Shop Talk by Carolyn Haines Page B

especially for him.”
    Bo felt as if he were smothering under the weight of the Gavins’ need. He didn’t even have the energy to try to fight his way free.
    “Bo, baby, if you were the wrong kind of man, you could take a lot of these old people for a ride.” Bo looked at her.
    “Their own children abandon them, and you’re nice to them. You care about them, and you don’t even know them.” She shook her head. “They’d leave you their money if you worked at it.”
    “I know. People work all their lives and then end up with a stranger to be kind to them.” Bo was too dejected to pace. “This isn’t the way things are supposed to be. We’re off track. The human race is self-destructing, and each generation seems worse and worse.” He sighed and looked up at the skylight, at the milky eye that gave onto a gray sky. “We need help. Someone to lead us back to the right path.” He shook his head. “A hero, Iris. That’s what this country needs. One good man to blaze the trail.”
    Iris had seen Bo in a lot of emotional states, but not one like this, not one so black, so prophetic. It had something to do with that clutch of women who had been in earlier. Lucille had started this downward slide with her incessant needs. But there was a cure. One that would take all of her talents.
    “Bo, baby, finish that set. I’ve got to take care of something in the apartment.” She closed the metal door behind her and locked it in place. She didn’t want Bo to interrupt her in the middle of her preparations. Digging into the very back of the closet she found the plastic bag and pulled it out. The yellow tulle was only for special occasions. Very special occasions. It was Bo’s favorite costume, one that ignited all of his passions and fantasies. If Bo ever needed the release of
Mandingo,
it was now.
    She threw off her clothes and began the long process of arranging the undergarments and hoops, and finally draping the antebellum gown over her shoulder. The yellow fabric settled around her, hugging her waist and belling out around her ankles. With quick strokes she arranged her hair in loops on either side of her head. She bit her lips and pinched her cheeks, then widened her eyes, minced and practiced batting her eyelashes so fast it almost made her dizzy.
    The early 70s Dino D’Larentis film was a classic–the worst of a genre of plantation tales based on a series of novels by Lance Horner. She and Bo had memorized every line of awful dialogue. It was howlingly bad, and yet it unleashed a need in Bo that was raw and powerful.
    Checking herself one last time in the mirror, Iris stepped through the door and into the shop. Advancing so that her gown billowed around her ankles, she stopped in front of her husband.
    She spoke in a simpering voice that was edged with command. “Come on in here, Mead. I’m a tellin’ you to come in here. I want you to listen close. I’m gone tell you a story and I want you to listen good.”
    Bo looked at his wife and the desperation slowly left his face. It was replaced by a hint of hope. “Massa Hammond wouldn’t like me goin’ with you.”
    “I need me a man like you.” Iris’ voice broke and the last word came out with a roughness. She fluffed at her hair. “Better get in here, Mead, or I’ll have you whupped.”
    “Massa Hammond won’t like me comin’ in his bedroom.” Bo glanced at the front door of the shop. It wasn’t closing time. Still, acting out television and movie roles was a part of their marriage, an important part. Through the years they’d developed unwritten rules–unspoken trust. One partner never left the other hanging out on an emotional limb. When the game started, they both played. It was the foundation of their love.
    Iris pressed against him. She ran her hands along the planes of his face, down his shoulders, feeling, probing, measuring. “You do what I tell you, Mead. If Hammond can have his bed wench, I’m gonna have me some of what I want.”