They call her Dana by Jennifer Wilde Page B

full, humorous mouth made you feel real comfortable. Still, he was a man, and all men wanted to get into your drawers. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if it was someone like him, I thought. He'd probably be real careful and tender and make it feel as good as they said it could feel.
    "Are you going to take advantage of me?"
    * 'I beg your pardon?''
    "All the men, they wanna.pop my cherry."
    "Indeed?"
    "I—I know I'm all dirty and wretched-lookin' right now, but when I ain't covered with mud and my hair idn't all tangled, I look kinda nice. A-course, my waist is too narrow and my teats are too big, but th' men don't seem to mind it at all."
    "I shouldn't imagine they would," he observed.
    "You ain't—aren't bad-looking yourself."
    He took another sip of wine, smiling to himself.
    "You am V," I insisted.
    "Thank you, child."
    "You're plum appealin', even if you are so very old."
    "Ouch," he said.
    ' 'I'll bet a lotta women'd like for you to get into their drawers. I betja a lot of 'em evea invite-ja to do it."

    "It's been a while," he confessed.
    '*lf—if I had to lose my cherry, I guess I wouldn't mind losin' it with a great big man with wann brown eyes and a lovely mouth, 'ticularly if he was gentle and didn't get all grabby and rough. A man as old as you are would probably know what he was doin'."
    "Jesus," he exclaimed, shaking his head. "One little glass of wine, just one, and you're babbling like a gin-soaked lush. Of course, you drank it on an empty stomach and you'd never had wine before, but—"
    "What's your name?" I asked.
    "Julian," he said. "Julian Etienne."
    "Julian—that's a lovely name. It suits you. You kinda look like a Julian."
    "Absolutely soused," he said to himself.
    "I'm Dana," I informed him.
    "Delighted to make your acquaintance, Dana, even under these rather bizarre circumstances. Go to sleep now, child, before you say something even more outrageous and offensive."
    I obediently closed my eyes, snuggling my cheek against the soft blankets. I could hear the crackle of the smoldering logs and the stirring of leaves as a light wind sprang up. An owl hooted in the distance, and insects kept up a raspy chorus. They were all soothing sounds, and the rocking was soothing, too. I wondered why the ground should be rocking to and fro like this, like I was on a raft and the water was wavy. It didn't really bother me all that much, though. It was kind of nice.
    "I wonder if you're the man in my dreams," I murmured, eyes still closed.
    "What's diat?"
    "You could be him," I said, "or you could be one of the others. Mama Lou said there'd be four, but she wudn't real specific 'bout which one was which—couldn't see all that clearly. I'll bet you ain't the bad one, though, or you'd already-a done something unpleasant.''
    "Definitely soused," he said.
    I sighed again, drawing my legs up and pulling the top blanket over me. My eyelids were as heavy as lead, layers of darkness swirling behind them. I heard the man moving around, his boots crunching softly on the ground. I drifted into the welcoming darkness, warm and snug, lulled by the night noises and the

    gentle rocking of the ground. I dreamed and I was running and they were running after me and the bloodhounds were baying and Clem wasn't dead, he was urging the bloodhounds on and I cried out and strong, warm arms held me close and a husky, melodious voice said, "There, there, it's all right, you're all right now, child," and I saw a flock of redbirds then and saw Ma and her face was white and she was trying to tell me something but I couldn't hear and then she began to fade away and I couldn't stop her, couldn't hold her. I sobbed and sobbed and called her name and the arms tightened around me and I felt a large, tender hand smoothing back my hair, stroking m> head. It all seemed so real, so very real. I could actually feel warmth and strength in those arms and actually hear that voice telling me it would be all right, telling me to sleep, just go back to