The Shonnie Saga Continues
Please Just Watch/Listen To The GD Vid
I Have Grown Weary and Teary Of The Tiresome Worry of
Just Tryin’ to Walk You Through It
Video Credit: Renato Spallucci
Please Just Watch/Listen To The GD Vid
This is Ded-Eye-Cated To A Woman Of Whom I Am Rather Fond, But Who Hates Me (Whew! Dat’s A bold Statement Cowboy) Her Name Begins With An ‘M’ and ends W/An ,,, N/M–No Doxxer Here! Not I. She Won’t read this NEway. “Shonnie The Biker’s Wife VI: Vegas’ ‘Soft Porn’, or ‘Blue Hotel Room’
Dedicated to the One I Love
And The Darkest Hour is Just Before Dawn (Or Mary, or Sue–I am easily Confused—Easily)
Author’s Apology: The Font(s) in this post are WAY Too Large, but WP will NOT Allow Me to FIX This. Once Again, I find me apologizing for the Lame-Azz inadequacy of Word-Press
Vid Share Cred: Folk Experience
Do NOT Read This With Kids Around!
It is Christmas time
Go Wrap the Presents, or sumthin…
Git Yer Mind Outta My gutter.
I Live There all alone
“Lance, You will be spending Yet Another Christmas All Alone.”
Lance sez, “Well, at least this time I am not in Iraq or Afghanistan or Sinai, and I do trust no one will be shooting at me…. Right?
“Don’t venture out.”
“Okay. Good advice. Thanks.”
Shonnie Saga Continues:
Unsuitable for minors and miners, and especially casual diners:
If you find yourself on the
‘Prude Side of the Pew’,
You may want to skip this one.
(And That’s a Joke, Y’all.)
Lock your screen if you need to step–away from your computer for a moment.
She extinguished her Marlboro and stood up. Nonchalantly dropping her robe onto the floor, she lay back on the bed. Seductively, she brought her left knee half-way to her chin, then turned slightly to face me.
I had to pause for a moment to fill my eyes. Her petite body approached perfection. Very light-skinned, almost cream colored–warm cream–French Vanilla, like for coffee.
She was so silky-smooth-to-my-touch, everywhere I touched.
With smatterings of freckles ‘strategically’ placed here and there, she could best be described as almost ‘Half-Ginger-Cinnamon-Girl’.
The combination of all her traits nearly made me believe in a God.
No. They Made me Actually Believe in a ‘God-Ess’, specifically ‘Aphrodite’ and her descendants, one of whom I held captive inside a Blue Hotel Room at that very moment in my time.
Much more accurate.
And here is why:
The Good, The Bad, and The Beautiful
Justice: Aphrodite Always Helped The He who was forever teased and tormented by The She, The She with whom He was hopelessly in love.
Joyful: Because she was the Goddess of Love, she brought joy and laughter to mortals. (‘Weren’t no thang; just a happy collateral side-effect.’)
Beauty: Aphrodite was most Beautiful and Seductive, The Most Beautiful and Seductive, and she brought her ‘beautiful seductive’ to everyone who was lucky / unlucky enough to know her, or only even of her.
(Lucky or Unlucky?) Kinda depended upon one’s frame of reference and the eventual outcome. Your mileage may, or may already have–varied–Contingent upon your age, I suppose)
Treacherous: Aphrodite did not love her husband Hephaestus, so she sought out Ares.
Malicious: In the story of “Aphrodite and Psyche,” Aphrodite heard of Psyche, and jealous of all the attention people paid to Psyche, she summoned her son Eros, and had him put a spell on Psyche, thus ruining her day, and indeed, the rest of her life for that matter.
Jealous: Aphrodite did not want any mortal to be more beautiful than she. And she just would not tolerate it, not even the mention of the possibility of it.
End of that story.
Greedy: When she saw pretty things, she took them.
And I can attest to the veracity of this. Shonnie, descendant of Aphrodite, found my heart to be a ‘Pretty Thing,’ so she took it. She has never given it back either.
