Sapphic Voices Romance

A Fate Of Fire

Part One

one

At Five O’clock the sweaty, dirty, Grab-A-Part customers began to march down the gravel road toward the scrap-yard’s exit. Some of the men left empty handed while others clutched greasy, black, parts, their own personal Golden Fleeces and Holy Grails.

Ann Bailey Williamson watched them from her office; a small room at the top of a 12-foot flight of metal stairs. She tugged her red Houston Comets cap over her dark brown hair and pulled at the bill, adjusting it just right to hide her left ear; a crescent of cartilage, burn-scared like the rest of that side of her face. Red baggy coveralls hid her slight curves, her compact frame appeared stouter.

She went to the P.A. mike on her desk, brought it to her lips, and paused before pressing the button, “Once again, we will be closing in ten minutes please finish up and bring your purchases to the register.”

She set the mike down and began to separate the day’s paper work into a pink stack and a yellow stack. When she was finished she leaned back in her chair beneath a tool company sponsored, centerfold calendar. One of the guys tacked up as a joke way back in Miss January, where she remained, unseasonably dressed in red, white fur, trimmed, bikini.

Bailey turned kneeling in the chair, she took the calendar down and flipped to Miss May, who wore a hot pink bikini and wielded two power drills like pistols. Bailey tacked her up, then hiked downstairs through the yard of junk cars towards the exit.

“Hey Will.” she said to the pony tailed cashier as she walked through the register booth.

“Seven of Nine.” he grinned and saluted her. A devout Trekker he had renamed her after the character from the show, Voyager.

She waited until the last customer paid before stowing the day’s earnings into a lockbox.

At about fifteen-after the Grab-A-Part’s employees shuffled down the gravel road, thermoses and insulated lunch bags in hand. Will carried his little TV set under his arm, as usual he was out first.

Guy the assistant manager swaggered out next. He was a young, handsome, black, man with low cut hair and ornate sideburns that trailed down across his muscular jaw at a slight curve and came to a neat point.

“Evenin.’” he said and swaggered on, she glowered at his back, jealous. Only men could walk like that; make a spectacular show of confidence while she had to wear her low self-esteem like a brand.

She touched her scarred left jaw and waited for the rest of the guys to come out.

Finally Old Harvey from demolition limped out, he was always the last to go. She closed the gate and was about to lock it when she Simon appeared.

“Hey Bailey,” he said, “I just wanted to put my bid in on the tow truck driving job.”

She gave him a slight smile. “And it’s accepted, Simon.”

A lot of guys had asked about the job, the position meant a little pay raise, and more freedom. Simon was relatively new, and young.

“Oh alright,” he shrugged his hair was a spiked halo with some length in the back, he spun on his heel as if to leave but turned, “I can do the job you know,” he added, “My Daddy owned a wrecker. I told you.”

“Yeah I remember,” she answered, “No one gets the job right away, they get a week to prove themselves, any screw-ups--”

“You give me a chance and you won’t have to worry about that,” he said.

“I’ll think on it,” she told him.

Bailey locked the gate, and went back up to the office where she tucked the money-box away in the safe. Back down stairs she let the guard dogs out of their pen, they were two nameless, shaggy mutts from the same litter; black and brown with white socks on all eight paws. She tossed a faded, rubber ball between them until they grew bored and chased more interesting quarry a battered gray Tomcat.

Her red 1982 Dodge Ram was the last in the lot, she slid into its stifling cab, rolled down the windows. The sun swelled low, looming close, showing serious plans for heating things up before the summer time.

Bailey drove up Farm Road 521 towards the outskirts of her little, home town, Arcola, Texas. Grab-A-Part was in the middle of a run-down neighborhood, a part of the town where few people had running hot water and some had no plumbing at all. The homes were sagging trailers or ancient shacks on great cement blocks on lots of red dirt patched with green weeds.

Bailey slowed when she came to a rare line of traffic. A cop stepped out into the road waving maniacally, behind him a shirtless man covered in rivulets of blood dashed behind him to the other side of the road.

A pack of cops in rubber gloves armed with black cans of pepper spray followed covering the man in an incapacitating mist. The man slipped in the gravel on the shoulder, holding his head and the cops swarmed him.

Poverty had always been rampant, since the first freed blacks set up small homesteads on the former plantation land. There had always been alcoholism, stories of incest, abuse, all the dirty little vices of the poor, then in the 80’s drugs came to Arcola, the poor man’s cocaine, Crack.

It started like wildfire burning people up and leaving their bones with skin barely stretched over, yellow-red eyes, and rotting feet. Scenes like the one on the side of 521 became a part of every day life.

The cop in the road wildly waved Bailey on and went to help cuff the man. Whatever drug was in his system made him a match for about a half dozen officers.

As the truck rolled away she could not help but slow and watch from her rear-view. Folks lined the road watching, women held their babies casually under one arm and young men laughed too loud as the crazed man fought with the cops.

She saw her younger, cousin Jonnie Mae Williamson- the lightest skin among the varying shades of brown. Bailey was not surprised to see her there in the roughest part of their rough town. It was the kind of spectacle Jonnie left her dealings in the woods to witness. If the younger Williamson noticed Bailey’s truck she didn’t wave or smile, or move her gaze away from the bleeding man, his senses dissolved by chemical weapon.

Some other kid chunked a rock at her truck and Bailey sped up the road leaving a black, streak of rubber behind her.

Bailey turned onto Highway Six, drove through the neighboring town of Fresno, and on to Sugar Land the town with two water towers. The first tower was in Old Sugar Land by the century old sugar mill that gave the town its name, except instead making the land sweet it soured up the water. Old Sugar Land was rural with some meager neighborhoods, and plenty of gang activity.

Just over the tracks was New Sugar Land where billboards advertised homes in the 100’s and 300 thousands, deeper in were the mansions.

Bailey did not mind the town too much because fifty percent of Sugar Land was strip-mall, featuring two Super Walmarts on opposite ends of Highway Six, there was also a Carter’s Country and various auto and hardware supply stores. She enjoyed nothing more than buying some hunting supplies she did not need or browsing the auto store located just within the city limits.

She nodded at the guy in the blue apron at the door fussing with a display of cell phone-auto equipment.

“Whatcha need?” he asked daring her to tear him away from the display.

“Just looking.” she grumbled at him, the back of her neck flushed in embarrassment.

Bailey had come for fuel injector cleaner for the Dodge, she browsed her way towards what she needed stopping to look at a rack of neat racing steering wheels. Bailey imagined dressing up the truck with a lot of chrome, maybe a wicked paint job, or she could drop it low like the Mexican guys.

She moved on to look at the fancy hubcaps when in the chrome of a display she caught the pleasing reflection of a figure behind her. Bailey turned to see a mocha-skinned woman with a beautifully sculpted face, and eyes like a doe’s. Her lips curved into a smile that made Bailey blush instantly.

“Uhh, hi,” Bailey returned the smile.

She held a plastic package containing a neon license plate that lit up.

“Hi,” she said quickly eyeing Bailey’s red jumper and Comet’s cap, “I was wondering how this thing is supposed to work. I’m seeing all these wires here and it’s not looking good.”

“Well my guess is…” Bailey said, her tongue dull and heavy, she feared it would trip her words. She thought of the scars then and had to force her hand to stay away from the left side of her face, “…it wires into your tail lights,” she explained, “shares the power.”

“Is it very hard to do?” she asked.

“No, not really.” Bailey paused.

The woman turned the package over in her hands, still unsure, she looked back up at Bailey and smiled.

“I mean, I could hook it up for you in twenty minutes, right out in the parking lot,” she said before she could stop herself.

“Could you?” the woman smiled again, “I actually came here to buy windshield wiper blades.”

“No problem,” Bailey said.

The guy in the apron rang up their stuff smirking the whole time acting like he was about to crack up laughing. Bailey wanted to punch his fucking lights out. Her whole body felt hot and clammy. She wanted to pretend like she did not know what the hell she was doing and flee. Instead she watched the woman pay and go outside, Bailey watched through the plate glass window as she walked to a little purple Volkswagen with a white convertible top.

She felt a little foolish going out of her way to help the lovely woman who was probably used to men and (even more pathetic) weird, scarred, dykes bending over backwards to lend her a hand.

Bailey wondered how she had been locked out of the world of women, she may as well have been a man the concept of woman was so foreign to her. Even the other woman’s clothes were compellingly alien to her: a long black skirt of a light material, with two inch slits on either side, showing the creamy brown curves of her calves, a gray, tight, knit, blouse and hair that fell in black waves cascading down just above her ass.

Outside in the parking lot, Bailey was surprised to find that her eyes felt free to explore the other woman. She was usually a goof around her own sex, sure that most of them were straight and disgusted by her, so she adverted her eyes when she was out in the world past her little town, and stole glances at cleavage, and soft hair, and the backs of ankles and sweet hands.

“So, what does A.B. stand for?” the woman pointed to the initials stitched into the badge above Bailey’s breast as she turned having retrieved her toolbox from the truck.

“Ann Bailey,” she said, and flushed because it was so backwards to have two first names, and she knew she would have to explain, “Ann Bailey Williamson.”

She extended her hand and they shook.

“That’s cute. I’m Felice Preciado,” she grinned, “Do people call you Ann or Bailey or both?”

“Depends on who it is,” Bailey answered not meaning to flirt, but Felice took the comment as being coy and gave a sexy grin.

“Well what do your friends call you?” Felice asked.

“Bailey,” she answered.

“Now I like that,” Felice said, and stood close chatting away as the neon plate frame was installed.

