Frank Brown: Wild naughty daughter

The stores hadn't even opened on Main Street, and already the early-summer day was sweltering. Sally had to run on tiptoe quickly across the asphalt at each intersection to the relative coolness of the concrete on the next sidewalk, although even the sidewalks were getting too hot to walk on barefooted.

She really should have worn shoes, she knew, but she'd gone barefoot and had worn her tightest, skimpiest shorts and blouse in the hopes that when she reached the First Baptist Church were her mother was waiting, her mother would turn red-faced with shock at her indecent manner of dress and send her straight home again instead of making her stay around to help serve coffee and doughnuts to the women's group, of which her mother was chairwoman. On her first day of summer of vacation, Sally couldn't bear the thought of spending the morning catering to a bunch of tittering, gossipy, self-righteous women.

She could already see them looking up and down, appraising her. They'd ask her how school had gone this yew. Had she gotten good grades? Wasn't her hair getting just a bit too long? Her mother, of course, who'd been complaining about the length of her hair for months now, would send her straight to the salon to get it hacked off church-woman length.

It wasn't fair. Why shouldn't she be able to grow her hair any length she wanted to? Her brother Mark could do anything and get away with it. He could grow his hair any length, stay out late at night, take girls to drive-in movies – anything. Dad stuck up for Mark, but he let Mom slave-drive her however she wanted to. It was as if Mark belonged to Dad, and she to Mom. Mark could even skip church and Sunday School half the time.

And Dad even skipped church sometimes. Sally knew Dad didn't believe all that Baptist crap that Mom was always fantatically trying to live up to, and trying to stuff down her throat. If Mom kept this up, one of these days, Sally was going to run away.

A car passed by slowly, the boys inside whistling and whooping. They asked Sally if she wanted a ride, but she just stuck her tongue out at them and kept walking. They laughed crazily and squealed off.

Dumb boys! Why wouldn't they ever leave her alone? She couldn't step out the door and walk two blocks without some boy going by in a car and yelling something dirty at her. All they wanted to do was get into her pants. Even Mark looked at her sometimes like he wanted to get into her pants – her own brother! Well, they could all go jump in the lake. No boy was going to get into her pants until she was good and ready for it.

When will you ever be ready for it? a disturbing voice deep inside herself asked. You know that almost all the other girls at school have had boys between their legs, or so they've claimed or implied. Do you want to be the last one to spread your legs for a boy? How much longer are you going to let Mommie's rules control your life? Do you want to end up a Baptist church-woman, spending your days in a church basement eating coffee and doughnuts and gossiping about all the sinners outside?

Sally's heart pounded. She started trotting. The sooner she got to the church, barefooted and half-naked, the sooner her mother would blow up and send her back home. Maybe on the way back home those boys in the red car would pass her again – but this time she just might take that offered ride.

A block ahead was Lipman's Department Store, the largest business in town, and a block beyond Lipman's was the First Baptist Church. It was appropriate that the biggest store in town should be so close to the largest church, because George Lipman, owner of the store, was not only the church's major contributor, but head of the Board of Directors of First Baptist as well. The Lipman name was the biggest name in town. There were people in town who might not know the name of the current mayor, but everybody in town – including the five-year olds – knew the name Lipman. And people came from hundreds of miles away to shop at the famed Lipman's Department Store, which was known throughout the state because of the store's slick television ads, some of which featured George Lipman himself.

Sally crossed the street in front of Lipman's, wincing as the softening asphalt stuck to her bare toes. She danced on the sidewalk, cursing under her breath, and was about to continue on a good clip when movement behind the large glass doors at the grand main entrance of Lipman's caught her eye. A chubby, greasy-looking man was hanging a large sign on the inside of one of the doors. Sally couldn't believe her eyes. In large bold black letters were printed the words: SALESGIRL WANTED.

Sally froze where she stood, astonished. A job at Lipman's was every girl's dream in this town. Every girl's dream only because George Lipman hired only female salespeople – usually of high school or college age. The wages he paid were the envy of many professional people, and the bonuses were many and generous. The prestige of having a job at Lipman's was as great as being on the high school cheerleading team. Jobs hardly ever came open, were never advertised in the newspaper, and Lipman's accepted no advance applications for future jobs that might come open. The rumor was that announcements of openings were passed on by word of mouth from girls who already worked there. Sally stared up at the big sign shaking and almost sick to her stomach. Here was the greatest opportunity she'd ever stumbled onto – a job at Lipman's. But she was dressed like a slut. They wouldn't let her in the door this way, let alone allow her to fill out an application. She wished she were dead.

The short, chubby man was staring at her through the glass door. He had his hands on his hips and a slight frown on his face, a frown Sally could make out even though from this distance she couldn't make out the man's features too well. From his posture he seemed to be saying: Get away, you dirty little streetwalker!

Sally started to turn away when the man suddenly pushed the door open.

"Interested in the position, young lady?" the man called.

Sally couldn't speak for a few moments, then managed to stammer, "Well, yes."

"Come in then, girl, before I wilt in this heat." The man held the door open as Sally stumbled up the concrete steps and slipped past him into the foyer. He then took down the sign he'd just hung up, and opened the inner glass doors and ushered her into the store, which wouldn't be open for business for another twenty minutes or so.

"Follow me, darling."

Sally moved in a daze through the air conditioned store, following none other than the man she now recognized as George Lipman himself. He wore shiny black shoes, black trousers and a white shirt, open at the neck and with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. He looked fatter, balder, and older than he did on television. Greasy black hairs were combed across his bald scalp on top. He wheezed slightly as he walked and smelled of deodorant. They passed the glittering Jewelry Department, Ladies' Clothing, and the perfumes. They went around the large fountain at the center of the store. George Lipman led Sally into an elevator. Before the door closed, one of the few other people in the store – a girl Sally recognized as a junior from school – greeted Mr. Lipman.

"Good morning, my dear," Mr. Lipman said. "I'm glad to see you here so bright-eyed and bushy-tailed on your first full-time day."

The girl giggled. "I got here a little early just in case you needed me to do a little extra work for you, Mr. Lipman."

"Why, thank you, my dear, but not this morning. I'm most appreciative of the thought, though."

On the way up in the elevator, Mr. Lipman stroked Sally's hair.

"So fine," he said. "Like spun gold. And you've grown it almost to your waist."