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THAT KIND OF FUN MARVIN SHACKELFORD fter lunch—Bobby, her ex-husband, stopped by again Ato take her out, smiling and shaking his head as she talked about wanting to drop face-down in her soup and call it quits—the headache got bad enough that Delta started to cry. Little Jim came through the showroom, whistling and tipping his cowboy hat to customers, and spotted her. She had taken a call and was 68 handling it beautifully, despite the tears creeping down her cheeks. She transferred to the service department and pressed a button on the side of her wiry headset, then slumped to the desk and buried her face in her arms. Little Jim told her she looked like hell. “I quit smoking,” she said. “Third day.” “Oh Law, sugarplum. That’ll make your teeth awful pretty.” Delta brought her head up and stared at him. He said they couldn’t have a girl pretty as her looking so awful right there in the front door and suggested she go home a few hours early. They’d bring a girl up from accounts to cover. Little Jim was actually the older Jim, owner of the car lot and father of a huge and hulking
Appalachian Review – University of North Carolina Press
Published: May 30, 2020
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