She smelled like Cape Jasper, those white flowers that grew in the late spring on the tree outside Bailey’s house. Bailey remembered that her mother used to clip them and lay them all over the house. They had such a thick, sweet smell, as heavy as death, that would get into her nose and she would smell them in her dreams.

Bailey grew bolder in the next twenty minutes, pleased by the strong look in her own hands, and her biceps as she worked. A few times she even paused to look directly into the other woman’s eyes.

She was beautiful and Bailey thought to herself that it would be fun just to pretend for a while, that she knew her, or could get to know her. She learned that Felice was an artist who was born in Mexico but came to Texas to live with her aunt in Sugar Land when she was five.

Bailey almost expected her to drive away when she got in her car to test of the purple neon. She started the Volkswagen up and got out to check the neon and found it worked fine.

Felice gave a little squeal of delight that sent a flash of heat from Bailey’s head down to her waist.

“You have to let me buy you a cup of coffee Bailey,” she grinned as she climbed in her car and turned off the ignition, “There’s a Star Bucks up the street.”

“I’m kinda filthy,” Bailey answered she hadn’t had a chance to scrub the day’s dirt from under her fingernails and the creases in her hands.

“You’re fine,” Felice stated smiling at Bailey who knew right then she was being appraised and the other woman was pleased at her estimated value, as a human being, and as a lover.

They walked the two blocks, Bailey not sure what to do or say. She was anxious- just about ready to back out and run as fast as she could back to her truck, get in and beat it to Arcola and have a nice cold beer. Instead she walked into the hip, fancy .coffee shop with the beautiful, Latina who was sophisticated enough to order a Latte.

Bailey got the iced tea, because she hated coffee anyway.

“You look young Bailey. How old are you?” Felice asked.

“Twenty-eight” she answered stirring sugar into her tea.

Felice gave a small laugh, “I’ll be forty in a year and six months.” She tilted her head thoughtfully as if her fortieth birthday was in two weeks, “I dread getting old don’t you?”

Bailey shrugged. “I never thought of it.”

Felice shrugged in turn. “Do you live out here or…?”

Bailey was in the middle of taking a sip of her tea, it still was not as sweet as she liked, but she did not want to go on like a nut stirring more and more of those tiny, sugar packets into her drink, even though it gave her something to do with her hands.

“Arcola,” Bailey said, “Its a little town.”

“Near Fresno,” Felice said “Yeah, I’ve heard of it. I know the boxer from Fresno.”

Bailey nodded, there had been a lot of commotion about a female boxer everyone called the Slasher, she had been on the sports page, and visited some of the high schools.

“The lady boxer?” she asked to make sure.

“Yeah,” Felice sighed, “We were lovers for three years.”

“Oh,” Bailey said, and felt her face flush, “Oh.”

They were silent.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Bailey dared herself to speak, “Why do they call her the Slasher?”

Felice smiled grimly. “She’s got fists like razors.”

Bailey nodded. “Oh.”

“I hope I’m not keeping you from anything?” Felice asked.

Bailey shook her head, she had nothing better to do except her daily life of hunting, having a few beers in front of the T.V and pulling out her Daddy’s old Hustler magazines from the goddamned seventies.

Felice smiled encouragingly. “Are you seeing someone?”

Bailey’s face grew hot. “No. Not at the moment.”

So it was established that they were both single, and she laughed a little in spite of herself.

“Sometimes I feel like the only lesbian in Fort Bend County,” Felice said and laughed along with her.

“So did I,” Bailey smiled and looked away, once again painfully shy of the other woman, she could not look into those eyes and finish the conversation.

Her hand curled into a tense, clammy, ball, slowly it was eclipsed and covered by Felice’s hand.

“Bailey?” she lowered her head smiling to catch her gaze, “Are you doing anything Friday night?”

“Nope,” Bailey answered, “Nothing at all.”

“Well, come to dinner with me,” Felice said, “I know of some places in Houston, we can relax…”

Bailey followed her gaze around the room sure Felice’s gesture had gotten the attention of several other patrons. No one had seemed to notice. Embarrassment smacked Bailey in the temple like a pebble, and stung, but she did not move her hand from under Felice’s.

“What do you like to eat?” she asked, “Italian? Mexican? There’s a little café called Pumpkins. They have good burgers and all kinds of beer. I bet you’d like it.”

“Yeah, I like burgers,” Bailey said, she liked them better when she made them herself but could not invite a lovely Latina to her house to cook for her.

Felice smiled. “Cool. Should we meet there or can I pick you up?”

“I don’t know my way around Houston,” Bailey forced a little smile, “We can ride together.”

Then again, thought of a thirty to forty-five minute drive to Houston made her heart stop and start up even faster.

“How’s seven?” Felice asked.

“Fine,” Bailey nodded, “I should give you directions.”

Felice smiled. “Don’t worry about that now, I’ll give you a call.”

“Oh,” Bailey nodded, the woman was probably beginning to think she was a goddamned living bobble head-she reached into her pocket and pulled out a pen and wrote her phone number on a Star Buck’s napkin. She then held out the pen to Felice, realizing that she had never gotten a woman’s phone number before. She watched as the digits appeared in round curvy writing on another napkin, their hands touched as they passed phone numbers across the table.

Together they walked back to the auto supply where Felice once again admired her new neon plate frame before grasping Bailey’s hand firmly, smiling then slowly turning and getting back into her car.

Bailey floated to the Dodge never having been so afraid and so thrilled at the same time of the prospect of a brand new day. She slammed the truck’s door to make sure it closed properly; and looking up at the trembling side mirror she caught her reflection.

The bands of damaged tissue across her left cheek rose high like welts and were paler than the rest of her skin. The scars curled under her eye and over her lip making it thicker than the other.

The burns stretched the skin at her jaw making it taunt at her neck. Underneath her coveralls her chest was scrawny, lacking enough flesh to make two evenly developed breasts.

Bailey wanted to cry because she had nearly forgotten. Thirteen fucking years, meet one pretty, señorita and then forget.

Usually she just knew people were not talking to her but at her burns, wondering how they had gotten there, knowing that she had suffered. No one could get scarred like that and not feel some extreme pain.

She went home bent on canceling the date with Felice. If they did go to dinner that would be all, the doubt that flooded her assured Bailey of that. It would not take Felice long to learn that she had nothing in common with a poor, scarred, redneck, junk-yard-dyke.

Bailey felt better when she saw the little green highway sign announcing Arcola. The Williamsons had made the town their home since the end of the Civil War. They were known for being a small but stout clan of small, stout, plain people with brown hair and brown eyes.

Williamson genes were always strong no matter who married into the family the females were just as curve-less as the males, except the older ones who had shapely buttocks and small breasts. All of them were muscular with strong hands and full faces. They had always been Americans it seemed. There was no mother country far across the sea.

Bailey’s family once owned a piece of an old sugar cane plantation originally part of The Old Three Hundred: the Republic of Texas president Stephen F. Austin’s grant to settlers. After the Civil War the Williamsons resettled the land, abandoned by its previous owners, they raised cattle, pigs and horses until the 60’s when a combination of over due taxes and the gambling debts of her grandfather Joe Bailey Williamson forced the whole ranch under.

By the time Ann Bailey was born there were only twenty-five acres left, her father lived on ten of them, her uncle owned ten and her grandmother owned five. After Granny died her portion was sold and later the town’s first Fire Station was built on the land.

A thick strip of woods ran alongside the town, once part of Williamson property, it now lay in the path of a planned community, that would straddle highway 6.

Like her father Bailey continued to raise cows one or two at a time, and swore to herself that the suburb factories would never get hold of the last of the Williamson land.

The house she grew up in was built a few years before she was born, the year Grandpa died. Daddy had built it for Mother who had grown up in an ante-bellum house in Virginia with three stories and a wrap-around porch. The single level brick house with two bedrooms and one bath put Daddy in debt until a few years before he died.

As Bailey cruised down Morningside she waved at the Waters, the retired black couple who had raised eight children in their house. Mr. Waters had worked at the chemical plant for thirty years, just like Daddy. Now all his children were grown and he and his wife liked to sit out with one or two of their many grandchildren in the evening and wave and holler at anyone who passed.

Then there was the abandoned Turner place on the left, an over grown acreage which sported a crumbling gray house with broken windows.

She turned off Morningside onto the pine tree lined gravel drive of the Williamson place. Her current cows Lady Bird and Jackie O lulled at her from their narrow pasture fenced in with barbed wire and began to trot to the barn where they would get fed.

“Hey ladies,” she yelled as she opened the gate to the pasture, they kept the grass cropped and bare in some places, the rains left the ground soft, mud mingled with manure. The mulberry tree that squatted in the middle of the pasture had already begun to produce its fruit, first short, hard and green, then a melon red, then blood red, and finally purple when the berries ripened and fell, staining the ground.

Bailey enjoyed the way her boots sank into the earth, the sound of hooves kicking up mud, the smell of manure over powered by rotting berries.

The cows rolled their pink-rimmed eyes in anticipation of mealtime, they were red with wiry coats and white piebald faces. Bailey had rented a bull to stud one of the cows and he had taken to Jackie O. She would calf in the summer. The pregnant cow was very pushy, she followed Bailey to the barn and waited at the entrance while a barrel of day-old bread was opened and an arm load of the plastic packaged loaves were gathered.

Both cows trotted to the trough and watched Bailey rip the plastic bags with her pocketknife. The bread was a trick Daddy had borrowed from Mr. Waters who’d found out how bales of stale bread were just thrown out and how easy it was to make a deal with the people who ran bakery thrift stores that sold day-old bread. Besides their corn feed, the occasional bunch of cabbage greens from the Waters (every year they grew too much in their garden) the cows got cake donuts, wheat bread with raisins or other dried fruit baked in and white bread was just as good, also the cows loved it.

