Baby Needs a New Pair of Shoes

“For real?”

“Yup,” I said. “You get both for that price.”

“That’s insanity!”

“Mmm-hmm,” I agreed, “but look at these.” I showed her the Ghost.

“Now those shoes I would pay one thousand and one hundred and fifty dollars for,” she said. “Those shoes are beyond whack.”

“That’s nice,” I said, “except those shoes will set you back one thousand and four hundred dollars.”

“Insanity!” she said.

“Beyond insanity,” I agreed.

“So how come you’re carrying around a picture of them like they’re a prayer card from church?”

“Because I really want them,” I admitted, “more than I can ever remember wanting anything.”

“Wanting and getting are two different things, chica. How do you think you’ll ever be able to pay for something like that?”

“I’m working on it,” I said. “As Shakespeare says, ‘To do a great right, do a little wrong.’”

“Fuck Shakespeare. You think Stella is just going to give you a raise? Even if she gave you like a dollar an hour raise—and do you think Stella’s going to ever part with another dollar, let alone forty of them a week?—it’d take you half a year to save that much money at that rate. By then those shoes’d be long gone.”

“Hey,” I said, ignoring her last sentence, “your math skills are whack.”

“What I should do is whack you,” Stella said to Rivera, surprising us. “What are you trying to say, that I’m cheap?”

“No way, boss.” Rivera took a step backward, hands raised in self-defense. “You are an all-American entrepreneur and you are very, very smart.”

“She’s right, boss,” Conchita said. She was suddenly there, too. “You’re just a very smart entrepreneur. No exploitation going on here.”

Stella stared at them both closely, as if trying to judge if they were each pulling a leg. She must have been satisfied with what she saw, for she turned to me next.

“If I’m not going to give you a raise—and I’m not, because you know times are tough and the economy is rocky—then where are you ever going to get the money for those Choos?”

“You know Choos?” I was surprised.

“Of course I know Choos.” Stella fluffed her hair. “I’m an all-American entrepreneur, aren’t I?”

The way I figured it, Conchita and Rivera were stroking her ego enough. Certainly, I didn’t need to do that, so instead I merely told them of my plan, the one Hillary and I had devised the night before.

“I’m going to Foxwoods Casino,” I said, “this Saturday night.”

Conchita’s eyes grew big. “You mean the one run by the Mashantucket Pequots?”

“Is there any other?” I replied.

“You’re just going with your roommate?” Stella asked now.

“That’s what I had planned on,” I said.

“What are you planning on wearing?” Conchita demanded.

“I hadn’t thought about it.” I shrugged.

“Hadn’t thought about it?” Rivera whacked me in the head, lightly, but it was still a whack. “What the hell’s the matter with you?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I figured I’d just wear some shorts, maybe a T-shirt. It’s been so hot lately.”

“What the hell’s the matter with you?” she snapped, raising her hand.

“Don’t hit me again!” I said, moving my arms up to protect the coconut, meaning my head.

“She’s right,” Conchita said, hitting me from the other side. “You can’t go to a place like Foxwoods Casino, especially not on a Saturday night, looking like you’re just going off to McDonald’s for a Big Mac.”

“If you want to be a winner, you need to dress like one,” Rivera said.

“Saturday morning, we’re taking you to the Nail Euphorium,” Conchita said.

“How do you know about the Nail Euphorium?” I asked. It was the place Hillary always went to.

“Who do you think we are—” Conchita hands-on-hipsed me “—you?”

Hey, I resented that. Every time someone said that to me, I resented it.

Then they all started talking about me, as if I wasn’t even there, so much talk that the sounds started swirling together until it all sounded like, “Delilah, Delilah, Delilah.” That’s what it all sounded like, exactly…

“Never bet more than you can afford to lose,” Black Jack had told me.

“Always start with a stake you can afford,” Black Jack had told me.

“Set a goal on how much you want to win,” Black Jack had told me, “and if you reach it, walk away.”

“When you start to lose, walk away,” Black Jack had told me. “If you lose your whole stake, definitely walk away.”

Then he’d handed me a hundred-dollar bill.

“What’s this?” I’d asked.

“It’s your stake,” he’d said. “Whatever you do, don’t lose it.”

Then I distinctly heard Stella say, “Of course I’m going to go, too.” Her words when they came were spoken in a huff. “You don’t think I’m going to be the only one left behind, do you?”

“I don’t know, boss.” Rivera shrugged, awkward. “It would just be way too weird—you know?—partying with the boss.”

“Wait a second,” I said. “No one ever said anything about partying. And, anyway, what are you all talking about? You’re not all coming with me.”