Story time!

[lolotehe]

The casino was crowded, which was okay by me. More people trying to win is just more people who can use my services.

I picked my guy soon enough and strode over to him. The fact that I was looking right at him must have thrown him off guard--that and the dress. I like the dress. It brings out all the right curves on me. A wise investment, that dress. Haven't had to pay for a drink yet.

And that's the first thing he offered, to buy me a drink. I don't like drinking while I'm working, though. I might have one later (after we've won), but I think alcohol affects my abilities adversely.

After we had gotten over the drink issue, he asked me if I was a dancer; I explained that he wasn't going to see me without the dress. So, he asked just what my services were and I explained. We worked out terms--my usual ten percent first time and twenty-five for repeat customers--and headed to the black-jack table. Only card games. No chance game--not my field.

The moment we sat down, I felt the dealer start it up. Most of the dealers at this casino were talented, so my skills were needed here. I let him do his first wash. The dealer wasn't concentrating on us yet, and started bidding.

"Ante up, ladies and gentlemen. Ante up."

That's usually my cue to start fielding. It's my own personal joke.

I liked my client. He was a good player and didn't take stupid risks. Damn! he was a good bluff.

We cleaned out the black-jack table and headed off to five-card draw. That's one thing about the dealers here--they rely too heavily on their talent, so when someone like myself comes along, they show their true colors. They really are crappy dealers. I mean that. No pun.

My client had calmed down and it only improved his game. Now that the dealers couldn't get in his head, he was breaking them left and right. Usually, I can't find clients like that. I could see why he came to a casino and I'll bet in the old days, he was a regular player. Not now, though. Too much talent out there for a guy like that to make it. Too much talent out there for him to stay afloat without a field like me. I know they still play by the numbers, but they need me to prevent that extra little push.

Half-way through our stay at the draw table, one of my old clients came up. The guy was no good; even with a field he lost.

"Annie, I need you."

My new client had been dealt his cards, but didn't pick them up yet. Yeah, I liked this guy. He was smart. He knew I couldn't keep it up with a sweaty shmuck breathing down my back.

"Annie, please." He was begging.

"You can't play for crap."

"I'll pay you twice as much as usual."

"I don't care." I said. "Fifty percent of nothing is still nothing. Get lost."

And that's when the creep touched me. He put a spongy hand on my arm and tried to pull me from the table. I don't dig off on losers touching me--period--but especially not when I'm working, and especially not when I'm in the dress.

My client was right there for me--protecting his own interests. He dug a thumb into the lard-ball's wrist and said in a calm easy voice, "The lady doesn't want you to bother her. Please refrain from doing so or I'll call security and have you removed."

"A lady" he calls me. Wow. The guy was a charmer and I adored every moment of it. I almost felt like one of those princesses that people fight over.

The creep backed off and split. My client leaned over to me and in a smooth voice said, "Okay, the distraction's gone. Back to work, girlie."

So, it was really more like two dogs fighting over a bone. Oh well.

At the end of the night, my client paid me my ten percent and I made my offer: "Now that you've seen what I can do, maybe next time you come by here, you can pay me what I'm worth."

He looked me up and down and sneered. "How about I buy you a decent dress, so you don't look like a painted whore?"

Okay, that was it. First the girlie routine, then that. I took my cut, told him where to shove the rest, and got my bag from Wei Ling, the coat-check girl.

Wei Ling's a good girl--I like her. She's just trying to make an honest buck--no talent at all. Also, she got me the fake ID that lets me into the casino. She doesn't know any English, and I don't know any Mandarin, but we both speak Street, so I say "Bonon vesperon" to her and she says "Bonon vesperon" to me and we both giggle and say "Fiku illin" and she hands me my bag and I hand her a cut of the night's winnings and then I shimmy-wiggle to the bathroom to change.

Once I was myself again, I had to hoof it and catch the last train home. Had to beat the curfew, so there wasn't any time to sit around. And homework--I had homework before class tomorrow. Pain. Nothing but crap that would never help me get by. All my life-skills I learned at home. Screw school. They can't teach you what I can do.

The client was waiting at the curb and offered me a ride home. I was amazed he could recognize me. One minute in a dress with long blonde hair; next, I'm in boots and coat with short black hair. I bought the wig to match the ID. Makes me look older. Helps me get by.

I told him to shove it, I don't ride with peds. So he said, fine, whatever, and started to walk off. I made my way to the station and he swung around and pressed something into my hand.

"I'll make it worth your while."

