Read Online Baby Needs a New Pair of Shoes by Lauren Baratz-Logsted - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lauren Baratz-Logsted
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going to be doing while weâre all doing all of that?â
It was all I could do not to grit my teeth at my posse.
âIâm going to do what I came here to do,â I said. No matter how hard I was trying, the words still came out like bullets. âI. Am. Going. To. Gamble. And, hey, whyâd you all help me and pay for my makeover if youâre just going to take off?â
âHey right back at you,â Hillary Clinton said, always the voice of reason. âJust because you feel the need to gamble all night, it doesnât mean the rest of us canât each have our own brand of fun. Donât worry. Weâll be back in time to take you home.â
âBesides,â Elizabeth Hepburn added, âdoes the Fairy Godmother stick around after waving her magic wand and giving Cinderella the perfect dress and coach? Never.â She shuddered. âThe stage would look too crowded.â
And, just like that, I was alone.
I cruised the inside of the smoke-filled casinoâthere were designated nonsmoking areas, but I knew from the brochure that for the bulk of the action, I needed to be right where I wasâfor a while on my own, taking the lay of the land. After all, even if one hundred dollars seemed like a lot of spare change in my usual life, I knew that if I sat down at the wrong gaming table, that C-note could disappear quickly like so much cash right down the toilet. So I strolled around, studied the slot players, even saw one blue-haired lady hit it big on the jackpot. Maybe, I thought, I should just get two thousand nickels and play until the one-armed bandit caused my arm to fall off? Maybe that way my fortune lay?
I shook my head.
Then I watched the roulette games for a time. It was a game that could be as precise or as general as the player wanted it to be. Sure, Black 27 would be a daring bet that could pay off big, but what were the odds? Then again, how hard could it be to choose between red and black? Fifty-fifty seemed like great odds to me. At least those odds were even.
But, no, I hadnât come for that, either. Nor had I come for poker or baccarat.
I had come for one thing: blackjack.
As I meandered through the tables, though, looking for a place to start, I saw that except for the tables that had the highest minimum bids, bids I couldnât even meet to open, most of the seats were filled. Besides which, my dad had cautioned that it wasnât good enough to just find any table; you needed to find a table where, after studying the dealer for a bit, you had a strong sense you could win.
âBut isnât that kind of, oh, I donât know, unscientific? â Iâd asked him.
âHey, if it was a science,â heâd said, âanyone could win. Besides, youâre too new at this to worry about something more scientific like counting cards. So youâll just have to go with your senses. Oh, and try if you can to get a seat to the far left facing the dealer. Even if you canât count cards, at least from there, the anchor seat, you can get a sense of how the cards are running as the dealer chutes them out.â
And, suddenly, there he was: the dealer of my dreams! He had short red hair and freckled skin with a Vandyke beard and mustache, making him look kind of like the grown-up version of that kid from The Partridge Family. But that wasnât what made him the dealer of my dreams. Who cared what he looked like? Heâd just busted at twenty-three, having been forced to deal himself an Eight to a King and Five. Whatever his luck had been earlier, it was taking a turn for the worse now and I was sure that meant mine would take a turn for the better.
There was just one problem: the seat on the far left was taken up and then some by a big guy in a purple shirt who reeked of cigars.
Oh, well, I sighed, taking the one vacant seat left at the table, right next to Cigar Man, if I waited for conditions to be perfect, Iâd never
It was all I could do not to grit my teeth at my posse.
âIâm going to do what I came here to do,â I said. No matter how hard I was trying, the words still came out like bullets. âI. Am. Going. To. Gamble. And, hey, whyâd you all help me and pay for my makeover if youâre just going to take off?â
âHey right back at you,â Hillary Clinton said, always the voice of reason. âJust because you feel the need to gamble all night, it doesnât mean the rest of us canât each have our own brand of fun. Donât worry. Weâll be back in time to take you home.â
âBesides,â Elizabeth Hepburn added, âdoes the Fairy Godmother stick around after waving her magic wand and giving Cinderella the perfect dress and coach? Never.â She shuddered. âThe stage would look too crowded.â
And, just like that, I was alone.
I cruised the inside of the smoke-filled casinoâthere were designated nonsmoking areas, but I knew from the brochure that for the bulk of the action, I needed to be right where I wasâfor a while on my own, taking the lay of the land. After all, even if one hundred dollars seemed like a lot of spare change in my usual life, I knew that if I sat down at the wrong gaming table, that C-note could disappear quickly like so much cash right down the toilet. So I strolled around, studied the slot players, even saw one blue-haired lady hit it big on the jackpot. Maybe, I thought, I should just get two thousand nickels and play until the one-armed bandit caused my arm to fall off? Maybe that way my fortune lay?
I shook my head.
Then I watched the roulette games for a time. It was a game that could be as precise or as general as the player wanted it to be. Sure, Black 27 would be a daring bet that could pay off big, but what were the odds? Then again, how hard could it be to choose between red and black? Fifty-fifty seemed like great odds to me. At least those odds were even.
But, no, I hadnât come for that, either. Nor had I come for poker or baccarat.
I had come for one thing: blackjack.
As I meandered through the tables, though, looking for a place to start, I saw that except for the tables that had the highest minimum bids, bids I couldnât even meet to open, most of the seats were filled. Besides which, my dad had cautioned that it wasnât good enough to just find any table; you needed to find a table where, after studying the dealer for a bit, you had a strong sense you could win.
âBut isnât that kind of, oh, I donât know, unscientific? â Iâd asked him.
âHey, if it was a science,â heâd said, âanyone could win. Besides, youâre too new at this to worry about something more scientific like counting cards. So youâll just have to go with your senses. Oh, and try if you can to get a seat to the far left facing the dealer. Even if you canât count cards, at least from there, the anchor seat, you can get a sense of how the cards are running as the dealer chutes them out.â
And, suddenly, there he was: the dealer of my dreams! He had short red hair and freckled skin with a Vandyke beard and mustache, making him look kind of like the grown-up version of that kid from The Partridge Family. But that wasnât what made him the dealer of my dreams. Who cared what he looked like? Heâd just busted at twenty-three, having been forced to deal himself an Eight to a King and Five. Whatever his luck had been earlier, it was taking a turn for the worse now and I was sure that meant mine would take a turn for the better.
There was just one problem: the seat on the far left was taken up and then some by a big guy in a purple shirt who reeked of cigars.
Oh, well, I sighed, taking the one vacant seat left at the table, right next to Cigar Man, if I waited for conditions to be perfect, Iâd never
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