All of that was in his hands, however incompetent he was. He certainly felt incapable of correcting his life’s downward spiral. He couldn’t understand what had happened. He was the one who finished school, got a good job, paid his taxes, and carried out every responsibility laid on his young shoulders. He anticipated everyone’s needs, did his due diligence, and performed his duties with pride. He never expected to be kicked out of the club. It was as though he had the plague now. Once he was let go, none of his colleagues wanted to associate with him. It was as though they were afraid his bad fortune was contagious. He didn’t get it—he’d avoided all the pitfalls of adolescence, not succumbing to the temptations that had destroyed his friends’ lives. He’d played by the rules, and then the rules had punished him. Telly had fallen through the looking glass where the world was reversed, and all his good deeds rewarded him nothing; all his planning and work was a waste of time. He was in an alternate state, where he was unglued from all that was familiar in his former reality. Here, his education worked against him; his work ethic meant nothing; and his morality was useless. The yawning hole of depression sucked him to its precipice. He forced himself to breathe; he didn’t want to be like his brother, Manny. Telly told himself to stop; he was feeling redundant again.
He pushed his hands deeper into his pockets and felt the hard surface of a coin. It was a penny. That was it, his last penny. He laughed ironically. A chill danced up his spine, and a cool current of air enveloped him.
Raising the coin, he considered Abraham Lincoln’s face. Honest Abe. Honest Telly. What had being honest ever done for him? Between you and me, Abe, being honest didn’t work out too well for you either.
He flipped the coin high so that it spiraled in the air above him. “I just want to win something. Anything. I don’t want to be a loser anymore.”
The music muted, and all Clutch heard were Telly’s mumbled words. Telly’s wish intruded into his thoughts. He looked at the dude’s vomit-covered shoes and then glanced balefully at his own. He felt something for this loser, as if Brittney’s vomit connected them in some way.
Clutch watched the coin fly and then reached out to grab the penny in midair. The wish crystallized in the air, creating an electrical current between them. Clutch’s heart expanded. He didn’t want to be a loser either. They were attached by more than just vomit, he realized with a smile. He pushed the coin to fly high and wide, arcing over the tall shooting water. “Truth is, I want one more shot at the bracelet!” he shouted.
Telly watched as the penny hung suspended for a moment and then started to fall back toward him. He was such a loser, he couldn’t even throw a coin for crap. For one gravity-defying moment, it hung suspended in midair, and then it shot out over the fountain as if propelled by a rocket. The coin spiraled down, landing with a loud plop in the water, ripples flowing outward in widening circles. He stood transfixed, watching the spiraling circles on the mirror-like surface of the pond. As if on cue, the fountains sprang to life, Sinatra’s voice filling the thick evening and advising those assembled to start spreading the news.
The white-haired man in the iridescent suit hung over the water, glorious wings flapping behind him. He watched Clutch intently.
“Are you sure that’s what you want?” the angel’s melodious voice questioned.
“Why are you following me? Who are you?” Clutch sneered.
“You know who I am, Clutch. I know you’ve figured it out,” the angel’s voice echoed.
Clutch laughed. “I never expected you, that’s for sure. The devil, maybe, but certainly not the likes of you.”
“No such thing as the devil, Clutch.”
“So you say. What’s your name?”
“Sten. But you knew that, didn’t you. We were introduced when you crossed over.”
Clutch nodded absently. It was still hazy to him. “I remember a bit,” Clutch said.
The penny appeared in the angel’s long fingers. He expertly fiddled it through his fingertips, much like a professional gambler would.
“You’re pretty good at that,” Clutch said with admiration.
“I’m pretty good at a lot of things. And so are you, Clutch.”
Clutch shook his head ruefully. “Don’t think so.”
“What’s it going to take for you to realize that you are?” The angel glowed a little brighter.
Clutch narrowed his eyes and said, “You sound like a teacher. I don’t like teachers. I was never good in school.”
Sten hovered for a minute and then settled on the railing. “Why are you still here, Clutch? What do you really want?”
“All I ever wanted was to win that bracelet,” replied Clutch.
Sten shook his head. “Be careful what you wish for…” He tossed the coin toward Clutch, who deftly caught it, surprise on his face. “There’s your change, Clutch. Don’t blow it.”
The air shimmered and he was gone. So was Telly.
CHAPTER FOUR
Telly walked the mile and a half to the small apartment he shared with Gretchen. They had rented it soon after he’d lost the four-bedroom house. He had tried to keep it, but really, he was underwater with it anyway; foreclosure was the only way out. He had bought the home during the building boom in the early part of the millennium—houses springing up overnight, prices escalating. He’d purchased the trilevel home at the height, knowing he was overpaying, but with his promotion coming up soon he was confident he could afford the big mortgage. He never expected the casino to sell and eliminate his position. He had banked on his security. It was a sure thing—his field was important to the casinos. He had looked for work, but nobody was hiring at his former salary. He’d lowered his requirements, but wherever he interviewed, he was overqualified. They were afraid to hire him at a low salary, figuring he would move on as soon as something better showed up…only nothing better ever turned up. The interviews got scarcer and scarcer. Telly did a stint at a bank, and then he consulted on a few projects and ended up never getting paid. Companies went belly-up before they could pay him. It was after the last fiasco that Gretchen had urged him to follow his dream and try to become a professional poker player.
