Chap. 5
Believe It If You Like
And so summer began to wane, and Colleen left for campus. Sweet Pea was brave, how else could she be after Baby Doll's example? Colleen vowed to write. Sweet Pea was strong too. Waited patiently for the promised letter. Waited. Strength, sometimes however, can be easily misdirected.
Davey Philmore, handsome and strong and recently home from army service, was hired to help her father, especially harvesting the alfalfa, fodder for the cows during the winter. It had to be cut, baled, stacked on the wagon, brought to the barn, and stacked in the hayloft. On a particularly hot day, her mother made lemonade for the men. She gave the tray to Sweet Pea to bring out to the barn.
"Sweet Pea, dearest," her mother said, "Smile when you give Davey his glass. You should smile more around him. He's a good boy - a fine man..."
Sweet Pea took the tray without a word.
Sweet Pea had always been a good whore for Blue. Before he had become infatuated with Baby Doll, it was Sweet Pea who had satisfied him in the janitor's closet. She hated Blue, but she gave him good head; he always wanted more. It was Sweet Pea, not any of the other girls, who could please Blue. And more than that, he could count on her to satisfy fastidious clients, important clients. Who was it who had the orgy with the champion rowing team from that elite college? Who was it who had satisfied all those athletes? Davey Philmore did not have a chance. Sweet Pea could manipulate him. Her parents seemed to want that. Wanted her to be with Davey. Yes, she could make Davey love her, if she wanted to. And he would stay, unlike Colleen.
Before she went into the barn, Sweet Pea set the tray down on an old milk can and undid two buttons of her blouse. And when she served Davey, she smiled for him.
Davey stayed for supper that night.
After the meal, Sweet Pea sat with him on the porch swing. Exactly where she had sat with Colleen.
"You leave the young uns alone," she heard her mother say to her father.
And Davey suggested that they take a walk. Sweet Pea knew what that meant. She was ready to perform.
She could feel the tension in his body. It was like that with men. It was always more mechanical. But even in the darkness of the hayloft, Sweet Pea knew that he was satisfied. As her mouth worked on him, he moaned:
"Oh, Abbey... Abbey..."
She was no longer Sweet Pea to Davey Philmore.
Still, everyday she went to the mailbox. Looking for Colleen's letter. Often, she thought, how long does it take for a letter to travel across the state? From Lafayette to Fort Wayne? One day? Two days? Maybe it took three. Certainly, it was no more than three. She waited. And when she went to the mailbox, the crickets chirping in the weeds growing along the ditch by the side of the road, reminded her of that night on the porch, reminded her of that magical night when the crickets sang like angels for them. As the chill of the passing nights increased, the crickets, one by one, fell silent. Even the warmth of the sun could not revive them.
"Any mail?" her father asked Sweet Pea one day when she returned from her habitual walk to the mailbox. He was sitting at the table, finishing the last bite of his lunch.
"Just a bill," Sweet Pea replied. She set it on the table.
"That was a fine lunch, girl."
She collected the plate, glass, and silverware. Took them to the sink to wash. Behind her, she heard her father rise up from his seat. He stood still for a moment. She turned her head slightly to see him. He was resting a hand on the back of Rocket's chair. The empty chair. He did not know that Sweet Pea was watching. He left his hand there for a while, before turning to leave. Sweet Pea turned around as he was leaving; she turned as if to say something. What could she say? Like a ghost in silence, she watched him go.
[contd]