Shelly's Second Chance (The Wish Granters, Book One)

by L B Gschwandtner

  “Look,” she handed it to Joe. “Does this mean anything to you?”

  It was a printed list of names with the last one torn in half at the bottom of the paper scrap. Joe studied it.

  “Just some piece of trash,” he said and dropped the paper. It blew up and over his head and landed in the water pool made by the fountain where it bobbed around and around.

  “That’s strange because in Transition I found a scrap of paper that had names on it of people I’d known and an old address from when I was a child.”

  Joe leaped to his feet and reached out as far as he could to retrieve the soaked paper from the pool. He held the dripping sheet away from his body as if it might bite him.

  “It’s a list of client names,” he whispered. “Of people I defended. The ones I got off. Except for this last one. There’s not enough of it to tell what the name is. What the hell do these guys want from us anyway?”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Shelly marched up to the counter with more confidence than she’d ever had. She slid three of the vouchers across to the cashier. The woman’s reaction wasn’t quite what she’d hoped. Apparently three hundred dollars—while a major, potentially life-changing stake for someone like Shelly—was chump change here in Vegas. Within seconds the woman slid a bucket of quarters back toward her, too bored to even bother meeting Shelly’s eyes. The bucket was so heavy Shelly had to carry it with both hands as she headed straight for the slots. The glamour games like blackjack and craps weren’t for her and, after her poker loss years ago, she’d steered clear of cards. Nah, she was a slots girl. Pump in the coins and push the button. No waiting, no fuss. Somehow she wasn’t at all distracted by the bright lights or all the noise. These were, of course, designed to break down any resistance to the temptations of the game, but Shelly’s defenses didn’t exist anyway, so she plunged in head first and started swimming.

  She had a system for picking her machine. Her birthday was June 8th so she walked to the sixth row of slots and counted her way down to the eighth machine. Luckily it was empty. If she’d found the eighth machine on the sixth row occupied, she’d switch to the sixth machine in the eighth row, a distressing alteration in the plan. Shelly was methodical and superstitious, something that GA had taught her was true of most gamblers. One night the sponsor had suggested rearranging the folding chairs and it had thrown the whole group into a tizzy.

  She slid onto the chair, wedged the big bucket of quarters between her feet and then bent down with one of the small plastic cups they kept stacked beside every machine to scoop up a manageable pile of quarters. Some people played a line at a time or ran a whole board, even the diagonals, but not Shelly. She was a slot machine purist. Besides, the statistician in her required certain tools and programs to figure complex odds.

  Bam, she pushed the first button and a line of lemons dropped down one after the other, snap, snap, snap. Shelly let out a little whoop, and a batch of quarters poured out, nearly filling the slot tray. This was going to be like shooting fish in a barrel. She felt a thrill. Not the usual high that came with the uncertainty of an outcome. This was more like holding a secret. She had power now—an edge. And she was in the driver’s seat for the first time in her life.

  “Wow! Must be twenty-five bucks here. And on the very first play.”

  She vaguely noticed Alanna move to the machine at her left and Joe arrive at the other side.

  “Well,” Shelly said under her breath, popping in another quarter. “I’m the chosen one, right? So it’s supposed to be easy.” The machine ate that quarter and she reached automatically for the next and then another and soon she was feeding the machine as if it was a hungry mongrel.

  “Chosen one?” Joe said with a smirk. “Well I guess you are, honey, but it makes you wonder, doesn’t it? Chosen by who?”

  “Whom,” Alanna said. Joe laughed and shook his head. Shelly reached for another quarter and looked down at her bucket. There were five quarters left. She had doubled her initial chips, lost half of them, won again, lost again, won some more, and now had nothing to show for her effort. It was impossible to tell the time in here. Impossible to know for sure how long she’d been at it. But the way she felt was familiar. Like she’d been had. Spent. Depleted. The bright-colored high was long gone and in its place was a gray sort of feeling. Joe was at her side. He looked into the bucket and shook his head.

