piqued. “You’re a little late askin’, aren’t you, Harley?”
“Jesus, Lula, I depend on you to tell me if I need to use anything.”
She dabbed Evening in Paris behind her ears, between her thighs. “How dumb do you think I am, Harley?” She capped the bottle and slammed it down. He was always asking the same question, as if she were too ignorant to use a calendar. She’d answered it scores of times, but it always left her feeling empty and angry. So, she wasn’t his wife. So, she couldn’t have his babies. Who’d want ‘em? She’d seen his kids and they were stubby, ugly little brats that looked like bug-eyed monkeys. If she was ever going to have a kid, it sure as hell wouldn’t be his. It’d be somebody’s like that Parker’s, somebody who’d give her handsome, brown-eyed darlings that other women would envy.
The thought of it gripped her with a sense of urgency. She was thirty-six already and no marriage prospects in sight. She’d live the rest of her life in this stinking little dump where she’d probably die, just like her mother had. And when she got so old Harley didn’t want to do it on the kitchen table anymore—or couldn’t, for that matter—he’d retire to his rocking chair on the front veranda with his precious, boring Mae. And all those homely little monkeys of his would turn out more homely little monkeys and old Grampa Harley’d be happy as a tick on a fat sheep.
And she—Lula—would be here alone. Aging. Going to fat. Eating beef and mustard sandwiches by herself.
Well, not if she could help it, Lula vowed. Not if she could by God help it.
CHAPTER
4
Eleanor awakened to a pink sunrise creeping over the sill and the
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