She held his hand and kept her eyes demurely down. She wore
her shortest dress to draw attention.
Men pretended not to look but when they passed she heard
their gasps at the purpling licks of wicked bruises. She knew they were hoping for
a flash of lacy lingerie, not that mottled ladder leading to the whitest,
cotton naivety.
All the more outrageous he had sullied such innocence.
Later, under the actinic illumination of the bathroom strip
light, he would kneel before her and tenderly sponge the stage make-up from her
legs. And she would laugh softly at his shame.