  “I thought you were supposed to make my wish come true,” Shelly mumbled. “I’m beginning to think you and that . . . ” she jerked her thumb over toward Alanna, “are just a couple of weirdoes following me around for some reason.”

  “Don’t get discouraged. You have time. You don’t always win in the first round. I’ve done some time at the casinos. You have to be in it for the long haul.”

  Shelly perked up a bit. “Where are you from, anyway?”

  “Let’s not talk about me. You need some sleep. The casinos may stay up all night but there’s no reason why you should.”

  “I’m hungry. Where’s the restaurant?”

  “Good idea,” Alanna said from behind Shelly. “We could all go together.”

  “Do you gamble too?” Shelly turned to Alanna.

  “No. I think this must be my first time in a casino. I don’t get it. All these people sitting around and basically pouring their hard earned money down a toilet. It doesn’t make sense. What exactly is fun about this anyway?”

  They moved down the aisles, past an old woman wearing bifocals, a scruffy looking man with a day old growth of beard, men in loud print shirts with stubby fingers, women with bleached out hair, young, old, middle aged, all of them staring intently at the screen in front of them, pushing buttons, feeding quarters, oblivious to the world.

  “They do look kind of sad,” Shelly mused after they reached the lobby. She glanced back at the casino. “Is that the way I look?”

  “What do they look like to you?”

  “Zombies.” Shelly shook her head.

  “Yeah, they do,” Joe said. “I never played the slots. Poker is my game. Now that’s where you have to employ skill. You’ve got to understand people, be able to read them, to find their tells. It’s like life. You can’t just sit there and let it happen. You’ve got to participate. There’s luck involved but there’s a lot more. Those machines,” he jerked his thumb back towards the bank of slot machines, “are for suckers. Sorry, Shelly. But be honest. The odds are really lousy in there. You should know that better than anyone.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “I want a steak. And red wine. Whatever you think is good. And a baked potato—loaded.” Shelly handed the menu to the waiter. “I had no idea I was so hungry.” She sighed and leaned back in her chair, surveying the restaurant. “Or how late it was.” Turned out she’d been standing at her so-called lucky slot machine for three hours. “How about you two?” She looked at Joe and then Alanna. The waiter did what his title implied.

  “I’m not sure,” Alanna hesitated. She was thinking that a not-drink would be really good right now but Joe ordered a bottle of red wine for all of them and he told the waiter to bring the chateaubriand for two—it was the kind they sliced at the table complete with flaming brandy. He figured what the hell, as long as they were on the tab of whoever had sent them here, they might as well go all out.

  “You do eat meat, don’t you?” he suddenly thought to ask Alanna, but before she could even think about what she was saying she blurted out an answer that sent the whole conversation in a different direction.

  “I’m not sure. That’s one of the things I can’t remember. I’m pretty sure I never gambled before but I don’t know what food I liked.”

  “How can you not know what kind of food you like?” Shelly looked mystified, missing the past tense entirely, and then brightened. “I get it. You have amnesia. Right?”

  “Yeah,” Joe answered before Alanna had time to explain. “We both have amnesia. Can’t remember much of anything.”

  “What are the odds of that?�
� Shelly asked as the waiter showed up with their salads. “Oh you guys are just kidding me. But really, where are you from? Are you a couple or what?” She dug in as if she hadn’t eaten for days.

  “We’re just friends,” Alanna deflected. “And, yes, he’s kidding.”

  She took a bite of salad. It tasted flat. Like cardboard. She ate a few forkfuls and pushed it aside. Joe drank a glass of wine and that seemed to enhance the food for him so Alanna did the same but it didn’t help. She began to feel that pressure again. This would be an awkward time to suddenly find herself in front of Morgan. What would Shelly think if Alanna simply evaporated?

  “Well how did Joe know I was going to win that ticket? I never even heard of a Vegas Chance ticket before.”

  “Just think of us as your guardian angels. Temporarily,” Joe smiled.

  “So far you’re not doing such a great job.”

  “Give us time. We’re kind of new at this.”

