Without a word, he shrugged on his shirt, zipped up his jeans, and tossed a couple of bills on the tall dresser. They landed so close to Bess she could smell his putrid scent on them, and her stomach flip-flopped.

  The ceramic tea light holder on the dresser was open at the back and had stars cut out in the front. It was a perfect hiding spot. Perched inside, Bess watched Loralee take heaving breaths, like she was trying to expel that man from her lungs. Pulling the sheets along with her, she slipped to the floor and sobbed.

  “Oh God,” she kept saying, over and over, like a pleading sort of prayer. “What kind of life is this for a person?”

  Bess wished she could help, but how? Perhaps if she got close, that would provide comfort to the woman huddled in a pool of dirty sheets. Dipping through the hole she’d gnawed in the wall, Bess scurried down a familiar series of beams and brackets to her hole in the baseboards. She poked her head through, pulling her fat little body after her, and skittered close to Loralee. Black rivers of mascara coursed down the poor thing’s cheeks. If only Bess could say something, talk to the girl…

  “Ahhh! Mouse!” Loralee scooted back on the carpet, reaching for the largest volume on the bookshelf. It had to be the Bible—what else? With it, Loralee tried to thump what she obviously perceived as vermin. “Git, you!”

  So much for that idea. Bess darted underneath the tall dresser, where even the vacuum couldn’t reach, and encouraged her racing heart to settle down.

  “Damn you!” Loralee’s voice was hoarse.

  Bess’s heart fell until she peeked out and saw that Loralee’s focus had shifted to the mirror. As usual, Loralee was talking to herself.

  “Slut,” she said.

  Bess watched her reflection, observing Loralee’s bruised and beaten body. When she was younger, she didn’t have the varicose veins or the cellulite, but Bess appreciated her figure as it was now: a real woman’s body, with life to show for it.

  When Loralee dredged the blade from her underwear drawer, Bess hissed, “No, no, no…” but her words came out as squeaks. On the one hand, she didn’t want to see this, but she felt the need to supervise in case things got out of control.

  Loralee fell to the floor, swaddling herself in bloody, cum-soaked sheets. Leaning against the bed, she opened her legs and stared down at her cunt. She still had on that hideous animal print miniskirt, but no panties. The cowboy had torn open her purple blouse, so sheer her polka-dot brassiere showed through it even when it was buttoned up. Her big breasts bounced as she sobbed silently.

  “Why?” she asked as she ran that blade across her thigh. She hissed when it sliced her flesh, a surface wound deep enough to bring forth blood.

  “Don’t hurt yourself,” Bess pleaded, still more squeaks. “Oh, Loralee, you’re such a pretty girl.”

  “Ugly,” Loralee replied, as though she’d heard Bess. “Ugly, ugly, dirty whore.” She sliced up her poor thigh in quick strokes, one cut after another. “Dirty whore.”

  Loralee drank a whole bottle of whiskey that night and passed out on the floor. Bess stood guard the whole night long, and well into the morning hours. It was afternoon before Loralee dragged herself to the toilet and her sheets to the old machine. She looked perfectly horrid with makeup spread across her cheeks, her mascara-laden false lashes askew. The poor thing didn’t even wash, except the crusted blood from her thighs, pussy, and ass.

  “Eat something,” Bess pleaded. Squeak, squeak, squeak. “Oh, my poor darling…”

  “Gotta pay the rent, pay the bills, pay the piper.” Loralee traipsed about the place, one shoe on, one shoe off. Stopping at the fridge, she pulled out the orange juice. It was better than nothing.

  Bess had seen so much self-destruction in her time, but Loralee got to her like nobody else. She couldn’t watch any more of this. It was time to come out of retirement in the career she’d never begun.

  How long since she’d taken human form? Long, long ago, in what she now thought of as her youth. She’d watched generations come and go since, trapped—though not unhappily—in this tiny, fuzzy form. Bess preferred life as a mouse. Humanity seemed too full of repercussions. And, of course, there was Old Gertie’s spell…

  With a hair-of-the-dog flask in hand, Loralee stumbled out the door and tramped around back. She didn’t drive anymore—license suspended, car impounded—and it was an hour-long walk to the bar. It worried Bess that Loralee cut through the brush and down the ravine, but that was her chosen path. That girl’s life was full of shortcuts.

