Atlantic City

         It was her giggle that grabbed my attention when I walked up to the bar to buy another drink.  I looked around to see if anyone else was eying up the delicious creature with the long red hair and beautiful smile.  She was standing with two girls - one that was cute, a little chubby, but not nearly as stunning as she was and the other was an ogre - I think she was there to balance it all out.  The trio was sipping red drinks through tiny straws and constantly flipping their hair.  They were getting zero attention from any of the other guys in the place.
         Granted we were in a casino bar at five in the afternoon.  Most of the people sitting around the bar were older men and women looking for a cheap drink and pretzels to hold them over until they hit the slots. There were a few younger guys around my age, but they were busy watching the sports highlights on the TV and eyeing up the two sexy barracudas that were sitting at the bar in tight dresses and talking loud enough for everyone to hear.
         I was standing with a couple of guys I worked with and some clients we had traveled to Atlantic City to meet.  The hotel was a good place to meet clients because it had decent restaurants and a few bars, and of course gambling.  It had worked for us in the past, so my boss thought it would be a good idea if we tried it again. 
         I liked working with Ted and Pete; they were decent guys that were low key and both pretty funny.  Ted was Asian and polite almost to a fault. When he was quiet it was like pulling teeth out of a lion's mouth to get him to talk.  When he did decide to speak he usually made us crackup.  Ted lived with his parents and the only ass he ever got was when we took clients to strip clubs.  He survived on internet porn and lap dances.  I think he would rather eat shit than talk to a real girl. I mean literally prefer me to take a shit on whole wheat and make him eat it rather than have to make conversation with a woman.
         Pete was a good guy, but another shy Fanboy that lived in a fantasy world of comics and movies. Pete had girlfriends, but mostly they were chubby frumpy girls that had no self-esteem.  He would date them, get laid, realize they didn't look like the chicks in his graphic novel porn, and then dump them.  He was blessed with a good looks and a good sense of humor but no confidence.  I had tried to hook him up with some girls that I knew, but he couldn't pretend to give a shit about their boring lives long enough to follow through.  He too felt safer in his world of internet porn.
         Ted and Pete had good taste in women that they ogled, and they too approved of the redhead.  They both indicated that I should go talk to her.  They lived vicariously through me, and that is not saying much.  I have more confidence then my buddies, but I am nothing special.  I don't say that fishing for a compliment.  I am just a realist and well aware that I am average in all that I am and all that I do.
         I have never really excelled at anything.  I have spent much of my life just getting by.  I have just enough of whatever the situation calls for.  I have just enough street smarts to get around without getting mugged, hit by a bus or murdered.  I have enough knowledge of the world and some current events so that I can contribute to a conversation without sounding like I ate lead paint most of my childhood.  I have enough confidence to get a date and have somewhat of a relationship.
         Normally it doesn't bother me; I kind of just exist.  I suppose I have designed my life to work at this level.  I have a job, a pretty cool apartment, and I don't really want for much.  Sometimes I think I have failed myself by having such little aspiration to do better.
         Then there are times when I see something as stunning as this red head, and it starts to creep into my head that I am really going nowhere.  I'm good for right now.  But what I will do to get to the next level, I have no idea.  The fact that I can't see beyond right now, that i have no plans for anything, makes me think I have made some mistakes in my choices in life, and I don't know if they are fixable.
         I want to talk to this girl.  I want to make her laugh and at the very least kiss those delicious lips, and smell the perfume on her long freckled neck.  But when the idea of me being nothing more than a college student that doesn't attend college I lose all my confidence.  Why would this beautiful girl want to hang out with a guy like me.  I really have nothing to offer.  I'm not going to show her the night of her life.  I'm not going to throw money around the casino, I am not going to go into the club and impress her with my dancing, I am not going to take my clothes off and wow her with my amazing physique.  The best I could hope for is a smile, a tiny opening for me to go over and say hello.  If I can get that far, the rest will come.  At least that is what I tell myself.