“It’s now or never,” Gretchen told him in bed one night. She leaned over, a long, ash-blond curl playfully tickling his cheek. She was worried about him; he was sinking into a depression. A man can only take so much rejection, she thought, biting her bottom lip. Telly was so smart; he just needed a boost to his confidence. She would do anything to make him feel better.
“Nah, Gretch. It’s not steady. I have to get us out of this place.” Telly turned to take her in his arms.
“Listen. You let me try that belly-dancing thing.”
“You were so good at it.” Telly kissed her small upturned nose. She had the creamy complexion of a blonde with large blue eyes. She was so pretty, she took his breath away every time he looked at her. Telly couldn’t believe his good fortune when she had agreed to date him, much less marry him. Gretchen was sweet, kind, and beautiful. He adored her.
Gretchen shrugged a shoulder, the white strap of her gown sliding off. “Well, nobody liked it enough to buy the show.” Her eyes were downcast; Telly knew they were shiny with tears. “It’s this bum knee of mine; it ruins everything.”
Telly caressed her knee and then squeezed the kneecap gently, making Gretchen squeal with delight. “You’re the bee’s knees,” he said. He bent down to kiss them. Then he pulled her close and whispered, “I think you are the most beautiful girl in the world.”
“You aren’t so bad yourself,” she giggled, kissing him back.
“I wish I could have made your dream come true, but booking a belly-dancing dog act was a bit of a hard sell.” As if sensing her mistress’s unhappiness, Sophie, the famous belly-dancing dog, jumped on the bed to snuggle with her family. Telly looked at her sad, googly eyes, one facing east, the other west. Her protruding bottom tee
th couldn’t contain her tiny tongue. She wheezed. Telly patted her matted head. “Not that the two of you weren’t wonderful, but…”
“An ex–Playboy Bunny looking for her lost sheep is more entertaining,” Gretchen finished forlornly.
“Your performance blew hers out of the water,” Telly assured her. Gretchen sniffed loudly, and Telly reached over to grab his glasses so he could see her better. “Gretch, I could get a job teaching.”
That was Telly, always trying to make things better whether it was his parents, his brother, or herself—he didn’t care what he had to do to make it easier for someone else. Gretchen thought for a minute and decided impulsively to let Telly have a moment too. He loved poker, worshipped the game, the ambiance of the casino, the cool factor, as he called it. What if she encouraged his flight of fancy? Not for long, of course. He wouldn’t last—he was such a sweetheart; he couldn’t sustain that type of lifestyle. Maybe if he got it out of his system, a regular job might appeal again. What was wrong with helping Telly dream a little? She had an idea, but she had to be careful. The last time he’d gotten caught up in a poker game, he’d become a little obsessed. She would have to make sure she watched him this time and didn’t let it get out of hand. Telly was pretty steady, and she did trust that he would make the right decisions in the end. Still, everybody deserved a chance to pursue a dream, even if it wasn’t an especially practical one.
“No, Telly.” She sat up. “One of us has to have a chance. You always wanted this. Let’s try it. Isn’t the International Series of Poker coming up in a few weeks?”
“I’ll never make the entry fees.”
“Use the time to see if you can win enough to enter. Maybe you can do what I couldn’t. I know what we need right now.” She got up to pad into their kitchenette.
“It feels irresponsible. What if it doesn’t work? We don’t have much to risk.” He considered his options and shook his head. “It goes against everything my parents taught me,” Telly called out to her. He heard the freezer open, the jangle of spoons. “What are you doing?”
Gretchen’s soft voice carried from the other room. “I agree, Tel. It doesn’t feel like real work, but you know, you could do a trial thing, only a month…”
“Or two,” he mumbled. “I just have to make it into the Series. I need ten grand.” He spoke more to himself than to anyone else. It was his dream. If he could get into a groove, he could support them both comfortably. He hated the place where she worked, but right now, he didn’t have options.
“I did say one month, Tel.” She was quiet for a few minutes, and then she continued. “We couldn’t support a long-term…um…experiment. I mean, I only lasted two weeks.”
“Right,” Telly yelled and then softened his voice when he realized she was back. He made room for her on the bed. She had a pint of ice cream and two spoons: Gretchen’s cure-all.
They dug into the ice cream, taking turns, making sure their spoons didn’t clash. Telly was nothing if not polite.
“I don’t know. What if I lose too much?” He had never done anything so—what would he call it? Daring? Risky? His parents would have a shit-fit. He could hear them already—it’s not steady; the hours are terrible; think of the people you’d be with. Yeah, he thought with a snort, as if the straight and narrow did me any good. His face darkened.
