Half of Paradise

J.P. stood in the wings and listened to Troy sing and the applause afterwards. Then the brunette came on and sang “I Want to Be in My Savior’s Arms,” and he looked at her short-cut hair and Irish peasant face and her abnormally large breasts. She had a slender waist, flat stomach, and wide hips. He thought about laying her, and then he thought about going to a whorehouse later in the evening with Seth. He hoped he could get the job and the advance on his salary. It had taken all his money to come to town and enter the show, and it had been three weeks since he had slept with a woman; if he lost the contest he would have to hitchhike back home, and it would be another month before he could afford Miss Sara’s house out in the country.

The band left the stage, and the contest started. The man with the harmonica and washboard went on first. He held the harmonica in his mouth with his lips and played while he beat out the rhythm on the metal ripples in the washboard with his knuckles.

Three others went on, and it was J.P.’s turn. He walked out on the stage from the wings with his guitar. The lights were hot in his face. The audience was a dark, indistinct mass behind the lights. He sang “Good-Night, Irene,” which had been Leadbelly’s theme song.

I asked your mother for you,

She told me that you was too young.

I wish the Lord I never seen your face,

I’m sorry you ever was born.

Stop rambling and stop gambling,

Quit staying out late at night.

Go home to your wife and your family,

Sit down by the fireside bright

I love Irene, God knows I do

I love her till the sea runs dry,

If Irene turns her back on me

I’m going to take morphine and die.

The crowd liked him and they applauded until he sang it again. They were still applauding when he left the stage.

J.P. propped the guitar against one of the sets and wiped the perspiration off his forehead on his coat sleeve.

“You got on my suit,” Troy said.

“You can have it back. It don’t fit me, nohow.”

“I told him to take the suit,” Hunnicut said.

“I had it cleaned yesterday. He got sweat on the sleeve.”

“Take the goddamn thing back, mister. I didn’t want it in the first place.”

“Take it easy, Winfield. You did fine tonight.”

“Do I get a job with you?”

“You haven’t won the contest yet.”

“Seth said I already had the job.”

“All right, you’re working for me.”

J.P. took a crumpled one-dollar bill out of his pocket and gave it to Troy.

“This will pay for the goddamn cleaning,” he said.

“Where are you going?” Hunnicut said.