I just stood there. Bastard jumped me. He had. Freaked my stuff good. Moved too fast. He had my wrist just like that. Made me open my hand by giving it a twist and shoved a card in my hand.

I watched him leave with clenched fists. I don't like being touched by creeps.

* * * * *

School went okay, I guess. Third period, Tom fried his machine. He does it on purpose, I think. Because he can. The week before that, it was the teacher's machine. One moment we're all watching some old video about these poisonous salamanders and the snakes that eat them; next thing, we're staring at a screen that says "no system files". We all knew it was him. They knew it. He's got talent.

There's a lot of talent at the school. There's a lot of talent everywhere. My parents were so unhappy when I tested negative. They have special schools for talent. No schools for fields though.

My brother has talent, not me. My parents like him.

Then at lunch, those creep talent kids were puppeting Sandipan and he almost broke his BUX and his nose with what they made him do. BUX? I think it's like, _biblio universalo_ something. Something in Street.

Anyway, I can't stand it when talents start puppeting someone, so I jumped in and started to field and then I had to punch this creep talent kid.

I'm a snake. I eat poisonous salamanders. Don't think I don't pay attention.

When I got home, Dad was on me the moment I came in, asking about why a teacher would be calling. I had started fielding the moment I got home, so he only had half the story.

"Why don't you wait until the teach calls?"

"I want to know now," he said.

"Don't be so impatient. You can find out the way the rest of us do: when it happens."

"Wait until your mother gets home, Annie!"

Just for being a puss-ass, I doubled the field so that he wouldn't know about the marbles in the back room. He had been home all day with my brother and hadn't found them yet. I knew that for sure. If he had found them, I would have heard about it.

Mom came home soon enough, but not soon enough for Dad. He's impatient and twitchy and it drives me nuts. Things have to happen for him now--yesterday--the day before that--whenever. He's spent most of his life waiting for something to happen. He's fatalistic, too. Makes me batty.

So, Mom got home and Dad had to talk to her because I was fielding double-time. She tuned in on me and tried to pull it all out, but she couldn't get past my frown.

Then, she tried to make me feel bad about the whole thing but I was drowning her out and it bounced and hit Dad. He was into his first half-hour of apologizing and Mom couldn't calm him. I made sure. That's what you get for playing god, Mom.

An hour after dinner, the call from the teacher came.

Mom spoke with them and wouldn't tell Dad any of the conversation, which is why he knew they had called, but not why. He was begging her for the information, just to know if he was right. She said she'd talk to him tomorrow, she had to go to work, and:

"I'm very angry with you, Annie, and you know why."

My parents are royal flakes. My dad works with investment bankers telling them where the market's going. Mom works this crappy-ass job in marketing selling dresses to ugly women. She tells them they look good. I don't like maniacs like Mom putting thoughts in people's heads. My mom's a psycho.

Screw it, I'm saving up for my own place anyway.

So. Mom left for the evening and Dad had to go in the back room to get something for my creep brother. I guess it's a good thing monkey-breath went with Dad because he caught Dad before he hit the floor.

What I don't understand is how my brother can catch something that big when he wouldn't be able to lift it by himself. "Brain versus brawn" I tell myself.

He set Dad down and came after me and tried to set my sleeve on fire. Whatever, monkey-breath. That's the first of your stupid tricks I learned.

More fielding. I've done it before. My brother has temper-tantrums like that all the time. I know I don't help situations, but if he wants to throw something at me, he better learn to pick them up. I'm not afraid of him. Not now. I'm leaving home before he reaches puberty, though. I ain't sticking around for that hell.

I told Dad I was bugging out and grabbed the rail to the casino. Wei Ling was behind the counter at the coat-check and I went to change, then gave her my bag. I like Wei Ling; she's done a lot for me. We help each other out. It's in our best interests.

A repeat customer came up and we headed for the tables. He got a few hands, but he had to leave early. His wife wanted him home for her birthday, he told me, so he paid me my share and split. Said something about how I really help out normal people like them. If he wanted help, he'd stop coming to the stupid casino.

Then, my client from the night before showed. I explained my price had gone up and it was thirty-percent for a return play. He agreed and we started clearing out the black-jack dick again.

Two nights in a row and the bastard hadn't learned. He wasn't a very good talent to begin with. I hate amateurs.

"Ante-up, ladies and gentlemen. Ante-up."

We cleaned that dealer good and walked out on the balcony for some fresh air.

"I'm glad you made it tonight. I needed to talk to you about something." It was the client jabbering. "How would you like a forty-percent contract?"

