"Don't thank me yet, Betts," she said. "Wait until there's something real to thank me for. Oh, I know, I brought along some high-grade Thai sticks. Leon flies them back from Hong Kong every now and then, picks them up real cheap."

"Thai sticks?" Betty said. "Whatever are you talking about?"

"Don't tell me you don't smoke either, Betts," Barbara Jean said. "What do you do around here all the day alone, sing hymns?"

"No," Betty Sue said, and laughed, "especially not now, not after the new preacher took over the church."

"Oh, what's wrong with him?" Barbara Jean asked.

"He's black, for God's sakes, Babs," Betty said.

"Why, Johan won't even step inside the church any more. I swear half the congregation's resigned. I only go occasionally myself, for appearance's sake."

"Imagine that," Barbara Jean said, lighting a brown-paper hand-rolled cigarette and dragging deeply, holding the smoke down deep in her lungs, "your own black preacher. Bet he's got rhythm. Wonder, how many of the ladies of the congregation have already sacrificed their virginity on his spear of righteousness?"

"Oh, Babs," Betty Sue said, "you are awful! Things like that just don't happen, especially around here."

Babs slowly exhaled, her grin growing broader, more knowing. "Here, Betts," she said, handing the cigarette over to her sister. "Just take a deep drag on this cigarette. You saw what I did. Hold it in and let it fill your lungs good. How's he hung, the black preacher? I've never made it with one of them, but I hear they're real tigers in the sack."

Betty blushed and took the cigarette from Barbara Jean. She really didn't want to smoke it. She never smoked anything and never had, certainly not. What did she call it – Thai weed? – that's dope. Disgusting. Still, if I don't smoke it, she'll keep asking embarrassing questions about the Reverend Billy Dean Donaldson.