Read Joan Hess - Arly Hanks 04 for Free Online

helping to feed little heathen children in Africa or to do something about those disgusting homeless people."
    Perkins's eldest took the bucket and went outside to dump the scummy gray water on the shrubs. "Because," Mrs. Jim Bob continued, "it's vital that we share with the less fortunates and the heathens. It seems I'm to play the role of a kindly widow woman who gives shelter to an innocent girl in order to protect her virtue. I must say, I wouldn't have accepted a part in which I did anything less."
    Jim Bob came through the back door, stealthily opened the refrigerator to extricate a beer, and went back outside to lie in the hammock and dream about movie stars. On his way across the yard, he nodded to Perkins's eldest, who was taking down sheets from the clothesline.
    Mrs. Jim Bob took a deep breath. "I asked the woman, a Miss Lowenberg or something, the names of my costars, but I only recognized one: Anderson St. James. He was in one of my soaps for years, and I always thought he had a civilized air about him, even though the script called for him to act rather crudely to his wife. Do you recall him?" She took the ensuing silence as a negative. "Perhaps you wouldn't, since you don't have a television out in that disreputable excuse for a house. I was telling Eula just last week that I was amazed to hear you had plumbing."
    Perkins's eldest accepted a few dollars from Jim Bob and trudged down the driveway, looking like she was thinking about something. It could have been about her next cleaning job, or it could have been the result of gas. Perkins's eldest took secret pride in being an enigma.
    Mrs. Jim Bob lost interest in the Perkins residence. "I asked when they would send me a script. The woman, who claimed to be the assistant director, said not to worry about my lines, that I was obviously quick-witted enough to learn them in a Hollywood minute -- whatever that is. I asked her which days I would be filming so that I could have my hair done, and she said it was impossible to decide ahead of time." She tightened her mouth for a minute as she faced an unpleasant reality. "I'm going to be forced to use Estelle. If I don't know until the last minute, I simply won't have time to run into Farberville to have my regular girl do my hair."
    Jim Bob let the sunshine wash over him like he was in a hot tub with a hot number. Life was verging on perfect, even if his screwy wife was inside shouting at the walls. A tidy sum for letting them use the house, and as the owner, the right to be there to watch over his property. And he sure as hell was going to watch over Gwenneth D'Amourre. When that Hollywood woman had called to say how grateful Miss D'Amourre would be if he allowed them to use the house, why, Jim Bob had been obliged to cross his legs to keep from wetting his pants. He'd recognized the name immediately, in that he always managed to catch a movie or two in the motel room when he was down in Hot Springs for the Municipal League tomfoolery. Tanya Makes the Team, he thought with a lazy grin. Gawd, she'd made the team all right, and done it darn well.
    He lowered his foot and pushed to set the hammock into motion, then lapsed into a most intriguing fantasy.
    "But I'm not sure if the turquoise taffeta is quite right," Mrs. Jim Bob said to the doorway. "I suppose a widow woman might wear something dark, although there's no reason why it has to be dowdy. My navy wool with the lace collar might be better. What do you think?" She waited politely for a moment. "No, I guess you're not the one to give wardrobe advice, are you? I think I'll see if Lottie's stopped chattering."
    This time the telephone began to ring, and Mrs. Jim Bob decided to allow Perkins's eldest to work undisturbed.
     
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    "But Raz," Ruby Bee said plaintively, having already tried sternness and also a futile stab at reasonableness, "Marjorie is a barnyard animal. She's supposed to be outside."
    Raz loosed a stream of tobacco juice into a