“A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words”
Do any of these traits strike you as being vaguely familiar?
Remind you of Someone?
Well they should, if you have been paying attention.
Here’s a Hint: ‘Related by Marriage to a Biker‘
Not Actually Her: Just A Reasonable Facsimile
(Full Disclosure: ‘Blond’ is not my usual ‘type’—truly I have always been a ‘semi-tall-brunette-with-a-tan’ man; never had any luck with blonds at all, but then, Shonnie was a different kind of blond, now wasn’t she?)
The sun was setting outside the huge hotel window and cast a slight shadow over her. Her hair was still semi-damp and fell down perfectly over her breasts, slightly curling up at the ends. Her right leg was seductively raised up, bent at her knee and turned slightly to the side.
(Yes. Yes! I know! I already mentioned this pose. Please allow me the simple, sinful pleasure of revisiting that image just-one-more-time-in-my-mind. Thank you.)
Her pose thus denied me any direct look at my lustfully desired objective, but I was confident I could find it.
A better scripted scene could not have been created by even Howard Hawks. (Thinking ‘To Have and Have Not’ here—Bogie an’ Bacall).
“Anybody got a match?”
“Yeah, Shonnie & Lance”
I continued to draw the scene into my mind, hoping to meld it permanently with my memory cells. Joni began singing “Blue Motel Room” on the boom box.
“You window shoppin’, or are you coming into the store?”
“Into the store,” I said, “I have spied something interesting enough to draw me in.”
I knelt down at the foot of the bed, picked up her right leg and kissed the underside of her foot, then took her big toe into my mouth for a moment or two sucking it; licking it.
Then I began working my way up her calf to the inside of her thighs, ever so slowly back and forth, ‘thigh to thigh’, I suppose you could say.
At this point she was beginning to writhe a bit. I proceeded north and just as ‘Blue Motel Room’ ended, I began.
Tantalizingly slow at first, then faster and faster, then slowly again… occasionally gently sucking her clitoris, alternating with circular tongue motions, also mixed in with rapid back and forth tongue movements.
While Joni sang ‘Song for Sharon’, a rather longish song, I brought Shonnie, by my count, to three or four climaxes. (But what do I know? Well, I WAS THERE, after all, and I felt her contractions in my mouth.)
I was about to lose it myself so I threw my back down beside her, pulling her on top of me. Grasping her so fine, firm little ass.
She suddenly sat bolt upright, straddling me, grabbing my arms and pinning me down. She passionately fucked me with what could almost be described as ‘pure sexual violence’.
(No ‘making love’ in this instance; we had succumbed to our basic ‘animalistic’ instincts!)
Embarrassed to report, but about twenty seconds after I entered her, I was spent. She didn’t complain though. She rolled off of me and lay on her back, both of us panting, sweating, but completely and blissfully sated (and spent)
Joni began singing ‘Refuge Of The Roads’.
Another Thinly Veiled Foreshadowing?
“Another Fuckin’ Song Lance? Really? You’re Wearing us OUT!”
“This one is Important. Very Important!”
“It is Joni’s song, yes.“
“But more than that, way much more than that,”
“It is Shonnie’s Song.”
Not requisite that you listen, only requested, but it sure would make-my-day if you did listen. The Words are important.
–Lance said That
“And… if you DO Watch/Listen, you will ‘auto-magically’ be entered into the First-Ever…”
“Texan Tales & Hieroglyphics”
“Give-Away of Free Stuff Lottery”
(Quantity and Quality of Stuff Subject to Availability)
‘Availability’ of money in the author’s bank account.
Shonnie said, “Reach me a cig, will ya Baby?” (First time she had called me ‘Baby’. I loved the way it sounded coming from her slightly course and throaty voice.
I lit two Marlboros at once, ‘Movie Style’, handed one to her. We lay back, smoking and began (between giggles and exchanging ‘We are so great, and proud of us’ looks) a smoke ring competition.
