manner.
‘Lymon is the only one that has a key copy besides Stella,’ Pooh says.
‘Won’t Le Loup be here any time now?’ I ask.
‘Nope.’ Lymon shakes his head in his sad donkey way. ‘After the truckers have a visit with Pooh here, they are so shocked by the strength of their awakened passions, only large quantities of drink will calm them.’
Pooh nods proudly.
‘Even with all the local stills pumping as much white lightning as possible, Le Loup still had to gather a few men and hunt down more.’
I turn and look at a jailed window. ‘Why don’t Le Loup just turn me out? I’m not making any money for him here.’
‘Well, for one’—Pooh bends back one of her fingers—‘if he turns you out, that would be admitting he knew you weren’t no saint. Nobody turns a real saint out to whore these days.’ She bends back two fingers. ‘Plus, folk really think you’re just black magic.’
Lymon flaps his head again. ‘Your miracles have all turned sour, they say. I try to tell ’em you’re just a little girl needin’ lovin’.’
‘Ain’t no trucker gonna put his piss pump anywheres into a black snake!’ Pooh snorts.
‘Anyways, it’s bad for Le Loup’s stature in the pimp community.’
‘Plus, some folks say he’s sweet on you,’ Lymon says slyly.
‘I severely doubt that, Lymon!’ Pooh snaps.
Lymon shakes his head earnestly. ‘Has he ever hit you?’ He leans around to face me, his breath coming at me in minted-over ramp freshness.
I shake my head no.
‘He ever touch ya?’ Lymon wags his head.
I shake my head again.
‘He watch ya get dressed?’
I again shake my head.
‘But he buys you all kinds of lacy little pretty things, don’t he?’ Lymon chuckles to himself.
‘Don’t prove nothin’!’ Pooh winces.
‘He lay your clothes out for ya?’ Lymon’s voice goes breathless and high. ‘Even your darling little panties? I know he don’t give ’em to us to wash like the rest of his laundry…’
Pooh sways her head in a long disbelieving sweep and rocks back on the heels of her high-heeled pumps. ‘Stop, Lymon.’ Pooh’s voice sounds splintered and loose like a piece of driftwood not yet worn smooth.
‘I says he does those little sweet things himself, by his own hand!’ Lymon squeals and convulses with pleasure at the thought.
‘Shut up, Lymon! Shut up!’ Pooh pulls back her hand to slap his face, but the look of utter horror on Lymon’s face stops her. ‘Shut up,’ she repeats quietly.
‘He hangs them on a clothes line behind one of the locked doors,’ I say softly to Lymon, avoiding Pooh’s eyes.
We sit there in complete silence, just the crickets and the bog mosquitoes starting to fill the dusky light filtering in past the window bars.
‘Well, Lymon,’ Pooh finally says, her voice slightly hoarse, ‘every now and then, even a blind pig finds an acorn. Maybe you’re right, okay? Maybe Le Loup does love her, but it ain’t gonna last. I know him deep in, better than you, and I know he loves money more than any pretty little girl!’ She spits the last word out at me.
‘That’s the difference ‘tween me and him,’ Lymon nods.
‘So, She-Ra, Sarah, or whoever you are…’ Pooh closes her eyelids and I can see her eyes rolling around like shot marbles. She pops her eyes open and spreads a warm smile on her face. She reaches out for my hand and holds it like it’s a delicate little gecko that might crawl away. ‘I missed playing dolls with you,’ she says, her voice suddenly tender.
I feel hungry for the warmth in the voice. ‘I did too,’ I tell her and look away.
‘I think you should go home.’ But the sweetness in her voice overshadows something bitter, like sugar poured over absinthe.
‘I want to,’ I say. ‘I want to go home.’
Pooh nods her approval, and some of the threat leaves her eyes. ‘Lymon is gonna help you. He’s gonna take you home.’
