I didn’t sleep at all the night I spoke to Betsy on the phone. As Shirley lay guilt-free beside me, I lay frozen with the tension of deceit. My bad blood surged within me instilling me to think of my mother. I knew it was me that was making the choices, but I couldn’t help but feel driven by mother’s indiscretions and, like an addiction, my habit of insincerity pulsed on.

The next morning at work Betsy occupied my mind. As Ellen gave me requests, I fought with the notion of meeting Betsy later that day. Ellen caught me, “Excuse me Fran, I’ve got a busy day and I only want to talk about these socks twice today, once now and once at four when you show me your drawings.”

“I got you Ellen, I’m listening.”

“All right, just know these socks are for low income, cheap. No fancy argyle stitching, but we need a thing that makes them want to buy them.”

“A thing?”

“That’s right.”

“You can’t give me anything more specific than that?”

“You’re the artist dear, that’s why you get paid the big bucks.” She headed out of the office we now shared, when suddenly she stopped at the 1940’s dark wood and paned glass door. She turned, “Remember these are for white poor folk.”

“I’ll remember.” She left and immediately I felt imprisoned. Here I was in this small office at a small desk overlooking the assembly line of workers that were even more imprisoned than I and they were here to sew whatever I drew today. This is what I had been waiting for, but yet I felt shut down. My job was to draw a sock for white trash America, a sock with a gimmick. I hardly wore socks, except in winter and on rainy days so I didn’t have a clue. And when I thought of trailer parks throughout the country, I thought of summer months or hot places. No one lives in a trailer park in Montana. At least I hoped not. First thing, a light sock. Ellen showed me some new synthetic fabric that was pretty light, even though it would be harder for your foot to breath in. However, it would make it cheaper. The other thing is this particular fabric came in fluorescent colors. A spark suddenly hit me. Glow in the dark socks? Maybe not your everyday sock, but everyone would buy one pair. So I began my design. Orange, red, yellow, purple, and blue glow in the dark socks that pulled half way up your calf. Some would have no design, others with flowers, fruit, and other goofy things. I drew a yellow boy’s sock with blue wrenches and continued the rest of the day.

At four o’clock Ellen came back for our meeting. I showed her my clever designs, “Socks you’ve never seen before,” I anxiously announced.

She looked over my twenty-five socks patiently and sighed a tad, but I wasn’t worried. These socks were cool and I knew it.

She lifted her head. “You artists just don’t get business, do you?”

“You said for white trash America.”

“That’s not exactly what I said, but I hear you. The thing is you want to make something that is white trash America, but comes off as classy, not stupid. We’re not looking for a fad, we want them to buy three pairs because they can wear them with everything.”

I saw immediately what Ellen was talking about and felt really stupid, “I suppose these socks are for idiots.”

“No, they’re for twelve year old girls, which isn’t a bad idea, and I’m going to make them, maybe not as many. We’ll see how they sell. If they pick up, we’ll do a quick million and hope for a fad.”

“A million socks.”

“That’s right.”

“Shit, that’s a lot of socks.”

Ellen left smiling at me like a farmer reviews his fields of corn. It was four four-five.

Betsy was waiting for me at five o’clock. As I headed up the path kicking dirt, I watched as she fed a bag of carrots to one particular brown horse. Her jeans were torn above the knee, her sneakers were dirty, and her small tee shirt revealed her svelte stomach and pierced belly button. Without question, I walked up to her and slid my hand across her waist. She knowingly stood allowing and wanting me to do as I pleased.

“You want to go for a ride?” She asked moving her lips alone.

“Yeah, sure, you know I do.”

Betsy had reserved their two best horses. Later I asked her how come she was so confident that I would come. She was quiet, kicked her horse and took off ahead of me. Within a moment I also kicked my horse and followed her up the hill, trailing close behind.