Page 17 of The Player's Obsession

“Yeah, and we can’t afford drinks at the casinos. You must be feeling better. You’ve managed to insult my fashion sense and my social skills. I need to pull something incredible out of this shitty closet.” I flip through dresses folded on the crappy white wire shelving that’s in every apartment I’ve ever lived in. I’d love to have a closet with an actual rod so I can hang my clothes on matching velvet hangers and find something to wear easily.

“Where is Oliver taking you?”

“A steak place, I think.”

“Well, with him, it will be someplace amazing. Do you have a cocktail dress?”

“Yes, I think I do. If I can find it.” I put the phone on the dresser and dig around in my closet. I find a forgotten dress hidden under my favorite jacket from college and pull it out. I pick up my phone. “Okay, I’m video calling you now.” I hold the dress up and pray Lucinda doesn’t hate it. It’s too late and too expensive to go shopping.

“That’s not bad. You have those black leather boots that will keep your legs warm, and you have that long wool coat. That coat is dressy. Wear it.”

“Do you like the dress?”

“Yeah, I do. You have enough boobs and butt to fill it out in the right places. I like the illusion of the sheer black fabric on the top and the sleeves. And the print looks like it’s appliquéd. You must have bought it for a special occasion.”

“Yes, for my parents’ anniversary party at a fancy-smantzy place in New York. It cost a pretty penny, but I’ve worn it more than once.”

“Great. Now for your hair,” Lucinda starts.

“I think I’ll braid it into some sort of bun.”

“That’s too puritanical. You’re the only person I know without frizzy hair. Wear it down. Your hair is beautiful. You can blow it out, and your natural waves will be gorgeous.”

“Ugg. I hate the color of my hair, it’s boring brown.”

“Your problem is not the color, it’s the style. You don’t need to always put it up. It makes you look uptight. Your features are delicate, and your skin looks perpetually tanned. Most of the people here are pale due to the lack of sunlight.”

“I can see how it can lead to depression. Winter never seems to end. I love summer and sunlight. Ironically, I continue to live in the North.”

“True. It’s the only time of the year anyone wants to live here. Some will hang on for a few months to feel the change of the season, but no one wants the cold that comes in February. I mean, there’s a reason our football stadium is enclosed.”

“True. Fine. I’ll do my hair as you suggested and try to be sexy without being slutty.” That’s not as easy as the serious one in the family, who is more worried about paying rent and car payments than having fun. But isn’t that what adults do?

“Try being soft like a marshmallow. If you continue being serious all the time, you’ll scare away all the right men.”

I stare at her on my phone screen. “I wouldn’t know the right kind of man if he jumped in front of me with a sign.”

I make her chuckle, and it makes me feel good. I smile.

“You’re the best. I have to get going.”

“Good luck. Remember, leave the accountant at the office. You’re not that stuffy in real life.”

“What?” I’m offended.

“In my experience, most pilots and accountants lack material in the personality department. Let’s face facts, they have more brains than many of us. It’s like God gave them gifts in one area and took something away in another. Come’on. No one is perfect.”

“That’s true. I wouldn’t know about pilots. I’ve never dated one.”

“Take it from me, my only date with a pilot consisted of listening to him talk for two hours about airplanes and wind-speeds. He was a numbers guy who watched his investments like they’re tomatoes growing on a vine, and he had no imagination at all, no creativity. I imagine sex is scheduled and completed only in the missionary position.”

“Was it?”

“I have no clue. I was bored off my ass and practically ran from the restaurant while he called after me, saying he had a good time.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.”

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