Lymon grins, showing his patchwork of tobacco-stained teeth. ‘I’ll take
‘Lymon is the only one that has a key copy besides Stella,’ Pooh says.
‘Won’t Le Loup be here any time now?’ I ask.
‘Nope.’ Lymon shakes his head in his sad donkey way. ‘After the truckers have a visit with Pooh here, they are so shocked by the strength of their awakened passions, only large quantities of drink will calm them.’
Pooh nods proudly.
‘Even with all the local stills pumping as much white lightning as possible, Le Loup still had to gather a few men and hunt down more.’
I turn and look at a jailed window. ‘Why don’t Le Loup just turn me out? I’m not making any money for him here.’
‘Well, for one’—Pooh bends back one of her fingers—‘if he turns you out, that would be admitting he knew you weren’t no saint. Nobody turns a real saint out to whore these days.’ She bends back two fingers. ‘Plus, folk really think you’re just black magic.’
Lymon flaps his head again. ‘Your miracles have all turned sour, they say. I try to tell ’em you’re just a little girl needin’ lovin’.’
‘Ain’t no trucker gonna put his piss pump anywheres into a black snake!’ Pooh snorts.
‘Anyways, it’s bad for Le Loup’s stature in the pimp community.’
‘Plus, some folks say he’s sweet on you,’ Lymon says slyly.
‘I severely doubt that, Lymon!’ Pooh snaps.
Lymon shakes his head earnestly. ‘Has he ever hit you?’ He leans around to face me, his breath coming at me in minted-over ramp freshness.
I shake my head no.
‘He ever touch ya?’ Lymon wags his head.
I shake my head again.
‘He watch ya get dressed?’
I again shake my head.
‘But he buys you all kinds of lacy little pretty things, don’t he?’ Lymon chuckles to himself.
‘Don’t prove nothin’!’ Pooh winces.
‘He lay your clothes out for ya?’ Lymon’s voice goes breathless and high. ‘Even your darling little panties? I know he don’t give ’em to us to wash like the rest of his laundry…’
Pooh sways her head in a long disbelieving sweep and rocks back on the heels of her high-heeled pumps. ‘Stop, Lymon.’ Pooh’s voice sounds splintered and loose like a piece of driftwood not yet worn smooth.
‘I says he does those little sweet things himself, by his own hand!’ Lymon squeals and convulses with pleasure at the thought.
‘Shut up, Lymon! Shut up!’ Pooh pulls back her hand to slap his face, but the look of utter horror on Lymon’s face stops her. ‘Shut up,’ she repeats quietly.
‘He hangs them on a clothes line behind one of the locked doors,’ I say softly to Lymon, avoiding Pooh’s eyes.
We sit there in complete silence, just the crickets and the bog mosquitoes starting to fill the dusky light filtering in past the window bars.
‘Well, Lymon,’ Pooh finally says, her voice slightly hoarse, ‘every now and then, even a blind pig finds an acorn. Maybe you’re right, okay? Maybe Le Loup does love her, but it ain’t gonna last. I know him deep in, better than you, and I know he loves money more than any pretty little girl!’ She spits the last word out at me.
‘That’s the difference ‘tween me and him,’ Lymon nods.
‘So, She-Ra, Sarah, or whoever you are…’ Pooh closes her eyelids and I can see her eyes rolling around like shot marbles. She pops her eyes open and spreads a warm smile on her face. She reaches out for my hand and holds it like it’s a delicate little gecko that might crawl away. ‘I missed playing dolls with you,’ she says, her voice suddenly tender.
I feel hungry for the warmth in the voice. ‘I did too,’ I tell her and look away.
‘I think you should go home.’ But the sweetness in her voice overshadows something bitter, like sugar poured over absinthe.
‘I want to,’ I say. ‘I want to go home.’
Pooh nods her approval, and some of the threat leaves her eyes. ‘Lymon is gonna help you. He’s gonna take you home.’
Lymon grins, showing his patchwork of tobacco-stained teeth. ‘I’ll take
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