Time for a short story...

THE BEST LAID PLANS 

By the time I reached the outskirts of Phoenix, I was exhausted. It had been a long, hard drive out of Texas, beginning at Lackland AFB near San Antonio, with occasional stops to fill the gas tank, gulp down food in a greasy spoon, and visit the men’s room. Day 1 took me through Sonora and on to El Paso. Day 2 through Lordsburg, Tucson, and into Phoenix. Two more days on the road and I’d be home, or at least what used to be home. My four-year enlistment in the Air Force was done. It was time to get on with my life.

My eyes blinked open in the Phoenix motel room, then snapped shut again. The glare of the sun through the blinds produced an instant headache. I should have closed them and pulled the drapes last night, but all I could do was drop my bag and collapse on the bed. Now it was time for a pep talk. Okay, Fred, make a plan. Shower, shave, fresh clothes, find a nice, clean coffee shop for breakfast. Then it’s back on the road. You’re halfway home.

My day plan was going down like clockwork. I sat in the booth at Denny’s, enjoying a third cup of coffee, studying a roadmap. The path was clear—stay on I-10 through the desert and into LA, then up the I-5 to NorCal. Just one more night in a motel, then cruise on home. A prominent dot on the map caught my eye: Las Vegas. I’d never been there, never seen Sin City, except on TV. I pictured the great resort hotels—The Dunes, The Sands, The Riviera—with the giant marquees out front. Who would be playing Las Vegas? Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, Sammy Davis Jr.?

My little nest egg was locked in the suitcase in the trunk of my nearly new 1966 Mustang. It came to a little more than five grand, enough to get me settled back home until I could find a job. I’d have to stretch that five thou to cover my long-range goals, including a couple of years at a community college. But…what if? What if I went to Vegas, took a little of my stash and rolled the dice, so to speak? Could I turn that five grand into seven, or even ten?

I got back on the road and headed north, toward Wickenburg, Kingman, and Boulder City. Five hours later, my heart raced when the skyline of Las Vegas came into view. I found a motel just outside downtown, away from the strip. The new plan was to get some sleep and then hit the clubs around 2:00 a.m., when the tourists go to bed and the real gamblers come out. But first, there was someone in Texas I needed to talk to. She answered on the second ring.

“Hi, Jill.”

“Hi…where are you?”

“I’m…uh…I decided to stop in Vegas.”

“Oh shit, Fred! What are you doing? That wasn’t part of your ‘grand plan.’”

“It’s just for a day. Nothing more.”

“Yeah, right…” She was quiet. I could feel her disappointment.

“Listen, Jill…I’m sorry about the way we ended it. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“I get it…believe me, I do. You’ve got to do what you’ve got to do.”

“You could have come with me. I asked you. Several times.”

“You know I can’t do that. I’ve got my job, my house, my mom depends on me.”

I knew she was right. Jill was older than me, in her early thirties, well established in her career as a surgical nurse, and devoted to the care of her elderly mother.

“This doesn’t mean I’ll be gone forever,” I said. “If I come back—”

“You can’t have it both ways, Fred. I can’t promise to wait around.”

“I know, Jill. I just wanted to say I’m sorry. You’re the best thing that ever—”

There was a muffled sound on the phone and the line went dead. Oh crap, Fred! You handled that like an idiot. Call her back…do it now. Nah, you’ll just make it worse. Call her later…maybe tomorrow. Hit the shower, get some rest. You’ve got a big night ahead.

***

I stepped into Binion’s on Fremont Street around 2:00 a.m. and found a blackjack table with only two other players. The game is called Twenty-One, but that’s not the object. The object of the game is to beat the dealer, and I was sure I had the method down pat—when to hit, when to stay, when to double down, and so on. I watched the run of the cards, increasing my bet when I judged the deck to be face-card rich and the odds would tilt in my favor. And it was working, the cards running my way, my stack of chips growing. Before long, I was alone at the table. The dealer was a pleasant middle-aged woman. I tipped her well and often.

