The Flood Girls - Richard Fifield Page 0,31

made Jake thirsty. The reverend held up Bible verses scrawled on butcher paper, but Jake refused to memorize them, just moved his mouth silently when they were asked to repeat them on command. He excused himself and sought refuge in the kitchen, and poured himself another cup of coffee.

He sat in the corner, trying to hide, and began to read. Reverend Foote found him an hour later, clearly in no hurry. Reverend Foote did not try to hide his distaste. Bert and Krystal were not around to impress, and Jake was clearly a lost member of the flock, a pink sheep. Reverend Foote tried to talk to him anyway, but Jake could tell his heart was not in it.

“There is always time to repent,” he said. “There is always time to cast away the things that make you different.”

“No, thanks,” said Jake. “I’ve read the Bible, you know. I even liked some parts. Violent and pulpy.” He did not like Reverend Foote’s polyester slacks, and his attempts to bring Jake to Jesus seemed just as fake. He wanted to be left alone to read.

“Jesus was different than the other boys,” continued Reverend Foote as Jake hid the copy of Shirley Conran’s Savages behind his back, and leaned up against the dishwasher. “He had long hair like a woman and it is said that his eyes were lashed heavily, and that he was a pretty, pretty man.”

“He also wore a dress,” said Jake. “A dirty one.”

“That’s blasphemous,” said Reverend Foote. “Jesus had a dirty robe because he worked hard. Our Lord and Savior was different from the others, but not because of his clothing.”

Jake’s own outfit that day included black-and-scarlet plaid pants, a black polo shirt that was a vintage Penguin, and a black fedora with a scarlet band.

“Maybe this isn’t the right place for you,” said Reverend Foote.

“I kept telling you that,” said Jake. “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll let Bert drop me off here every Sunday, and leave them alone all day. I’ll go to the library, and be back in time for him to pick me up.”

“That would be a falsehood,” said Reverend Foote.

“It’s beneficial to everyone,” said Jake. “He’s spreading the good word to my mother.”

“I can’t argue with that,” said the reverend. “I wonder how she’s taking it.”

“On her back,” muttered Jake, and grabbed his paperback. He pushed past the reverend and hurried to find his coat.

The Lineup

Laverna arrived at the Dirty Shame early. As coach, she always tried to set a good example. She also wanted to catch Tish slacking on her weekend shift. But with her arms in these torture devices, she could not be sneaky. She could not even open the door. She kicked at it until Tish appeared, opening the door for Laverna with a flourish and a small bow. Tish and Tabby were sisters, and Tish got the looks, and Tabby the tits. Tish could never play for the Flood Girls. After surviving Bert’s flying boat as a child, Tish developed a nervous condition and would not ride in a car, ruling out any away games. And somebody had to cover the bar when the Flood Girls played.

Like Tish, Laverna never played softball. At first, she didn’t even understand the game. She was a born leader, an inspiration, frightening. Coaching was perfect. Laverna paid the fees to play in the league, paid the dues for every single player. When they mouthed off, she held that over their heads.

“Those casts are something else,” said Della Dempsey, the other new recruit, as she took her seat. Laverna regarded Della coolly, the skin on her face tight and pink, like a burn victim. And she didn’t have any eyebrows. She did have a discount at her parents’ hardware store, which Laverna hoped would prove useful. “It looks like you’re getting ready to choke somebody.”

“Fuck up on first base and it might be you,” pronounced Laverna.

It was Saturday, and the silver miners claimed their usual tables around the jukebox, the air around them blue with cigarette smoke. Laverna squinted, and it appeared they were having some sort of cribbage tournament. Shirts versus Skins. Laverna hated the dirty bras but loved the business.

Tish ferried drinks to Laverna’s kingdom of tables, pushed together in a semicircle, arranged around a stool. Laverna perched on this stool like a throne; she used the height advantage to appear imperious. Tish managed two pitchers of beer and a stack of pint glasses on one single tray, returned with the single

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