Cigarettes dispatched, Joni run out, silence now, Shonnie once again broached the subject,
“Are you ever gonna show me this town?”
“Yes, I am. Let’s get to it, shall we?”
There is Always Gonna Be At Least One Critic:
“Shonnie The Biker’s Wife, Part VII: A Crappy Star is Born”
Commentary Section From Original Post.
For continuity, please read from the bottom up.
27 THOUGHTS ON “SHONNIE THE BIKER’S WIFE, PT VI: VEGAS’ ‘SOFT PORN’, OR ‘BLUE HOTEL ROOM’”
LAMarcom July 22, 2014 at 19:36 Edit
Actually with just a little practice, they are quite easy to produce. Of course it helps a lot if you’re a smoker…
Thanks very much for your visit.
Tony Single July 22, 2014 at 18:33 Edit
I thought smoke rings was something they only did in cartoons? I almost want to take up smoking to see if it can be done in real life!
LAMarcom July 21, 2014 at 17:49 Edit
Thanks so much.
NancyTex July 21, 2014 at 08:25 Edit
Total lady-boner material right here. Well done, Lance.
LAMarcom July 16, 2014 at 12:31 Edit
It was, yes, one of those ‘wow’ moments.
Thanks for reading and for the great comment.
LVital7019 July 16, 2014 at 12:25 Edit
HEL-lo! Inaword: Wow. 😉
LAMarcom June 23, 2014 at 19:12 Edit
evil grin *
Sandra June 23, 2014 at 18:42 Edit
Dang is the AC broken again? No, it’s just Lance telling another story. 😉
LAMarcom June 22, 2014 at 11:12 Edit
Haha! You know, wh@t happens in Vegas… Well, you know.
Thanks Annie for reading my ‘Blue’ Hotel Room.
Mad Annie, Bronwyn, Ann June 22, 2014 at 10:58 Edit
I know it is hot in Vegas, but REALLY! LOL
LAMarcom June 22, 2014 at 10:13 Edit
Don’t touch that dial!
LAMarcom June 22, 2014 at 00:57 Edit
And I spent all that time reading an’ watching ‘Macbeth’
And trying to emulate Shakespeare and Marlowe…
You always make me smile!
~ Sadie ~ June 22, 2014 at 00:52 Edit
WOW Lance – women pay money for this shit . . . just saying . . . 😉
Looking forward to Part 7!! ☮
LAMarcom June 22, 2014 at 00:23 Edit
And sexy, eh?
Laughing out loud!
Tis a true story, by the way.
Shonnie was just that… sexy.
I miss her!
Anonymous June 22, 2014 at 00:20 Edit
LAMarcom June 22, 2014 at 00:16 Edit
Sadie, I am just a guy with a desire.
~ Sadie ~ June 22, 2014 at 00:12 Edit
Lance – I haven’t even read it yet – in the middle of 3 diff things BUT def reading before I go to bed tonight. Just had to tell you when I checked my email & saw the new installment I was all frickin excited dancing in my chair & chanting yay yay yay!!! I have absolutely loved this series of stories. GREAT job in the writing & the execution, keeping us all waiting with bated breath for your nest chapter!!! 🙂
happierheathen June 21, 2014 at 23:44 Edit
My weakest point is, alas, understanding things. But I’m a-hang around just the same because fading away is something I ain’t mastered yet, either.
Keep ’em coming, my friend!
LAMarcom June 21, 2014 at 22:53 Edit
Frame of ref here, David.
My mind is all over some place.
LAMarcom June 21, 2014 at 22:51 Edit
Happily enuff, It is coming.
After the bliss what was the bliss, that was, Las Vegas.
(You see? I have to build the bliss, before the remiss.)
Shorely, Certainly, (Shirley?) you, of all people, understand.
The unrequited bliss.
David Scott Moyer June 21, 2014 at 22:43 Edit
Used to be???
happierheathen June 21, 2014 at 22:41 Edit
Oh man, I was looking for the weird and all I got was that Lance got laid. Where’s the weird? I wants the weird! 😀
LAMarcom June 21, 2014 at 22:20 Edit
Most assuredly, the pants.
