She pouted. “Please. I’d like a fire.”

She had the blankets spread all around the floor in front of the fireplace. I dumped the wood in a box, and set the fire with some old newspapers underneath the wood. It caught quickly, and the room became a chimera of fire and shadow.

When I turned around, she was naked, lying there on the blankets.

“Get the money, Jack.”

I didn’t say anything. I got the money bag and brought it back.

“Pour it out,” she said. “Here.” She slapped the blanket between us.

I opened the bag and turned it upside down. The money fell there on the blanket between us, piling up and piling up. I threw the small suitcase across the room, and knelt looking at it.

“It kind of makes you crazy,” I said. “Doesn’t it?”

“Undress,” she said. “Like me. Take your shirt off.”

The firelight was high now, and the flames danced across the ceiling and played like thin wicked fingers across the pile of money.

“Jesus, Jack—just look at it, will you?”

I felt a little crazy, right then. I couldn’t help it.

Shirley knelt by the money. She reached into it with both fists and tossed it into the air, and watched it flutter down. I lay there, watching her. She was beautiful, Christ, they didn’t come any more beautiful than Shirley Angela. Kneeling there with that big pile of money, and the firelight playing across her body, breasts, hip and thigh, her flesh sheened a little with perspiration from the heat so it mirrored the flames—there was never anything like it...