stopped, my friend and I (his name was Richard, I now recall), stopped and looked at each other, then at her. I bowed slightly and said, “Yes, madam?”
For a moment she just stared at me, smiling a secret smile, and the moment grew to the point where I became uncomfortable, although I found her eyes fascinating, as
if they had a mysterious pull that promised rapture beyond the limitations of earthly lust or heavenly love. At last she said, “I have become lost, I’m afraid. Would you mind escorting me home?”
Richard and I looked at each other once more, but, after all, she was clearly a lady; how could we refuse? We placed her between us, and she took my arm and we began walking in I know not what direction. Nor, now that I think of it, do I know what became of Richard that night; I do not believe it has ever occurred to me until now to wonder how she managed to get me to her rooms alone without giving either Richard or me any suspicion that anything out of the ordinary was happening. I don’t believe that Richard ever even spoke of the event; it was as if he’d forgotten it had happened; and I certainly never brought it up. But Richard, and, for that matter, Prudence, all begin to fade from memory at about that same time, so I cannot be certain.
All in all, it was a simple and elegant seduction. I’ve done it many times, and perhaps as well, though certainly never better.
I have discovered a place called Flannery’s, located on Terrace, near Fullerton, which is right on the edge of Little Philly. They have a strip bar in front, the sort where the strippers are forty-year-old women wearing caked-on makeup in hopes that a myopic drunk will think they’re college girls and tip accordingly. The drink prices are high, but not as high as the bars where the college girls do “lingerie shows.”
In any case, they have a back room where one can play poker. It is a typical arrangement: the house supplies the dealer, takes five percent of each pot, makes sure there’s a waitress around, and other than that the players are left alone. I was down to a couple of hundred dollars when I started; I left with a little less than three thousand.
Playing cards isn’t the easiest way I know to get the money I need to make life comfortable, but I think it is my favorite. I’m careful at first; staying with small pots and folding if I’m not sure. But after about an hour I get so I can pretty well see who has what, and by the time I’ve been playing with the same people for two hours, I cannot be fooled, or “bluffed” in the parlance of the game.
An experienced dealer can tell at once if there is so much as one card missing from the deck, but after he’s been sitting with me for a couple of hours I can stop worrying. Yet even though I cannot be bluffed, and even though I might have a nine of diamonds waiting to be slipped in where needed, still, every hand is different and I never know what kind of luck I am going to have. Or, to put it another way, I know I’m not going to lose, but I enjoy the process of discovering exactly how I’m going to win.
One of the waitresses, a tall redhead with an odd trace of Latino in her face, started noticing me after a few hours and being especially nice; I guess she was watching the pile of money in front of me grow. By this time the bar was closed, and there were only two waitresses working the four tables of card players. I tipped her well, and returned some of her inane banter, but I realized, as I was beginning to think about leaving, that I had no interest in her at all.
There were ugly looks when I left; it’s that sort of place; and the waitress seemed disappointed, but I left the bar alone. I walked through the heart of Little Philly, which is an area I’d heard talk about, and noticed from newspaper accounts as being dangerous. It seemed quiet enough to me; there were more police cruisers than anything else, and it had none of the atmosphere of danger that I
For a moment she just stared at me, smiling a secret smile, and the moment grew to the point where I became uncomfortable, although I found her eyes fascinating, as
if they had a mysterious pull that promised rapture beyond the limitations of earthly lust or heavenly love. At last she said, “I have become lost, I’m afraid. Would you mind escorting me home?”
Richard and I looked at each other once more, but, after all, she was clearly a lady; how could we refuse? We placed her between us, and she took my arm and we began walking in I know not what direction. Nor, now that I think of it, do I know what became of Richard that night; I do not believe it has ever occurred to me until now to wonder how she managed to get me to her rooms alone without giving either Richard or me any suspicion that anything out of the ordinary was happening. I don’t believe that Richard ever even spoke of the event; it was as if he’d forgotten it had happened; and I certainly never brought it up. But Richard, and, for that matter, Prudence, all begin to fade from memory at about that same time, so I cannot be certain.
All in all, it was a simple and elegant seduction. I’ve done it many times, and perhaps as well, though certainly never better.
I have discovered a place called Flannery’s, located on Terrace, near Fullerton, which is right on the edge of Little Philly. They have a strip bar in front, the sort where the strippers are forty-year-old women wearing caked-on makeup in hopes that a myopic drunk will think they’re college girls and tip accordingly. The drink prices are high, but not as high as the bars where the college girls do “lingerie shows.”
In any case, they have a back room where one can play poker. It is a typical arrangement: the house supplies the dealer, takes five percent of each pot, makes sure there’s a waitress around, and other than that the players are left alone. I was down to a couple of hundred dollars when I started; I left with a little less than three thousand.
Playing cards isn’t the easiest way I know to get the money I need to make life comfortable, but I think it is my favorite. I’m careful at first; staying with small pots and folding if I’m not sure. But after about an hour I get so I can pretty well see who has what, and by the time I’ve been playing with the same people for two hours, I cannot be fooled, or “bluffed” in the parlance of the game.
An experienced dealer can tell at once if there is so much as one card missing from the deck, but after he’s been sitting with me for a couple of hours I can stop worrying. Yet even though I cannot be bluffed, and even though I might have a nine of diamonds waiting to be slipped in where needed, still, every hand is different and I never know what kind of luck I am going to have. Or, to put it another way, I know I’m not going to lose, but I enjoy the process of discovering exactly how I’m going to win.
One of the waitresses, a tall redhead with an odd trace of Latino in her face, started noticing me after a few hours and being especially nice; I guess she was watching the pile of money in front of me grow. By this time the bar was closed, and there were only two waitresses working the four tables of card players. I tipped her well, and returned some of her inane banter, but I realized, as I was beginning to think about leaving, that I had no interest in her at all.
There were ugly looks when I left; it’s that sort of place; and the waitress seemed disappointed, but I left the bar alone. I walked through the heart of Little Philly, which is an area I’d heard talk about, and noticed from newspaper accounts as being dangerous. It seemed quiet enough to me; there were more police cruisers than anything else, and it had none of the atmosphere of danger that I
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