ipples were as pink as a roseate spoonbill。 Her slim waist emphasized the beautiful swelling lines of her full hips； and her skin； except for a scattering of freckles on her shoulders； was as white as a peeled almond。 With her thick black hair unloosened； and trailing down her back； Bernice was a very beautiful woman。 To top it off； she had a sense of style。 I wanted to talk to her so badly I could almost taste the words in my mouth； and it was all I could do to hold back the torrent that would bee a flood if I ever let them go。
After Bernice handed me my glass； she sat cross…legged on the bed； facing me； swirling her brandy in the snifter she held with cupped hands。 Her face was flushed slightly with excitement。 She peered intently into her brandy glass； refusing to meet my level stare。
〃I want to tell you something； Frank；〃 she said in a soft contralto； 〃something important。 I'm not promiscuous。〃
She said this so primly I wanted to laugh。 Instead； I grinned； wet a forefinger in my brandy and rubbed the nipple of her right breast。
〃And no matter what you may think； you're the first man I've let make love to me since my husband died。〃
I didn't believe her； of course； not for an instant。 But that is the way women are。 They always feel that a man will think less of them if they act like human beings。 What did it matter to me whether she had slept with anyone or not for the last five years？ What possible difference could it make at this moment？ Now was now； and the past and the future were unimportant。
As the nipple gradually hardened beneath my circling finger she laughed； an abrupt； angry little laugh； and tossed off the remainder of her brandy。 I took her glass； put both of them aside； pulled her down beside me； and kissed her。
The second time was better and lasted much longer。 Although I was handicapped by being unable to issue instructions； Bernice was experienced； cooperative and so eager to please me that she anticipated practically everything I wanted to do。 And at last； when I didn't believe I could hold out for another moment； she climaxed。 I remained on my back； with Bernice on top of me； and she nibbled on my shoulder。
〃I could fall in love with you； Frank Mansfield；〃 she said softly。 〃If there were only some way I could prove it to you！〃
Suddenly she got out of bed； grabbed my undershirt and shorts from the winged chaiz and entered the bathroom。 I raised myself on my elbows； and watched her through the open door as she washed my underwear in the washbowl。 She hummed happily as she scrubbed away。 My underwear wasn't dirty。 I had put it on clean after a shower at the hotel before reporting in at the Chez Vernon at eight thirty that evening。 Women； sometimes； have a peculiar way of demonstrating their affection。
Five o'clock finally rolled around； but I hadn't closed my eyes。 Bernice slept soundly at my side； a warm； heavy leg thrown over mine； an arm draped limply across my chest。 She breathed heavily through her open mouth。 I eased my leg out from beneath hers and got out of bed on my side。 The sheet that had covered us was disarranged； kicked to the bottom of the bed。 I pulled it over her shoulders； before taking my clothes from the chair into the bathroom。 My underwear was still dripping wet and draped over the metal bar that held the shower curtain。 I pulled on my clothes without underwear。 As soon as I was dressed； I raised the toilet seat； switched off the bathroom light and tiptoed out of the bedroom； closing the door softly behind me。
At the foot of the stairs； I retrieved my hat and guitar； and made my exit into the dawn。 The sky was just beginning to turn gray。 I opened the guitar case； removed the instrument； and tried to scrape off my name with my knife。 It was burned in too deeply； but Bernice would be able to see that I had tried to scrape it off。 Then I put the neck of the guitar on the top step； and stomped on it until it broke。 After cutting the strings with my knife； I placed the broken instrument on the wele mat。
There was an oleander bush on the left side of the porch。 I tossed the guitar case into the bush。 Now I could keep the fifty…dollar bill in good conscience。 The guitar had been worth at least thirty dollars； and the fee for the private concert was twenty dollars。 We were even。 The message was obscure； perhaps； but Bernice would be able to puzzle it out eventually。
I walked down the gravel driveway to the street； and noticed the number of the house on a stone marker at the bottom of the drive。 111。 I grinned。 I would always remember Bernice's number。
Carrying my wet underwear； I had to wander around in the strange neighborhood for almost five blocks before I could find a bus stop and catch a bus back to downtown Jacksonville。
8
All day long I stayed in my room。 Ideas and plans circulated inside my head； but none of them were worthwhile。 One dismal thought kept oozing to the top； and finally it lodged there。
I had been cheated out of my inheritance。
This wasn't a new thought by any means。 I had thought about it often in the five years since Daddy died； but I had never considered seriously doing anything about it before。 The telegram informing me of Daddy's death had reached me one day too late to allow me to attend the funeral。 I had immediately wired Randall and given him the circumstances。 Two weeks later I had received a letter from Judge Brantley Powell； the old lawyer who handled the estate； together with a check for one dollar。 He had also included a carbon copy of Daddy's will。 Randall； my younger brother； had inherited the four…hundred…acre farm； seven hundred dollars in bonds； and the bank account of two hundred and seventy dollars。 The check for one dollar was my part of the inheritance。
With plenty of money in my pockets at the time； I had dismissed the wifi from my mind。 After all； Randall had stayed home； and I had not。 He had gone to college； earned a degree in law and passed the Georgia bar exams； returning home ostensibly to practice。 I had attended Valdosta State College for one year only and had quit to go to the Southwestern Cocking Tourney in Oklahoma City。 I had never returned to college and Daddy had never gotten over it。 He had always wanted to keep both of us under his thumb； but no man can tell me what to do with my life。
What had happened to the lives we lived？
I had gone on to make a name for myself in cockfighting。
Sure； I was broke now； but I had firmly established myself in one of the toughest sports in the world。 And what did Randall have to show for his fine education？ What had he done with his inheritance？
When he was accepted for the bar he went to work as a law clerk for Judge Brantley Powell。 Six months later； claiming that he was doing most of the work anyway； he asked for a full partnership in the firm。 When the judge turned him down； he had quit； and he hadn't done much of anything since。 He hadn't even hung out his own shingle。 All day long he sat in the big dining room at home； looking for obscure contradictions in his law books； occasionally having an article published on some intricate point of law in some legal quarterly nobody had ever heard of before。 To get by； he sold off small sections of the farm to Wright Gaylord； my fiancée's brother。 He had also married Frances Shelby； a dentist's daughter from Macon。 I suppose she had had some dowry money and a few dollars from her father once in a while； but Randall's total ine from tobacco； pecans and land sales was probably less than three thousand dollars a year。 He was also writing a book…or so Frances said。
By all rights； Daddy should have left the farm to me。 There were no two ways about it。 I was the oldest son； and there wasn't a jury in Georgia that wouldn't award the farm to me if I contested the will。 They read the Bible in Georgia； and in the Holy Bible the eldest son always inherits the property。
By four that afternoon I had made up my mind。 I would go home and press Randall for the three hundred dollars he owed me。 If he paid me； I'd forget about the farm and never consider taking it away from him again。 If he didn't； I'd see Judge Powell an