A Beauty by Connie Gault

the boat and imagined a couple standing at the opposite railing, a sophisticated man and a woman in white gloves. The white gloves especially drew her attention. They were short, came only to the woman’s wrists, and on the inside of each wrist, they had a row of three tiny buttons like seed pearls. But then Bill had distracted her, with that grin all over his face, and she’d made the mistake of asking him what he was thinking. She wondered if the unsettling feeling of the river under their feet was what had sent him into such a bad mood, or if it was only that she hadn’t appreciated him mocking her.
    All the time she was musing on these things, Bill was talking. “I like to take things as they come,” she heard him say, and she thought: Especially when they come so easy. Well, what did it matter? She leaned back in her seat and let the hot wind handle her. She closed her eyes so that in her mind’s eye she could see the buttons on those gloves. Something refined about them spelled assurance, a certain carefree ease, a way of being that needed money behind it, and made her think of her father’s worthlessland and the empty buildings, the way she’d last seen them flashing past in the wide circle lit by Bill’s headlights.
    Bill was talking about the city and she had an image in her mind of the road ending suddenly in tall buildings and traffic. “I would like some gloves,” she said.
    “Sure you would.” He laughed excitedly. “Sure you would,” he said again.
    Stick with me, kid
. “Thank you, Bill,” she said.
    “Come here,” he said. “Come on over here.” He held out his arm and she moved in closer. He draped his arm around her and absent-mindedly fondled her loose right breast inside the soft cotton of her dress. She’d heard boys say anything more than a handful is a waste, but she was pleased she had a good handful. He’d said she had nice little bullet nipples. She started to sink into the seat and he pinched the nipple between his thumb and forefinger, and she moaned. Actually, it was more of a whimper – her breasts were swollen and sore.
    “Oh,
girl
,” he said in a sort of deep growl.
    At first he thought she was crying. Her chest heaved and she pulled out from under his arm and turned her head away. Her shoulders shook. She was still turned away from him but there was no doubt, now – she was laughing. She was laughing so hard she was choking.
    “What’s so funny?” he asked.
    She shook her head, her hand clutched to her mouth. He’d like to know what was so goddamn funny – just when he was thinking how sweet she was, leaning against him, just when he was imagining one of these days she was going to turn to him and tell him she loved him – but then they hit a patch of washboard and he had to focus his attention on the road and use both handson the wheel. They’d hardly seen another vehicle for miles, and now came up fast on a plume of dust. It was a farm truck, braking ahead of them, the driver signalling with a crooked blue-shirted arm out his window, taking his time turning onto a side road. Bill had to slow right down. Elena was still laughing and still looking away from him, watching the truck as it headed towards a little town down the narrow dirt road.
    Then she said, “Stop,” just as he was accelerating. It sounded so urgent, he hit the brakes hard, and they fishtailed in the loose gravel. The car jerked and stalled, stranding them sideways across the highway. They’d stirred up so much dust they couldn’t see a thing until it started settling, sifting down on the roadster to coat its long hood and fenders. “Gilroy,” the sign right in front of them said, when the dust cleared. From the highway, it looked a lot like every other town they’d passed. No sign of life except for a young girl, about eleven or twelve, out walking along the railway tracks, a kid on her own, dragging her feet.
    “Elena?” He reached for her as she opened her door. His hand grazed her