JASON A. FEINGOLD - LUCKY IN LOVE

After ending a career in teaching, Jason began writing, with works published in Infernal Ink Magazine, 99 Pine Street, Amarillo Bay, Allegory, Bewildering Stories and the Bewildering Stories Second Quarterly and Annual Reviews, Ariel Chart, Danse Macabre, Voices: A Collection of Essays and Messages from Guardians Ad Litem, Little Rose Magazine, the Jewish Literary Journal, and the Avalon Literary Review. He anticipates publication of stories in Good Works Review, Abstract Magazine, WINK: Writers in the Know, and Storylandia between December 2018 and spring of 2020. Under the pen name Simon Easton, he has published in Five on the Fifth, Corvus Review, cc&d Magazine, and Five 2 One Magazine. He has published in several anthologies, including the cc&d magazine “Lost in the Past” December 2016 edition and its Scars Publications collection books entitled The Chamber and After the Blues. He has edited and contributed to an anthology called The Seven Story House and a second anthology called Beyond the Pane. When he’s not writing, he’s reading, keeping house, being a husband, raising a son, chasing dogs, and volunteering as a Guardian ad Litem in the North Carolina county where he lives. Visit him at jasonsblog.net.

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Lucky in Love
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​Lucky was a gambling man. He earned his name honestly – he mostly lost at just about every game he played. He was worse than a gambling addict. He was a gambling addict who was addicted to losing.
            He was, however, a decent man. Loan sharks worked him over with reluctant and gentle force. Bookies let him let it ride, even though it was against their instincts. He barely won often enough to keep his head above water, at least down to his nose, but it was a rare day when he took the green home with him after paying everyone back, with interest.
            He lived in the utmost sort of poverty, renting a basement deathtrap of a room in a shambling house in Queens, eating bologna sandwiches and smearing mayonnaise and mustard all over the racing sheets that were his mealtime occupation, as his television and stereo had been pawned ages ago. He took his off-track betting very seriously, never mixing alcohol with his judgment, and yet he still could never force himself to bet on the favorite even when it was obvious that the horse that was three-to-two was going to win. The long-odds Trifecta was his holy grail.
            Lucky worked in the Swingline stapler factory in Long Island City. He spent the day loading the little braces into the staplers that pushed the staples forward in the barrel to ensure a perfect stapling experience every time. On another day, he might attach the top of the stapler to the bottom by putting the pin in the hinge. Sometimes he worked quality control, making sure that the metal staples that were the bread-and-butter of the operation were properly squared off before being placed into the boxes with concatenating perfection.
            On his days off he liked to take the subway to Belmont. If he had any money left after that, he would seek out an illicit game of blackjack or poker, usually in Chinatown. He also enjoyed the thrill of shooting dice, but he was too terrible at it for even himself to stomach. He never knew when to quit.
            He was playing blackjack one day in the back room of a Chinese restaurant. It was one of those days where he was maintaining the status quo, winning and losing in equal parts, when he noticed the dealer for the first time. He only had had eyes for the chips and the cards and the dealer’s hands, so he was surprised when he looked up and found a beautiful woman attached to the hands that dealt the cards. He was so distraught by what he saw that he hit on twenty, but the beautiful lady drew an ace out of the shoe in a minor miracle.
            Lucky had never loved anything except gambling and his mother, so he wasn’t sure about what he should do next. Clearly, he couldn’t keep playing. He was too distracted. He got up from his stool and slid a fifty-dollar chip he could not afford to lose across the green felt of the table to her. She smiled and thanked him and dropped the chip into a slot in the table meant for such windfalls. He stared at her awkwardly for a few moments and then wandered away from the table with no idea of what his next move should be.
            There were other blackjack tables, a game of Texas Hold ‘Em, a craps table with people stacked three-deep around it, and a roulette wheel. Normally he would be torn as to what he should play, still having chips in his pocket, but he found that all the games had lost their allure. He had eyes only for the dealer.
            After cashing in his chips, he lurked for a while, but the bouncers began to circle him. If he wasn’t gambling, then there was no reason for him to be there. He took the hint and exited the illicit casino through the door leading to the alley, the same way he had come in. He stood in the alley for a few minutes, wondering which of the doors the croupiers exited through at the end of their shifts.
            He circled the block and entered the Chinese restaurant from the front. He sat by the window and ordered dim sung and a pot of tea. He waited. Two hours later the dealer passed in front of the window of the restaurant. He threw money down on the table and raced outside while putting on his coat.
            “Excuse me, miss,” he said, catching up to her.
            “Yes?” she replied, turning to face him. Without the cigarette smoke to confound his vision, he noticed that her Asian face was even more beautiful than he had thought, a thing of unmarred perfection. He felt shabby with his three-day-old stubble and his worn overcoat, so much so that he almost excused himself and turned away.