“Would you like something to drink?” The voice came from my right. It was a cocktail waitress with a lovely smile, wearing an outfit that revealed long, beautiful legs.

I smiled back. “Yeah, I’ll have a rum and Coke, two limes. And please don’t stand there too long.”

“What?” She looked puzzled.

“I can’t concentrate on the cards while you’re standing there with those legs.”

She laughed out loud. “Oh, you’re one of those charmers, aren’t you. I’ll be right back with your drink.”

She was as good as her word, back in short order, setting the drink on a coaster to my right. I said thanks and tipped her while covering my eyes. That drew another laugh. I uncovered my eyes and took a good look. She was about my age—mid-twenties—fresh and pretty, long auburn hair that reached her waist. Her name tag read, Angelina.

“Looks like you’re doing pretty well,” she said, glancing at my stack.

“Not bad. But I changed my mind. Maybe you could just stand there and bring me luck.”

“Nope, gotta work, lots of thirsty people.” There were several drinks on her tray, and she moved away to deliver them. “I’ll be back,” she called over her shoulder.

I looked at the dealer. She rolled her eyes as if to say, “Damn horny kids!” Her relief dealer came to the table, a guy who looked to be in his fifties. He nodded and went about shuffling the deck. I should have walked away right then, because from that point on, the cards turned sour.

Angelina was back several times with fresh drinks. “Oh my,” she said, “looks like the worm has turned.”

“You got that right.” I tried to smile.

She leaned close to my ear. “You know booze and gambling do not mix.”

I turned to look at her. I knew she was right. But her job was to keep the players at the tables well-oiled. Did she really give a damn? And then she was gone. My luck continued its downward slide, and I was dipping into my wallet, pulling out good money to chase my losses.

The next time Angelina came by, she set a glass of ice water on my coaster. “The bar ran out of rum,” she said. She wasn’t smiling.

I got the message. She was doing me a favor, trying to save me from myself. Well, this is a fine mess you’ve gotten us into, Fred. Depending on a stranger to bail you out. Better make a new plan. “When does your shift end, Angelina. Love that name, by the way. Mine’s Fred.”

She paused a beat, then smiled at me. “I’m off in about thirty minutes.”

“Wanna get something to eat?” I looked at my watch. “How ’bout breakfast?”

“Breakfast sounds good. In the meantime, go take a walk outside, get some fresh air. There’s a café on this floor. I’ll meet you there around six.”

I watched her walk away on those beautiful legs.

***

The clock on the bedside table read 1:00. From the light in the room, I took that to be afternoon. I turned and there was Angelina smiling at me, her dark brown eyes shining.

“Hey. You slept like a log,” she said. “Anyone ever tell you that you snore? I mean really snore!”

“Sorry ’bout that. Did I keep you awake?”

“Just a little. But it was worth it.”

“Yeah, it was. You were…what’s the word I’m looking for?”

“Wonderful?” She smiled.

“Yeah, that’s it. You were won-der-ful.” I stretched every syllable.

“So, Freddie,” she said, mocking my name, “how long are you going to be in town?”

“The plan was to leave today…but…”

“But what?” She searched my eyes. “Oh no, let me guess. You left a lot of money at Binion’s and you want to go win it back.” She waited. “Well…am I right?”

“Hey, I was going really good, then I got a little drunk and made some bad decisions.”

“Save your breath, dummy. Do you know how many times I’ve heard that sad story in this town? How much did you lose?”

I didn’t answer.

“Okay, how much do you have left?”

“About a grand.” It was less than that, but I couldn't own up to it.

“Look, here’s what you do. Wherever you’re going, take that money, put it in an envelope, and mail it to someone you know. Ask them to hold it for you. Because if you don’t, you’ll blow every last dollar at the tables. Are you listening to me?”

I turned away. I couldn’t look her in the eye. She was right. I was the prototypical loser, one of the multitude of suckers that keep the casinos rolling in dough. It was quiet for a minute.

