Lady
Luck
by
Gay M. Walker
The cook reached
for the pot, a
smug grin on his
acne-scarred face.
She watched, waited
until he almost
had what he was
after before speaking
with quiet certainty.
"Not so fast.
I believe my straight
flush beats your
four fucking aces."
At least she'd
be kept hold of
her bra and one
shoe, preserved
that much of her
dignity.
A series of whistles
and booms signaled
the fireworks'
finale at the
nearby college
stadium.
"Football
game's ended,"
said the busboy.
"Looks like
I get to keep
the shoe."
He gave her a
grin, dangled
the sling-back
pump from his
index finger,
and leaned in
close, his breath
hot on her cheek.
"What's it
worth to you sweetheart?
Or will you be
working your shift
without it?"
"There
ain't enough money
in the world as
could make me
deal with the
likes of you,"
she said. She
slapped his face
away. Damn kid
folded as soon
as he'd looked
at his cards.
If only he'd placed
a bet first, she
might have won
it back. Now she'd
have to try again
next week. "So,
boys, again next
Friday?"
They nodded.
She stood up,
tied her apron
and prepared to
meet the onslaught
of customers.
The first of the
alumni would walk
through the door
any minute now,
followed by the
students who thought
they had something
to prove, who
thought it meant
something that
they were hanging
out in a no-account
pizza joint bar,
instead of Chuck
E. Cheese or one
of the other family
places.
The first customers
to arrive were
regulars, came
in after every
game, no matter
what the sport.
Some of them brought
their wives, had
been coming in
for years. At
least they took
pity on her odd
limp-like walk,
asked her if she'd
gotten hurt, if
Fred had punched
her again.
"Fred?
That sorry ass?"
She laughed as
she slid mugs
and pitchers of
beer onto their
tables. "No.
He's safely in
jail, and I done
put him there."
"Well,
what about those
other creeps you
been dating?"
asked Sally. "Tom,
Dick... and that
last guy, Harry?"
No. Nor Steve
or George or Amos
or Ted or any
of the half dozen
other men she'd
gone out with,
because she studied
karate now and
had earned her
red belt. She
was a new woman.
Men didn't mess
with her anymore,
not if they were
smart. "No.
I'm fine. No pain.
Not in my bones.
Not in my heart.
I just lost my
shoe to that prick
of a busboy when
I was playing
poker. Don't know
what the hell
he's going to
do with a lady's
left shoe, though--but
maybe I can guess."
She'd flicked
her wrist and
pranced. The customers
laughed.
She didn't say
she sure as hell
needed to earn
some money, because
that would get
her fired. But
sure as shooting,
money was what
she needed, because
she was going
to have to go
shopping for a
new pair of shoes
in the morning.
Waiting tables
was hard work,
and maybe she
could manage one
shift gimping
around on a single
sling-back pump,
but more than
that and she'd
be a cripple,
no two ways about
it. She couldn't
afford bus fare,
and since the
K-Mart shut down,
a paycheck didn't
stretch as far
as it used to.
She was the kind
of gal that had
to hoof it everywhere,
and she wasn't
going to be hoofing
it much of anywhere
with only one
shoe.
She was just starting
to feel sorry
for herself when
Lady Luck walked
in the door and
dropped a present
at her feet, but
like a lot of
presents, it didn't
look like much
at the outset.
Long after the
rest of the football
fans arrived,
a group of kids
showed up, perhaps
players from the
team, she wasn't
sure, but they
were a cocky lot.
Good-looking,
smooth-talking,
sure of themselves,
with cheerleader-type
girls on their
arms. She'd seen
them before, hadn't
given them a second
glance. One of
the louder boys
in the bunch,
a blonde with
blue-eyes and
a too-wide grin,
waved her over.
He was half her
age, if that,
and he was without
his girlfriend
that night. He
ordered a beer.
She knew root
beer was more
his speed, and
she told him so.