Bailey was sure the method was not vet recommended but it made the cows nice and fat. The buyers who paid top dollar for them knew bread fed cows were better than beef injected with hormones and steroids.

“Easy ladies,” she said as the cows plunged in rocking the trough.

She left them and went to the house. On her way she stopped to look at the Cape Jasper. It had stopped flowering years ago. She had hardly noticed. Bailey was surprised she had not missed the ivory colored flowers.

The front door was beginning to give her problems, the house had settled over the years and the door refused to close right unless lifted and pushed. Bailey never asked the story of why Daddy had planned the house the way he had, perhaps there was none, but the front door led to the kitchen and the glass back door was in the living room.

She walked through the kitchen, grabbed a beer from the fridge and sat at the kitchen table. As she relished the first sip from the bottle she thought of the woman Felice and giggled.

Bailey turned her cap backwards and took it off containing her giggles into a grin, stunned she sat there spreading out the Starbuck’s napkin and with her eyes caressing every numeral of Felice’s phone number. When she stood to throw her beer bottle away, sighed, crumpled up the napkin and tossed it into the trash can too.

Bailey went and had her shower, made a sandwich, ate it in front of the T.V. and retired for the night. Two hours into her sleep she popped up suddenly, padded to the kitchen and retrieved the napkin from under the beer bottles in the can, she took it back to bed with her. The napkin was sodden with beer and smelled accordingly, but lying in bed, Bailey smelled Cape Jasper and dreamed of Felice covered in nothing but thick white blossoms.

two

“The peaches ain’t worth a damned yet,” Patsy Karnes said she had just opened the fruit stand for the day and it looked like her spirit was still back home in bed. A cigarette dangled from her lips catching a string of her straggly blond hair and sending it off with a spark. Bailey shrugged. She had gone to the Texaco on her way to work for her usual breakfast, a Mrs. Baird’s cinnamon roll and a bottle of strawberry flavored water when she happened to glance across the way at the fruit stand and saw a basket of new peaches, probably the first of the season.

She trotted across the highway and the white dusty gravel shoulder to inspect the fruit. The Karnes’s had run the stand for about twenty years, they sold pecans, and pumpkins in the fall, trees for Christmas, plums and peaches in the spring and summer, and in July fireworks.

“Got some good Waters eggs this morning though,” Patsy said.

“Naw, don’t like eggs,” Bailey said.

“Just like your Momma,” Patsy grumbled amused, she was just a few years older than Bailey and always insisted on talking about how pretty and nice Mother had been before the Cancer got her.

Bailey gave her a half-assed smile and bought a handful of peaches, they were hard and small, mostly yellow with pink-red blushes as desperate as too much rouge. It was too early for peaches and she would probably end up with the scawls.

Bailey grinned and ate them throughout the day even when she was out in the yard and her hands were dirty. She ate the grime of oil along with the tart juice and the fuzzy skin.

That morning she announced that she would let Simon the first trial at being tow truck driver. This caused a lot of scandal, the older guys complained, Guy was pissed because they not discussed Simon at all. She reminded them all that it was just a trial, then she spent the rest of the morning smoothing egos like ruffled feathers.

Sometime in the afternoon she was wiping her sticky hands on her cover-alls when Guy trotted up to her without his usual smirk.

“Better call the sheriff,” he said.

“What?” Bailey asked, alarmed, they had the occasional fight out in the parking lot, and she dreaded the day when the local hoods would realize that Grab-A-Part was an easy heist.

“My crazy ass old great-aunt is out there,” Guy pointed towards the entrance.

“So, go see what she wants,” Bailey told him annoyed.

Guy rolled his eyes. “Stella. Its Stella Rice,” he said, “She’s my aunt.”

Bailey had no idea who that was. “Yeah?” she asked.

“Damn,” Guy lowered his head and then looked back up at her imploringly, “You don’t know who she is?”

“No,” Bailey began to walk to the entrance she brightened a little, “Is she famous?”

“Around here she is,” Guy said, “She’s the crack head who wears that damn bleach bottle as a hat.”

“Oh,” Bailey stopped in her tracks, she had seen the woman many times peddling around on a rusted out bike, but most of the time she was on foot collecting aluminum and even smelting it herself to support her crack habit. “Well don’t call the sheriff on her.”

“What am I supposed to do?” Guy asked.

“You could take her home,” Bailey had walked through the gate when she turned she saw that Guy was still on the other side. She went back to the entrance.

“I ain’t here,” Guy turned around, “Tell her I ain’t here.”

Bailey frowned. “I know she’s not exactly right in the head, but my guess is that she’s spotted your souped-up Corvette with the naked-woman-holding-a-pistol decal on the back windshield.”

“I’m not here.” Guy insisted, “Tell her I’m driving the tow truck today.”

Bailey looked back in the parking lot, she only saw a few men milling around. “I don’t see no one. Maybe she left.”

Guy pointed to the dumpster in the empty lot next to the yard, there was Stella Rice on top of the garbage with her bleach bottle hat and no shirt on.

“Aww shit Guy, you’re a real prince you know that?” she turned back but he was walking fast towards the tower.

Bailey walked towards the dumpster grumbling under her breath.

“Hey. Ma’am,” she called.

Stella was also grumbling to herself very loudly as she sifted through the garbage looking for aluminum, she did not hear.

“Missus Rice,” Bailey cupped her hands around her mouth and still the woman went on grumbling. She tossed a few cans over her shoulder.

“Stella,” Bailey blurted sternly.

She straightened and squinted. “Who you?”

“Williamson,” she said, “Ann Bailey Williamson”

Stella laughed in her face. “I got no time for white trash.”

Bailey felt her face color. “Well it’s too damned hot out here to be up so high and right in the sun, you can give yourself a stroke.”

Stella laughed again. “How am I s’posed to live then if I don’t work for my livin’?”

“That’s true,” Bailey said, “But there ain’t much in that dumpster as far as aluminum, just a couple lousy cans, it’s been there a long time, no one uses it.”

“Too many damned Mess’kins that’s what,” Stella hollered down, “Get all the cans, don’t leave nothing for me.”

Bailey shrugged not sure how to comment.

““Where’s my sister’s daughter’s sorry ass boy?” Stella asked she jerked her head at the parking lot, “I see his pussy-mobile over there.”

Bailey laughed, she would have to remember that one. “He’s off driving the tow-truck today.”

Stella grunted. “Good. I didn’t want to see his ugly face this day. Did you know he used to shit his pants ‘till he was nine years old? Nervous condition, his momma say, but I say there ain’t no nervous condition that keeps a damned near grown boy from shitting off himself.”

Bailey grinned. Guy would wish he had come out to fetch his crazy great aunt after she told the others about his childhood nervous condition.

You got a smoke?” Stella asked, “I know you do. I remember Williamson girls always smoking, and making trouble.”

Bailey smoked occasionally and immediately began to check her pockets, pulling out the peaches she had left.

“I’ll have one of them sorry ass peaches though,” she hopped right of the dumpster, tits flopping like nearly deflated balloons. She wore cutoff jeans and no shoes she took off her bleach bottle hat and suddenly looked naked and small.

Bailey handed over a peach and they both began to eat both a little wary of the other.

She guessed the woman to be about sixty years old, but the drugs and the sun aged her thirty years. Bailey remembered her twenty years before causing a stir when she was accepted as a preacher at a black church just outside of town. Bailey had also heard that Stella gave the white folks a lot of trouble when it was time for desegregation. Hers memories were one of the more ancient ones in Arcola, like the land itself just as endanger of being lost, plowed over by the planned communities.

“Yep,” Bailey said aloud holding her half-eaten peach in her mouth she unzipped her cover-alls, no matter how hot it became she just could not go around naked under them, so she wore a t-shirt and boxers.

Since the accident she never exposed herself to the open air and the sun, but it was only Stella there and she had on a sports bra. Bailey took off her t-shirt, and covered herself back up. She went over to the old woman and put the neck of the shirt over her head.

Minding her peach Stella put her arms through the sleeves and went on eating.

They finished their peaches and wiped their mouths with the backs of their hands.

“You need a ride somewhere?” Bailey asked.

“Naw,” Stella pocketed her peach pit and put her ‘hat’ back on, “I’m gone.”

Bailey watched her pick her way across the hot, jagged, gravel.

She checked her pockets to find that she was all out of peaches. After closing time she went by the fruit stand, and suffered more of Patsy Karnes to buy some more.

Bailey nearly broke down the door when she fit the key into the lock and heard the phone ringing from inside the house. She dropped her paper bag of peaches on the kitchen floor as she slid across the clean tile in her filthy work shoes.

“Yeah?” She asked picking up the phone.

“Bailey. Hey,” Felice said.

“Oh, hi,” she said frowning at the streaks of gritty dirt mixed with motor oil on the floor.

“How are you?” Felice asked.

“Good,” Bailey answered out of breath and trying not to pant all over the phone, “And You?”

“I’m great,” Felice said breathlessly, “I hope we’re still on for tomorrow. I hope.”

“Yeah,” Bailey answered.

Felice made forced some pleasantries on her, then sighed. Bailey was sure she was going to cancel that sigh was so drawn out and laden with impatience. Instead of canceling though Felice asked for directions to Bailey’s house.

“Morningside,” she found herself explaining, “Just keep going down six ‘till you see the fruit stand, it’s right across the street..”

Felice murmured to herself as she wrote down the directions.