I told him I didn't play contracts. I don't like games that go on for hours. Did it once before for a skinny guy who played weekend poker with his friends. They spotted me right away and told him straight-up, no girls allowed in the game.

Contracts ask me to play, to, and I can't play poker to save my life. I'm no good at bluffing; never learned how to lie right. You can't lie to someone like my mom.

"No, this isn't like that. It's a big game and you don't have to play. I'll pay you a flat fee to serve drinks, then add a percentage of the winnings. Forty-percent's a good deal, considering."

"Considering what?"

"Considering the stakes."

I hate contracts like that. That's what the last guy had said to me. Sure, I had a high percentage, but the winnings were too small and I couldn't get out of the game quickly enough. By the time I made it out, it was after curfew and I almost got busted.

"My chauffeur will drive you, so you don't need to worry about curfew."

I hate contracts. And I hate talents. This guy had been reading me the moment I let down my field. He probably worked for the casino as a stakeout for people like me. That's what I get for not fielding when I'm talking to a complete stranger.

"It will help you get more money saved up so you can get your own place."

I know I blanched. I was hot and shaky and felt the sweat forming on my upper lip.

"No, I'm not talented like that. I rely on something a little more old fashioned-—observation."

"Okay, Sherlock." I was pissed. "Tell me how you figured that one out."

"Easy." He smiled. "You're too young--chalk that down to that fake ID--to be living in your own place. You're not on any drugs and you legally couldn't own a vehicle. What else would you be working so hard towards? I'm guessing you're coming up on a birthday soon. You're saving up."

He smiled again, but I wanted to shove my fingers in his eyes. I was fielding triple-time and he _still_ caught my fist.

"I used to box. You pulled back too far for that punch and you thew your arm too slowly."

I was furious. He was humiliating me and everything I stood for. No one should be able to get past me.

He leaned back and crossed his arms. "How'd you get your talent anyway?"

"It's not talent."

"It's a talent," he said. "A talent I'm willing to pay highly for. How'd you get it?"

I told him I got tired of my mom getting in my head. I got tired of my dad always knowing what I was going to do. I got tired of being thrown around the room by my baby brother. Need I go on?

He rubbed his chin and stared at the floor. "So, you can counteract all three forms, huh?"

I started to get antsy. "Look, mister. You're not playing. As long as you don't play, that's less in the end for me. Let's go to the draw-five table."

He dug in his pocket and pulled out a fifty. "Here, if it'll ease your mind any. "

"I don't take hand-outs. I get paid for services rendered."

He grabbed my hand and forced it open with that wrist-twist of his. "Take the goddamn money! That's your retainer fee. Do you still have my card?"

I rubbed my wrist and nodded.

"Fine. You call me tomorrow at five. My chauffeur will pick you and give you your instructions. And you can leave your silly costume at home. We don't deal with that kind."

He gave me my cut of the winnings and walked away. I felt I had done pretty well for the night and got my bag back from Wei Ling. Wei Ling got a good tip that night.

The rail was running behind schedule and I almost missed curfew. If they want to give us hell about staying out late, they should at least make sure the stupid rail runs on time. I think it should be free, too. Most kids don't have money. Well, not the same way I have money.

Mom was waiting up for me, the witch. I could feel her ten feet from the door.

She started right on me the moment I came in. I wasn't doing my homework, I was failing my classes, I was acting up in school....

I could explain the acting up part easy. I'm honest, brutally so. I come from a family where there are no lies, no covering up. I don't go for manners and crap like that. "To be gentile," they say, "you must conceal and not reveal just how you feel." Yeah, right, like anything can be concealed from a talent like Mom.

Then she starts going on about how I'll never be successful. I'm no good in school and I'm not talented, according to her. How will I ever get by in life? She wanted to know.

So I told her, "Mom, hey, calm down. I've got a job and it pays me well enough to get me away from you. I'm moving out in three weeks, so don't give me any more lip."

"Move out?" She asked. "To where? You can't afford the double-deposit they'll want from you."

"Yeah, well, that's where you're wrong. I've been saving up for the past year and you can't touch it. I made sure."

I told her that, to her face, and she started to cry. "My poor baby's leaving home. My darling little girl!" Boo-hoo and such. "I don't know how I'll go on without you."

I had had enough. "Jeeze, Mom. It's not like the house is going to be empty. Anyway, what you want a no-talent trouble-maker like me around for?"

And she started to explain how much help I'd been and how wonderful it was to have me around. How I'd helped with the family budget, because I was the only one with a head for numbers. I was the only one that saved receipts and kept our access from being cut off. I was the only one who knew how to put out the fire that my brother had started in his crib. I was their godsend.

