The wheezing ceiling fan periodically annointed us with blasts of dust and dead flies. Dense clouds of rank-smelling steam gave the place its distinctive atmosphere. We called it the Swamp.I was the one in charge of the pots, scraping congealed grease off the heavy cast-iron griddles and frying pans, and cleaning the remains of cement-hard mashed potatoes out of dented aluminum cauldrons. Marnie did the plates and silverware in a chipped ceramic sink the size of a washtub. The ancient electric dishwasher sometimes lent a hand -- on the infrequent occasions when it was working.Marnie was probably still in her early thirties, but she looked older. Much older. Her hair was starting to streak gray and her face was wrinkled and a bit leathery. She had been married twice and had three brats in school. She didn't have much in the way of formal education, but she was surprisingly well-read and had a lively intelligence.Ah, the conversations we had. I felt completely at ease in her presence.. "Your soul is one of the few thatis compatible." My soul?" he asked. Damn her eyes looked good."Mmm, yes," she said, bringing her hand up and running her long fingersthrough his hair. "I can see how perfectly it matches. You will be awonderful addition to our numbers, my love." Our numbers?" he asked softly, not fully following, concentrating onher sensual fingers moving over his scalp."Yes," she said, as she turned his head toward hers giving him a softkiss as she did. "You will be one of our finest I think."The kiss lingered on his lips and he leaned farther toward her to kissher again, their lips locking into another soft but more full mouth kiss.Her tongue danced across his and sent a lovely sensation down his back.She broke away from the kiss and, still stroking his hair, looked deepinto his eyes.Her numbers? What had she meant by that he wondered? It didn't matter,her eyes are so beautiful."God, she looks so good tonight. Maybe she would let me stay tonight ifI played.
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