“List?” Longarm asked.
“List,” Jane Sproul told him. “There are at least twenty names on the list. And I bet tonight every one of the survivors is hiding under his damned bed, wondering if he will be the next one of those Shivarees to die.”
Longarm had no idea what the hell she was talking about. But he was willing to listen to whatever it was she wanted to tell him about it.
Chapter 16
“God, I was young then. Pretty too, if I do say so. You aren’t following me, are you?”
Longarm shook his head. “I’m talking about my first wedding, honey.” “First?”
“There’ve been two actually.”
“Not to the judge, you mean now.”
“No, this was to a boy … isn’t that awful, that I think of him as a boy? But then he was, you see. He really was. No, this was just after the war ended.”
“Uh huh.”
“I was no virgin. I already told you that. But up until then nobody but the men I screwed ever suspected that I played around. And they, if you can believe it, were convinced that they were the first.” She laughed and puffed on the cheroot she’d pirated from Longarm. “I guess I lost my cherry five, six times maybe. I got so I was pretty good at squealing and telling the boys how they were too big and oh, it hurt, and oh, it hurt so good, do it again.” She chuckled and slapped Longarm on the chest.
“Buddy … that was my husband’s name … well, before he got to be my husband, Buddy came back from the War a genuine hero, you see.”
“North or South?” Longarm asked.
“The glorious South, of course. He wouldn’t have been a hero if he’d fought for the damn North. Not around here, he wouldn’t.” She sounded indignant as hell. And like he was mighty dumb to have asked such a question to begin with. Well, maybe she had a point after all, considering that Texas and east Texas in particular had been a mainstay of Southern sentiment and gray-clad manpower.
“Sorry,” Longarm said perfunctorily, not particularly meaning it. Shit, he couldn’t understand folks who still got excited over affairs long since ended. It just didn’t matter. Not any more it didn’t.
“Anyway,” Janie went on, “Buddy came back this handsome war hero with everyone wanting to kiss his ass, me included.” She chuckled some more. “Let me tell you, I was ready to more than just kiss that ass of his. I stuck my tongue in just as far as I could get it. And kissed whatever else of him I could reach too. Oh, he liked that. I showed him things he’d never dreamed of, let me tell you. You should understand that Buddy was kind of … innocent, I suppose you’d say. I mean, he’d killed his share of men and then some. But he didn’t know squat about women or sex or the really interesting things in life. That was one of the things I liked about him. He was so … sincere. Like he only could see one thing at a time. When he was killing people … in the War, I mean … that’s all he thought about. He told me that himself. He never had time to be homesick or think about any of the girls back home or … much of anything. He just thought about soldiering and how to kill more damn-yankees.
“Then when he got home and went to the gala the town put on in his honor, well, I was there. And like I said, sweetie, I was some kind of fine-looking filly if I do say it myself. These floppy tits you see now? They were just as big then, but they stood tall. Firm and nice. And my belly was flat and my waist tiny wee and my legs shapely. And oh, honey, I did know how to swirl my skirts so my ankles would show and everybody would have sworn it was all an accident that I was too sweet and innocent to so much as be aware of it happening.” She laughed and sucked in a drag on her cigar.
“I saw Buddy and he was so popular and good-looking, and I took dead aim on him that night at the dance. Sweetie, it was about as sporting as a farmer taking a hammer to knock a shoat in the head. Buddy never had a chance once I made up my mind that he would be the next man for me to screw.
“What I hadn’t counted on was him being so serious and solemn and … honorable about the whole thing. Silly son of a bitch. I mean, I can see that now. But at the time, well, at the time I just thought how sweet and dear that was, that he wanted to do right by me and not bring me to any harm. Can you believe it?” She shook her head.
“I mean, honey, I had that boy so worked up he’d shoot come in his drawers every time we had a few minutes alone. He was that horny. But he wouldn’t screw me. No, sir. That wouldn’t have been proper. He’d finger me plenty and suck my nipples and do most anything else I asked of him. But he wouldn’t put his pecker in. Can you imagine? Not even in my mouth. He insisted on keeping his fly buttoned. Kept telling me how much he respected me and how he wanted me to be a virgin on our wedding night. Of course he was years too late for that little event, but I wasn’t about to tell him that. Hell, if I could lose my cherry half a dozen other times, well, what difference would one more make? Right? So anyway, Buddy was all worked up, and I was too. I mean, he had this tent pole in his drawers that felt damn near as big as that thing of yours, and I sure wanted it, honey. I mean, I wanted that thing to ream me out, hole by hole. And then go back and take seconds. I wanted that boy bad.”
Longarm had no trouble believing her when she said that. He tapped the ash off his cigar and fluffed the pillow under the back of his neck, giving Janie all the time she wanted to get her tale out.
“So anyway, Buddy wanted to get married. And what the hell, I was willing. I thought I was in love. Never mind that what I was in was rut. What with him refusing to put it in, I was about as horny as he was, and no amount of tongues or fingers or whatever was going to help. What I wanted … and what I thought I needed … was that handsome boy’s cock. So about the tenth or so time he asked me to marry him, I said yes.
“And let me tell you, sweetie, that wedding was the social event of the century.” She grinned. “I’ in not kidding you. That’s what the newspaper called it. Really.”
Newspapermen, Longarm thought but carefully did not say, are ofttimes prone to exaggeration.
“Social event of the century, yes indeedy-dee.” She laughed, obviously somewhat past the point of believing those long ago printed opinions. “Where was I?”
“You were marrying the local war hero.”
“Yes, of course.” Janie sighed and looked fairly serious for a change. “Buddy was so … sincere. Kind of dumb, of course. I can see that now. But definitely sincere. So anyway, honey, we got married. This was in the late morning, in the Congregational church over on HoW Avenue.” She sighed again. “We had a lovely ceremony. Everybody came. I mean everybody. Even the nigger field hands came to crowd close and then line up for molasses and corn-cakes after. And the reception?” She rolled her eyes.
“There hasn’t ever been a reception to equal that one. Not in all the years since. Folks came from four counties, I swear. There were two steers and probably half a dozen full-grown hogs roasted on spits and washtubs of boiled corn and field peas and pies and cakes enough to feed an army … a Southern army, of course … and heaven knows what-all else. It was something, let me tell you. Tubs of punch for the ladies and something a little stronger for the gents. Which contributed to the troubles, of course, but no one could have thought of that beforehand. Could they?”
Longarm had no idea what she meant. But then he wasn’t expected to, so surely the question was a rhetorical one. He puffed on his smoke and let the woman go on.
“Buddy was so handsome. And my gown, let me tell you, honey, I was a real knockout. All dressed up in lace and crinolines in the style that was fashionable before the War went and ruined everything for us. Oh, I was pretty then. Every man in the crowd was looking at me and seeing how high and proud my tits were, and I could tell that every one of them was envying Buddy that night.