The Retro Look
Albert Tucher
“Jeffrey, remember what we said?”
The parking valet and the bellhop made a point of looking busy.
Oh, relax , Diana thought. It’s not a fight. It’s to prevent a fight.
But she took Jeffrey Pope by the elbow and led him out of the path of the other hotel guests coming and going through the sliding glass doors. He deserved privacy for this conversation.
“We’re here to have fun,” said Jeffrey. “You’ll be available when I want you, but when I’m at the tables, you don’t have to stay and watch.”
Even with his mustache and receding hairline, he looked like a second grader reciting in front of the class. Diana thought it was kind of cute.
“That’s right,” she said. “Anything else?”
“And I don’t say the L word.”
She smiled.
“No matter how much I want to.”
Diana warned him with a look, but she said nothing. She had never liked Atlantic City, but Jeffrey’s big payday had lured her here. Getting herself home would be unpleasant and expensive, and it would take more than a little of Jeffrey’s childishness to make her try.
He behaved himself through an early dinner, and when he wanted a quickie before hitting the blackjack table, he asked as if she might even say no. Right then she liked him enough to watch him play for a whole hour.
Jeffrey sat at the first base line of the twenty-five dollar table. At the third base position was a man who should have been paying more attention to his game and less to Diana. He looked forty or a little less, dark-haired and fit. Playing against him for the house was a blond man about his age but not as well preserved. The dark-haired man tapped the table or showed his palms as necessary, but he kept looking sideways at Diana. That didn’t mean he would recognize her across a breakfast table. His interest covered her only from the waist down.
Crossing and uncrossing her legs entertained her for a few minutes. When that lost its appeal, she started to look around the casino. One of the cocktail waitresses in particular caught her attention. The woman was about thirty, Diana’s age, but paler and with lighter blonde hair. She walked more easily in three-inch heels than most women do in sneakers. Right now she looked as glamorous as a model, but she probably knew what to do with a soccer ball.
The dark-haired man looked at Diana, who watched the waitress, who peeked at the dealer as if she didn’t want to get caught at it. Jeffrey studied his cards.
Diana laughed to herself. It always amazed her that any two people ever got together, at least without one of them getting paid.
“Go ahead,” Jeffrey told her. “Have fun.”
At that moment the blonde woman’s heel snagged on the carpet, and her ankle bent sideways. The drink Jeffrey had ordered spilled on the floor. Most of it did, anyway. A splash landed on Diana’s left thigh.
“I’m so sorry,” said the waitress.
She kept her poise. Diana had to admire her. The management probably frowned on dowsing the high-rollers or their guests.
“It’s okay,” said Diana. “G and T is my favorite.”
She smiled. She kept it cool, but it was a smile. This woman was the help, and Diana knew how that story went.
As the woman fussed with a napkin, her “Tina” nametag hovered inches from Diana’s face. Finally, Diana stopped Tina with a gesture.
“It’s fine,” said Diana. “Let’s just leave it.”
She turned to Jeffrey.
“I’ll catch a show and check back around midnight. How’s that sound?”
It was the kind of tiny lie that Diana had learned to tell her clients. She wasn’t interested in lounge singers or magicians. What she really planned to do was turn on the television and feed her true crime habit. She hadn’t seen a Cold Case Files in several days.
Clients preferred to believe that she lived for glamour and excitement. Even Jeffrey, who wanted to marry her, bought into the illusion.
She started toward the elevator. It didn’t surprise
Albert Tucher
“Jeffrey, remember what we said?”
The parking valet and the bellhop made a point of looking busy.
Oh, relax , Diana thought. It’s not a fight. It’s to prevent a fight.
But she took Jeffrey Pope by the elbow and led him out of the path of the other hotel guests coming and going through the sliding glass doors. He deserved privacy for this conversation.
“We’re here to have fun,” said Jeffrey. “You’ll be available when I want you, but when I’m at the tables, you don’t have to stay and watch.”
Even with his mustache and receding hairline, he looked like a second grader reciting in front of the class. Diana thought it was kind of cute.
“That’s right,” she said. “Anything else?”
“And I don’t say the L word.”
She smiled.
“No matter how much I want to.”
Diana warned him with a look, but she said nothing. She had never liked Atlantic City, but Jeffrey’s big payday had lured her here. Getting herself home would be unpleasant and expensive, and it would take more than a little of Jeffrey’s childishness to make her try.
He behaved himself through an early dinner, and when he wanted a quickie before hitting the blackjack table, he asked as if she might even say no. Right then she liked him enough to watch him play for a whole hour.
Jeffrey sat at the first base line of the twenty-five dollar table. At the third base position was a man who should have been paying more attention to his game and less to Diana. He looked forty or a little less, dark-haired and fit. Playing against him for the house was a blond man about his age but not as well preserved. The dark-haired man tapped the table or showed his palms as necessary, but he kept looking sideways at Diana. That didn’t mean he would recognize her across a breakfast table. His interest covered her only from the waist down.
Crossing and uncrossing her legs entertained her for a few minutes. When that lost its appeal, she started to look around the casino. One of the cocktail waitresses in particular caught her attention. The woman was about thirty, Diana’s age, but paler and with lighter blonde hair. She walked more easily in three-inch heels than most women do in sneakers. Right now she looked as glamorous as a model, but she probably knew what to do with a soccer ball.
The dark-haired man looked at Diana, who watched the waitress, who peeked at the dealer as if she didn’t want to get caught at it. Jeffrey studied his cards.
Diana laughed to herself. It always amazed her that any two people ever got together, at least without one of them getting paid.
“Go ahead,” Jeffrey told her. “Have fun.”
At that moment the blonde woman’s heel snagged on the carpet, and her ankle bent sideways. The drink Jeffrey had ordered spilled on the floor. Most of it did, anyway. A splash landed on Diana’s left thigh.
“I’m so sorry,” said the waitress.
She kept her poise. Diana had to admire her. The management probably frowned on dowsing the high-rollers or their guests.
“It’s okay,” said Diana. “G and T is my favorite.”
She smiled. She kept it cool, but it was a smile. This woman was the help, and Diana knew how that story went.
As the woman fussed with a napkin, her “Tina” nametag hovered inches from Diana’s face. Finally, Diana stopped Tina with a gesture.
“It’s fine,” said Diana. “Let’s just leave it.”
She turned to Jeffrey.
“I’ll catch a show and check back around midnight. How’s that sound?”
It was the kind of tiny lie that Diana had learned to tell her clients. She wasn’t interested in lounge singers or magicians. What she really planned to do was turn on the television and feed her true crime habit. She hadn’t seen a Cold Case Files in several days.
Clients preferred to believe that she lived for glamour and excitement. Even Jeffrey, who wanted to marry her, bought into the illusion.
She started toward the elevator. It didn’t surprise
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