“I’m tellin’ you, Sammy. They’re a hundred million times as good. Skillful, what I mean. And you don’t need to worry, let me tell you. Clean.”

Vy pretended not to listen, for she knew instinctively that Sam Griffin would be terribly embarrassed.

“You hear what mine just said? I asked her, you know, ‘Are you okay?’—and she said, ‘Honey, you may love me but I love me more!’ These are twenty-five-dollar whores, Sammy—they douche before and after, they go to the doctors for check-ups. I never heard of anyone getting anything offa them.”

“Keep your voice down, Ed.”

“What?”

“Shut up, shut up, keep your goddamn voice down.”

“Why, what’s the matter with you, anyway?”

“Nothing.”

“Then why you looking that way?”

“No way, Ed.”

“I’m just trying to give you a good time. You never tried the dark stuff. I’m just telling you it’s great, that’s all.”

“Okay, you told me. Now forget it. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay! But you’re screwing yourself, that’s who you’re screwing, believe me. The white dames, all they do is a job; I know. They ain’t got their heart in it. And for anything extra, man, you go through all kinds of crap. Now you don’t want to throw your money down the drain, do you?”

Vy heard Sam Griffin walking away, and she was glad when he was gone.

“Am I right?” Diamond said to Sally.

Sally giggled, and Vy wished, suddenly, that she’d not decided to work tonight.

What was the matter with her, anyway?

The voices and the bar-sounds faded, and she found herself thinking of Hammond, of August and the rich yellow hay smells, and Bo. It was almost corny, the way it happened that first time. Bo—she’d never learned his full name—had been a trouble shooter for the telephone company. And he’d come by when Mother was visiting Maudie for the weekend. There wasn’t anything wrong with the telephone, but he had to check, that was his job. His sleeves were rolled up, and the cords stood out beneath the rippling tanned flesh, and she had the feeling, the same as she’d had so many times before. Only, Bo hadn’t looked at her as if she were a child. He’d laughed a lot and poured himself some water and told her she was pretty. And when he’d asked if she was alone, she’d told him the truth.

He had been the first.

She’d felt miserable afterwards, when he’d gone, and she knew how wrong it had all been; but that night she’d dreamed of his hands and of the sight of his big tanned body in the bedroom, of his rough, harsh, unmusical voice.