"Why, I was just reading the other day about how most talents will even hire people to take care of them. If you leave, Annie, that's what we'll have to do. I just know we can't take care of ourselves."

That's when I realized she'd been working on me the whole time, hoping I'd drop. That pissed me off. My own mother was trying to guilt trip me into staying and playing house-servant to them.

"That's why you had me," I snapped. "You decided to have a no-talent to take care of you and Dad and that little creep. You had to have me first, because you knew you'd never be able to take care of a baby on your own!"

Man, I remembered that and let the image form perfectly in my head: the way it had been ten years ago, when I came home from school to find my baby brother screaming in his crib and Mom laying on the floor, unable to move, because he was turning her stomach inside out. A hungry baby is a cranky baby, and Mom and Dad were helpless without me to protect them. I dropped and I let her see that: nice and clear.

She recoiled, then held her hands out to me and in her super-sad voice cried out, "I'm your mother! I love you. You know that. You know I love you, don't you honey? I would never do something to hurt my baby. You're the most important thing I have in the world. You're my little extension of me. You're my chance at immortality!"

Just the thought of that made me sick. I fielded hard enough to rattle her head.

"I'm going to bed, Mom. Gotta go to school tomorrow and work on being a successful member of society. Might be late coming back. Don't screw with my dreams while I'm sleeping; I wouldn't put it past you. "

I started off for my room and turned for my final blow.

"Let me know if you have an original thought any time soon. That must be why Dad likes you so much. You're so predictable."

* * * * *

I called the guy from school the next day. I hadn't looked at the card until then; that's when everything fell into place. The name didn't mean anything to me, but the title and company did. That and the card itself--good paper, nice print. I'll bet he moves billions a day, and that's a slow day.

While I was waiting, some creep cop came by and started to hassle me about why I was hanging out by the school. The law says you're at school or at home, but never anywhere in-between. Rattled me enough that I almost handed him my fake-ID. Really, I should keep that in the bag with the casino costume. Not like I need it anywhere else. But I don't want Wei Ling to get in trouble on that; bad enough the bag is there.

Finally, this big, black car shows up, and it's the chauffeur for that guy, and he's a talent! Oh, man, he worked that creep cop over good. I could have put my field up, but it was just too fabu to watch and he puppeted that cop something strong.

Once the creep cop was off, the chauffeur opened the door for me, like I was supposed to ride in a limo and all that. Class! There was a bag in the back with clothes--a uniform--and about my size. Talent chauffeur talked during the whole trip, telling me how to serve a drink, where everything was, what I was supposed to say to people, when I wasn't supposed to talk. I changed in the back and he didn't look back at me. I fielded once in the back, just to see, and that's the only time he looked. Like I said, class.

We got to the guy's house out in the suburbs just as the sun was going down. Through the security gate, past the guards, to a door at the back where the chauffeur let me out.

There was an older woman there, in a uniform like mine. She welcomed me into what I guess was the kitchen. I guess; it was bigger than any kitchen I've ever seen. She and the chauffeur had some conversation in something that sounded like Street, but more fancy. When they stopped talking, I started fielding and they both just stared and stared. That servant woman told me to not show off and save up for the game.

It makes a lot of sense the guy from the casino was a big business man. I bet he used to do really well until the talents started showing up. He was a good card player and anyone who can play at bluff can play at business. I guess they're basically the same thing.

The older woman was giving me instructions the whole time, in Street. I guess she didn't know English. "You'll be the only server in the room at the time. Anything you need you can request through the console and we'll send it up via dumb-waiter."

I explained I knew how a console worked. I had been a waitress at the cafe near the school for three months before I realized I could make better money at the casino. She got all nervous that I had been working somewhere and asked me how old I was. Sh'yeah. Like that matters now. Just show me the room, lady.

The playing room was huge. One table, and five chairs with ashtrays. Big windows with plush velvet curtains--lots of dead things on the walls. Yeah, this guy was in business; you could smell it. I made it to the bar just as the guy and his friends walked in.

"Ah, Annie. A scotch and soda, please." He said that in Street, then he switched to some guttural thing, like German, I guess. They had some conversation before the guy gave me the drink orders in Street.

I don't know why he was hiding that we spoke English. It's not like it's shameful or anything. I don't speak it at school because I got in trouble once. I think it's rude or something.

I mixed up the drinks, but I might have made it too strong because the guy hardly touched his the rest of the night. One guy, an old gray-haired dude, had a whiskey on the rocks, which wasn't hard at all, but one guy ordered a rusty-nail. I had to ask the console what that was and I still made it wrong.