            “I was playing blackjack at your table earlier. Do you remember me?”
            “Uh, sure,” she said, not convincingly.
            “I was wondering if I could call you sometime?”
            “Do you know how many drunken gamblers ask me that every night?” She turned to go.
            “I’m not drunk,” Lucky said. “I haven’t had one drop.”
            She turned back to face him. She sniffed.
            “But you gamble,” she said.
            “Uh huh.”
            “I would never go out with a gambler. He’d be a lousy boyfriend. He’d take all my money and go off to gamble it away.”
            “I’m not like that,” Lucky said with bravado, not knowing if he was like that or not. He’d never had a girlfriend before.
            She laughed a brittle, derisive little laugh.
            “I’ll bet.”
            “Let me prove it to you.”
            “How are you going to do that?” she asked.
            “I’ll pay my way. I’ll never ask you for anything. Except your number.”
            “Give me your phone,” she said. He handed it to her. She put in a number, pressed send, and immediately hung up. “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she said as she handed it back.
            “Thank you,” Lucky said. “By the way, my name’s Lucky.”
            “Oh God,” she groaned. “Don’t you have a real name?”
            “Yeah, but this is the one that sticks.”
            “I’m Susan.”
            They stared at each other awkwardly for a few moments. Lucky didn’t know if he should offer to shake her hand or what.
            “I have to go now,” Susan said.
            “I’ll call you,” Lucky said to her receding back.
*     *     *
Lucky woke up early the next day, his day off. It was too early to call Susan, so he made coffee, showered, shaved for the first time in several days, dressed, and went to the newsstand where he usually bought his racing forms. He paid for them and was on his way back to his room when he remembered that he wasn’t gambling anymore. He still brought them home and poured over them with his coffee, making X’s and circles and check marks that formed the calculus he used to handicap the horses.
Eleven o’clock rolled around. Normally he would head for Belmont, but he sat in his room and made more coffee instead. The urge to go to the track was nearly irresistible, and as the clock moved to Belmont’s first post time, he began to squirm. He felt like he was missing out on something potentially wonderful, like Christmas morning.
Let me prove it to you, he had said.
He took out his phone and pulled up Susan’s number, assuming that she had given him her real number. He wondered what the odds were that she had. His finger hovered over the send button until the screen went blank. He pressed the power button, and the screen came on again. He did this several times.
I can forget it, he thought. I can forget the whole thing and go to the OTB. There’s still time to bet the second race.
Finally, he hit the send button. If she answered, he reasoned, then he could talk to her and distract himself from the urge to bet the horses. If she didn’t answer, or if the number was fake, he could still go and gamble with no harm done to his non-existent love life.
“Hello?” a woman’s voice answered.
Lucky hesitated.
“Hello?” she said again, this time sternly.
“Hi, is this Susan?”
“Who’s this?”
“Lucky. From last night.”
“Oh. Hey,” she said with limited enthusiasm.
“I was wondering…” Lucky began. His voice trailed off. He’d used up all his nerve.
“You were wondering?” Susan prompted.
“If you’d have dinner with me tonight.”
“I have work tonight,” she said. “We don’t get weekends off.”
“Oh,” Lucky said. He had no idea what to say next.
“How about lunch?” she suggested.
“Today?”
“Sure.”
“Let’s get something in Little Italy,” she suggested. “That way I can go straight to work after.”
“Okay, great. Where?”
She named the place. After they said another awkward goodbye, Lucky left his room for the subway, even though their date was for two hours hence. Once he was on the train, he couldn’t help but smile as he stared at the other people’s shoes, unable to make his don’t-fuck-with-me face that was the staple of his commuting expressions.
He arrived at the restaurant forty-five minutes early. It wasn’t busy, so the staff didn’t seem to mind him sitting around sipping at a soda and fidgeting while he waited for Susan and wondered nervously if she was going to show up. At T plus one minute, his fidgeting shifted into high gear, and he could barely keep himself from squirming in his seat. He thought about ordering something stronger, but before he could make a decision, Susan came into the restaurant.
He stood up and waved. As she made her way over to the table, he saw that she looked even better in the daylight than she had at night. He pulled out the chair for her, and she chuckled as she sat. He felt foolish. He took his seat, and they faced each other.
“Did you have trouble coming in?” Lucky asked.
“Was I late?” Susan replied.
“That’s not what I meant,” Lucky said, dropping his eyes. “I just…”
She smiled. “I live near here.”
“You live in Manhattan?”
“Sure.”
“Dealing blackjack must pay good,” Lucky said. “Better than playing it.”
