Page 121

I took off my shoes and socks.

"That's two," she said.

"Two? I've taken off two shoes and two socks," I protested.

"Pairs are counted as one," she said. "Our rules, right, Morty?"

"Right," he parroted.

"Keep going," she ordered.

"Don't do it," Gavin told me.

"You don't welsh on a game," Aunt Fern snapped. "It's like breaking a promise to keep a secret," she added, smiling at me.

I unbuttoned my blouse. Morton's smile widened and he licked his lips. Aunt Fern unfastened her bra and without hesitation slipped it down her arms as if she were alone in her bedroom. Her breasts shook as she started on her skirt.

"Fern! You're drunk and you're disgusting!" Gavin screamed, standing. "I can't believe you're my sister."

Aunt Fern threw back her head and laughed. With his face red and swollen, Gavin turned and rushed out of the room. That only made her laugh harder.

"GAVIN!" I cried standing. I heard him run down the corridor and out the front door of the plantation house so I started after him.

"Hold it," Fern said, her laughter stopped short. "You haven't taken off your six pieces."

I looked at her and then Morton, who sat back with a licentious smile, gaping at me hungrily.

"The game's over, Aunt Fern," I said, looking down.

"You don't walk out without paying what you owe," she insisted. "Those are the rules."

"Please, Aunt Fern. Can't we stop now?"

"Not until you pay up what you owe," she insisted. "Pay."

I took of my blouse.

> "That's three," she said. "Go on."

I unfastened the skirt and it fell to my ankles. "Four."

All I had left were my bra and panties.

"Do you want help?" she asked. I shook my head.

"Aunt Fern . . ."

"It wouldn't be fair," she said. "I didn't hesitate to pay what I owed."

I gazed at Morton. He was staring at me so hard, I felt he could already see through my remaining garments. I reached behind my back and undid my bra, but I hesitated to slide it of my bosom.

"Come on, princess, you did it for your uncle Philip, you can do it for us," she coaxed.

"Aunt Fern! That's horrible, a horrible thing to say," I cried. "I didn't do it for Uncle Philip. I didn't."

I scooped up my shoes and socks and my skirt and holding my bra against my breasts, I shot out of the living room.

"You bitch!" she screamed after me. "You can't welsh on a game of strip poker. You'll be sorry . . . YOU'LL BE SORRY!"