“So…” she began, her voice softer now, “where are you going? What’s your plan?”

I turned to face her. “I’m going home, back to the town where I grew up. I’m going to find a job, maybe something part-time, and I’m going to enroll at the junior college there. I still have my athletic eligibility, so I can play baseball for a couple of seasons. After that, I’ll transfer to a four-year school. I want to get my degree, earn a teaching credential, and become a teacher and a coach. Probably teach P.E.” I laughed. “You know what they say—those who can…do, those who can’t…teach, and those who can’t teach…teach P.E.”

“Very funny. So, where is this magical hometown?”

“Vallejo, California,” I said. “It’s in the North Bay, north of San Francisco. Ever hear of it?”

“Nope. Can’t say I have. What’s it famous for, other than baseball players?”

“It’s a Navy town. Mare Island Naval Shipyard. It’s a big repair depot. They build a lot of ships there, too. They’re building nuclear submarines these days. It’s a big deal, thousands of civilian jobs on The Yard.”

“Got a place to live there? Maybe an old girlfriend who will take you in?” She grinned at me.

“Yeah…well…that’s where it gets a little sketchy. My dad and stepmom moved to Utah. I’m planning to stay with my best buddy’s mom. She’s got a spare room, added to the back of the house, even has a private entrance off the patio.”

“Does she know you’re coming?”

“No. Not yet. But I was always her favorite and I know she’ll take me in. I always called her ‘Moms’ and she treated me like a son.”

“Oh, my God!” She laughed out loud. “Look out, Moms, here comes Freddie.” She was quiet for a few seconds. “And you had this bankroll, this nest egg you saved up, and now most of it is gone. Am I right?”

“Yeah,” I said.

Angelina got out of bed and walked across the room while I admired her exquisite backside. She opened the desk drawer and found an envelope, a pen, and a notepad.

“Okay, write a note to Moms, tell her to hold the enclosed cash for you. Put what’s left in the envelope. You’re gonna mail it to her.”

There was no use resisting. I slipped on my boxers, went to the desk and did what she told me to do. Angelina said we could get a stamp and mail the letter downstairs in the office. We showered together, then went to check out. The guy at the front desk had a stamp for me, and I asked him to add my letter to the outgoing mail. We left the office and headed for Angelina’s car in the parking lot.

“So…what are you doing today? Do you have to work?” I didn’t want to let her go.

“No, it’s my day off. I have a class tonight at UNLV.” She smiled. “Yeah, that’s right, I’m a college girl. Can you believe it?”

“Absolutely.” I pulled her close for one last look at those beautiful brown eyes. “I’ll never forget you, Angelina.”

“I know,” she said.

She kissed me softly, then opened her car door and got in. I watched her pull out of the parking lot, onto the boulevard heading north. I turned and went back into the office. The guy at the desk seemed surprised to see me.

“Sorry to bother you,” I said, “but I forgot something important. I need to retrieve my letter.”

He looked at me skeptically, then reached under the desk and handed the envelope to me. I thanked him and headed for my car in the lot. Binion’s was only fifteen minutes away.

***

The object of Twenty-One is to beat the dealer. Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose, and sometimes the losing is so brutal it can leave you with your head in your hands. Like the dealer is sitting on 15 and hits it with a 6. Or he throws you a 5 when you double down on 11, then takes a hit to make 17. Or you split aces and wind up losing both hands. That’s the way the money goes, and it didn’t take long. I walked out of Binion’s flat broke.

There was a lot of summer daylight left as I approached the highway intersection. I pulled the Mustang to the side of the road and sat there, the engine idling, the air conditioner losing the battle with the desert heat. I stared at the torn envelope addressed to Moms sitting on the seat next to me, the product of a lot of shitty choices.

But was it too late?

I couldn’t undo all those choices, but I could start with one. I merged into traffic, turned right at the intersection and headed south, back to Texas. The new plan was to call Jill when I reached Phoenix. I’d have plenty of time to think of something to say.