keeping tofu in the refrigerator. It looked like an albino cow patty to him.
He thought of Nettie, who was coming in to work at the church that afternoon. The image of the church secretary made his pulse beat faster. He drank the grainy dregs of his coffee and looked at Amanda, wondering if he might spend his sudden passion in her well-preserved lap.
No, never after she'd already put on her makeup. And never in daylight. And never on Sunday. And never when Sarah might hear. And never when her favorite shows were on television. And never when 'Armfield, how do you think I would look with a perm?' She touched her burnt red hair with a wispy hand.
'I think you look fine the way you are. But whatever makes you happy makes me happy.” He tried on a smile that stretched his top lip over his twin beaver teeth. 'And you know you're shining in the eyes of the Lord, and that's all that matters.'
'Oh, Armfield.' She tittered, and she may have blushed under her sheet of foundation, but Armfield couldn't be sure. Her clotted smile was enough to shrivel away the last of his excitement.
'Got to go to the church, honey.” He walked over and kissed the top of her head. The kiss tasted of chemicals and her hair didn't move.
'I think I'll buy me a hat, too,' Amanda said. 'Then I'm going to ride out to see Genevieve Moody about this year's blood drive. See if she wants to spend some of her husband's money. Maybe get her to go with me to the mall down in Barkersville.'
'The Lord wants us to enjoy the fruits of our labors,' Armfield said, heading out the door.
Just don't max out the credit card. I can only steal so fast. Even the Lord's bank accounts aren't bottomless.
'Have a good day, dear,' he called cheerfully before crossing the yard to the church. 'Say hello to the Moodys for me.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Jimmy Morris rolled over onto his back, sweat ringing his unwashed neck. The room smelled of chlorine and olives. Peggy curled into the crook of his tattooed arm, nuzzling his coarse chest.
'Jimmy, you sure know how to treat a lady,' she purred.
Jimmy grunted and reached for the bottle that he'd left on the bedside table. He fumbled among the condom wrappers and cigarette butts and old dental floss until his hand struck glass.
He reached his arm over Peggy's damp stringy hair and twisted off the cap, then poured a slug of brown liquor into his mouth. He swished a couple of times to get the taste of Peggy off his tongue, and then swallowed. Fire raged through his gullet and he smiled in satisfaction.
Peggy lifted her head, making a splotching sound as her cheek lifted from Jimmy's sticky skin. She took the bottle from him and sipped at it like a baby taking suckle.
She don't know what she’s missing. If she ever got ahold of the good stuff, she'd be spoiled rotten. But she's happy with this four-dollar-a-pint antiseptic that passes for whiskey, so I might as well save that Jim Beam in the truck for the gals who need to feel pampered.
'That sure was fun, sugar,' Jimmy said. He winced against the light pouring through the trailer window. It must be getting toward evening. He wondered how long he dared to stay. Sylvester could drive up any moment. Not likely, but a possibility.
But the danger was part of the thrill. And if he could get Peggy to go along with his idea, there would be a whole hell of a lot of thrill. He took another painful swig and put the bottle down. He cupped Peggy's worn chin in his hand. Dark grease filled the swirls of his fingerprints.
'You know you're good at that, darling. The best I know of,' he said, in what he thought of as his George Clooney voice.
'Jimmy, you're just saying that,' Peggy said, not hiding the happiness in her voice.
'I mean it. You're worth a little risk.'
'You mean to do this, or do you mean it’s risky to love me?'
Jimmy frowned and looked for a different path, one that led away from fool emotions. 'What I mean, sugar, is you're too good to waste on Sylvester. What kind of man stays out in the woods all the time when he's got something like this at home?'
He ran a hand over Peggy's freckled breast. Her nipple flexed and stiffened, like an earthworm caught with its head out of the ground.
'Now, Sylvester's a good man,” she said. “He's never raised a hand against me-well, at least not much. And he provides for me and the kids.'
'Just what the hell do you got, Peg? Look around.'
She looked. Leak marks on the ceiling resembled coffee stains. A hole gaped in the thin paneling where a shotgun blast had ripped through the siding. Mice had gnawed at the foamwood baseboard. The closet doors hung awkwardly off their tracks like two drunks dangling from a railroad trestle. Peggy took a sharp breath, as if he had just slapped her across the face with her own autobiography.
'If Sylvester loved you, he wouldn't keep you like this,' Jimmy said quietly. No need for added cruelty. Awareness had heaped enough pain on Peggy Mull.
Peggy put her head on his chest and was still. Then he felt a small warm wetness on his skin, and the mattress quivered with her sobs.
'Hey, honey, it's okay,' Jimmy said, stroking her matted and tangled hair. He'd have to get her to take better care of herself. Maybe he'd buy her some fancy shampoo. To increase the value.
'J-Jimmy. I just get lonely sometimes,' she said in her broken voice.
'We all do, sweetheart. Misery loves company, too.'
'I try so hard. But Sylvester don't make much, and he won't let me get a job. Says it would make him feel like less of a man.”
Jimmy chortled and went for the other nipple. 'How much of a man is he? Can't even give his wife a little loving when she needs it.'
'But he's my husband. And I love him, in some kind of screwed-up way.' Her sobs eased and she craned her neck to look at Jimmy's face. 'But I love you, too.'
Jimmy smiled and looked into her smoky blue eyes. They were her best feature. He'd have to figure out a way to make them stand out more. Packaging was what made the merchandise.
'And I love you, honey,' he said, touching her lightly on the nose with his index finger. 'And I want you to be comfortable.'
She burrowed into his chest hair. 'I'm comfortable right here.'
'I mean with money.'
He felt her tense a little.
'Good money,' he said, breaking the silence.
'How?'
'I got it figured out.'
'What?'
'Five hundred dollars a week, free and clear.'
He let that sink in. Twice what Sylvester probably made trucking feed all over Bumfuck. When he even worked, that was.
'What are you talking about, Jimmy?' Her words crawled across the air like baby spiders down a thread of web, fragile and cautious.
'I'm talking about putting you to work, woman. Turning pleasure into business.'
She thumped him on the chest, the fleshy sound echoing hollowly off the cluttered furniture. 'I ain't no hooker, you asshole. I like to do it. I like to do lots of things. But I got my pride, see?'
She sat up in bed, pulling the dingy sheet around her waist. The knobs of her spine flexed as she started crying again. Jimmy let her cry until the hurt and shock dulled. He took a drink of cheap whiskey while he waited.
