Free Fistful of Feet by Jordan Krall

thought this town was okay with…..you know, women working there.”
       “It is. The town never had a problem with it. It’s just that...”
       “Let me guess. You’re a religious man?” Rebecca said. She always found it absurd how many of the men who object to brothels on religious grounds are the men who secretly harbor passions that are even filthier than anything you’d find in a whorehouse.
       Tom Duma said, “No, no. It’s just that whenever I see such a young, pretty woman I tend to get a little sad thinking of her selling herself to all those dirty men. I’m not judging you, please don’t think that. Things go on there that can hurt a lady. It’s just discouraging. All those filthy men.”
       Rebecca patted his hand. “Oh, rest assured I’ll make the men take a bath before they have a go at me.” She smiled.
       “You’re a funny one, Miss Bywater,” Tom said. A smile was back on his face as he continued to help Rebecca with her order. When they were done, he slipped something into her hand.
       “What’s this?”
       “Just some medicine,” he said. “For women. You feel itchy or have any sores…down there, you just rub some of that on. My wife just ordered it all the way from Thompson, New Jersey. She wants me to give it to any of the girls who come in here.”
       Rebecca said, “Uh, okay, well I don’t know if I’ll need it but thank you. I guess.”
       As she opened the door to leave, a man walked through the doorway and bumped into her.
       “Excuse me, miss,” the man said. “That was clumsy of me.”
       “Oh, don’t you worry about it. It was my fault,” Rebecca said. “I’m Rebecca Bywater.”
       “I’m Calamaro,” the man said, taking his hat off.
       Rebecca practically swooned as she looked into Calamaro’s eyes and hoped that he would visit the brothel and become one of her very first customers. “Well, I must be going. It was very nice meeting you, Calamaro.”
       “It was my pleasure, Miss Bywater,” Calamaro said. He pushed the door open for her.
       She left the store and walked quickly back to Betty’s. The run-in with Calamaro made her eager to get to work. Her womanhood was warm and aching for a man. Now all she had to do was find one that’d be a suitable substitute for Calamaro.
    * * *
       Tom Duma smiled at Calmaro and said, “Good evening, sir! How can I be of service?”
       “I was told your wife is the one to see for some good food.”
       “Oh that she is. I’ll go get her to make you a plate. Should be no more than ten, fifteen minutes.”
       “Thank you. Tell her she could take her time. I got nowhere to be,” Calamaro said. He stood against the counter behind which was a wide array of medicines, candies, cooking supplies, and bottles full of unidentifiable liquid. He watched Tom Duma walk into the backroom. Then there were voices. The husband softly asked his wife if she could prepare a plate for the stranger. The wife’s sultry but annoyed voice chattered away. She was just about to go upstairs and clean up. She didn’t feel like making any more food. There was another minute of arguing until the wife finally relented. She’d make a small plate of scraps.
       Tom Duma walked out of the backroom with a smile plastered to his face. “Sorry about that, sir. My wife isn’t feeling well but she’ll make you a plate.”
       “Please thank her for me.”
       “I will, I will.” Tom put his palms down on the counter. “Is there anything else I can get you while you wait? We got the best selection of hard candies, Mexican cigars, and even…” He stopped and looked towards the door to the backroom.
       “And even what?”
       Tom Duma whispered. “Ever hear of Ass Juice?”
       Calamaro shook his head.
       “It’s made in the south, hit its peak back before the war. During all the fighting, they didn’t make much of it, though. It’s still hard