Loosen ’em up a mite.
Then you will be fine.
And thanks for reading.
(Don’t tell anyone I used to be a pervert.)
Anonymous June 21, 2014 at 22:16 Edit
Whew! Is it hot in here or is it just me yoga pants?
LAMarcom June 21, 2014 at 21:59 Edit
Lee, I thought you had banished me due to my Socialist Lean.
So glad ya didn’t.
Thanks my old good friend!
It does get ‘weirder’
Lee June 21, 2014 at 21:40 Edit
After an hour or so of waiting (Three Jim Beams and a half-dozen Marlboros, for those of you who measure time based upon consumption of such items), I decided to go looking for Shonnie. The walk to the El Cortez was not long geographically, but too long emotionally.
Glitter Gulch was teaming with all the usual suspects: tourists, vagrants, weekend warriors, a few ‘normal’ looking locals, refugees from that ‘City of Lost Angels’ and on and on et cetera.
Walking down Fremont I passed the Pioneer Club with its fake ‘Big Tex’ (State Fair of Texas) neon Cowboy, which given my mood, just pissed me off even more.
If that were possible.
Trust me. It was.
Ordinarily I would enjoy casually strolling down Fremont Street. This particular night, not.
“What the fuck was she doing? She was supposed to wait ten or fifteen minutes, cash out, and meet me back at the Plaza,” I grumbled almost out loud.
Adding even more insult to my already sustained injuries, the route took me past a sexy neon cowgirl, reminding me none-to-subtly of My Missing-in-Action real cowgirl.
“Vaguely she floats and lacelike
Blown in like a curtain on the night wind
She’s nebulous and naked
He wonders where she’s been
He grabs at the air because there’s nothing there
Her evasiveness stings him…”
As I approached the El Cortez I noticed an old and gray grizzled geezer digging through a dumpster ‘parked’ at the entrance to an alleyway. Unable to resist (There but for the grace of God go I),
I approached him and dug a green chip out of my pocket and handed it over, theorizing he was a former dice-degenerate as I must inevitably someday become.
“God bless you young man,’ he said to my back as I turned and continued on my journey to El Cortez. Giving the man twenty-five dollars was not some random, selfless act of kindness on my part. I was using him in an effort to lighten my mood. Bestowing a kindness is a solid antidote for anger. At least for me anyhow.
It was getting late and I had neither intention nor desire to return to the Cortez. But I had been summarily compelled.
Some months earlier I had almost been tossed out for the very same act I had so recently performed, albeit that time without a partner to fret over.
Damn you Shonnie!
I made my apprehensive way to the entrance of El Cortez.
Once inside and after successfully navigating my way past the slots, now packed two-deep with mostly ‘Blue-Haired Ladies’, I headed back to the bar. As I sat down I saw Shonnie still sitting next to ‘George’, laughing it up and with a surprisingly decent stack of chips in front of her.
George was lighting her cigarette. She did not notice me at the bar. I ordered a draft Stout, lit a Marlboro, and contemplated my next move.
I had to get her away from the table and away from George, who had obviously fallen to her charms. There were two other players at the table, but the seat next to Shonnie was empty. Once my beer arrived I took a drag from my cigarette and walked over to the table.
The dealer was yet another cute young ‘Ornamental’ sweetie. Before I sat down I withdrew five hundred from my wallet and placed it on the table.
“Green” I said.
The dealer stacked my chips and pushed them toward me. “Good luck, Sir.”
Shonnie looked up and betrayed some surprise. She could see I was pissed. This is an assumption. Not sure if she truly realized just how pissed I really was.
I nodded at her, probably not discreetly enough.
I had checked my ‘drunken cowboy’ façade at the door. All I wanted was to get her (and me) the hell out of there. The dealer was about to shuffle the two decks as I placed four green chips. Before she finished her shuffle, another dealer came up from behind and tapped her on the shoulder.
