Subject: Bozo's Story about the Hooker From: Chuck Weinstock Date: Fri, 25 May 2001 15:18:14 -0400 To: barge@barge.org We walked by her on the way from the poker room to the pizza kitchen at the Mirage. She was sitting at the bar, nursing some sort of drink, and bathing in the longing stares of every heterosexual male who walked by. Man, was she gorgeous. Perfect face, long, soft, sand-colored hair, and flowing, low-cut black dress. Frank, JR, Chuck, and I were taking a break from poker to eat dinner. Without even tipping the hostess, we got seated at a table in the restaurant which gave me a perfect view of her. She was a little far away for me to truly appreciate her, but I stared nonetheless. I swear she smiled at me several times. I almost mouthed "How much?" at her once, but since this question would have been purely rhetorical, I decided not to. About ten minutes after we sat down, a guy who had been sitting at the far end of the bar suddenly moved closer to her. First, he sat down what looked like three seats away from her. Within seconds, she stopped smiling at me (and everyone else who was staring at her) and started up a conversation with him. What I wouldn't have given for a good directional microphone. He moved a little closer (but still not right next to her - wimp), and she started giving him the act. Hair sweeps, girlish giggles, shoulder-strap adjustments, and thrown-back-head laughs at his lame jokes. We ordered and waited patiently for our food, making bets on how long it would take her to reel him in and daring each other to go over to the bar and sit in the empty seat between them. After 20 or 30 minutes, the food came, and we gobbled it down, amazed all the while that she was taking so long to make this deal. Perhaps it was a slow night; perhaps we were wrong about her and she was just being friendly. JR, who was facing the wrong way to do any casual observation, asked me to keep a close eye. He didn't want to miss them getting up and walking out together. No problem. I sure as hell preferred staring at her to looking at either of the two sheep-shaggers sitting across the table from me. I was taking my last bite of dinner when she finally hooked him. "Bingo!", I said softly, and JR and Frank turned their heads to see the Mr. Richnerd and Ms. Softsell getting up and walking out of the bar. Then, as if we all needed one last bit of evidence to convince us, she provided it. At the exit from the bar, she asked him to wait for her while she went to talk with someone. She walked into the sports book and up to this guy wearing a patterned silk shirt seated facing away from us. They talked for about 5 minutes, her face animated and her hands full of gestures, his body and head barely moving. All the while Mr. Richnerd was waiting patiently at the bar entrance, awkwardly trying to cover up the bulge in his trousers. I could almost hear the conversation in the sports book: "He says he only has two hundred, Guido, and it's a slow night." "Well, baby, he's already spent that just gabbing with you. If he wants that pretty mouth of yours to do more than just talk, he's gonna have to put up a few more bills...." Somehow, it was settled, and she returned to the guy who was getting a little worried, but started beaming as as they walked off toward the elevators. The dinner was a little expensive, but the entertainment was free, and that made all the difference. -Bozo ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Stephen P. Blackstock "I used to think that the brain was bozo@world.std.com the most wonderful organ in my body. Then I realized who was telling me this." -- Emo Phillips