  “What Joe means,” Alanna broke in, “is that we never expected you to win big the very first night. You have two more vouchers, bigger ones, and two more days and nights. Anything can happen.” She found herself wishing she knew more about gambling but she really couldn’t remember anything about it. And what if Shelly failed to win in that time? Would they have to stay out here longer? The hotel was posh but the rest of this locale was definitely not Alanna’s cup of tea. Without realizing it she was overwhelmed with the feeling that she was lying on her back floating, up and down, up and down. It was a pleasant feeling but she couldn’t quite remember what it was. Or even if it was a memory. Maybe it was the wine. But her glass was not even half empty. Maybe she was about to be pulled back up. But no, she was still in the restaurant at the table with Joe and Shelly.

  Shelly looked downright glum. “You two may have the luxury of waiting, but I’m up against a deadline.”

  “Meaning?” asked Joe, his mouth full of bread

  “This is my last chance to win big enough to pay off my debts and start over. I promised myself I’d repay Ben for our engagement weekend. If I don’t do it, I’m sure he’ll call off the wedding and I don’t know what’ll happen to me.”

  “You say you’re engaged,” Alanna said. “But you’re not wearing an engagement ring.”

  Shelly gave her a sour little smile. “Trust a woman to notice.”

  “You hocked it,” Joe ventured. Shelly nodded, and Alanna turned away, a bit shocked despite herself. How desperate would a woman have to be to hock her own engagement ring?

  “Ben thinks I’m getting it resized,” Shelly said, “But he’s not going to buy that excuse forever and what happens to me when Ben figures that part out? I’ll lose my condo, I’ll lose my job, I’ll lose my fiancé. You’ve seen my car. It’s not worth anything. I have no other assets to sell. My family already told me not to come begging. I’m all alone.” Tears welled up. Her eyes reddened. She sniffed loudly. “You guys are my very last chance.” Then the tears really started to flow. “And I don’t even know who you are or why you’re here.”

  At that moment two waiters wheeled over a side table and set down a domed dish with the chateaubriand under it. One of them lifted the cover with a broad hand gesture—evidently he doubled as a dancer in one of the shows or perhaps a magician’s assistant in an all-gay cabaret—and, right on cue, the three of them turned to watch the presentation. Shelly wiped her eyes and gamely took another swig of wine. A bit of razzmatazz and a burst of fire, then within minutes they all had steaming plates of beef in front of them. A silence fell over the table as they began to eat.

  Alanna ate a little bit but still nothing had any taste. Joe wolfed his down as if he hadn’t eaten for years. Just like a man, Alanna thought and, as the thought formed, she had another feeling behind it, a sort of gentle happiness, a sense of being buoyed up by something, of being safe and cherished but also a feeling of being stifled. It was a confused mix.

  “Okay, I’m really tired now,” Shelly said, pushing back from her seat with a sigh, “ I’m going back to my suite and fall into that big bed. Wherever you came from and whoever you are, just make sure you’re around tomorrow because you promised I was going to win. I didn’t come all the way out here to prove everybody was right about me being a loser.”

  They all stood up and, with an elaborate sigh, Shelly turned away and wobbled toward the door. Alanna and Joe simply de-manifested.

  It says a lot about Vegas that not a single soul noticed they were gone.

  Chapter Sixteen

  When Shelly passed a large mirror and got a good look at herself, she was horrified to discover that indeed she did look a lot like those other people who’d been plying the slots for days on end. And she had just started. Instead of going straight to bed, she found the beauty shop nearby—open 24 hours every day—and pulled out the hotel upgrade certificate. Shelly marched in and told the first beautician in line to fix her up.

  They went to work on her hair first and then sat her down at a manicure station.

  “What have you been doing?” the girl asked her. “Looks like you’ve been working as a brick layer or something. I suppose you want acrylic?”

  “Yes,” Shelly studied her haircut in the mirror behind the manicurist’s head. “And I want a really hot red.”

  “Big date?” asked the woman.

  “Yes,” Shelly nodded. “I have a date with success.”