“Look,” Gretchen said, bringing him back. She wanted him to try this; he’d been so unhappy lately. She knew once his confidence was restored, he’d bounce back. He always did. “We’ll set a budget and a time limit. We have what…six hundred in the safe?”
“Yeah, but that’s for emergencies…”
“Tel. I know what it’s for. I’ll put in extra hours at the bar, and we’ll make it up. Let’s treat this like a business. It’s not a bad investment for a start-up. We only have to make enough for you to get into the Series.” Gretchen smiled. Then he’ll get it out of his system and go for a real job, she reasoned.
“Aren’t you a regular Donald Trump.” Telly leaned over to kiss her, enjoying the rum-raisin taste on her lips. “You have to stop me if I get too caught up. You remember what happened the last time?”
“The Poker Game from Hell.” Gretchen nodded grimly. Telly got involved in a game in a casino and wouldn’t stop, even after he maxed out his credit card to keep buying in. “You lost your head. It was like you were possessed.”
“Possessed by the ghost of poker,” Telly agreed. “That’ll never happen again. So if we plan with what we’ve got, and say I hit a streak, maybe I’ll make it to the Series.” It was his lifelong dream to make it into one of the coveted spots of the International Series of Poker, a yearly game that named one winner as the champion of the world. Thousands entered, but there was only a single winner. He closed his eyes and imagined holding the thick gold bracelet and the hefty check for eight million dollars. Boy, that would put them to rights once again. He could feel the bright lights of the cameras, the crowd pressing in on him. He wasn’t so redundant…
“Telly…Telly.” Gretchen’s voice interrupted his fantasy. “It’s just a few weeks away. We can do this. If you can’t make the entry fee, then Tel, it’s over, just like me and belly dancing.”
Telly pulled himself up against the headboard. “All right,” he said with determination. “I’ll do it for both of us. If I qualify for the Series and win, I’ll finance your show and then we’ll both live our dream. You are so good, Gretchen.”
Gretchen nuzzled his ear, tickling him. “Do you remember when your parents thought I was a gold digger?”
“Yeah, well you showed them; you’ve stuck with me through thick and thin.” He pointed to his lip and then his heart. It was a thing between them—sometimes when words didn’t work, all they said was thick and thin while pointing to their lips and heart. It was all they needed. He settled in bed, pulling her downward. “I just wish your mom didn’t think I was such a jerk.”
Gretchen snuggled close. “I love you, Telly. No matter what my mom says, I love you.”
Telly wrapped an arm around her, and Sophie the Lhasa settled on his other side. He didn’t have a job or reasonable prospects, but he had a great girl and life was good.
* * *
Time flew by, and before he knew it, the money and the trial period were almost gone. Things did not go as well as Telly had hoped. He lost and lost, and then he lost some more. Oh, there was an occasional win, but he was so far behind the eight ball at this time, it would take a miracle to catch up. Besides, once they paid their bills, he needed stake money again, so his victories didn’t buy them much. Gretchen never complained, but he knew she was working two shifts at the bar, and it was time to move on. How long could he ask her to carry the bulk of the load? He turned the corner to the Tango Motel, their temporary home, wearily climbing the concrete steps to the second level. Each room was a sort of suite, with a kitchenette, a bath, a space for a couch with a television, and a pokey bedroom. It was dank and grimy but cheap enough for the two of them, and it accepted dogs. His neighbor stood outside his apartment smoking lazily in the hot night air.
“Evening, Quick Daddy,” Telly said politely.
“My man—how’d you do tonight?” Quick Daddy leaned over the iron railings of the balcony, his cigarette dangling from his slender fingers.
Telly shrugged.
“Man, Tel, something’s got to give.” He pulled off his do-rag, revealing rows of braided hair.
Telly smiled, “Cheryl do that?”
“She like to pretend she still a hairdresser,” Quick Daddy replied. “Here come my babydoll now.”
Cheryl bounded up the steps two at a time. She was dressed for business in satin hot pants and a sports bra with two shells covering her breasts. She slid a roll of money into Quick Daddy’s hand.
Telly nodded. “Hi, Cheryl.”
“Hi, Telly. How were the tables tonight?”
Telly responded that the gods of gambling hadn’t shined down on him. He never asked Cheryl how her job was. He didn’t want to know. It wasn’t that he judged her; it was just that he was uncomfortable talking about it.
Cheryl pulled off the waist-length red wig, revealing a cap of short, flattened yellow curls.
“Hard night, babydoll?” Quick Daddy asked sympathetically.
“It’s a grind,” she replied forlornly, and then she cracked up, causing her boyfriend to laugh with her.
Telly looked at her oddly. “They are hiring down at the mall, Cheryl.”
“Doing what?” Cheryl leaned against the railing. “Telly, I make five times the money I did when I worked in an office. And I make my own hours,” Cheryl said, laying her hand on his arm. “Don’t look that way. I like my work. I don’t mind.”
Telly was aghast. “You like calling yourself ‘The Little Spermaid’?”
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