So, there was the old dude, that rusty-nail guy, the mark from the casino, a big blonde guy, and some wiry little guy.

The big guy dealt the first hand.

"Ante-up, Herren. Ante-up."

And I started fielding right there. Casino-guy picked up from there and wiped the walls with them.

The wiry guy was getting nervous and kept giving me nervous looks. Finally, he quit the game.

They stopped playing and made idle chit-chat about something in that German or whatever. Only thing I was able to pick up was when the guy from the casino said, "I can speak English if I want to." The others laughed at that, but I don't know why.

Finally, it was the big, blonde guy and my client from the casino.

The big blonde guy put his feet on the playing table and puffed on his cigar. He said something to the guy from the casino and the only word I caught was "spraken": some kind of noodle. The big guy was eying me up and down. It made me uncomfortable; I felt naked enough as was--working without my wig--and it was worse because I didn't know what these guys were saying.

I think I know why it's considered so rude to speak anything but Street when you aren't home. These guys were rude. They were hiding stuff from me and it wasn't by being talented.

The big, blonde guy made a weird motion with his hand and the door to the playing room opened. I started fielding just as the little guy entered the room. He looked at the big guy, then at me, then said something in that weird language of theirs.

The big guy pointed at me, frustrated. I guessed right, then. The little guy was a talent.

The little guy stared long and hard at me, breathing heavy. I could feel him trying, but a jack-of-all-trades is a master of none. The bastard exhausted himself fighting me.

The big guy ordered him out of the room.

"My little brother's better at it than him," I said. "And he's ten. Next time, get a bodyguard who can throw a punch." Then I remembered what the guy from the casino had said. "Or is that your job?"

My client crossed his arms. "I used to box. I don't now."

"How about you just pay me so I can go home?"

The client started to laugh, but stopped once he noticed the big guy wasn't joining in. He was chewing on his cigar and brooding.

They had more conversation in their own language. Damn! But that's rude. I really wanted to punch someone for leaving me in the dark like that. So not cool.

The big blonde was staring long and hard. "Just what are your terms anyway?"

Oh, so he _could_ speak English! Yeah, that made it worse. Could have let me in at any moment but wanted to be a dick about it.

The guy from the casino broke in before I could take a breath. "Residence in her name and a ten-year contract at twice what you pay your talents."

The big guy chewed his cigar and started talking with his real thick accent. "Girl, you're shrewd. I like you. You don't have to serve me drinks at the conference; you can be my secretary. The others will accept that. How old are you?"

I was pretty mad but played along. "I'll be eighteen in three weeks."

"Would you be willing to sign a contract and do a move-in on your birthday?"

The guy from the casino interrupted. "She could sign a contract now and you can post-date it to her birthday. That's still legally binding."

"But you can't do a move-in until you're of age," the big guy said. "I need you before then."

I shrugged. "You can pay me cash for this job and I'll do the move-in later. Does that work?"

The big guy nodded. "That works. We can do that. How much is your fee?"

"Ten percent for first time players. Twenty-five for repeat customers, forty on contracts."

Big guy looked confused. "Percent of what?"

Now, I was confused. "Of winnings, of course. What did you think I was talking about?"

"She works at a casino," my client intervened. "She counteracts the dealers. That's where I met her." Then, he grinned at me. "I think we can come up with a reasonable amount for reimbursement, though."

* * * * *

A week before my eighteenth birthday, the big blonde guy and I left for for some fancy location. The conference room was the kind you see in movies: big tall ceilings and super-polished wood that looks like plastic. I felt a little nervous at first, but the big guy guided me to my seat--at his left--and pointed where the bathroom was.

He had paid for a new wardrobe and I got my hair done. I fought the dye job at first, but red did look pretty good on me. The big guy had even gone to the effort of picking the dress I would wear to the conference. Like my old dress, it curved in the right places. I assumed there would be a lot of old, easily-distracted guys to deal with.

I left my field down while their talent did a sweep. The whole time I doodled in my note-book what I thought looked like shorthand, thinking as loudly as I could, "I should get my nails done. Am I getting fat? This dress looks wrong on me..." and other secretary thoughts. Their man was good. He had a clear, strong read and he could stay focused.

The talent nodded to his superior and the old, head-of-the-company type guy cleared his throat and said something in some funny language. Sounded like a cartoon, he did.

His talent (who was also the translator!) announced to the assembly, "Okay, let's get these negotiations out of the way."

Annie-up, gentlemen. Anti-up.