“As long as the cops don’t find out.”
The waiter came to take their orders. Susan had the eggplant parmesan. Lucky ordered lasagna.
“So what do you do?” she asked.
“I work at the Swingline plant in Queens,” he said.
“Doing what?”
“On the production line.”
“Oh.”
“It’s an important job,” Lucky said. “Imagine what the world would look like without staples. All those papers blowing around in the breeze.”
“You could always use paper clips,” Susan said.
“Paper clips,” Lucky scoffed. “They bend, they get caught on things, they tangle. Staples got paper clips beat by a mile.”
Susan laughed. Lucky beamed.
“So what do you do when you’re not working?” Lucky asked.
“I go to classes at CUNY.”
“Oh.” It was Lucky’s turn to be disappointed.
“What’s the matter with that?” Susan demanded.
“I don’t have much of an education,” Lucky said reluctantly.
“I’m not a snob or anything,” Susan said. Lucky brightened visibly.
Lunch came. They dug in.
“This is really good,” Lucky said, impressed.
“I love this place,” Susan said.
Lunch was over all too soon. The check came, and Lucky paid it, leaving a generous tip.
“You don’t have to pay for me,” Susan said.
“I said I’d pay my way,” Lucky said. “This is ten times better than losing my money at Belmont.”
“Really?”
Lucky took a deep breath. “Really.”
They put on their coats and left the restaurant. They stood on the sidewalk awkwardly facing each other.
“Can I walk you to work?” Lucky asked.
“It’d be nice to have the company,” said Susan.
They walked about a block before Lucky thought of something to say.
“How did you become a blackjack dealer?” Lucky asked.
Susan audibly blew out a breath in response.
“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”
“I want to tell you,” Susan said. “It’s just that…”
“Don’t worry about it,” Lucky said quickly. “It isn’t important. Just making conversation.”
It wasn’t much longer until they reached the Chinese restaurant that fronted the illicit casino.
“Can I see you again?” Lucky asked.
“Call me,” Susan said. She stood on her tippy-toes and kissed Lucky on his rarely-shaven cheek. “Thanks for lunch.”
The kiss stayed with him all the way back to his room, but when he got there, it flew away from his face with the insatiable need to go to the OTB and make bets. For the first time, he realized he had nothing to divert himself with because gambling had been his whole life. He was quitting cold turkey, and the ache he felt to place a bet was both mental and physical. Knowing that he had money in his pocket just made everything worse.
Feeling the walls closing in on him, he put on his coat and went to the pawn shop where he had hocked his TV. He bought one that looked pretty much the same and an aerial to go with it. He could only get a few channels in his basement efficiency, but it was better than nothing. He watched TV and drank beer until he fell asleep.
*     *     *
There were other lunches and dinners and late night snacks. There was never breakfast. She visited, but she never stayed the night. He had wanted to go to her place, but she insisted on coming to Queens with him. He thought she would take one look at the place and run away screaming, but if she minded it, she didn’t say anything.
“I’m going to get on the night shift,” Lucky said over their lunch. “So we can see each other more. Not just on my days off.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“What? You don’t want to see me?”
“It’s not that. It’s just…”
“What?” Lucky asked. He began to sweat instantaneously. He wiped his upper lip with his napkin.
“Remember how you asked me how I became a blackjack dealer?”
“Yeah?”
“Well, it’s the family business. My father is a gangster, and he runs the casino for other gangsters.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Lucky said before considering the ramifications of what she had said.
“My parents are sending me to China,” she said. “To get married.”
“You have a fiance? In China?”
“It’s arranged. I’ve never met him.”
“Well, don’t go,” Lucky said. “They can’t make you.”
“Yes, they can.”
“Come and live with me,” Lucky gushed. “It’s not much, but I’ll get something better. I’ll pick up extra shifts at work.”
“My father will get angry at you.”
“I don’t care if he likes me or not.”
“He won’t give you a good talking to. He’ll kill you. Literally.”
“We’ll run.”
“He’d find us. I’m sorry. This is the way it has to be.”
“So why did you…”
“I couldn’t let a stranger be the only one,” she said softly.
Lucky’s love for Susan weighed on him like a boat anchor. “When do you leave?” He was barely able to form the words.
“Two weeks.”
*     *     *
            They stole as many moments of pleasure as they could in the time they had left, but as much as they tried to live in the moment, they could not stop the moments from fleeing. One day she was present, and the next day she was gone for good.
            Lucky held on tight for a couple of days, but in the end, he could not resist the urge to go to the OTB. He went to the counter to place a bet, but at the last second he snatched his cash back and left.
There was no point. He’d gotten lucky, for once. He doubted he’d ever get so lucky again.