She bid me to rise and pointed at what I was to wear—my old dress, the one I had been wearing when I came to her. “Come down to the parlor when you are presentable,” was all she said. When I stepped into the parlor, Big Jim stood ready at Opal’s elbow. A large, vulgar-looking woman, all the more slovenly in appearance for her soiled skirt and shirtwaist, looked me up and down. “Aye. She’ll do.” She latched on to my arm with a hand like a manacle. I clawed at the hand—until Big Jim flexed his fingers. “What are you doing?” I stared at Opal. I was bruised and in a great deal of pain from the beating I’d received the night before. But I was still defiant. “Meet Ethyl Moyer,” Opal muttered through thinned lips. “I have loaned you to her for a time—time enough, I hope, for you to learn gratitude. You are one of my best moneymakers, Red, but your attitude creates more difficulties than benefits for me. Your attitude must, therefore, be corrected. When you have learned to be grateful, and when you beg me to take you back, I will consider doing so.”