“It splits, half goes straight to a dead end but the other half curves,” Bailey added, “Williamson place is on the right at the end, there’s a long driveway and pines you can’t miss it.”

“Alright Bailey,” Felice said. Bailey was sure she was smiling the dazzling smile, “I’ll see you at eight.”

“Ok,” she found that she was smiling herself, “See you then.”

She hung up and went to the fridge for a beer then went to her room to hunt up something decent to wear. She went to the bathroom and inspected her face, her teeth, then her hair.

She needed a trim. Bailey usually visited Vonya, a black girl down on Coen road who ran a beauty parlor out of her mother’s kitchen. Bailey decided that there was not enough time. She went to her closet and found some jeans, and a white Levi's shirt. She would have to wear her boots though she was sure that wearing them was not so fashionable any more.

Bailey decided to go down to Vonya’s. She headed out the door, and adjusted it to lock it.

She turned to see her cousin hopping over the porch rail and landing, her red Chuck Taylor sneakers did not make a sound on the old wooden planks.

“What’s up?” she asked.

Bailey’s seventeen-year-old cousin Jonnie Mae Williamson stood there with a dirty face, a bow slung over one shoulder and a makeshift vinyl quiver with camouflage pattern, her arrows were the old fashioned lacquered wood kind with the fake plastic feathered fletching nearly worn away. Jonnie spent her time in the trees, trapping, stalking, shooting, wandering and looking for trouble.

“I’m going to get a haircut,” Bailey said walking towards the truck.

“Vonya’s?” Jonnie asked.

“Yeah,” Bailey answered.

“I think she wants to throw some pussy your way,” Jonnie scrunched up one eye in a drawn out wink, “You know the black women around here are mad for you.”

“I doubt it,” Bailey winced yanking open the truck door, “Anyway. I got a date for tomorrow.”

Jonnie let out a shriek, the beginning of a laugh that doubled her over, she was tall for a Williamson with a shaggy mop of red hair that looked like she trimmed with a hacksaw fell into her clear, gray eyes, and ended in jagged tufts just below her ears.

Bailey watched Jonnie outside the truck laughing. She started the engine.

“Wait for me,” Jonnie slid into the cab next to her, “I ain’t got nothing better to do.”

“You never do,” Bailey grumbled.

“A date,” Jonnie shook her head, and started laughing again, she wore a white t-shirt with green sleeves and the word monster above her breast in black iron on letters, her blue jeans were frayed worn transparent in places, her skin showed in patches.

“You done?” Bailey asked.

Jonnie stopped laughing. “You really got a date?” she asked, “With who?”

“A lady I met yesterday. Felice, she’s an artist.” Bailey explained.

Jonnie removed a flattened and creased package of cigarettes from her back pocket she took out a warped cigarette and a hard-stemmed kitchen match.

“You’re long over due,” she shook her head, “She good looking?”

Bailey could not help but grin as they turned off Morningside.

Jonnie laughed she also had a nasty grin of oddly spaced teeth, strangely sharp that she was not all ashamed of. She smiled her crooked smile as sweat beaded her upper lip and fore head.

“And what was going on yesterday on the side of the road with that big crack head?” Bailey asked.

“Some dude getting squeezed,” Jonnie said, “Did you see how many cops it took to take him down? He was high on that embalming fluid.”

Bailey made a face, why any one would want to ingest a chemical used on dead people was beyond her.

“Don’t change the subject,” Jonnie snapped, “This girl. Tell me. She got big tits?”

Bailey frowned. Jonnie’s sexuality had never been a question, since grade school she was kicked out of several schools not only for smoking and fighting but for touching girls in an inappropriate matter. Everyone called her Jonnie Boy because she was a very bad boy.

She did not want to encourage her cousin but had to explain every inch of Felice her memory could recount.

“She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in person,” Bailey said wistfully.

“Wow.” Jonnie nodded and lifted her foot, striking the match against the side of her shoe her face glowed in the flame as she lit her cigarette and inhaled, she shook her head and motioned at Bailey, “So you’re getting all clean for her, she must be something.”

“Yeah,” Bailey said, “It’s been a long time since Olivia.”

Jonnie smacked her lips, “Yeah, ancient history, so don’t fuck it up thinking about the one that got away or should I say split without even glancing back.”

Bailey did not answer, they had turned down Coen, one of the roughest roads in Arcola.

“You do like to live on the wild side,” Jonnie Boy said.

“This place is alright,” Bailey said, “I’ve been coming for years.”

Vonya lived with her mother in a brown trailer on a piece of land shaded by Chinaberry trees. They were of some relation to the Waters and always courteous.

Vonya her self stood out on the front porch, eating a peach.

“Hey Miss Bailey,” she whined in greeting, “Ain’t come to get a cut in so long your hair growing in your eyes.”

“Yeah,” she said, “You got time for me?”

“Uh huh,” Vonya threw her nearly eaten peach over the porch rail where it rolled in the dirt, a hen came and pecked at it.

“Peaches ain’t worth a damn,” she commented and opened the door to her mother’s kitchen, “Yeah, I got time now, was supposed to do one of them Wood girl’s hair but she a half-hour late, triflin’ ass.”

Bailey walked into the tiny kitchen and sat in the chair designated for Vonya’s clients. On the refrigerator prices were listed in neat box lettering. Bailey liked Vonya she never tried to push any new hairdo. She cut Bailey’s hair just the way she liked and that was it.

Vonya combed through Bailey’s hair, then took to it with some scissors. On a little clock radio some rapper recited his lyrics as some girl with a strong voice sang. Bailey decided she liked this song.

A woman entered behind one of Vonya’s siblings, she was smiling until she saw Bailey there in the chair. Bailey figured she was the Wood’s girl, though she had never heard of the name in Arcola.

The Woods woman smacked her lips. “Why didn’t you wait on me?” she asked.

“Cause,” Vonya answered as she snapped the button to an electric trimmer and it buzzed to life.

“Blacks folks gotta learn that time don’t stop for them,” Vonya said, “I could be making money waiting for you.”

The Woods woman rolled her eyes. “Shit” she glared at Bailey, “I don’t even know why you fool around with something like That up in your Momma’s house, might go up in flames or something.”

Bailey sighed.

Woods smacked her lips again.

Vonya hissed at her and cut off the trimmers. “You better get yourself outta here Rita Woods or else you’ll have to find another fool to stay up half the night hooking up that weave,” she began to trim the back of Bailey’s neck.

“I bet you not the only ho round here doin’ hair,” Rita went to the door and opened it.

“Where you gonna go?” Vonya asked going on with her work, “Over to Pam’s house, her brother sell crack outta there. Police bust up in there ya’ll all going to jail, I bet you that.”

Rita Woods smacked her lips she reached into her purse and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, she knew when she was beaten. “Hurry up. Ok,” she pulled out a smoke and put it between her lips.

“Uh uhh” Vonya turned the trimmer off, “You know Momma don’t allow smoking in this house.”

Old Rita left without another word.

“Trifflin’” Vonya muttered and finished Bailey’s hair.

They went out on the porch and she paid her ten dollars and thanked her as usual.

“Just you come back,” Vonya nodded, “Don’t pay attention to no Rita Woods, she the only fool still bring up what happened so long ago. She was barely out of diapers and just talking what her Momma repeated. Spiteful ho.”

Bailey smiled. “That’s alright. Bye Vonya.”

When she left she passed old Rita smoking over by the porch, she glared but said nothing.

“I know that black bitch didn’t have nothing to say,” Jonnie glared at the women standing next to the trailer.

“Forget about it,” Bailey said putting the truck in reverse.

She stopped by the Texaco on the way home. “Need some more beer,” she said to Jonnie.

“How about some chicharones while you’re at it,” Jonnie said.

Bailey rolled her eyes and climbed out of the truck. Inside the store she wondered how much Arcola had forgotten. She paid for beer and pork rinds and went back to the truck.

“They didn’t have the Mexican style,” Bailey said as she yanked the cab door closed.

“Cool,” Jonnie said distractedly, she was staring out the window, over by the gas pumps.

Stella Rice was pan handling. She happened to look up, to give a mad crack head’s grin. Jonnie shot her the bird and the old woman ducked her head and lurched behind a pump.

..........

Bailey rummaged around her shoe box of memories, she found the silver prize buckle her Daddy won in 1971, and she found Olivia’s graduation picture.

Bailey, it said on the back, My dearest friend, I cannot wait to see you in your cap and gown next year. Me and you, we’re going to do everything we can to make that happen.
Love Olivia. T. (AKA: Doc)

“Aww, hell,” Jonnie said as Bailey carried the picture into the kitchen where they were fixing new razor tips to their arrows.

“I forgot I used to call her Doc, ‘cause she wanted to go to Med. School,” Bailey said, in the black girl in the picture wore a blue gown with all her academic medals on red ribbons. Her cap was blue with a gold tassel.

Bailey used to love her skin, it was yellow- brown. After her burns, Bailey had needed some beauty-Hell, before her burns Bailey had needed some beauty. Olivia was there, sent by the school to help Bailey stay caught up. Olivia was drawn to her darkness, to her tragedy it seemed, and Bailey was drawn the exoticness of her skin, her face and her hair.

“Pretentious bitch,” Jonnie glared, “You love them so-fistacated gals. Don’t you?”

Bailey shrugged.

Jonnie sighed. “Me. I have acquired a taste for trashy girls. No hopes. No dreams. No aspirations, except dealing dirt, and getting shit-faced.”

Bailey laughed. “How lovely.”

“And there’s plenty of them,” Jonnie said, “When you’re done with one, you can pick up another.”

Bailey stared at the picture of Olivia and tucked it into her shirt pocket.