  Bess pushed the small pot of Gertie’s powder beyond the hole in the baseboard and stopped cold. What would she look like when she took human form? Would she be as old as her years? Bess shook her head. No time for worries—she was doing all this for Loralee. Without another moment’s hesitation, she dipped her nose in the pearly white powder.

  The transformation was swift, thank God, because it hurt like hell and left her naked and moaning on the floor. The room looked much smaller from this perspective. When she rose on shaky legs she was surprised to find a young face looking back in the mirror. She was never a great beauty—small, frizzy brownish hair, lackluster skin—but to see her own face was to come home. She held her cheeks in both hands, pressing, feeling the long-forgotten skin and bones. In that moment, gazing at her naked reflection, she knew she’d made the right decision.

  Before seeking out her old clothing, Bess went in search of a telephone. She felt like a baby giraffe, so awkwardly gangling, but she knew she’d grow accustomed to this form soon enough. Bess had never used one of these telephones with the fancy rotary dials. It was all very modern age.

  “Operator?”

  The telephone made a noise, a low, steady buzz.

  “Hello, Operator? Are you there?” And then she recalled watching Loralee dial numbers to place calls. Bess didn’t know which number would get her through to Dorothy’s Tavern, so she started with zero.

  A woman answered. “Operator.”

  “Oh, wonderful!” That was a stroke of luck. “Could you connect me with Dorothy’s Tavern, please?”

  When the operator put the call through, Bess’s stomach tumbled. Loralee couldn’t possibly have arrived so quickly. Even if she headed home the minute she walked through those doors, Bess still had a good hour and a half. This plan was sure to succeed. But…what if it didn’t?

  Another woman answered, “You got Dorothy’s Tavern, here.”

  “Wonderful,” Bess repeated. “I’m looking for a patron of yours—a Miss Loralee.”

  There was silence on the line, and Bess was sure she knew why: the tavern owner was kind to Loralee and didn’t care to see her in any trouble. “She ain’t here just now…but she might be later on. You got a message, or what?”

  “Yes.” Bess twirled the telephone cord around her index finger. “Would you tell Loralee her next trick is waiting, and to please come home immediately?”

  Bess didn’t wait for a response. She dropped the handset and hopped up the stairs to the disused second floor. Everything was dusty. Loralee never came up here and neither did she. Too many memories. Bess didn’t like to think about the old days.

  She found her old frocks crammed at the very back of the cupboard. Amazing nobody had thrown them out in all these years. Grabbing the tawny one with the little flowers, she held it up in the muted sunlight. The collar had yellowed considerably, but Beth was happy to find something she’d stitched by hand, back in the days when she had hands and not paws. She looked at them now—the nails were quite long, and she raced downstairs to trim them.

  Despite her lack of undergarments, Bess slipped into her dress before putting fresh sheets on Loralee’s bed. It was too soon to put on tea—no, coffee, to sober the girl when she arrived. Bess paced the floor, smoothing her dress again and again.

  Goodness, this frock did have a musty odor. Now what? What’s next? Her stomach rumbled and she decided it was time to eat...as humans do.

  After pacing and fidgeting indoors for a time, Bess paced and fidgeted outside. It felt so strange to be big, and clothed to boot. She hoped Loralee wouldn’t notice she had no shoes on.

  Crackling in the brush set off Bess’s instinct to run, but she convinced herself to stay put. It was only Loralee, after all. “Yoo-hoo!” Bess called out, waving her hands. “Over here!”

  Loralee emerged, leaning her weight against a tree. “Who the heck are you? Dorothy said I got a trick waiting at home.”

  “You do.” Bess felt nervous under Loralee’s scrutiny. “I’m it.”

  Tossing her head back, Loralee cackled. Her hair was sprayed so firmly in place even the tree trunk couldn’t dent it. “But you’re a girl.”

  “Yes…” Better a girl than a mouse! “I’m a girl with money.” Money I took from your nightstand.

  Loralee considered Bess gravely. “You’re not some freaky chick, here to kill me or whatnot?”

  Bess shook her head. “I’m just a girl who wants a little pleasure out of life…like you?”

  “Oh, sister, you got me all wrong.” Cackling again, Loralee pushed herself away from the tree with her foot and stumbled toward the kitchen door.

