Page 110 - The Geography of Women

96 Jack Fritscher

Lulabelle said, “an you don’t even look beyond your nose
which you should start powderin. She may be Rosemary
when she works at your house, but she’s Rosie when she
works at mine takin care of Mister Henry. Get the pic-
ture?” Mizzy pinched my cheek between her thumb an
forefinger, sayin: “That’s as good as rouge.”
“Take your hands off me,” I said.
“Touchy! Touchy!” Mizz Lulabelle said. “You forget,
Laydia, at twenty-six or seven or...”
“Twenty-five.”
“...whatever you are, you’re an old bag compared to
Rosie. She’s growin up.”
“She’s only sixteen,” I said.
“How time flies when you’re not dead,” Mizzy Lu said.
“Rosemary’s a innocent,” I said.
“As I tell my borin husband when I remind him to buy
me presents, cheap goods have little value.”
Her face was open for a sucker punch. I made my
move: “Aren’t you angry she’s flirtin with Mister Henry?”
“Why should I care who distracts him? I’m on a fox
hunt, an before this night is over, well, you’ll see. Where
there’s a Wilmer, there’s a way.”
Oh, brother! The evenin was lovely, but everythin
was all mixed up. Mister Henry wanted Rosemary an
didn’t want Mizz Lulabelle who wanted Wilmer Fox who
showed no interest in her cuz he spited her as much as
he wanted her an besides he was married to the amazin
invisible lady, Jessarose, who I wanted all the while Brian
was waltzin on the front porch with the pregnant Kath-
leen Jones an Byron was off in some library probab ly sta-
rin at pictures a naked Greek athletes in some ol book
while Eustacia Rule, feelin much better, thank you, with
a sweatin pitcher a lemonade an ice cubes, was makin

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