“What about the artist?” Jonnie asked.

“I don’t know,” Bailey said.

..........

The Grab-A-Part tow truck thundered into the yard, a fire-engine-red storm that popped the gravel beneath its massive tires. It towed a brand new Camaro the right passenger side creased and crumpled in as if the body were made of glossy black paper instead of fiberglass. The windows were shattered, broken, into tiny shards that held together to form jagged pennants waving stiffly from the frames.

One of the Grab-A-Part employees carefully straightened himself from under the hood of an old compact Buick.

“Damn,” he said and pointed out the Camaro to his co-workers.

Two young men loitering at the side of the gravel road sipping bottled water applauded the Camaro and laughed because anyone wealthy enough to afford such a car did not deserve it.

Bailey stepped from one of the aisles of junk cars pulling the bill of her red Houston Comet’s cap over her ears, adjusting it just right. She whistled at the wrecked car as it slowed.

Simon the new tow truck driver stopped and lowered the window, on the radio Kid Rock rapped to the music of heavy metal guitars. Simon was properly showing off his new status.

“Hey Boss Lady, look what we just got in,” he hollered above the music.

“Damn,” she said wryly, “Somebody’s kicking their own ass right now.”

He bounced in the seat laughing he lowered the music. “I know I would be.”

Simon had the a/c cranked up and it rolled out the window in a frigid breeze. Bailey leaned forward against the passenger door of the truck to cool herself a bit.

Bailey straightened to get a better look at the Camaro, it was totaled, the guys in the shop would salvage what engine parts they could the rest would go to hell, the back lot where cars were crushed into smoking cubes.

“Let me guess, a friend of Ed’s,” she said.

Simon nodded. “You got it. Picked it over in Sugar Land, a kid younger than me.”

“I get it,” Bailey said, “If it breaks Daddy’ll just buy a new one.”

“Yeah,” Simon lowered his music more, “Some people just don’t know how good they got it.”

Simon now had a new baby girl at home and had most likely been up half the night helping out his sixteen-year-old wife. They were high school dropouts, she worked at the Walmart in Missouri City and he made just a dollar and a half over minimum wage.

“Take it on in to Guy,” she told him.

“Yeah,” he said, something else on his mind, “Yeah, thanks for the chance, Boss Lady.”

Ann Bailey watched him drive up the narrow road, music blasting, the Camaro rattling behind.

Bailey trudged the aisles of junk cars pulling a flat loaded with rusted hubs, discarded rubber belts, busted hoses, junk no one would want to use. The wheels of the flat protested in the muddy gravel, sinking as she pulled it along. Her Swatch told her it was Friday. That morning she was sure she would call Felice the artist and cancel the date.

She was not sure though if she could pick up the phone and dial out the numbers on the Starbucks napkin. By noon she was sure she would go. To not go would be refusing a miracle, like a woman in a merciless desert passing up a palm shaded oasis.

Bailey found a Plymouth totally stripped the front end had been carted away, as were the doors and the two front seats. She thought of a corpse picked clean with all the un-harvested parts and tubes like innards hanging out. Still there was something left to be salvaged, there always was.

She hauled her rusty parts to the main aisle, the narrow road frequented by fork lifts and tow trucks, dragging new cars in and sold parts too heavy to carry out. She piled her junk in a stack and went to the metal stairs and began the climb to the top. She passed Guy on the way up.

“Ed’s up there to see you,” he said maneuvering past her on the narrow staircase, and swaggering on down.

In the office Ed Garver sat using her phone, and ogling up the calendar girls.

Ed talked on to the person on the phone flapping his big red jowls, and flabby neck, as he barked out his Cha har har laugh that made her feel the same anxiety she felt listening to an engine struggling to turn over.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, “Boys will be boys.”

Bailey avoided his gaze she folded her arms and stared at the cracked, warped tile.

She was thinking about talking to Ed about financing a brand-new used truck since hers was a twenty-year-old heap. She had heard that he fixed up wrecks (probably ones right from the scrap lot) and resold them for cash to illegal immigrants who came to him for parts to fix the lemons when they broke down. Perhaps he would give her a break though she was not one of his, elite, good-old-boy, used car salesmen, and wore red coveralls instead of the red blazer. Still, she had worked for him for a little over a decade.

He hung up and turned to her, shaking his head with a smirk worse than Guy’s as if seeing her ball-cap and filthy cover-alls for the first time.

He arranged his bright red sports jacket, his bulging belly wagging playfully, he looked like an over weight valet.

When she did not speak only the sharpest look she could muster he cleared his throat abruptly, “How’s that Camaro going?”

“Guy’s handling it,” she said, she knew that Ed covered up for his drunken rich pals and their kids by stashing wrecks.

Ed shook his head and began to pace the tiny office,.“I don’t want Guy handling it, I want you to handle it,” he shoved his hands in his pockets and paced as if he were dictating some urgent memo to his secretary, his shiny gator skinned boots rapped on the floor like stilettos.

Bailey straightened. “What do you want me to do Ed?”

“Trash it,” he grumbled, “Tell old Harvey in demolition that the Camaro is one of my special cases.”

“Fine,” she said simply and turned to leave.

“Hold on Williamson,” he bellowed, “Don’t get snippy with me.”

Bailey felt a hot flash run up her back, she turned. “I am not getting snippy.”

“You are,” Ed accused, “Got that tight-lipped self-righteous expression on your face.”

“So what?” she asked, “I’ve never said a thing about you covering up for your friends in the past.”

“Yeah, you’re a smart girl, I like that you’re good at keeping your mouth shut,” Ed said.

“Is that a compliment?” she asked.

They stood staring at each other fuming, until he gave a severe grin.

“I’ll go talk to old Harvey then,” he left and Bailey could hear him huff and puff and clink down the stairs.

She rolled her eyes and sat at her desk.

“Shit,” she said aloud, Ed loved to rile her up every once in a while for his own entertainment. Ten years and she still never saw it coming. She had always suspected that he had a crush on her, that whole forbidden fruit thing.

There was some left over shrimp fried rice on her desk from lunch and she nibbled at it with a plastic fork then went back out to the yard. She stayed in her office until closing when she picked up the P.A. mike pressed the button. She thought of Felice smiling at her in the Starbucks, and there was a long pause, then a sigh, before she announced that Grab-A-Part was now closed.

..........

“I guess she’s late, wondering if she’s coming at all,” Bailey said that evening as she stood out on the porch wearing jeans and boots, waiting for Felice in the florescent glare of the porch light.

Jonnie frowned. “Sure she is, you’re a catch, haven’t been exposed to all the lesbian luggage shit.”

“What?” Bailey made a face.

“All these different girl-friends,” Jonnie explained, “Wanting to be a part of the scene… you’ll see, I bet she smelled the green on you, can’t wait to turn you on to all that shit.”

Bailey looked out at the road again worried that Felice would not show up, that she would never come or worse make her suffer by postponing their date making her wait and dread.

“Its one of them nights,” Jonnie said, “Be careful what you wish for, don’t trust your own reflection-”

Bailey snorted. “I’m too old for you to be trying to spook me.”

They watched the road. The day had begun to darken an hour before, the west was a stormy violet with one shiny star. Night had claimed the eastern sky.

“Girls are supposed to be late,” Jonnie shook her head, “She’ll come.”

Bailey shrugged and continued watching Morningside for the flash of headlights, she worried that the road would spin beneath the little Cabriolet, fling it over the ditch and into the fields, a sparking, twisted wreck.

“Hey lookie,” Jonnie cooed pointing at the road.

Bailey squinted and saw the shape of a little car that glowed up the road, it cruised and stopped decisively and turned down the drive.

“That her?” she asked.

“Who else would it be? Avon calling?” Jonnie grinned.

Turning her attention back to the driveway she watched as the car crept up the drive and stopped.

“She came,” Bailey said under her breath, she looked around for Jonnie and saw that her cousin was gone. The cows mooed as she left the porch to greet her date.

“Bailey,” Felice stepped out of the car, “I’m sorry I’m late.”

She glided across the yard in a long skirt like the day before and a flowing white blouse with bell sleeves. In the semi-dark Bailey could see that it clung nicely to her breasts.

“No problem,” she said, though five minutes before she felt like a fool.

Felice took her hand. “You ready?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Bailey said, Felice’s hand was soft and warm, pulsing with life. It had been a long time since she had that kind of contact. She could not help but smile as she was led to the little Cabriolet. “I was kind of scared that there was not enough light for you, it gets pretty dark out here.”

Felice laughed tossing her head a little as she let go of Bailey’s hand and walked around to the driver’s side. “I was thinking that too, it’s darker than my street.”

Bailey went to the passenger side. “You have to be careful out here at night, people have accidents…”

They got in and Felice turned to face her. She was breathtaking. That was the word that popped into Bailey’s head, a word her vocabulary rarely required, she forgot about the dark road and had to smile again.

“You look great,” the beautiful woman said to her.

“Thanks,” Bailey said, “So do you.”

Felice turned on the radio. “So what kind of music do you like?”

“I believe it’s called Dinosaur rock now,” Bailey said.

Felice laughed. “Ahh, I understand. Who are your favorite bands?”

“Tom Petty. With or without the Heartbreakers, and I like Rush, Van Halen and some days I’m partial to Metallica,” she turned to Felice, “How about you?”

“I think Stevie Nicks is a goddess,” she laughed, “But I’ll go to just about anyone’s concert, I love live music…oh and Everything but the Girl.”

