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Jesus fucking Christ, get over it!" Why don't you explain what you're talking about," Kent said slowly. His soft words briefly calmed Trisha, and he could see the whole family begin to relax, but she immediately shook it off and continued to glare at him."You really are a fucking piece of work, aren't you? You stupid cunt ... I know what you're doing, okay? Your bullshit won't work here. Jules, why don't you tell this fuckwit what happened when you came home last week." Okay mommy," Julia beamed, and in her own slow way, began to tell her story, her parents occasionally interjecting to add or correct small details.After being taken by the several dozen patrons of the bar last week, Julia had spent over an hour redressing. Trying to remember which items of clothing went where was a real effort, and so she'd had plenty of time to think. A small part of that time was spent on the idea of a tattoo with a "how to dress" diagram ("Everyone should have one!)" but most of her slow pondering. ” But, it’s better if we both forget it, okay?” “Okay. But, well, it’s been really bothering me. And, there’s some things that I don’t understand.” “Frankie, I said forget it,” she said a little sternly. “But . . .” “We are not going to discuss this. Period. Now run along, I’ve got a lot of things to do.” I left, feeling bad that I had further alienated her. A few days later my mother told me that Mrs. Summers had some work for me. I was elated but also somewhat apprehensive. I knocked on her door and she welcomes me with a friendly smile. I immediately took note of her attire. A tartan pleated skirt and a white silk blouse with a ruffled front and tiny pearl buttons. Her bra was clearly visible through the translucent silk. I wondered if she was wearing a half-slip. She gave me a list of things to do and I went to work. Several times our paths crossed and we exchanged a few pleasantries. At each meeting she became a little chattier. A half-empty wineglass was on the kitchen counter..
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