  Bess’s heart palpitated as she followed. “I took the liberty of brewing some coffee. Want a cup?”

  A grin bled across Loralee’s lips. “I surely would. Thanks a bunch.” She sat at her own kitchen table and allowed Bess to serve her.

  As Loralee sipped her coffee, her hazy eyes found the glimmer of youth. She’d been so vibrant before the drinking, before the whoring. Bess had watched from the walls as girls grew up too fast in this house. She would have been one of them if not for Old Gertie’s magic, and there was more guilt in that thought than Bess could bear.

  “Could I help you take a bath?” Bess asked, watching Loralee’s strong hands grip her mug.

  Loralee looked up from the table, questioning, and then grinned. “Why, sure. What’s your name, anyhow?”

  “Bess,” she replied before contemplating whether she ought to give a false one.

  Rising from the table, Loralee said, “Well, that’s a pretty little name. How’s about you wait here while I use the commode, and then we can get on with that bath?”

  With a polite smile, Bess sank into Loralee’s vacated chair. What a luxury, all this indoor plumbing—hot water that flowed right through the taps.

  When Loralee opened the bathroom door, she was naked as a jaybird and the tub was full of bubbles. The whole room smelled like lavender and heat, and the steam made it tricky to breathe.

  “I gotta admit, little Bess, I ain’t too sure what you wanna do with me.”

  Did Bess know, herself? Her desire for Loralee was a thick pulse at the center of her being. The few times she’d shifted into human form, the transformation was spurred by this same pounding within. Loralee’s nude form, her breasts soft and full, wide hips, and gentle thighs made Bess feel faint. She stood before the tub, shielding the fiery hair below her navel, as though she were shy for Bess to see it.

  “You certainly are a pretty woman.” Bess looked over that pale flesh. “Let’s wash you up.”

  It wasn’t until Loralee hissed upon sinking into the warm bath that Bess realized her mistake: Loralee hadn’t been shy of Bess seeing her pubic hair, but rather the cuts on her thighs. Bess’s heart sank as she wondered if this might all be a terrible idea, but how else could she act as savior to this poor woman?

  Perching on the edge of the tub, Bess scooped water into her hands and let it trickle down Loralee’s full, weighty breasts. It felt funny to do all this, to touch things.

  Loralee sighed and leaned back in the water, sinking her big hair below the crackling bubbles. When she emerged, her hair was dark, saturated, sheets of water flowing from it. Her makeup ran off in black lines.

  Bess reached for the flannel and ran a plain white bar of soap across it. “Mind if I help you wash up your face?” When Loralee jerked away, she said, “I promise I’ll be gentle.”

  “Well…” Loralee sat a little straighter. “What can I say? You’re the john, Jane.”

  “Bess,” she corrected before recognizing the joke.

  They both chuckled. Bess was so nervous she scarcely touched Loralee on the first pass. She gasped when the girl took her by the hand. There was such longing in Loralee’s gaze, and Bess felt a glittering sensation all around her heart. It coursed downward, too, like the wet bubbles running down Loralee’s breasts, a hot tremor between her legs.

  Loralee rinsed her face when Bess finished scrubbing those ground-in layers of makeup. Years of cosmetics, caked on, forming a mask against her skin. Now it was gone, and all that remained was Loralee, her face rosy red from the heat and the pressure.

  “Why, you’re even prettier now than you were before,” Bess sighed. Loralee must have believed it because she didn’t contradict her, not even a laugh. “Can I wash your hair now?”

  With a wink, Loralee said, “Nah, I’ll deal with that mess. You work my front, doll.”

  Bess’s heart beat wildly, and she wasted no time running her washcloth down Loralee’s long neck. Despite her fierce desire, Bess was shy about touching. She stared at Loralee’s dark puckered nipples. Her heavy breasts had a funny sort of tan from low-cut blouses, diagonal lines running down to meet where her pushed-up cleavage would sit in a brassiere, lines separating dark from light.

  Loralee had her hands over her head now, pressing shampoo against her scalp and lathering suds. She looked like a princess, and that made Bess even more anxious about touching her.

  “Ain’t ya gonna wash my chest?” Loralee’s voice was downy and welcoming even as she stuck out her breasts and waved them side to side. Bess was mesmerized by the motion. “Aww, don’t be shy.”

