Free Dead Meat by William G. Tapply

of Tiny’s wife. Instead, I shifted, moving a few inches away from her.
    Abruptly, she stood up. “Time to go in,” she said.
    She held out a hand to me and helped me up. I stood there for a minute, close to her, looking down into her face. Then I nodded. “Yes. Let’s go in.”

Five
    I WAS BRUSHING MY teeth when I heard the voices. It sounded as if they were coming from the hallway just on the other side of the bathroom door.
    “Where have you been?” It was Marge, speaking in an angry whisper. The hard emphasis was on the word “you.”
    “Out.” Polly did not whisper.
    “Keep your voice down,” Marge hissed.
    “That’s easy. I have nothing to say.” But Polly did whisper, and her voice came through the bathroom door like a cold wind through the chinks in a drafty cabin.
    “You were with him again, weren’t you?”
    “Him?”
    “You know who I mean.”
    “No, Mother, I don’t. Tell me who you mean.”
    “Gib.”
    “No, I wasn’t with Gib.”
    “Well…”
    “I was with another man, actually. So what?”
    “If you wake up your father…”
    “Nothing wakes up my father. You can’t wake up my father.”
    I heard the unmistakable sound of flesh smacking flesh, and I had no trouble visualizing Marge’s slap against Polly’s cheek.
    “Well, now, Mother.” Polly laughed.
    “Don’t talk about things you don’t know.”
    Polly laughed again, a cruel bark.
    “You know how we feel about—about socializing with the guests.”
    “Socializing. Very nice, Mother. I like it. Socializing.”
    “You know what I mean.”
    “No. Say what you mean.”
    “Twitching your ass at them. I mean—I mean flirting with them. I mean—”
    “You mean fucking them.”
    I didn’t want to be where I was, a captive of this conversation that I didn’t want to hear. I couldn’t just open the door, excuse myself, and pad barefoot to my room down the hall. I thought of flushing the toilet to let them know I was there, imprisoned in the bathroom. But it was too late for that. They would know that I’d already heard.
    So I dropped the lid on the toilet and sat down to wait it out.
    “Is that what you were doing?” Marge’s voice had lost its anger. It sounded sorrowful.
    “What if I was?”
    “Oh, Polly…”
    “Well? What if I was? Do we have rules about screwing the guests?”
    “Honey…”
    “How would you like it?” she said, her tone different now, a querulous little-girl voice. “How would you like to be me stuck up here? Nobody my age, no television. Not even a telephone.”
    “I understand, Polly. It’s only for the summer.”
    “It’s only for the summer,” Polly’s voice mocked. “Do you know how long a summer is? And what about you, Mother. Do the rules apply to you?”
    “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
    “What were you doing down on the dock?”
    “Listen to me, little girl. What I was doing is none of your business.”
    “It works both ways.”
    “It does like hell.”
    “You got something going with Brady, Mother? Hey, he’s kinda sexy. Can’t blame you. Does Daddy know?”
    “That is enough.” Warning hissed in Marge’s tone.
    “I didn’t want this conversation in the first place.”
    “And it is ended. Just keep one thing in mind, dear daughter. If I catch you in the sack with one of the guests, I’ll…”
    There was a long pause. Then I heard Polly’s whisper, soft and mocking. “Yes? You’ll what? What will you do?”
    “Polly, honey…”
    “I want to know what you’ll do.”
    “Nothing. Never mind. Go to bed.”
    “Mother?”
    “What?”
    “Don’t worry. I won’t tell Daddy about Brady. This can be our secret. Isn’t it nice?”
    “Dammit, Polly!”
    “Our own little mother-daughter secret.” Polly laughed softly. I heard a door open and close, and a moment later another one. I waited a minute and then gathered up my things and tiptoed down the hall to my room. The floorboards creaked. The door to my room needed oil. And when I sat on