“Don’t bet me, Kate. You’d lose. I can drink six without stopping.”

“Let me see you.”

“If I do, will you?”

“Of course.”

The contest started, and a puddle of wine spread out over the tabletop and the wine went down in the magnum.

Faye giggled. “When I was a girl—I could tell you stories maybe you wouldn’t believe.”

Kate said, “I could tell stories nobody would believe.”

“You? Don’t be silly. You’re a child.”

Kate laughed. “You never saw such a child. This is a child—yes—a child!” She laughed with a thin penetrating shriek.

The sound got through the wine that was muffling Faye. She centered her eyes on Kate. “You look so strange,” she said. “I guess it’s the lamplight. You look different.”

“I am different.”

“Call me ‘Mother,’ dear.”

“Mother—dear.”

“Kate, we’re going to have such a good life.”

“You bet we are. You don’t even know. You don’t know.”

“I’ve always wanted to go to Europe. We could get on a ship and have nice clothes—dresses from Paris.”

“Maybe we’ll do that—but not now.”

“Why not, Kate? I have plenty of money.”

“We’ll have plenty more.”

Faye spoke pleadingly, “Why don’t we go now? We could sell the house. With the business we’ve got, we could get maybe ten thousand dollars for it.”

“No.”

“What do you mean, no? It’s my house. I can sell it.”

“Did you forget I’m your daughter?”

“I don’t like your tone, Kate. What’s the matter with you? Is there any more wine?”

“Sure, there’s a little. Look at it through the bottle. Here, drink it out of the bottle. That’s right—Mother—spill it down your neck. Get it in under your corset, Mother, against your fat stomach.”

Faye wailed, “Kate, don’t be mean! We were feeling so nice. What do you want to go and spoil it for?”

Kate wrenched the bottle from her hand. “Here, give me that.” She tipped it up and drained it and dropped it on the floor. Her face was sharp and her eyes glinted. The lips of her little mouth were parted to show her small sharp teeth, and the canines were longer and more pointed than the others. She laughed softly. “Mother—dear Mother—I’m going to show you how to run a whorehouse. We’ll fix the gray slugs that come in here and dump their nasty little loads—for a dollar. We’ll give them pleasure, Mother dear.”

Faye said sharply. “Kate, you’re drunk. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You don’t, Mother dear? Do you want me to tell you?”

“I want you to be sweet. I want you to be like you were.”

“Well, it’s too late. I didn’t want to drink the wine. But you, you nasty fat worm, you made me. I’m your dear, sweet daughter—don’t you remember? Well, I remember how surprised you were that I had regulars. Do you think I’ll give them up? Do you think they give me a mean little dollar in quarters? No, they give me ten dollars, and the price is going up all the time. They can’t go to anybody else. Nobody else is any good for them.”