  The woman giggled. They got all kinds in the salon. Winners who wanted to congratulate themselves and losers who wanted a new beginning. Tourists who came for the shows and threw a few dollars at the roulette wheel, retirees who drove campers cross country and stopped in Vegas to gawk, and families who came for the spectacles and specials. There were also the down-and-outers, the ones who’d lost everything and were looking for a job just to make enough to get back in the game.

  “Maybe you’ll find it,” the manicurist said. “Not everyone does.” She held up a bottle of nail polish. “Is this the color you want?”

  Shelly studied it and nodded slowly. She was feeling the loser’s low now.

  “Well this one’s empty so I have to go to the back room to find another bottle while your nails are drying. I’ll just be a few minutes. It’s kind of a mess in there. We got a huge shipment today.”

  Shelly reached into her purse and found her cell. It was two a.m. back in Virginia. Ben had finally stopped texting and calling. Shelly tapped in his number and the message: in vegas miss u 2 suite @bellagio really great.

  When she dropped her phone into her purse, she looked at her new acrylic nails, plain as pudding in the fluorescent light, waiting for their red lacquer. She sighed and thought, poor Shelly. Tired of always running and never getting there. She wondered if Joe and Alanna were watching her. Maybe they were really guardian angels. No, she thought, not in this glitzy fake palace of a place. This was not the place to separate the real from the fake. And there was no way a girl like Alanna could ever understand Shelly who’d always operated on the assumption that when you have nothing, faking it is all that’s left.

  *****

  This time Joe wasn’t surprised to find Morgan at the small juice bar.

  “Hmmm,” Morgan was saying as Joe looked up at the menu above the juicers. “She’s not doing too well, is she?”

  “That’s not our fault,” Joe protested. “She’s playing slots. No one wins big at slots.” He parked himself on one of the tall stools flanking the counter and Morgan placed a mug in front of him, which Joe ignored for the moment. “I mean how much are we supposed to do for the person we’ve been assigned? She chose slots. I can’t actually make a machine pay out.”

  “That would be nice, wouldn’t it?” Alanna sat down on the bar stool next to him and picked up a mug Morgan gave her. She drank it down hungrily. After that dinner where everything had tasted like cardboard, this not-drink was a heady treat.

  “Where’s Shelly?”

  “Had her hair and nails done and now she’s gone up to bed. Finally.”
>
  Morgan refilled the mug from a pitcher and Alanna drank that one, too. Immediately she felt refreshed and the minute she put it down, asked, “What’s in these anyway?”

  “Whatever you need,” Morgan answered.

  “I mean, what are the ingredients?”

  “Whatever you need them to be.”

  “Hold it there, barkeep,” Joe broke in. “It’s a legit question.”

  Morgan just wiped the counter with a small towel and tilted his head to one side, a little smile on his lips. “Ah, you wish granters. Always wanting answers. I can tell you one thing. If it helps you at all. If you choose, you can make yourselves invisible to everyone but Shelly. That could help you carry out your assignment.”

  Joe thought of about a dozen more questions and was about to start probing for answers when he felt a rush like a cold chill and an image flashed through his mind so quickly he almost didn’t catch it. A dark night, a man standing under a street lamp. Rain. A car pulls up. And then it faded but as it did, Joe had a feeling of remorse so strong that he had to gasp for air as if something was pushing on his chest.

  “Better take care of him,” Morgan nodded towards Joe. “He’s looking a little shaky.”

  Alanna turned just as Joe was getting his breath back. “What is it?”

  “I think I had a memory. But it wasn’t clear enough to make any sense out of it. Like something bad was about to happen. But not to me exactly. Man, I wish I could remember my life.” He looked at Morgan. “Is that how it works? If Shelly gets to be a big winner, we can get back to our lives? Because if that’s the way this world works, then I have to show her how to play a game where the odds are a whole lot better for her.” Joe downed his not-drink.

  “Maybe you need to tell her a little more,” Morgan suggested. “You certainly want your questions answered. Don’t you think she feels the same?”