The new dealer was No Chick. He was more of a ‘Guido’.
My ‘Danger-Will-Robinson’ radar was now fully operational. She dropped the deck and clapped her hands in the air for the Eye-in-the-Sky and moved off.
Guido picked up the decks, smiled at me and parroted the ‘Good Luck’ catch phrase as he offered me the cut. I cut the decks low, knowing that would piss him off.
I cast a sideways glance at Shonnie. She ignored me. Good for her then.
“Sir,” the new dealer said, “Please cut closer to the middle.”
“Uhhh. Sure,” I said, somewhat condescendingly as I recut the decks.
I caught the pit boss looking at me. Or was I just being paranoid? Shonnie was still apparently oblivious or at least feigning indifference.
The cards came out. I caught a deuce and a jack, fucking Dead Man’s Hand. Shonnie caught a pair of queens. Shit! Maybe this game is all about luck after all. Señor Shit-for-Brains George had a fifteen. The dealer had an ace showing.
“Insurance?” he asked. Insurance is generally a sucker’s bet, so naturally ‘George’ took the offer. ‘Guido’ made a show of peeking at his hole card, and by his not flipping it over revealed he had no blackjack. He collected George’s insurance bet and stacked the chips in the rack.
Then he dealt.
The two to my right busted. I don’t even recall what they had. I was not counting cards at this point. I just wanted out. I had to hit my twelve. Caught a seven and stood at nineteen. Shonnie stood pat with her twenty. George hit his fifteen, caught an eight and busted.
The dealer flipped his hole card, revealing a six for a ‘soft’ seventeen. He had to hit and caught a deuce for a nineteen and a ‘push’ for me—a tie.
A win for Shonnie.
As the dealer was paying off Shonnie’s win and gathering up the cards, I nudged her with my knee. She looked at me in mock surprise and I knew instinctively that she intended to have herself a little fun with this situation.
And at my expense.
“Okay,” I thought. “Wanna play games?”
Lighting a cigarette and taking a slow and deliberate drink from my beer, I said, “Looks like you’re doin’ okay here tonight. You always this lucky? What’s your secret?”
She giggled, “I have a blackjack mentor.”
“Ah… I see. Where is he now?”
“Dunno. He tole me to fly solo this evening.”
“Sure you ready for that?” I asked.
Gruffly she said, “Yeah. I am. What’s it to you Cowboy?”
Taking a slow drag off my cig, I said, “Uh, nothin’ to me. Just thought you might wanna take a break… while you’re ahead of course, and join me at the bar for a drink.”
“I got free drinks right here. Why would I wanna join you?’
(Obviously Shonnie was pushing my buttons and beginning to get on my last nerve. And I could tell she knew so and was enjoying it.)
At this point, ‘George’ slurred in: “Hey Pal,” he said, “She’s g-a-m-b-l-i-n-g, git it?”
“Yeah, I ‘git’ it Sir. And who are you, if I may ask?”
“I’m a sailor, for your inform-a-shun.”
Fuckin’ perfect, I thought. Another drunken sailor—a small fish in a big pond—this was gonna require some surgical delicacy. Goddamn you Shonnie! What’s your ‘game’?
I ended the conversation and focused on the hands I had been dealt, card-wise and otherwise. The card part was easy: I had drawn an eighteen. No decision time there. Shonnie had drawn yet another natural Blackjack (fuck!) and the dealer had a four showing.
Shonnie was paid her wages for her natural. I stood on my eighteen. George sucked on his fifteen and this time wisely stood pat, maybe knowing the dealer should bust, but more likely he was too drunk / stupid by then to even know or care what he had in front of him.
The dealer did in fact, bust.
As he paid off the bets, I felt a presence at my elbow. I turned and was greeted by an ‘Official’ from the ‘Management’.
“Hello Sir. Are you a guest here at the hotel?”
“Nope. Why do you ask?”
(Here it comes… I had been asked this question before)
“Well Sir, we see that you are betting respectable amounts… and we like to accommodate our best customers. Is there anything you require, or want? A room? A meal? A girl?”
