I’d decided what we were going to do next. And how we were going to do it.
“Good girl. I want you to bend over now, Raylene. And put your head on that step.” I pointed.
Raylene glanced, as if furtively, at the razor strop in my hand. It was obvious what this posture would lead to. “Oh, I see. Jaime, I dunno about this. You’re really going to ..?”
By then I’d stopped worrying when Raylene made one of those little protests. They weren’t exactly insincere, but they were hesitations rather than refusals. They were part of her process for getting used to challenging ideas. So I said, “Of course I am.”
“Yeah, oh my god all right.”
“Raylene . . .”
“I mean, yeah oh my god all right: sir.”
“Yes, love, that’s exactly what you meant. So, do you think you’ll get another stroke for that?”
“You’re right.” I smacked her bottom with the strop, more affectionately than hard. “Now. Because I told you to. Bend over.”