his third drink, just after Uncle Septemus disappeared down the hall, just after the door closed and the girl came in and dropped her shabby dress to her wide hips, James thought of Nella, thinking the most forbidden thought of all, that he wished it were Nella he was with on this most important of nights, and not some chubby farm girl with bleached hair and the smell of too-sweet perfume.
The whorehouse shook with the relentless happiness of player pianos (one up, one down) and the even more relentless happiness of girls determined in their somewhat sad way to show the men a good time. He could smell whiskey and cigar smoke and sweat, and could see the flickering shadows cast by the kerosene lamp on the sentimental painting of the innocent but somehow erotic young prairie girl above the brass bed. James supposed that that was how all the girls saw themselves-idealized and vulnerable in that way, not crude and harsh and defeated as they really were.
She came over and stood by him and said, “My name’s Liz.”
“Hi, Liz.”
She smiled. “It’s all right if you look at them. That’s why I took my dress down. So you could see them.”
He couldn’t stop staring at her breasts. He’d raise his eyes and look into her eyes or he’d glance up at the painting above the bed but always his eyes would drop back down to her breasts.
She reached out and took his hand. Touched it in such a way that he could tell she was making some character judgment about him. “You’re not a farm boy, are you?”
“No, ma’m.”
She giggled. “I ain’t no ’ma’m,’ I bet I’m younger than you. I’m fourteen.”
He didn’t say anything. Stood straight and still, heart hammering.
“You want to kiss first?”
“I guess so,” he said.
“You don’t know what to do, do you?”
“I guess not.”
“You look mighty scared.”
He said nothing.
“If you just relax, you’ll enjoy yourself.”
He said nothing.
“You kinda remind me of my brother and that’s kinda sweet.” She leaned forward and kissed him gently on the lips. “That feel good?”
“I guess so.”
She laughed. “You sure ‘guess’ about a lot of things.”
He said nothing.
She took his hand again. She led him over to the bed. They sat on the edge of it, the springs squeaking. She was prettier in profile than straight on. He wanted her to be pretty. On a night like this you wanted your girl to be pretty. He wondered if he’d be so scared now if he were sitting here with Marietta. Or Nella. That was a terrible thought and he tried not to think it, about sitting there with his own aunt, but he couldn’t help it.
He said, “Do you go to school?”
She turned and looked at him. “Do I go to school?” She smiled and patted his hand. “Honey, they wouldn’t let girls like me in school.”
“You got folks?”
“In South Dakota.”
“Do they-”
“Do they know what I do? Was that what you were gonna ask me?”
“I guess.”
“No. They don’t know. A year ago I run off. This was as far as I got. I wrote ’em and tole ’em I’m working for this nice woman.” She laughed. “Miss Susan is nice; that part of it ain’t a lie.”
He sat on the edge of the bed and stared down at his hands. They were trembling. “We don’t have to do anything. I wouldn’t ask for my money back, I mean.”
“You afraid you can’t do it?”
He didn’t say anything.
“A lot of men are like that. Even when they’ve been doin’ it regular all their lives. They just get kinda scared and they get worried if they’re gonna make fools of themselves but, heck, you’ll be fine.”
“You sure?”
“Sure. I mean, we’ll take it real slow. We’ll lay back on
The whorehouse shook with the relentless happiness of player pianos (one up, one down) and the even more relentless happiness of girls determined in their somewhat sad way to show the men a good time. He could smell whiskey and cigar smoke and sweat, and could see the flickering shadows cast by the kerosene lamp on the sentimental painting of the innocent but somehow erotic young prairie girl above the brass bed. James supposed that that was how all the girls saw themselves-idealized and vulnerable in that way, not crude and harsh and defeated as they really were.
She came over and stood by him and said, “My name’s Liz.”
“Hi, Liz.”
She smiled. “It’s all right if you look at them. That’s why I took my dress down. So you could see them.”
He couldn’t stop staring at her breasts. He’d raise his eyes and look into her eyes or he’d glance up at the painting above the bed but always his eyes would drop back down to her breasts.
She reached out and took his hand. Touched it in such a way that he could tell she was making some character judgment about him. “You’re not a farm boy, are you?”
“No, ma’m.”
She giggled. “I ain’t no ’ma’m,’ I bet I’m younger than you. I’m fourteen.”
He didn’t say anything. Stood straight and still, heart hammering.
“You want to kiss first?”
“I guess so,” he said.
“You don’t know what to do, do you?”
“I guess not.”
“You look mighty scared.”
He said nothing.
“If you just relax, you’ll enjoy yourself.”
He said nothing.
“You kinda remind me of my brother and that’s kinda sweet.” She leaned forward and kissed him gently on the lips. “That feel good?”
“I guess so.”
She laughed. “You sure ‘guess’ about a lot of things.”
He said nothing.
She took his hand again. She led him over to the bed. They sat on the edge of it, the springs squeaking. She was prettier in profile than straight on. He wanted her to be pretty. On a night like this you wanted your girl to be pretty. He wondered if he’d be so scared now if he were sitting here with Marietta. Or Nella. That was a terrible thought and he tried not to think it, about sitting there with his own aunt, but he couldn’t help it.
He said, “Do you go to school?”
She turned and looked at him. “Do I go to school?” She smiled and patted his hand. “Honey, they wouldn’t let girls like me in school.”
“You got folks?”
“In South Dakota.”
“Do they-”
“Do they know what I do? Was that what you were gonna ask me?”
“I guess.”
“No. They don’t know. A year ago I run off. This was as far as I got. I wrote ’em and tole ’em I’m working for this nice woman.” She laughed. “Miss Susan is nice; that part of it ain’t a lie.”
He sat on the edge of the bed and stared down at his hands. They were trembling. “We don’t have to do anything. I wouldn’t ask for my money back, I mean.”
“You afraid you can’t do it?”
He didn’t say anything.
“A lot of men are like that. Even when they’ve been doin’ it regular all their lives. They just get kinda scared and they get worried if they’re gonna make fools of themselves but, heck, you’ll be fine.”
“You sure?”
“Sure. I mean, we’ll take it real slow. We’ll lay back on
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