(A girl?? Shit! I had one just a few hours ago.)
“Not really. In fact, I was just about to leave and call it a night.”
“That’s a shame. Here at the El Cortez we pride ourselves in our ‘hospitality’. By the way, you look familiar. Weren’t you in here earlier this evening, seated at this same table?”
“Yeah, that would have been me.”
“You really didn’t play for long, even though you appeared to be having some very good luck.”
“Well, sir, since you seem so interested in this sailor’s life…”
“You’re in the Navy?”
“Most sailors are.” (This asshole was beginning to ignite my ire.)
“Since you seem so interested in your customers,” I repeated, “I had to leave early because I had a date all lined up with a beautiful blond.” I raised my voice a little for Shonnie’s benefit and added “But she stood me up. So here I am, back at your fine Blackjack table. But now I really must be on my way.” Then to ‘Guido’, “Color me up, will ya pal?”
Management Man said, “As you wish Sir, and good luck to you.”
Fuck! Fuck! Fuck me! Time to GO!
I nudged Shonnie harder with my knee as I studied the progress of ‘Management Man’ away from the table. I collected my colored-up chips. The cacophony of the casino and the smells and the lights… all were getting to me! I just wanted to leave.
Shonnie ignored me and my knee.
Fine! If she were intent to continue her ‘game’, she could do it without me. I had come for her. That is all I could’ve done. And all I intended to do. She should have known that.
Wouldn’t she have known that?
As I left, under my breathe I said, “Next time Shonnie Dear, this table will turn on you.”
“Waiting for my Sugar to Show”
“Shonnie The Biker’s Wife Part XII: Back to the Real World”
Update: Part XII is Up
If you are new here, or a long-lost returning Pilgrim, you may want to begin your Shonnie Journey Below
And then simply “Follow the Yellow Brick Road” i.e., The Lancelot Links:
Commentary Section from Original Post.
For continuity, please read from the bottom up.
22 THOUGHTS ON “SHONNIE THE BIKER’S WIFE PART XI: UN-GRACEFUL EXIT”
LAMarcom July 21, 2014 at 17:48 Edit
Thanks for clearing that up. When I read that from Exile I couldn’t believe it. I mean, honestly!
Thanks so much for all your visits here.
NancyTex July 21, 2014 at 08:40 Edit
I have a home in Vegas, and you can rest assured that you can still smoke at the tables there. I think Exile on Pain St was referring to Atlantic City, where smoking is banned.
LAMarcom July 18, 2014 at 18:26 Edit
LAMarcom July 18, 2014 at 18:24 Edit
Ah, Shonnie was just fine; she just always did what she wanted at whatever time she wanted.
Teela Hart July 18, 2014 at 10:29 Edit
Shonnie wasn’t playing nice.
I was pulling for her.
I guess I have a little advantage from being away for a time.
I can move on to the next chapter immediately. 🙂
LVital7019 July 18, 2014 at 08:25 Edit
Uh… dude, you make it really easy! 😉
LAMarcom July 18, 2014 at 01:59 Edit
Thank you for reading.
Thank you a lot.
LVital7019 July 16, 2014 at 12:45 Edit
Oh, the intrigue! 😉 On to the next…
LAMarcom July 14, 2014 at 08:19 Edit
Whaaat?! No smoking at the tables?! I have not been to Vegas since ’07. When did this happen? I do recall that then there were a few ‘non-smoking’ tables (usually empty), but all the tables now?
This pisses me off even though I no longer smoke (I dip snuff. Hahahaha).
What’s next? No booze? (Naw! Casinos love drunk customers) I wonder if they still douse the folks with pure oxygen to keep ’em awake and gambling.
Hope you’re gonna blog about your upcoming casino experience.
Thanks for the read and for your comments.
Cheers my Friend.