         Ted motions me to go over.  His look says "you have nothing to lose.", and I agree with him.  I ask our group if anyone needs a drink and everyone declines.  My glass is empty and I definitely need some alcohol to get through this.  I walk to the bar as confidently as possible and go the empty spot at the bar next to the red head.  She has her body turned towards her girlfriends that are having what sounds like a very in depth conversation about the differences in running sneakers.  By the looks of the two friends neither of them runs anywhere but to the fridge. 
         When the bar tender approaches I order my drink.  I think for a moment that I should offer to buy the red head and her friends a drink, but I'm worried that if I have to get Pete and Ted involved as wingmen it would be a painful encounter.  I am having a hard time thinking of what I could say to get her attention.  I do not want to use some lame line or be obvious.  I don't think a simple hello was going to work so I'm just about to chicken out and go back to my group when the red head turns to me and tells me that my shirt brings out the blue in my eyes.
         I was stunned for a second. I was so shocked that she spoke first that I think I took a millisecond too long to respond.  I thanked her and smiled, looking right into her eyes; they were mesmerizing blue.  She returned a broad smile that made her eyes twinkle.  My shock was written on my face and the red head picked up on it.
                   "Hi, I'm Jessica," she extended her hand to me.  I took her hand into mine and shook.  She pushed her red locks off her shoulder with her other hand and her perfume washed over me like a wave.  It was deliciously intoxicating. 
                   "Hi, Jessica, I'm Brandon.  It's nice to meet you," Goddammit I sounded like I was talking to a client.  I wanted to compliment her but I was thinking about her panties and if they were hiding a vibrant red bush.  I attempted a quick compliment about her smile and it worked.
                   "Thank you.  I like the loosened tie and open button look.  I don't see that much in a casino.  You must be here on business," again she smiled and took a sip of her drink. 
                   "Yeah, I'm here with a few clients.  They like to throw money around at the tables.  My buddies and I are going to take them to dinner, and then set them loose,"
                   "Sounds like fun," another knowing smile, this time I could see a little smirk in the corner of her mouth.  Jessica was cooler than I thought.
                   "Indeed it will be.  What brings you to AC on a Wednesday evening?" for the first time Jessica looked a little uncomfortable.  Now it was time for me to smirk.
                   "My girlfriends and I went to a seminar at the convention center," she was a little sheepish in her answer.  I could tell she didn't want the follow up question.  So, of course I asked it.
                   "We were invited by Karen's boss," Jessica indicated the heftier of her two friends that was scowling in my direction until she realized Jessica was talking about her and we were looking back at her.
                   "You still haven't said what type of seminar it was,"
                   "You noticed that, huh?"
                   "Yeah, I have to admit the anticipation is killing me,"
         With a big smile and embarrassed laugh Jessica explained it was a seminar on senior citizens and their sexual habits.  Apparently Karen worked for a doctor that specialized in geriatric care, and this was a new hot topic.  The men and women who started the sexual revolution were getting old, but they were still screwing up a storm.  To be honest I did not want to know about old people rubbing their wrinkled bits and pieces all over each other, but I liked talking to Jessica, and so I was hanging on every word.  Plus, I was thinking about what it would be like if we were screwing thirty years from now.  Karen, who could apparently read minds, decided to break up our little conversation with a reminder that they were going to be late for their dinner reservation.  It was surprising that Karen wanted to go eat. 
         I know I've made comments about Karen's weight, and that is cheap.  But, in my defense she was miserable.  She was not happy that Jessica was getting attention.  It seems to me if you're really a friend you would be happy for someone that was working on their happiness.  Jessica was talking to me, just some guy in a casino bar.  But, she was looking for something; maybe a free drink, maybe a husband, maybe and hopefully a good lay.
         The fact that Karen was beefy and dressed in clothes two sizes too small only added to the total picture.  She was unhappy about her lot in life.  I get it.  But there are things to do about being overweight.  She only had herself to blame.  She didn't have a thyroid problem - she had a donut problem.
         The other girl, Trish, was pleasant and smiley.  She offered me her hand and a big smile.  Trish got it.  She wanted Jessica to have a good time.  For Christ's sake they were at a geriatric dildo seminar.  They took the trip with Karen to be good friends and with the idea that they could hang out in Atlantic City and have a good time. I wanted to show Jessica a good time.
         
