The Good Luck Charm
Nexis Pas (nexispas@yahoo.co.uk)
Copyright 2009 by the author
`You see that young man in the dark red knit shirt who's waiting for an order at the bar?'
`Oh, wow, what a stunner.'
`He's my good luck charm.'
`Your what?'
`My good luck charm. He rides the bus in the morning two or three times a month. He always sits on the bench near the front along the side of the bus. You know the loudmouth I've told you about who gets on at my stop—he usually sits there. So my good luck charm forces that oaf to take another seat, out of the range of my vision, which is a great plus. He's much easier on the eyes in the morning.'
`So that makes him your good luck charm?'
`No. That's because of what happened one of the first mornings he was on the bus. That was the day I persuaded Gillian Barnes to sign with us. And then the next time he was on the bus was the day I got the promotion. So every time I see him, I expect good things to happen.'
`What's his name?'
`I don't know. I've never spoken to him.'
`Don't you want to meet him?'
`No, not really. For starters, I have you. Why would I be interested in him?'
`Hmm. So I'm the starters now. I suppose he's the main course. Fillet of prime-quality beef.'
`Your starters always leave me stuffed. Can't handle a main course after one of your starters.'
`He could be the savoury. Or the pudding. You like Eve's pudding. He could be that. I'm sure his apples would tempt you. Juicy and sweet and crisp.'
`To judge from the bulge in his levis, Adam's pudding would be more appropriate. Figs and bananas covered with double cream. But no, he's just a bit of eye candy that brings me good luck. And we had better abandon the food metaphors. The next ones could only be a step down.'
`You said "for starters". I suppose you have one of your methodical lists of reasons he would not do.'
`Let's see. Second, I must be twenty-five years older than he is.'
`Thirty-five would be closer to the mark.'
`Oooh, what an awful bitch it is.'
`Hmmm. Well, I am your bitch. It's my role in your life.'
`Indeed. And a very nice one you are.'
`Is there a third reason?'
`Third reason for what?'
`Why you haven't spoken to your good luck charm.'
`Oh, he could only disappoint. As long as I know nothing about him, I can pretend he's perfect. If I spoke to him, I might discover that he comes in second to a seagull in intelligence. Or that he has an unpleasant voice. Or what, oh, I don't know, that he has a tattoo of a drunken sailor on his left buttock.'
`So you have imagined his left buttock?'
`Yes, but not to worry. Yours is much better. Or at least it was when you were his age.'
`Touché. What about now?'
`I haven't seen the tattoo of the drunken sailor on your left buttock since this morning. I hesitate to commit to a comparison for fear that it may have deteriorated since last viewed.'
`Why don't you finish your pint? We can go home, and you can inspect it up close and personal.'
`Well, now, I think I can leave the rest of this. Your offer of a private viewing is incomparably preferable to this inch of ale.'
`And your good luck charm?'
`I would say that he has discharged his duties handsomely, wouldn't you?'