Exile on Pain Street July 14, 2014 at 06:16 Edit
These stories take me right back into a casino. Remember when you could smoke at the tables? They cleaned that up. I never liked when the casino tried to be friends with me. They don’t want to be my friend. They want to empty the contents of my wallet. The quicker the better. I’ll be in a casino in just three short weeks. I can’t wait.
LAMarcom July 13, 2014 at 16:39 Edit
Thank you Sadie.
You are very kind and your comments always lift my spirits.
~ Sadie ~ July 13, 2014 at 14:01 Edit
Damn – wasn’t expecting Shonnie to shine your ass like that . . .
Though sounds a bit selfish – glad you are able to work through the pain & finish the story . . . you know I can’t wait for the next chapter. This story has been of the few things I have looked forward to this summer . . . yeah it’s been that kind of a summer! So thanks for sharing your life & taking my mind off of mine for a few brief moments 🙂 Smiles & hugs to ya, Lance!! ☮ ☮
artourway July 11, 2014 at 20:32 Edit
Je vais sortir … be back later. (;
LAMarcom July 11, 2014 at 20:27 Edit
LAMarcom July 11, 2014 at 20:26 Edit
Shame about the El Cortez. It really was my favorite sawdust joint. Lots of Vegas history there. I’d like to think I contributed in my small way, to some of it.
Thanks Mark for your continued support here at TT&H. Your time is always appreciated.
LAMarcom July 11, 2014 at 20:23 Edit
Yes, the title is a little unwieldy (reasons I don’t ‘tweet’–could never be limited to 140 characters).
The title may be unwieldy, but nothing compared to the bizarre story. If-I-decide-to-write-it.
Cheers My Friend.
artourway July 11, 2014 at 20:20 Edit
Thank you Lance . . vous parler soon (;
happierheathen July 11, 2014 at 14:49 Edit
That seems a moderately unwieldy working title.
It seemed for a time that I was the only male between the Mexico border and San Louis Obispo with good sense enough not to sleep with my second wife. Other than the next door neighbor who was afraid of me, anyway. He avoided me for weeks after she knocked on his door and propositioned him.
markbialczak July 11, 2014 at 08:57 Edit
Thanks for battling through the clouds and bringing us back, Lance.
I can tell it was not an easy return.
Cortez management does not like you, sir.
LAMarcom July 11, 2014 at 02:38 Edit
My Friend, I am anxious to put Shonnie to bed, so that I may write the next true story (they are all true, by the way)… the next true Navy Daze: “Two Sisters, a Mother, a Father, Rehab, a Grandma, A bottle of Gin, and Navy SEAL Training…all in La Mesa, San Dog County, California.”
P.S. I never slept with your ex. This, I can (almost) promise… memory fails…
happierheathen July 11, 2014 at 02:31 Edit
Damn, it’s sounding again like you were hooked up with my second wife.
We freshened up, got dressed, and prepared to head down to the Casino Floor. Generally, and as a semi-hardened and made-fast rule, I do not gamble at The Plaza.
But on this night I was feeling freshly full of myself (No small thanks to Shonnie) and wanted to capitalize on that feeling before the ‘fresh’ had time to wear off.
Please allow me to clarify something:
I do not believe in Santa, The Easter Bunny, Cracks-in-Sidewalks, Broken Mirrors, Feet Belonging to Dead Rabbits, Karma, Fate, Oklahoma, or God.
But I do believe in Dama Fortuna, AKA ‘Lady Luck’.
In fact, before we left our Blue Hotel Room Love Nest, and while Shonnie was taking her second shower of the day, I offered up my Burnt Offering to La Dama Fortuna:
I carefully picked up a small bowl left behind by Room Service and ceremoniously set it down on the night stand. Then I retrieved a crisp five-dollar bill from my wallet. (I ain’t cheap ya know).
While holding ‘Honest Abe’ over the bowl, I splashed a little Jim Beam onto him.
Then carefully placing Mister President Lincoln into said bowl, I took my Zippo and set him and the fiver ablaze as my lil boomer box belted out this song, hoping Lady Dama would enjoy the music and smile down upon me and bless me with favorable favors:
Y’all may be thinking that I’m making this shit up.