  Bess swallowed past the lump in her throat. Her washcloth hovered above Loralee’s breasts, droplets falling gently on those pert nipples. While Loralee washed her hair, Bess courageously pressed soapy cloth to skin, rubbing round and round. She even worked up the nerve to touch one breast with her bare hand, and the sensation made her dizzy. Oh, Loralee’s flesh was softer than Bess ever imagined. This girl wasn’t as hard, as calloused and secure, as those wretched men thought. Loralee was precious, and Bess wanted her to remember that.

  “Want to wash my pussy?” Loralee rose and sheets of sudsy water coursed from her body. She leaned against the tile wall.

  Staring straight into that dark bush, Bess gulped in fear and in awe. There were so many things she’d like to do with that pussy, but cleaning it seemed like a good start. She pressed her palm flush to Loralee’s bush. The girl moaned when Bess moved her hand up and down, hoping she’d strike the girl’s clit if she kept at it. She gazed at the puffy pink wounds Loralee had inflicted the night before, and whimpered.

  When Bess pressed two fingers inside Loralee’s pussy, she couldn’t believe how hot it was, how slippery wet. The yearning sigh that passed through Loralee’s lips made Bess’s pelvis throb. She pressed the meat of her palm against the engorged clit poking out between plump pussy lips. The glistening redness drove Bess out of her senses, and she lunged for Loralee’s breast, sucking with brutish intensity.

  “Oh, little Bessie!” Loralee cradled Bess’s head in her hands. “Baby, that feels so nice!”

  Bess moved to the other tit, licking and sucking that pebbled nipple. Loralee’s flesh tasted like white soap and lavender, so clean and fresh. As her arousal built, Bess’s body took over. Her fingers, three now, fucked Loralee’s pussy hard, pausing only momentarily so her palm could mash that distended clit. Loralee gasped and groaned, bunching Bess’s hair with wet hands.

  “Is this what you came here for?” Loralee squealed and moaned. “You’re paying to make me come?”

  “Yes!” Bess cried, pressing her cheek against one breast while she lapped the other. “I want you to feel good.”

  Climbing into the tub, soaking the hem of her dress, Bess kissed Loralee’s mouth. It tasted like coffee, and the flavor was exhilarating. Loralee’s tough tongue danced with hers, and the heat rendered Bess breathless. She let herself collapse against Loralee’s wet chest, but that only made her wish she were naked, too. When she fiddled madly with her buttons, Loralee laughed. “Come on now, little one. Let’s get in the bedroom and do this right.”

  Loralee didn’t seem to realize her hair was still a beehive of white bubbles until Bess pointed it out. Stepping out of the tub, she crouched over the ledge to wash it out. Bess’s torment only increased as she observed the sway of Loralee’s plump backside. She reached out to touch it, and surprised herself by squeezing that rounded flesh, digging her fingernails in and grabbing on.

  Swinging around with surprise, Loralee splashed the tile with wet hair. After a moment, her expression faded from alarm to arousal. She quickly stole a towel from the hanger and swaddled her sopping locks.

  “That’s it, you!” Loralee leapt from the bathroom, streaming toward the boudoir. “To bed, I said! And get yourself out of them clothes, you hear?”

  Bess abandoned her frock while Loralee retrieved a bottle of scented oil from her dresser. “Am I going to rub you with that?” Bess asked.

  “Not if I get you first!” Loralee chased her naked onto clean sheets, straddling her waist and pouring the sweet-smelling oil between her breasts

  When Bess stole the bottle away in a fit of giggles, Loralee laid hands on Bess’s sizzling flesh, tracing oil in circles around her tits, taking their peaked nipples between her fingers and squeezing. Of course, Loralee’s hands were so slip-slidey with oil they couldn’t get a grip, but it sure seemed like fun trying. That’s why Bess sprinkled thick droplets of oil across Loralee’s big breasts and traced her hands around those globes. Gosh, Bess could never get tired of this.

  And then Loralee slowed the pace and her laughter subsided. In slow back-and-forth motions, she brushed her big bush over the wispy hair of Bess’s little pussy. Bess was mesmerized by the sensation. It wasn’t enough, just barely a feather touch, but she was sure, oh so sure, it would evolve into something more.