         I don't know why but I liked this girl.  She was beautiful, but more than that she was a real person.  She was being herself and she was smiling.  I needed more of that in my life.  I didn't want the night to end before it started.  I had to get out of my head, take a chance, and get a phone number at the very least.

                   "It was really nice to meet you.  I hope you have a great dinner,"
                   "It was very nice.  Not used to meeting nice people in a bar," Jessica blushed.  She pulled her cell phone out of her pocket.  This was my cue.
                   "Maybe we can get together later, after dinner?"
                   "I would like that," a generous batting of the eyes.  My heart was pounding in my chest.
         
         We exchanged phone numbers and shook hands.  Karen led them towards the exit.  Trish gave me a smile and shook my hand.  When she got to the step down that led out of the bar Jessica turned around and gave me a smile.  It was a good sign.

         Ted and Pete were having a conversation about the Vice President of our department at work and his awful hairpiece.  Talking about Richard Milton's hairpiece, wife, and sexual activity was a go to conversation for the three of us.  They probably should have been keeping our clients busy while I was occupied, but they would rather talk to each other.
         It was okay because the three older balding men were watching the two aforementioned barracudas singing Cher on the karaoke machine.  It was pathetic and upsetting.  In the bald pates of these men I saw the crystal ball of our lives, and if the three of us didn't get our lives together, we would become them.

         After another round of drinks the six of us came to a very good deal that made Mr. Trower and his associates happy and my company money.  We all shook hands and smiled at each other.  Sitting around the table looking at each other, it dawned on the rest of them.  They could see what I was thinking.  They were us, and we were becoming them.  Everyone's smiles began to fade.  I suggested dinner and the six of us made our way out of the bar and to the Italian restaurant where I had made the reservation.   

         As soon as the waitress came to the table Mr. Trower ordered a round of drinks.  He wanted to pretend we were celebrating a good deal put to bed.  I know that he was thinking about where his life had gone.  He was a mild mannered guy in his late forties. He had a beer belly, a comb over and his tie was too short. 
         I pictured him getting home to suburban Ohio after this trip.  He would park his Chevy Lumina on the car port under the basketball hoop and make his way to his front door, looking at this lawn, making a mental note that the grass needed more seed.  Waiting for him in the kitchen, his wife of twenty three years, Mary, would be kneading the chop meat for a meatloaf in a bowl.  She would turn her face and offer her cheek for him to kiss.  He would oblige and get a whiff of raw meat and the perfume that his mother-in-law, Francis, wears.  Mary would get back to the task at hand and ask, almost knowingly, how the trip went.  He came in the house whistling an old Cole Porter tune between his teeth as he flipped through the mail.  If it didn't go well he would have gone right to the fridge for a lite beer. 
         Mr. Trower would be standing in between the kitchen and the dining room looking at his wife from behind.  It would dawn on him that his wife was becoming her mother.  She cut her hair too short, began wearing house coats when they weren't expecting company, and she hung her reading glasses on a bead necklace that hung into her cleavage.  Yesterday he was standing in a casino in New Jersey watching gorgeous young women walking around without a care in the world and now he was going to sit down to Mary's "famous" meatloaf.
         Mr. Trower looked at me for a long second.  He wanted to say something to me. He wanted to impart his wisdom onto me.  He wanted to be unprofessional for a minute, a mere second, and tell me to fuck every woman I meet.  He wanted to tell me that middle management is a nightmare that you can't wake up from.  He wanted me to know that there are roads that do lead to nowhere.  He wanted me to feel his regrets.  He wanted to tell me he liked me, saw his younger self in me, and that if he could do it over again he would be a different man, that of course he loved his wife and his kids and his grandkids.  He would say not to get him wrong, that he lived a good life and was successful, that he had done well. 
         But, Mr. Trower didn't believe that.  He believed he could have been more.  He knew in his heart of hearts that he was smarter than those assholes that passed him by with quick promotions because they played ball and weren't family men, and they smooched the bosses asses and went out and partied and made the boss feel like he was king of the world while he passed on the good times and was home eating dry meatloaf and racing out the door to little league practice with his sons.  He wanted me to know that he was good looking and more than once he met a woman that wanted to take him back to her room, but he would never think of hurting Mary.  He believed he could have raced cars, run marathons, controlled a Fortune 500 company, fought in the crusades, or fucked Anne Margaret if he just had been given the chance.
         Instead of speaking Mr. Trower raised his drink and we clinked glasses.  We smiled at each other and looked through the menu.

