"Hey Kimmie, I'm having dinner with friends and I'd like you to join me." Her father asked.
"Sure, with who?" She asked. Kimberly was a small, slim girl with long brown hair. She had just finished high school and had turned eighteen yesterday.
"The Busch's, you don't know them. I, I'm trying to complete a trade with them."
After her mom died Kim began to act as hostess for his business dinners. She loved the attention and the compliments from his associates. But her father knew that the men would be distracted in leching over the young girl and the women would think it cute that a teen would be so poised and mature.
"What should I wear." She asked.
"Why don't you wear that new dress you were telling me about." He replied.
"Cool." She said smiling. Thinking about the silky new slip dress and strappy sandals she had purchased.
"Daddy, where do the Busch's live?" She asked as they rode in the car.
"In a white house honey, some where on this road." Her father replied.
He slowed and turned the car into a yard. The homestead was composed of several trailers and a large ramshackle white house. Livestock wandered about the yard and drilling equipment was strewn about.
On the porch was a group of men and boys. Several of them looked alike with blank stares and smirks on their faces. A very old man sat in a rocker.
"What a dump she said." She said.
"Quiet," her father reprimanded her.
"Hello Poppey," her father called out as he stepped from the car. "Let's go," he said to her.
Her father bound across the yard and shook Poppey's hand vigorously. Kim was left on her own to navigate the broken and muddy yard. The high heels and tight dress made walking difficult. She was self conscious from the men staring; they were entertained by her problems and made no effort to help her.
As she reached the porch, Poppy suggested that they all go inside and have some beer and barbecue.
"Walker, Herm, you boys help old Strom."
They went into the house, Kim looked around, the place was dirty and badly worn. The kitchen table was a piece of plywood over two sawhorses. One of the boys offered her a beer. She turned it down. A large platter of ribs was placed on the table. They were surprisingly good. Her father ignored her through out the dinner. He was engaged in a quiet conversation with Poppey and the man they called Baker, every now and then they would pause and look at her.
On either side of her sat a Busch boy. They kept touching her legs as she tried to eat; another tried to caress her calf with a dirty bare foot.
