The Major's Daughter by J. P. Francis Page B

package. Either that or you can stay right here and walk home.”
    A tightness entered the car. Henry couldn’t read his brother’s tone, though he imagined Amos was drunk enough to do anything, to mean anything. The girls didn’t speak. Amos turned off the car. Light had begun to build in the east. It was a crazy situation.
    â€œAmos . . . ,” Henry started, but Amos opened his door and climbed out.
    â€œBoth of you naked,” Amos said. “If you want a ride home, that is. That’s the fare. You don’t have to if you want to walk home.”
    â€œWhat a bastard,” Charlene said. “I thought you were a bastard, but I didn’t know you were this kind of bastard.”
    â€œI’m not doing that,” Dolly said. “You stupid, damn gorilla.”
    â€œOkay, then both of you out,” Amos said, his head propped in the driver’s-side doorway. “Good luck getting back. Should be logging trucks along here pretty soon. Maybe you can hitch a ride with them. Now hop out. Henry and I are heading to Berlin.”
    Amos’s head jerked sometimes in its drunkenness, Henry saw. It was an ugly thing to watch. The girls didn’t move, except to glance nervously back and forth across the seatback, trying to read each other.
    â€œYou won’t tell if we do it?” Dolly asked, weighing her words, Henry sensed. “You won’t spread it around town?”
    â€œYou’re not serious, are you, Dolly?” Charlene asked. “For this jack wolly?”
    â€œYou give us your word you will bring us right back?” Dolly asked. “If we do. You promise? Afterward? You promise?”
    â€œOf course I do,” Amos said.
    His words slurred together so that it came out, “Course-sigh-dew.”
    Dolly slipped out the passenger side. Henry felt the booze and the lilac perfume linking together in his guts. He wasn’t sure if Amos was being serious or not. It was low behavior, no matter what, but it still felt remotely like a prank. Amos told Charlene to get out, too.
    â€œYou’re as bad as he is,” Charlene hissed at Henry as she slid out on her side. “Letting this go on.”
    â€œNow right over here in the headlights,” Amos said, pointing to a patch of grass in the center of the beams. “Just a little show, that’s all. That’s all you’re doing. Just putting on a little theatrical performance. A little entertainment for the troops.”
    The women stood side by side. Neither made a motion to start. Amos reached into the car and grabbed the bottle of rye and took a swig. He stuck it through the window at Henry. Henry took the bottle and pretended to drink. He kept his tongue in the opening. That was easier than refusing his brother.
    â€œYou ready, ladies?” Amos asked.
    He started clapping his hands slowly, wryly punctuating striptease music he made with his tongue and lips. A few June bugs rattled around in the headlights, creating a buzzing noise; twice, the bugs flashed off and bounced against the women and they flicked their hands at them to get them away.
    â€œOkay, that’s enough,” Henry said through the window when Dolly started unbuttoning her blouse. “It was just a dare. Just a stupid dare.”
    â€œLike hell it was,” Amos said, still clapping. “This is the cost of the ride home.”
    Henry climbed out of the car. He thought he might be sick.
    â€œCome on,” he said, and held out his hand to his brother. “Give me the keys and we’ll head home. Drop the girls off and head home.”
    Amos made the striptease music louder. Dolly’s hand paused on the buttons of her blouse. Charlene had reached behind her waist to undo the band of her skirt, but now she stopped. Henry reached for the keys in Amos’s pocket, but his brother slapped his hands away. Amos kept his eyes fixed on the women. He clapped and smiled, egging them