         At the end of what turned out to be a delicious meal I asked our waitress for the check, and the uncomfortable silence fell on the table.  This is a crucial moment and I always panic that I'm going to blow it.  If I don't read the mood of the group correctly I am libel to make a business meeting faux pas that may be a deal breaker.  Because Pete and Ted are along for the ride, I am in charge and now I have to decide if I cut this night off and let Mr. Trower and his two useless cronies off the hook so they can do what they really want or do I suggest more together time.
         I was hoping for some tell-tale signs during dinner, like a yawn, or a comment on how early the flight will be in the morning, clearly indicating they were looking to go to bed or at least ditch us.  Somehow the conversation turned to superhero action movies and the neglect that most directors show the story of the hero.  I was surrounded by nerds and their conversation was getting intense.  All I wanted to do was excuse myself so I could pace the hallway by the bathroom and decide if I was going to call Jessica.
         To my surprise it was Mr. Trower who took advantage of the others being so engrossed in conversation.  He leaned towards me and in a quiet voice asked me if there were any good strip clubs in the area - he said "my guys need a good time.  They can't get away with it at home."  In those fourteen words Mr. Trowers really said everything I had thought when we sat down to eat.  He was going to go home to Mary's famous meatloaf.  He was going to seed his grass.  He was going to sit in the living room full of pictures of his grand kids and drink a lite beer while he read the local Eagle Gazette.  He was going to carry on, but what he needed, what I could give him, more than a good deal to bring back to his boss, was the excuse - the push to take him out of reality and see some hard bodied co-ed shake her tits in his face.  He needed the make believe.  He needed it to be on my dime.  He was doing it for his guys.  He needed a clear conscience.  He was doing it because everyone knows that's how you close a deal, how you make the wheels of business turn.  He was certain that everyone knew that big business lives and dies by young tanned girls giving lap dances in jiggle joints.
         The deal was already made, but I was obliged to make Mr. Trowers happy.  As I slipped the company credit card into the leather valise to pay the check, Mr. Trowers nodded towards the credit card.  "I know you want to get back to that redhead.  Make the fellas happy, a couple of dances, and you're free to go.  Sound good?"
                   "Sure, sounds like a plan," I felt myself get red in the face.
                   "Don't let that piece slip away," and then towards his cronies, "C'mon you guys.  No one cares about Batman.  He was a rich faggot.  Let's go look at some titties."  Mr. Trowers got up and led the way out of the restaurant.  I sat at the table waiting for the waitress to bring my card back.  Pete and Ted stood by their seats while the cronies went to meet their boss.  They both gave me a questioning look as I signed the slip and handed it to the waitress.  I shrugged my shoulders and said "let's go look at some tits."
         

         The six of us stood out front of the hotel waiting for the porter to call us a cab.  The four nerds went back to their debate and Mr. Trowers stood by himself a little bit away from them with his hands in his pockets, staring out into the night sky with a a half smile on his face.  I was standing to the back of them and I was going to try to be social and join the conversation when my phone rang in my pocket.  It was Jessica.  I had a lump in my throat.  What was I going to say? I couldn't tell her that we were going to a tit joint.  If I said we were going to get a drink and she asked where I would sound like an idiot.  I answered the phone.
                   "Hello?"
                   "Hi, Brandon, it's Jessica,"
                   "Hey, how are you?"
                   "Good.  Am I interrupting anything?"
                   "No, not at all.  We just finished Dinner,” I was thrashing my mind trying to anticipate the next question.  I had to think of something clever that would buy me an hour or so.
                   "When you get back from the strip club, do you want to meet up?"  I was stunned.  How could she know that we were going? I looked around to see if she was watching me.  Did she ask the waitress? What the fuck was I thinking? I spoke to the girl for twenty minutes and I'm already assuming that she is stalking me and asked strangers questions about my whereabouts. 
                   "I ahh, ahh,"
                   "My dad goes on business trips all the time.  We joke with him about it all the time.  I mean my mother used to be a stripper, so you know it's not a big deal.  Hey, are you there?"
                   "Yeah, I, um,"
                   "I'm kidding; about my dad being in business,"
                   "I figured that.  Wait, what?"
                   "Wow, slow on the uptake, you okay champ?  Listen, we are finished eating and Karen ate something that made her sick so she went back to the room with Trish.  It would be cool if we could get a drink when you get back.  I'll be in the casino looking for hot old men."
                   "That would be great.  I should be back in like an hour."
                   "Okay, call me.  Bye."  She giggled as she hung up the phone.

         I was some kind of retard.  I didn't say anything.  No smart come backs.  No laughs.  I was better than that.  She was amazing.  She had jokes, and they were funny.  I was sure this girl was a serial killer, or worse had a penis.

         Mr. Trower walked over to me.  He had a big smile on his face.  I think he had an epiphany while we waited for the cab.  "Can Heckle or Jeckle over there use the credit card?"
                   "Yeah, they have company cards, why?"
                   "Go meet the redhead.  She called you. You don’t make a girl like that wait.  Go have a great time.  Don't live in your head.  It will make your hair fall out and you'll have a comb over too," Mr. Trower's face lit up, amused by his own joke.  "Go and make it happen.  But, there's no reason why the rest of us can't go have some fun," he nodded towards the four nerds standing by the cab that had just arrived.  Pete and Ted looked at me like small children waiting for a dollar for the ice cream man.
                   "Have a great time guys.  Thank you for understanding Mr. Trower,"
                   "I should be saying that to you.  The name is Walter but my friends call me Woody by the way.  I will call you next week to go over the plans.  Now go!" We shook hands.  As I ran into the lobby and fished my phone out of my pocket I was sorry that he shared his nickname with me.