Lucky Day
Lucky Day
Revenge- The only excuse for inventing a cell phone with a camera.
I knew it couldn’t be happening, but I kept going like a madwoman. It was 2 past midnight, my fifth cup of coffee, and the hottest man alive was passed out on my couch. I could never be a hundred percent sure how I got there, but I seem to remember something like that:
I wish I could say it started out like every other day, and there’s no way I could guess that strange things are going to happen, but the omens were all over the place, I’m the one who chose to ignore them. Some morning you just need to stay in bed.
Hey, there goes my job! Wes, the kitchen manager, fired me for ruining three perfectly expensive and fancy dishes, cremated while I was thinking how to pay my stupid credit card bills without moving into the sidewalk next to the apartment I’m about to get kicked out of. I had a feeling it’s not going to help.
When faced with an unexpected forced vacation of this type there is only one thing the working man and woman of this world can do – hit the nearest bar to come up with a plan over a couple of drinks.
It was my fourth when my eyes popped out: Wes-hole, the nasty idiot who fired me just a couple of hours ago, is sitting with non other than our boss’s arch-rival. I don’t know why, and I don’t care, but I know something Wes is trying to hide. BAM! Revenge- The only excuse for inventing a cell phone with a camera.
I’ve contemplated my options while taking beautiful close-ups of Wes the ass and his drinking pal. In fact I got so preoccupied with my art that I was kind of surprised to discover that in one of the shots my muse was looking back at me, with the look he saves for waitress gone bad. All cooks hate waitresses, it’s a fact of life, but this guy drank their tears. Yup, that look came straight from his evil core.
An escape is definitely in order. I knew Wes would do anything to get my cell phone, and I wasn’t going to eat it twice in one day. Back door for the win! My soles were burning as I ran to the restaurant only to slam into the only reason for women to be straight.
Enter Brad. That’s not really his name actually, more of a general title for this exquisite breed of men named after their movie star prototype. I think his real name is David. Adonis was an aspiring actor working as waiter. If Wes hated anything more than waitresses it must be pretty waiters. Brad got the boot last week but came to pick up his check only today after making sure Wes – who was coming right at me spitting fire – isn’t going to be around. Poor poor bastard.
Brad was like a mythological creature. He had the looks of Apollo, but the eyes of a gorgon – he could make you freeze while turning your knees into jelly. While I was mumbling my “Hey David” trying not to drool too much over his sleeveless shirt. My mother always said that men would stand in my way to success. Wes came behind me and snatched the cell right out of my hand.
I got slapped back to reality (while mentally filing the image of Brad’s bicep on a hot day for later uses) and went after the son of a bitch. Looks like ten years of working in the kitchen and feeding on the sorrow of your subordinates can make a men kind of slow. I caught up with him and jumped him like a rodeo cowgirl. I straddled him and had him pinned down just in time to suck in my gut and look hot when I’ve noticed Brad getting there.
Wes was squirming his way up, and about to run away with my ticket out of this mess. By and by he smacked me so hard all my vodka martinis were re-stirring in my belly, and my head span out of the solar system. I couldn’t believe it – is this shit really happening?!
I had to give myself a tough-love pep talk “Listen you idiot, you are not passing out on what turns out to be the luckiest day in your life. You’re gonna get up on your feet, and give that bastard a taste of his own crap! Get up now!” Naturally, he got away.
I wanted to kill myself for being so slow. When I filled Brad in and told him how I was going to show the pictures to our boss and get Wes fired he started laughing. And yeah, he has toothpaste-commercial teeth. His was a much much better idea.
We called up the phone, and in his most assertive tone (I was too pissed off and terrible liar), told Wes we already sent the pictures to my email, and we can forward them whenever to whoever we want. And unless he meets us near the bar in ten minutes with the phone and a nice sum of money, he’ll be the new star of the video sharing web. I have a new found respect for Brad. For David, I mean.
The drop off went on a little different than we expected, and things got heated up. Now Brad’s all pumped up and stuff, but gym and Pilates aren’t nothing compared with chopping huge chunks of meat all day. I had to do it. It’s a sad sight – a grown man get dropped to floor, turning red and blue, but I had to knee it. I really didn’t enjoy it.
Wes’s eyes first widened in a mix of surprise and disbelief, but within seconds they were squinched in the quiet squint of true agony. ”Grab the phone, David!” I yelled, and he did just as I told him. I like that in a handsome athletic man. We settled on a fat sum that would keep me happy and bills free for a couple of months and keep Wes in the hell he calls his kitchen. Even Brad got a share, because beautiful people have special rights. Plus I was drunk with power. And with the turned on look of awe he gave me. And I did have my share of cocktails just an hour ago.
Feeling insanely lucky Brad and I went back to the bar, and then to my place. But before I could give into exploring our new friendship, my curiosity had to be satisfied. My mind was fuzzy but I still kept thinking - Is this really the luckiest day of my life? I have to test it out. Only one place could answer my questions. I turned on my computer and googled every casino game I know. 2 past midnight, just me, the craps table in Money-Casino.com and a whole bunch of money.
I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve this. I still feel sorry for Wes, but my conscience is eased up with one look at my couch. Lucky days should be milked for what they’ve got, “come on baby, Brad needs a new sugar mama”.
