^
jtdl/HetA. looked confused.
“What clothes?” she asked.
“The clothes you’re wearing,” the visitor said.
Scimeca nodded, vaguely.
“OK,” she said.
“I’m not happy with the smile, Rita,” the visitor said. “It’s slipping a little.”
ar> 5)
Sorry.
^U/l/U/’W <^/t^ 333 "Check it out in the mirror, tell me if that's a happy face." Scimeca turned to the mirror. Gazed for a second and started working on the muscles in her face, one by one. The visitor watched her reflection. "Make it a big one. Real cheerful, OK?" Scimeca turned back. "How's this?" she said, smiling as wide as she could. "Very good," the visitor said. "You want to make me happy, right?" "Yes, I do." "So put your clothes in the bag." Scimeca took off her sweater. It was a heavy knit item with a tight neck. She hauled the hem up and stretched it over her head. Shook it right side out and leaned over and dropped it in the bag. Second layer was a flannel blouse, washed so many times it was soft and shapeless. She unbuttoned it all the way down and pulled the tails out of the waistband of her jeans. Shrugged it off and dropped it in the bag. "Now I'm cold," she said. She unbuttoned the jeans and undid the zip and pushed them down her legs. Kicked off her shoes and stepped out of the jeans. Rolled the shoes and the jeans together and put them in the bag. Peeled off her socks and shook them out and threw them in, one at a time. "Hurry up, Rita," the visitor said. Scimeca nodded and put her hands behind her back and unhooked her bra. Pulled it off and tossed it in the bag. Slipped her panties down and stepped out of them. Crushed them into a ball and threw them into the bag. The visitor closed the neck of the bag and dropped it on the floor. Scimeca stood there, naked, waiting. "Run the bath," the visitor said. "Make it warm, since you're cold." Scimeca bent down and put the stopper in the drain. It was a simple rubber item, secured by a chain. She opened the faucets, three-quarters hot and one-quarter cold. "Open the paint," the visitor said. Scimeca squatted down and picked up the screwdriver. Worked the tip into the crack and levered. Rotated the can under the screwdriver, once, twice, until the lid sucked free. "Be careful. I don't want any mess." Scimeca laid the lid gently on the tile. Looked up, expectant. "Pour the paint in the tub." 334 1"&A( She picked up the can, both hands. It was wide, not easy to hold. She clamped it between her palms and carried it to the tub. Twisted from the waist and tipped it over. The paint was thick. It smelled of ammonia. It ran slowly over the lip of the can and poured into the water. The swirl from the faucets caught it. It eddied into a spiral pattern and sank like a weight. The water started dissolving the edges of the spiral and thin green color drifted through the tub like clouds. She held the Can upside down until the thick stream thinned, and then stopped. "Careful," the visitor said. "Now put the can down. And don't make a mess." She turned the can the right way up and squatted again and placed it gently on the tile next to the lid. It made a hollow, empty sound, damped slightly by the residue coating the metal. "Now get the stirring stick. Mix it up." She picked up the stick and knelt at the edge of the tub. Worked the stick into the thick sunken mass and stirred. "It's mixing," she said. The visitor nodded. "That's why you bought latex." The color changed as the paint dissolved. It went from dark olive to the color of grass growing in a damp grove. It thinned, all the way down to the consistency of milk. The visitor watched carefully. It was OK. Not as dramatic as the real thing, but it was dramatic enough to be using paint at all, in the circumstances. "OK, that'll do. Put the stick in the can. No mess."