Bailey nodded, wondering if the Fleetwood Mac singer was really into witchcraft. She was not sure if she should ask or not, it would add to the conversation, but the topic could be uncomfortable if Felice was into witchcraft. Other than that, Bailey felt the date was going smooth so far, a proper volley of conversation being maintained.

“You take good care of your car,” she said and wondered if she had said anything stupid, “I mean, old models like this are usually heaps, but you keep it looking nice.”

Felice smiled. “I love this car, the first car I ever bought. I sold it to my aunt and went to Mexico. When I came back she was trashed, so I bought her back and fixed her up.”

Bailey grinned. “What’s her name?”

Felice laughed. “How did you know she has a name?”

“The way you talk about her,” Bailey said, “Keep her in good condition. My Dad named my truck Old Maime.”

“Where’d he get a name like that?” Felice asked.

Bailey shrugged, “He was always giving things names. Even his guns. And he had a thing for first ladies.”

“Mi Alemanita, I call her,” Felice said and smiled, “My German girl.”

A long silence wore away their smiles. Bailey struggled to think of something new to talk about as they drove into Houston.

“What kind of art do you make?” she asked forcing herself, to break the silence.

“All sorts,” Felice explained, “Concept art is my baby, though. I like to mix in a little classic stuff…I’m planning on taking you to a show I’m featured in.”

“Great,” Bailey said trying to sound more enthused than she actually was.

“It might be a little strange to you, but it ain’t rocket science,” Felice smiled, “Just relax and enjoy.”

The dinner was awful. The food was great, but Bailey sat there like an idiot and rarely said a word.

Pumpkin’s, the place Felice mentioned was trendier than she had figured, the walls were painted with cityscape murals and the lamps looked like uptown streetlights. The place was full of yuppies (she was not sure if they were called yuppies anymore but that was one of Daddy’s favorite words when he was alive) so intent on winding down after a long day at the office that they seemed to be only pretending, secretly watching her.

Felice chatted on endlessly smiling at Bailey and asking her things, ordering another Zima for herself and another beer for her.

Afterwards they drove up the street to the art gallery a plain building with a metal façade that reminded Bailey of the Mad Max movies.

“Its called 7-1-3 after the area code,” Felice explained as they approached, “Just for local artists.”

Bailey nodded and followed her inside.

The foyer looked like an old-fashioned movie theater there was plush red carpet on the floor and velvet ropes, dim lights and red fabric draped on the walls. Instead of framed prints of movie stars there were presidents, there were drawn like comics with fictitious titles, Reagan dressed like Luke Skywalker was in a field of starving African kids up in the sky were his plans for his laser shooting satellite, in another there was Truman saluting and on the other side of a thick black line was “Little Boy” blowing Hiroshima into a mushroom cloud.

A tiny woman with thick, framed, black glasses sat behind a desk under a bright lamp. “Felice,” she exclaimed and the two leaned across the desk.

“Rachel, Hi,” she said, “I brought a friend.”

“Cool,” she said and held up a big book on a small podium.

Felice signed her name and handed a pen to Bailey, “Here sign in. They like to keep track of how many people visit.”

Rachel pulled back a red curtain revealing a blue hallway. “Right this way.”

The whole thing felt like a fun house, some intellectual’s version of a house of horrors, pulling out the most gruesome of tricks. Bailey almost expected a man in a hockey mask to jump out with a roaring dull bladed chain saw. The hallway was lined with rows of television monitors stacked on top of each other, some fuzzed static snow while others showed brown skinned men in a desert marching in place guns raised. A British newsman was saying over and over again, “It is alleged that these terrorist groups receive money from the US. It is alleged that these terrorist groups receive money from the U.S.”

Other monitors showed some brown skinned foreign children in the street chanting ripping an American flag to shreds with their tiny hands. The Brit was saying:

“They are saying they hate America.”

And then there was a techno music frenzy and quick clips of Mexican migrant workers and baby seals being clubbed over the head, and some Asian parliament erupting in a fist fight.

Bailey frowned as she was led to a normally lighted room with a large maroon old Packard in the middle. She went right up to it relieved to see something that did not have to do with politics.

“That’s mine,” Felice beamed.

Bailey turned her head and smiled, then went to inspect the car.

“They don’t make ‘em like this anymore,” she said and happened to peer at the cracked windshield and saw that the whole front seat was stuffed with dried roses and their stems.

“Wow,” she stepped back, “What were you thinking about when you did this?” she asked Felice.

“My grandmother,” she pointed to the back seat where there was a lady’s suit of clothes draped across the seat in a sitting position, a pink jacket and a skirt, a blouse with a set of pearls at the neck even a veiled hat and hose and shoes.

“That’s it?” Bailey asked, “You were just thinking about your grandmother and made this?”

Felice nodded.

Bailey walked around the car inspecting it. As she did she noticed another display across the room and made a face. “You didn’t make that did you?”

“No,” Felice smiled following Bailey to the next display. There was a family of mannequins sitting a dinner table decked out like Martha Stewart, except blood from the big fake pig in the middle of the table stained the cloth. The family was made up of a mother in a power-suit with a Donna Reed lacy apron over it, and a father with his sleeves rolled back and his tie loosened, the children were a boy, a teenaged girl, and a baby in a high chair. Their dull mannequin faces had been morphed into carnivorous grins, even baby though she only had gums.

The pig was of course still “alive” and bleeding from a flank wound, its snout and hooves were bound with rope, and its beady eyes were rolled back.

“I wander what this creep was thinking,” Bailey commented at the plaque on the wall naming the artist.

“Its an anti-meat statement, showing that we’re not as civilized as we think we are,” Felice commented.

“Because we eat meat…” Bailey said.

“I’d say this is a little excessive,” Felice grinned.

There were more anti-meat statements, they were all ridiculous to Bailey- a black and white picture of a jersey cow with spray painted flames coming from the creature’s mouth and wings, and several sets of spiked horns. A caption below it said:

“If cows were Fire Breathing Ill-tempered beasts we would find something else to eat.”

Bailey could not help but wonder if Felice was of that school of thought. She would probably hate that she raised cows fattened them up on white bread so she could fetch a good price. She wondered what all her Williamson ancestors would have to say about beef-bashers.

Felice had other art there, five pieces of metal fashioned into bombs and addressed to God in pink lipstick. She leaned over next to Bailey who had stooped for a better look.

“When in Rome,” she whispered, her words and warm breath floated into Bailey’s ear, slightly stirring her hair and making her flush.

Bailey turned to her and gave a small grin. “Peer pressure, I get it.”

“Good,” Felice stood and drawing Bailey by the hand to a mini grove of fiber glass trees. The branches reached out offering diamond shaped leaves made of green tin, glittering apples of woman shaped pears made of glass all skillfully blown by Felice’s own full lips and sweet breath.

One of the trees displayed tinted mirrors among the leaves, tied to the branches with gold thread. Bailey blushed at the whimsy of it. Felice’s art was definitely easier on the eye and the mind compared to the other pieces.

They went back to the foyer where Rachel was talking to two guys.

“Leaving,” Felice announced.

“Bye,” Rachel gave a little wave, “Nice meeting you Bailey.”

“Yeah. Bye,” she answered.

“I’ll be here maybe Thursday,” Felice said, “Tell Neil.”

“Alright,” Rachel called as they walked out.

Once out in the night air Felice sighed. “Always pleasant.”

“I really hate vegetarians,” Bailey blurted.

Felice laughed, it was a musical, girlish sound, she raised her eyebrows and linked arms with Bailey. “Me too. I think I’ll do a piece about them, something with a hot cow-girl in it getting even for all the beef bashing.”

three

Bailey leaned on the pasture fence smoking a rough, rolled cigar watching Lady Bird stay as far away from the bull as much as possible. The sandy-red, bull had given up trying to mate with the young cow and happily munched on some feed.

The heat of the setting sun faded as it sank into the west. The opposite side of the sky darkened and there was already a star.

Mr. Waters rolled into the drive in his old yellow and white Chevy pick-up, towing a trailer behind.

“That cow of mine just won’t mate with your bull,” Bailey told him in greeting.

“Probably barren,” he said, “Sometimes they know.”

He had always reminded Bailey of a bear, he was easy going, but gruff. He was a tall dark-skinned man with an almost gray beard and mustache.

She opened the gate for him and he went and tied a length of rope to the bull’s bridle. The beast protested as if he had not yet given up on Lady Bird.

The young cow mooed on the other side of the pasture sticking close to Jackie-O.

“Come on now, Bull,” Mr. Waters gave him a jerk and the bull followed.

“Try again next year,” he said as he led the bull to the trailer, “Get a vet in to see her.”

“Alright,” she said, “How much I owe you?”

“Nothin’, unless she come up pregnant,” he grinned.

“Thanks Mr. Waters,” she smiled.

“Welcome,” he got into the truck it roared to life, he waved and slammed the door.

She watched him back out of the drive.

“I know what’s wrong with that cow,” Jonnie Boy hollered from the porch, “She’s a fucking dyke.”

Bailey chuckled. “I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“Hey. When you going out with your Latina again?” Jonnie asked.

Bailey shrugged. “Haven’t heard from her all this week.”

“You dreaded the whole experience,” Jonnie drawled, “I bet you were shitting bricks all throughout the day and I know you didn’t get in her pannies.”

“Pervert,” Bailey accused.

Jonnie held up a couple of dead rabbits by their hind legs. They dangled stiffly, “You feel like some rabbit?”

“Not none of your gamey-ass meat,” Bailey told her, she went inside for a beer.

She had thought a lot about calling Felice that week after their date.

