had been her stage name for as long as she could remember. It came from her mother’s obsession with the movie Gone with the Wind. “Fiddle-dee-dee!” her mom would say as she dressed her daughter up as a Southern belle for child beauty pageants. And whenever they lost to some “little tramp,” her snarl of rejection was always the same: “Tomorrow is another fuckin’ day!” Even then, the girl was aware of her sexual hold over men. She’d seen the ogling eyes of those who attended the various pageants, had noticed how they fidgeted when she performed the vamp routine her mother had taught her. “Let’s play motorboat.” Her stepfather’s name was Hake, but her mom called him Rhett. He was a cokehead who constantly hatched lowlife scams to make a buck, though he succeeded only once. Motorboat was the game they always played before Scarlett went to bed. With one hand, Hake would grab her around the side of her chest, below the armpit; his other hand would slip down to fasten onto her thigh.
