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Now I wait; star spread, balanced on tiptoe, the muscles of my calves and thighs aching, my arms stretched unnaturally high and wide; my limbs fixed. The only movement possible a slight turn of the head or a gentle swaying back and forth of my torso.The entertainment awaits her audience.I like my body powdered; a fine coating to take the sheen off my skin and creates that pallid tone that is so fashionable, that screams of the languid idleness of wealth and the placidness of inner beauty but now, beneath the hot lights, I can feel moisture beading on my skin.I inspect myself in the mirror; there really is nothing else I can do. My body glows, tiny droplets of sweat collect in my plucked and tailored eyebrows and hang heavy on my upper lip. My breasts shimmer as they heave; rivulets cutting through the powder to trickle down my abdomen in dark smears.I look so common; just another body forced to toil beneath the baking lights.I feel delectably debased.My body twitches as I release a. "Oh," she said, and quickly sat beside me on the narrow bed, shaking her head to the side so she would not sit on her hair. "I'm Francine. This is my house." Really?" I said, putting aside the horse pistol and holding down my trembling lance which rose most mornings to an impressive standard, "the whole thing?" Of course," she clearly stated. "My father is Sir Alex. I'm his youngest daughter. And my husband is Captain Fletcher of the Loyal Legion, serving under Lord Cornwallis." She lifted her chin with pride."Is he now?" I said, enjoying the feel of her shoulder and knee, her warmth and smell. She had long arms and legs for a short person."Um hm," she said. "And all these slaves are mine and all the land as far as you can see. Have you looked from the window?" She nodded, almost childlike."Mrs. Fletcher," I said, since it was on the top of my barely-waking mind, "why are you wandering around in the dawn and sitting on a strange man's bed in your nightdress?" That's a good question..
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