Every morning when she woke up at 6 a.m. to feed Lady Bird and Jackie-O, she thought of picking up the phone but she was sure that it was way too early to be calling anyone. She figured Felice probably stayed up late painting, or hanging out with her art gallery friends. And Bailey was certain Felice was not home in between the hours of five when Grab-A-Part closed and midnight when she went to bed.

“I don’t know why you even care,” Jonnie put in her two cents.

She ignored her cousin and swallowed a mouthful of beer.

“You didn’t have that great of a time,” Jonnie said, “I can tell.”

Bailey shook her head. “I don’t know what I’m doing…She helped me feel Ok about it though, I think she likes me.”

“Are you sure? Maybe she just felt sorry for you?” Jonnie asked, “Took you on a date and that’s her good deed for the century.”

Bailey was stung but calmly took a sip of beer. “It’s not like I’m a cripple of a retard.”

Jonnie scoffed, finishing with an arrow, she nocked it on to her bow and aimed at a cardinal who sat on the pasture fence. “Most people think the most beautiful people are on T.V; anything different is a disability.”

Bailey thought about how beautiful Felice was and then her own scarred face. She thought that Jonnie’s theory was logical.

“Can you even believe that there are some circles that don’t think I’m cute?” she grinned.

Bailey laughed. “But Jonnie Boy you’re such a darling.”

“Don’t set your heart on the artist,” Jonnie said, “She ain’t gonna call.”

Bailey stood. “You want a beer?”

Jonnie frowned and grinned at the same time.

“I think you know the answer to that, cousin.”

..........

By late afternoon the next day, Bailey went down the stairs and to the garage. Guy was in the process of draining the oil out of big ass, old, Buick. She had been hiding most of the afternoon, staring at the phone, after making up her mind all morning. That all got dull fast, and she felt like getting her hands dirty so she shoed Guy off and climbed into the pit. Someone was playing loud rap music, which she really did not mind. The guys milled around removing choice parts from other cars to sell.

She thought of the Starbucks napkin from her pocket, it was wrinkled and stained with oil because she had been carrying it around the whole week. She could just pick up the phone and call Felice, find out if she wanted to see her again, get the rejection over with so she could go on with her life.

The music snapped off suddenly and Bailey peeked out of the pit. She heard Ed’s stilettos and grinned as he looked down on her through the undercarriage of the Buick.

“Gotta talk to you,” he said.

“Oh,” she said and climbed out and followed him up to the office, he had that look on his face that meant whatever problems she had about her love life were to become secondary. Bailey couldn’t have been happier.

“Got some nosy bastards trying hard to get up my ass,” he announced, “Might be through here to ask questions.”

“About the Camaro,” she guessed.

“Yeah that fucking Camaro,” Ed told her, he was more out of breath than usual from the walk up the stairs.

“What should I tell them?” she asked.

“You deny everything,” he told her, “You never saw no Camaro. In fact you were out sick.”

Bailey folded her arms, she never had much occasion to lie. “They’ll just go to Guy then.”

“He was out half that day,” Ed said shaking his head.

“Then who was in charge?” Bailey asked.

“Will,” Ed answered.

“Will?” she asked she went around her scarred desk and sat, the napkin was there, balled up. She nodded. “I get it deny everything. What about the wrecker?”

“No one knows shit about the wrecker,” Ed said, “The car owner knows the cops who came on the scene.”

Bailey felt her anger rising, Ed didn’t give a damn about his people at Grab-A-Part, he only wanted to cover his own ass.

She shrugged. “It seems like you’ve tied up all the loose ends here Ed, but you still got snoops and your willing to put me and Guy and Will on the line.”

“Hey,” Ed pointed his finger, “If I go down we’re all going down. No one expects ya’ll to actually be competent.”

The office phone rang and Bailey jumped, she thought of Felice before any insurance authorities. Bailey just had this feeling of anxiety that made her limbs tingle.

“Don’t go lipstick on me now, Williamson,” Ed chuckled and picked up the phone.

“Oh yeah,” he said and chuckled, “Tell her to hold on just a minute.”

Ed hung up the phone grinning. “According to Guy there’s a fine señorita down there asking for you.”

Bailey went for the door, Ed followed.

“You didn’t tell me you had a girlfriend, Williamson,” he said.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Bailey answered, she walked faster squinting her eyes at the entrance, seeing Guy standing there at the front, Felice behind him.

“Remember what I said,” Ed called.

Felice saw her coming and walked past Guy to meet her, she wore a pair of short pants that ended mid-shin, and a sky blue sleeveless shirt. Her hair was piled cleverly on top of her head by a pair of stick thingees.

“Hey,” Bailey said, feeling her whole face go red.

“Hey,” Felice said glancing at Ed who gave a nod of his head as he passed, “I hope it’s Ok that I came by.”

It certainly was not. Bailey just nodded.

“Can we talk?” Felice asked.

“Yeah, my office,” she motioned towards the stairs.

They began to walk. Bailey turned her head catching all the men watching, including the boys in the garage gathered behind a very animated Guy who cupped his hands out in front of his chest miming breasts as he talked to the others.

She paused at the stairs and let Felice go up first. She felt as if she were going to her doom. Bailey unlocked the door, went in wincing when she turned on the light and there was Ms. May. She turned to Felice trying to block the calendar.

“Uhh,” she said, and that was all she could say.

“You haven’t called,” Felice was kind enough to start the conversation.

Bailey took off her cap. “You haven’t.”

“I know,” Felice said, “I wanted to see if you would, I asked you to, you know.”

“Yeah,” Bailey shrugged, “I guess I forgot.”

Felice nodded. “Well, I didn’t forget you.”

She looked hurt and Bailey instantly regretted the lie.

“I didn’t forget you, I forgot to call you,” she tried to repair the situation.

“Really?” Felice asked in disbelief, then “Do you want to go out with me again?”

“Yeah,” Bailey nodded, “I’m sorry, it’s not like I’m not interested-”

Felice held out her hand. “Tell me.”

Bailey sighed and did not take it. “I’d like to go out with you again.”

“So, why didn’t you call?” Felice asked, she shook her head and said so quietly that Bailey barely heard her, “I needed you to call.”

Bailey frowned getting a little bit angry. Felice was making a big deal out of nothing. She could have picked up a phone. “Well…I told you I forgot.”

Felice stared at her then turned and opened the door. “You know, Bailey, I’m sorry, maybe it was just wishful thinking on my part…meet a sweet person, get to know them…I’m sorry I wasted your time and mine.”

Bailey watched her disappear down the stairs then began to furiously shove papers around the desk. She certainly didn’t need that kind of trouble in her life. Her life the past week had been like seven anxious seconds on a Bronco’s back, seemed much longer than they actually were. Bailey just wanted her old life back. Easy-going. No worries about any one else’s feelings, needs, and wants.

She watched the door for a few seconds, then stood, she opened it and looked down at the yard. She thought of the slight imprints of Felice’s feet in the gravel below, stirred and trampled by the men and the wrecker. Felice was gone. By the end of the day the foot prints would be long forgotten.

Bailey ran down the stairs, slowing herself when she hit the ground, she tried to walk calmly but her body went at a full gallop until she got past the gate and saw the little Cabriolet pulling out of the parking lot, then she ran.

Bailey felt ridiculous, running like a maniac after some woman’s car, but she kept running anyway. She did not yell or wave her arms she had too much pride. She would save face by being swift.

The car waited at the mouth of the highway waiting to be let in across coming traffic to get to the other lane, the one that led out of Arcola. She ran hoping Felice would see her, but she was so intent on leaving she did not happen to look in her rear-view until she heard the two taps on the back windshield.

Startled she turned and saw Bailey half limping to the driver’s side.

“Hey,” she said out of breath, “Let me make supper for you tonight…if you’re not too busy,” she had put her cap back on but took it off to run an oil crusted hand through her sweaty hair, and grinned, “I grill a pretty good steak.”

Felice smiled a little. “Ok, but we still have to talk.”

“Sure,” Bailey said gravely, “ Is six good for you?”

“Six is perfect,” she nodded, “And I won’t be late.”

Bailey watched her drive off and returned to the yard where she got an ovation from her employees, while the customers looked on bewildered, Will at the register clapped, Joe and Simon stood by the tow truck laughing and clapping, Guy and the boys from the garage joined.

She gave them a little bow of her head and went to check in some new cars.

..........

Bailey answered the door in blue-jean cut-offs and a red wife-beater tank top she smiled when she saw Felice who blinked as if she did not recognize her.

“You look so relaxed,” she said.

Bailey shrugged and let her in.

Felice looked around the house as she followed into the kitchen. “So this is the house you grew up in?” she asked.

“Yeah, only time I ever left for long was when I was in the hospital,” Bailey answered opening the refrigerator.

“I got you Zima. I remember you drank them when we went out that night,” Bailey winced a little, that night as if it were so long ago.

Felice smiled, they sat at the kitchen table and drank. “I brought homemade salsa and some chips,” she put a plastic bag on the table.

“Homemade,” Bailey raised her eyebrows and began to snoop through the bag she removed what was once a coffee jar filled with jewel red salsa studded with green peppers, corn, and onions.

Bailey stood up. “Let’s put the steaks on so we can have some of this.”

They went out back carrying all the supplies they would need for the cookout.

Bailey had set up her little red pit just off the porch, she had gotten it started just before Felice arrived, and the coals were glowing hot. She grinned up at her date leaning over the porch rail the tops of her breasts peeking from the low neckline of her t-shirt.

She joined her back on the porch and they had salsa and chips while the steaks sizzled on the grill.

“So tell me,” Felice grinned she raised one hand and squeezed her thumb and pointer finger together, “Have you exiled yourself out here in Arcola hiding from a woman?”

