Sometimes you’d think you were goddesses...

“Don’t worry,” said the fat man, “even cowboys get saddle-sore sometimes. And how about those steel workers, ever see them?”

The girl shook her head, but didn’t look up.

“Those guys, working twelve, fifteen stories up for years and years and it never bothers them. Then one day someone finds them clinging to a girder, petrified. Scared shitless they’re so high up, poor fuckers.”

The girl didn’t say anything. She rolled the beads on the hem of her dress round and around in her fingers. She kept her eyes on the beads and the way they danced and sparkled in the light.

“It’s okay,” said the fat man, “it’s okay, you’ll be fine. Shit like this happens. Thing to do is get right back on it, as they say, straight back to it, so it don’t get time to fester. You know.”

The fat man moved over to the girl and sat down next to her on the sofa. He lit a cigarette, sucked it into life and handed it to her. After a pause she took it and swallowed a deep drag. The fat man put his hand on the girl’s thigh.

“Okay?” he said.

The girl didn’t move or say anything. Smoke drifted up into her face and there was music coming in faintly from the next room.

“I said, Okay?”

The girl didn’t say a word.

The fat man got up. “You girls,” he said, “sometimes you’d think you were goddesses the way you are.” He walked over to the door. “Clean this place up,” he said. “Then clean yourself up and get out here.” The fat man went out of the room then turned and shoved his head back in. “And tell those other lazy bitches to get out here too.”

The girl sat on the sofa and let the fat man’s cigarette fall to the floor. She was still twirling the beads of her dress in her hand. She watched the beads and the light they made, gold and silver flashes and sparkles. She watched the lights and as she watched, smoke from the fat man’s cigarette drifted up and up into her eyes.