"But
sweetheart,"
he said, flashing
every one of his
pearly teeth,
"I just had
a birthday. I
need something
cold and wet to
celebrate with.
How about you
take that darling
little behind
of yours back
behind that counter
and get it for
me? I'll make
it worth your
while."
"Last
I checked,"
she answered,
"root beer
was pretty cold
and wet. I'll
go get you some."
He laughed and
showed his dimples,
and while he laughed,
he reached out,
grabbed her and
pinched her ass.
Then, before she
could blink, he
spun her around,
stuck a hundred
dollar bill down
her blouse and
kissed her full
on the lips in
front of everybody.
She wanted to
slap him, but
how did you slap
someone that just
gave you a hundred
dollar bill, especially
if that someone
was just an ignorant
kid?
"Here's
my I.D.,"
he grinned. He
handed it to her
wrapped in a fifty.
She held it up
to the light.
It looked real.
It looked like
him, but it said
he was twenty-four.
No friggin' way.
He wasn't a day
over nineteen,
she was sure of
it. Must be an
older brother.
She eyed him suspiciously
and tapped her
foot.
He smiled. "Would
you like to see
the rest of my
wallet? Of course,
you'll have to
sit on my lap
to do it, but
the cards all
match. Come on.
I dare you."
So he'd swiped
his brother's
wallet. She wasn't
buying, but what
could she do besides
get him his damn
beer? She thought
maybe she could
get away with
doing something
to make it, well,
less alcoholic,
so she told him
that she heard
that in Europe
they drank it
mixed with lemonade,
half and half.
"Say hey,
do you want to
try it all exotic
like that and
not the baby way
they drink here
in these United
States?"
He laughed harder,
reached over,
and pulled her
onto his lap.
Then he yelled
at her boss, "Hey,
Russ! I'll pay
you three hundred
bucks, and three
hundred bucks
to the little
lady here, too,
if you'll give
her the rest of
the night off.
That sound okay
to you? I like
her. She's cute,
and I want to
spend some time
getting to know
her. I just might
like to date her."
He pinched her
breasts with both
hands and tried
to kiss her flabbergasted
face, but she
took care of him.
Oh, yes she did.
Before he could
say 'greased lightening,'
she grabbed his
hands and pulled
the right one
to her ass to
fake him out,
bent her elbow
for leverage to
break free, spun
to the left toward
him to deliver
a karate chop
to his other arm,
and laid him flat
out on the floor
in front of his
friends. What
kind of a girl
did he think she
was? Just because
she was walking
around missing
a shoe didn't
mean she was easy.
She had standards.
She wished she'd
slapped him earlier
when she had the
chance.
"Hey,
there," said
one of his friends,
pointing. "What
is it with you
man? You keep
falling for the
feisty ones."
"Not
as good with the
ladies as you
thought, eh?"
jeered another.
She ignored him,
ignored the jeers
of his friends.
From a dark corner
of the restaurant
came the musical
sound of women
laughing. She
recognized that
emotion. Eyebrows
raised, she went
in search of the
source. She found
two young women,
one of them dark-haired
with red-rimmed
eyes, seated at
a booth. They
looked away with
embarrassment
when she approached.
"Hello,"
she said to them.
"Had it coming,
did he?"
The dark-haired
girl smiled shyly.
"Yes. Yes,
he did. If you
only knew."
"Tell
you what,"
said the dark-haired
girl's friend,
rummaging in her
purse. "Why
don't you take
the evening off,
go out with him."
She grew angry.
"No,
hear me out,"
the friend said.
"Here's another
$300. That'll
make $900 total.
Not bad for a
night or two of
obedience training.
It's what every
dog needs, and
it looks like
you've got the
tools to train
him. What do you
say?"
She looked at
the two young
women skeptically.
The dark-haired
girl shot her
a pleading look.
"You need
some shoes."
She nodded. That
much was true.
After a moment's
thought, she answered,
"We'll start
with down, boy.
Then we'll progress
to sit, heel and
stay."
©
2007 by Gay M.
Walker
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