Behold, this Dreamer. Charlotte Miller

she smiled, and he smiled in return, and, after a moment, she stood and pushed past the heavy-set man to come and sit on a vacant stool next to the one where Janson sat.

      “Hi,” she said, the dimple showing in her cheek again. “I ain’t seen you around here before.”

      “No, I don’t guess you have.” Janson smiled.

      “My name’s Delta; what’s yours?”

      “Janson Sanders—” He was going to say more, but the heavy-set man who had been trying to talk to her before was suddenly there, his hand on her arm, trying to pull her to her feet.

      “Com’ on, Delta; I ain’t got all night—”

      She looked up at him, anger showing plainly in her clear hazel eyes. “Go away, Les. I ain’t goin’ nowhere with you tonight.”

      “But you promised you’d—”

      “I don’t care what I promised,” she snapped, jerking her arm free of his grasp. “You go away and leave me alone or I’ll tell your wife about you, Les Jenkins.”

      “Now, sugar, you know you wouldn’t—” he began, putting his hand on her arm again, but she only pushed it away.

      “I mean it! Go away, Les!”

      “You heard what she said.” Janson rose to his feet, and the man turned to look at him.

      “Wasn’t nobody talking to you, boy.”

      “Maybe not, but she’s done told you t’ leave her be—”

      “This ain’t none of your business, boy. You just keep your mouth outta—”

      “I’m makin’ it my business—an’ my name ain’t boy—’

      The big man’s hands tightened into fists—he was ready to fight. But, then again, so was Janson.

      “Now Les—” The girl’s hazel eyes moved quickly around the room. “You behave. Just go on—”

      “You heard what th’ lady said,” Janson told him, but suddenly the man snorted, and then laughed out loud, his ruddy face becoming only redder.

      “Lady! She ain’t no—”

      But suddenly the girl’s hand was on his arm, her tone somehow different. “Now, Les, you be a good boy an’ go away, an’ I’ll let you call me tomorra’ night—”

      The man stared at her for a moment, and then glanced at Janson, seeming to consider the possibilities. After a time, he nodded his head, then retrieved his hat from a nearby stool, reaching up to put it on his head and adjust the brim. “Okay, tomorrow night,” he said, and looked at Janson again before turning and crossing the fountain area going toward the front door of the drugstore. He went out onto the sidewalk, glancing back through the windows one last time, his heavily jowled face unreadable.

      Somehow something did not feel right—but the girl turned to Janson again and smiled, the dimple coming back to her cheek, and the feeling was gone. All he could think of was that she had the prettiest red hair he had ever seen, even if she did wear it bobbed off too short.

      She was not a lady. Janson knew that by the time they left the drugstore together, but it did not seem to matter. They went out into the chilly darkness, her arm firmly hooked through his—they were going for a drive in her motor car, she had said; but he knew what she wanted. She wanted the same thing he wanted. That was all that was important.

      They got in her car and she let him drive. He choked the engine too much and it coughed and sputtered, but soon they were driving up Main Street, her warm hand resting on his thigh.

      “Wait, hold on!” she said as they came abreast of the billiard parlor, and was out of the car almost before he could stop it. She went to a large, expensive-looking motor car parked alongside the street and quickly leaned inside, giving him a good view of silk-encased calves, and, for just a moment, even the backs of her knees, and the tops of her rolled stockings. She straightened up quickly and returned to the car with something in her hands, getting in and slamming the door after herself. “I figured Les would have some corn liquor stashed in his car, but I did even better’n that,” she said, holding a bottle of gin up for him to see.

      Janson started to protest, but suddenly her mouth was on his, her body pressed against him, her tongue sliding into his mouth. She looked up at him a moment later, rather breathless.

      “Why don’t we go to my place? I got some glasses for the gin—”

      He nodded, but did not speak—he had known that was where they were going all along.

      Her house was small and dark, sitting off on a country road a few miles from town. The parlor seemed gaudy under bright electric lights, the chairs and sofa upholstered in a worn brocade of some red and gold design, with a dark rug on the floor showing even darker stains in places. They sat on the sofa and had a drink, but she was soon in his arms, warm and soft, and willing. He had been with women before, girls, but somehow this was different. She was older, more experienced; forbidden, and yet exciting.

      She led him toward the bedroom, toward a wide spindle bed that sat against one wall. Her dress was suddenly off, and he marveled at how full and round her breasts were in his hands. She was pulling at his overalls, his workshirt, as he unlaced his shoes and kicked them off; and then they were on the bed, and the world went away.

      Her body moved beneath his as no woman’s ever had before, her nails biting into the flesh of his back. She said things, did things, that no lady should—but it did not matter. His urgency came, the pleasure, and he strained forward, giving into the feelings. The tension mounted and peaked and he found release, collapsing into her arms, breathing heavily.

      “Honey, get off ’a me. You’re too heavy—” she said, pushing at his sweating shoulders, her voice sounding annoyed.

      Janson rolled away, seeing her reach for the quilt at the foot of the bed and pull it up over herself—not out of embarrassment, he knew, but simply as a matter of course. He felt self-conscious now beneath her hazel eyes as they moved over him, and he reached for his underdrawers and sat up to pull them on.

      “Honey, don’t be gettin’ ready to go an’ all just yet. There’s a whole lot more lovin’ we can do tonight. I know some tricks I can teach you, how to last longer for a lady. You’re no worse than any other young fella your age, s’ eager an’ all; you just got t’ learn that it takes more sometimes for a lady to get what she—”

      As Janson’s eyes came to rest on her again, she seemed to realize she had said too much.

      “Oh, don’t get me wrong, honey. You sure got what a lady wants. It just takes learnin’ to—”

      But he was standing up, pulling on his shirt and reaching for his overalls. “I can find my way back int’ town,” was all he said.

      “I didn’t mean to get you mad at me.” She sat up, letting the quilt drop from her breasts as she leaned forward. “Come on back to bed, honey. We got the whole night to love—”

      Suddenly he was dizzy and his stomach hurt—love, this was not love. He did not even know this woman, and he wished now that he had never met her. Not being a lady was one thing, but she was something so much worse.

      And, even worse still, he was drunk and he knew he was going to be sick. He fought down the nausea that rose to his throat, refusing to allow himself to be humiliated even further in front of this woman.

      “Come on back to bed, James—”

      “No, ma’am,” he said, and thought—and my name’s not James, though he did not bother to say it. He pulled the galluses of his overalls up over his shoulders and hooked them, then began to look for his socks and shoes, finding them under the bed. When he straightened up she was sitting up in bed, the quilt having fallen now to her waist. She held his coat in her hands.

      “When you get ready for some more lovin’,