Susan ate a little more chutney.
'You got any white bread?' April said.
Susan's eyes gleamed at me over her coffee cup.
'No.' 'What's that jam?' April said.
'Chutney,' I said. 'It's sort of a fruit pickle, it's not jam.
April took a very small bite of the pit& sandwich and showed no more pleasure than she had with the beer.
'Sorry,' I said. 'I'm out of Wonder Bread and bologna. Would you like peanut butter? Or toast and 'Toast,' she said.
I sliced bread and put it in the toaster. I put out some Trappist boysenberry jam. I knew she'd prefer grape jelly, but I was out of that too.
'So what are you going to do tomorrow?' I said to April while her toast was toasting.
She shrugged again.
'You want to go home?'
'No.' 'You want to go back to Providence?'
She shook her head.
'Want a job?'
'Doing what?' she said. 'What would you say your most marketable skill was?' I said.
She made a small unfunny laugh. 'Fucking,' she said and glanced sideways at Susan, checking the effect. Susan ate a pickle, holding it in the very tip of her thumb and forefinger and taking a bite out of it. She never ate anything in one bite.
'I think I won't ask your second most marketable skill,' I said.
'Wise,' Susan said. 'April, let's see if we can cut through a little of the cynical disaffection. Spenser and I both think you're too young to be alone and directionless. We are trying to get you to help us think of something for you to do. I am less sentimental than he is. I might take you back to your parents' home, leave you there, and let them deal with the problem. But he won't do that. He would see that as merely postponing the problem, or giving it to someone else. On the assumption that you'll run away again.'
'I didn't go to all this trouble,' I said, 'to have you back with Red turning tricks in the Zone.'
'Maybe I like that,' she said.
'You don't,' I said. 'I saw the picture of your house on the wall in that crib you were living in on Chandler Street.'
'So what does that mean?'
-I carried a picture of my house through nearly two years in Korea,' I said. “I know why you had it on your wall, and I know what it means.'
Her toast had popped and I buttered it and put it out with a jar of jam and a spoon. She ate some.
'So what do you think I should do?' April said. 'I'd rather be a whore than live at home.'
I looked at Susan. She widened her eyes and shook her head-one of her don't-ask-me motions.
'How about you move in with Amy?'
'I don't like her,' April said. 'She's feebie. And her old man's going to jail. She won't have any money.'
'So we're back to whore again,' I said.
She nodded. I ate some of my sandwich and drank some of my beer.
'How do you like whoring?' I said.
'It's okay sometimes. Sometimes the guys are nice. It's not bad.'
'What's the worst thing about it?' Susan said.
'Creepy guys, being alone with them in the back of a car or in some toilet or a dump like you saw.'
'How many tricks a night with Red?' I said.
'Ten, fifteen.'
I got up and got more beer and sat back down on my side of the counter and looked at her. 'If you're going to be a whore, why be a cheap one?'
She shrugged. Made me think of Paul Giacomin when I'd first met him. That was two years ago. Now he was different. He hadn't even come for Thanksgiving. He'd stayed with his girl friend. He didn't shrug like that anymore. At least not at me.
'If you'll go with me,' I said, 'tomorrow I'm going to take you down to New York and introduce you to a woman named Patricia Utley, who runs a high-priced and selective prostitution business.'
I heard Susan let her breath out softly.
'You want me to be a whore?' April said. 'No,' I said, 'but I know at least one good woman who used to be a whore for Patricia Utley. If you're going to be a whore, at least we can upgrade your level of whoring. You'd do one trick a night and not every night. You'd be dealing with a relatively civilized clientele. You'd learn how to dress and