Bailey smiled a bit. “Oh no she knows exactly where I am.”

“So?” Felice asked stirring a chip in some salsa.

“Her name was Olivia,” Bailey said, “She my first and only girlfriend. She was very undercover, she grew up around here, and she did not want anyone to know she was with me. We never did anything but make love,” Bailey shrugged, “That’s it I guess.”

“That’s it?” Felice shrugged.

Bailey shrugged again and stared out at the yard.

“You have a hard time dealing with people, don’t you Bailey?” Felice asked.

She shrugged. “Yeah you could say that.”

“Is that why you didn’t call me?” Felice asked, “Were you scared that I would reject you?”

Bailey said nothing only looked past her at the yard.

“Well?” Felice put a hand to the scarred side of her face gently turning her head so their eyes could meet.

She gave a little shrug, not wanting that hand to slip away from her face.

“What? You don’t like to talk about it?” Felice asked, “You don’t like to talk about much.”

Bailey nodded, she was not sure why this was necessary. She thought two people got together so they could forget all those childhood, teenage traumas.

“I get along fine,” she explained, “I practically run the yard…it’s just away from the yard, and home, then I don’t do too well with strangers, just not enough practice I guess.”

They were silent.

“You were mad because you thought I didn’t like you,” Bailey groped to show that she was trying to understand.

“I wasn’t mad, I was frustrated, I’ve been going through my own thing,” Felice said.

“With the Slasher?” Bailey asked.

“Yes.” she answered, “I needed you to call me, that would have been a start…all I needed to pull me out of her shit.”

She held her gaze for a while just to make sure then stood to check on the steaks. She was thinking about running again. She took her time, claimed by a mix of relief and dread as though she were a suspect given a break from the hot seat, knowing that there was more interrogation to come.

“Gonna be awhile longer,” she said when she returned to the table, “You wanna see the place?”

Felice walked down the porch steps and took Bailey’s hand. “Show me the place.”

Bailey smiled and took her around to the back yard.

A bunch of sparrows took dust baths in the fine gravel on the edge of the driveway.

“It’s really beautiful out here,” Felice commented, “Must be very peaceful.”

“Yeah,” Bailey agreed.

They walked around to the pasture and the cows trotted to the fence in hope of some in between meal snack.

“That’s Jackie-O and Lady Bird,” Bailey said, “Jackie’s expecting.”

“How cute,” Felice exclaimed rubbing her fingers between the pregnant cow’s eyes.

“I’m hoping it’ll be a bull so I can stud him later on,” Bailey explained.

“So that’s why it was weird for you to see all those anti-meat works at the museum” Felice sighed, “They would have freaked if they knew you raised cattle.”

“Once this place was a ranch, and the Williamsons raised over a hundred heads a year, it was our way of life,” Bailey said, “When everything went bust, raising cattle bought shoes, extra things…I’m sure money from cows my own Dad raised saved Christmas a few times.”

Felice nodded. “Those righteous vegans don’t know any better.”

Bailey shrugged. “I liked your stuff though, it’s magical…was that old car really stuffed with roses?”

Felice winked. “It’s magic.”

“Your grandmother, did she live in Mexico?” Bailey asked.

“Yes, when we lived there or went to visit I would sit with her for hours and listen to old stories she told,” Felice said, “She was into witchcraft.”

Bailey nodded, and realized that they were sharing their deep pasts, grandpas and grandmothers.

“What about those woods? Do they belong to your family?” Felice asked.

“They used to. We should steer clear, around this time its full of ticks and snakes and mosquitoes,” Bailey told her, as she went to open the gate, “There was an old barn that had been around for a long time. I bet I could hunt up some picture of it. My Dad put this metal one on the same site there’s some old stuff in here you might like to see.”

They went inside the barn and Bailey showed Felice the Williamson brand, the W in the arc of a crescent.

“This is at least a hundred years old” she said, like her father used to explain, “See how rusted it is.”

Felice took the brand and felt the weight of it.

“We had horses too and we did our own shoes,” Bailey showed Felice the pinchers for grabbing hot shoes, and the hammer and the striking iron.

Felice inspected them until something else caught her attention; the bow hanging on the opposite wall.

“Is that yours?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Bailey said. “I hunt with it.”

Felice went over catching sight of the target. “You have to show me.”

Bailey shrugged. “Later?”

Felice smirked. “You don’t want to show me?”

“I do,” Bailey insisted.

“Well?” she asked and touched the string, “That’s why your arms look so strong.”

Bailey felt her face flush.

Felice turned. “Ok. I’ll have to be patient, but you have to show me…I didn’t think people used bows to hunt anymore.”

“We still get some deer around here,” Bailey said, “I get a good price for the meat, most of the times I’m killing a target.”

Felice gave a little squeal. “You’re such a Marlboro woman. I don’t believe it.”

Bailey squirmed in response, “Let’s go check on the steaks.”

She took her hand again walking behind Bailey back to the front porch and the grill.

“They look great,” Felice commented as she leaned over the porch railing.

Bailey smiled and brought the meat up to her, “We can eat outside or inside” she said, “It’s getting dark but I have some lanterns-”

“Outside is fine,” Felice said.

She made the salad while Bailey hunted up the old kerosene lanterns she set one in the middle of the table and several others on the porch railing. She surveyed the scene when she was done: a nice spring night and a woman in low light.

Felice smiled also seeing how romantic it was.

They sat, Bailey trapped in silence struggling for something to say, anything, while Felice went on about the steaks.

“Are you nervous?” Felice asked.

“Yeah,” she admitted, “Sorry.”

“Don’t be, you’re doing just fine,” she said, “These are really great steaks.”

Bailey smiled, “My Dad showed me how,” she launched into an impression of her father that used to make Olivia laugh.

“First of all, don’t buy no damned meat from the grocery, you go to Pyburn’s someplace that gets meat from men like me who raise our animals right.”

Felice laughed, “Was that your Dad?”

“Yeah,” Bailey raised her eyebrows, “Don’t tell him but I got these steaks from Kroger’s.”

Felice smiled, “I won’t.”

They sat long after dinner talking and drinking, then moving their party inside to the couch when the light loving hard-backed bugs and moths of all sizes attacked the glow of the lanterns. Bailey made lime sherbet margaritas by dumping tequila, 7UP and the ice cream in a blender.

Felice went nuts over them.

“That’s dangerous mixing alcohol and dessert,” she slopped out of her glass with a straw.

“So what else do you do for fun around here?”

Bailey shrugged, nearly drunk by then.

“You wanna see something?” she asked in a whisper.

“What?” Felice asked.

“How I’ve kept from going nuts these years” she got up and returned with an old milk crate of Hustler magazines.

Felice shrieked when she saw them, and laughed.

“How old are these?” she grabbed the one off the top giggling.

“They were my dad’s,” she smiled sheepishly.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” Felice said, “I’ve got about four vibrators in my underwear drawer” She went into a fit of giggles.

Bailey did not say anything, only flushed and raised her eyebrows.

“Look at her,” Felice opened up to a centerfold, a black chick with a big Afro and a leopard print “Not bad for a chick pushing sixty by now.”

Bailey had no idea how interested Felice would be in the Hustlers together they sat and looked through most of the magazines.

“I know you didn’t call because you didn’t like me,” Felice said, “I know when someone is interested in me, you’re sly about it but there is a different look in your eyes sometimes.”

Bailey blinked. Was she that obvious?

“There’s nothing wrong with a little lust,” Felice assured her “It makes sure things end up getting interesting,” she raised up one of the magazines kindly ignoring Bailey’s open-mouthed stare, “You never honestly thought this was the only action besides Olivia that you could ever get?”

Bailey shrugged, “Well, I never tried, don’t have it in me.”

Felice placed a hand to Bailey’s face, the damaged side, and she smiled, “That’s why you didn’t call.”

She looked away, “Yeah, that’s why.”

“You’re a sweet person and you should not plan to spend your life alone,” Felice told her she looked away and smiled when she turned her eyes back.

“Its not so bad, I get along fine,” Bailey said, “Not being alone is a big change.”

Felice sat up, away from her, “Is that what you want? To be alone?”

“No,” Bailey answered.

Felice smiled she sat up and slowly leaned forward, Bailey received her with one arm and pulled her closer until their lips touched and closer until their lips parted, opening their mouths.

Bailey had forgotten all about kissing and she wondered why she had not died from longing for the lips of another woman. Felice’s fingers swam through Bailey’s hair making her scalp tingle. The other woman’s tongue was startlingly hot and liquid like a sliver of mercury stirring her own tongue from a frozen sleep.

She remembered to breathe and took in the clean scent of shampoo and the dusty sweet smell of Cape Jasper. Her hand traveled from Felice’s waist up her side to the full outward curve of her breast.

They parted with a sigh, just far enough to catch a breath.

“What can I say after a kiss like that?” Felice laughed.

“That you liked it as much as I did,” Bailey asked hopefully.

“I did,” she smiled, once again putting a hand to the scarred side of her face.

Bailey closed her eyes and relished the soft hand not able to remember the last time another human being had reached out and caressed her there.

Felice kissed the corner of her mouth. “How long have you gone without being kissed?” she asked.

“A long time,” Bailey said.

Felice kissed her cheek, then just below her ear, then her neck.

“It’s like riding a bike, you never forget, that goes for a lot of stuff.”

Bailey chuckled. “I don’t doubt that.”

“You won’t forget me again will you?” Felice asked.

If you have enjoyed Cornwel's "A Fate Of Fire - Part One", then please be certain to e-mail her at  cornwel[at]hotmail.com  and thank her for posting this Story.

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