Allow me to assure you.
I ain’t. I’m just really weird is all.
Gamblers, real true-blue-dyed-in-the-wool Gamblers, are a funny lot, funny as in half-crazy-funny at a bare minimum.
Your humble author is certainly no exception and registers a solid ‘three-quarter nuts‘ on the ‘Crazy O’Meter‘.
Shonnie emerged from her shower just as Frank was finishing up his song and Mister Lincoln had finished curling up and turning into semi-green ash.
“What the hell you been listening to? Some old-timey shit? And why are there ashes in that little bowl you’re all hunched over? And why does it smell funny in here?”
“Good God Woman! Must I explain everything to you? We’re In-Las-Fucking-Vegas! Normal behavior don’t work here. Trust me.”
She produced something resembling a petite pout, half-real at best, but I sensed I had slightly wounded her. Naw, probably just winged her a little.
I abandoned my tiny Dama Fortuna Altar and rushed over to Shonnie, embracing her little body and kissing her deep and tender.
“I’m so, so sorry Baby, (I genuinely was sorry for my un-called-for outburst) sometimes I get a case of the ‘pre-game’ jitters. Forgive me?”
She saw she had me at a remorseful disadvantage now and quickly capitalized,
“Okaaay, but you better be nice to me Cowboy,” she said softly while lowering her head and trying to look all ‘hang-dog’. Then she quickly looked up piercing me eyeball-to-eyeball and added not-so-softly, “Because you won’t like me when I’m angry.”
“Smart Ass! C’mere!” We kissed again. Then we laughed in unison.
All Good Now.
The very LAST thing a gambler wants to take to the ‘Gamble’ is ‘Bad Juju’.
An Ill or even slightly awkward feeling between a gambler and his woman is the absolute worst Juju of all, even worse than betting with scared money, which is damn near as bad.
If you’re carrying either of these situations to The Arena you may as well save yourself the bother, mail them a check, and call it a night.
You want Good Juju and Fearless Money is what I’m sayin’.
Good Juju Being Administered by Dama Fortuna
As we entered the Plaza Casino proper, it was all flashing lights, laughter, musical sounds from the slot-machines—basically your typical Las Vegas Scene.
I led Shonnie over to a bank of ‘dollar slots’. I pulled out a crisp one-dollar bill and fed it to the hungry machine.
“Pull the lever and stand by,” I said to her.
“I’ve never gambled before,” she protested. “You do it.”
“Honey, if my instincts are right, this ain’t gambling. Go ahead. It’s my dollar anyhow, so you really ain’t gambling, Per se.”
Joni’s Tribute to all the Slot Machine Junkies of the World
“The Dry Cleaner from Des Moines”
Vid Share Cred: Renato Spallucci
“Pear who? Okay,” she said, “Here goes nothin’!” while pulling the Bandit’s one arm, using both her arms to do so.
“I certainly hope not,” I said.
I’d never seen anything like that shit before: Both Arms to pull a one-armed bandits’ arm?!
I love this woman!
We watched the cylinders spin.
Bells sounded and lights flashed from the machine.
Double bar. Double Bar. Double Bar!
Casino silver dollars rained down into the tray, making that magic music of metal clanging on metal.
One hundred bucks! A propitious beginning!
(And damn good Juju!)
“Oh My Fucking God!” she screamed.
“Baby, God had nothing to do with it. Thank Dama Fortuna, if you feel compelled to thank someone.”
“Drama…who?? Shit! Wow! Look at all that shiny money!”
“It’s all yours. Take that plastic bucket and fill it up.”
“Should we go again?” She asked breathlessly.
“Absolutely not,” I said. “Come on. I’m gonna show you the ‘real’ games.”
“You’re the Boss,” she giggled.
I leaned very close to her, pulled my collar to her lips as I breathed into her ear,
“Speak into the microphone, My Dear.”
“Lance, you’re crazy!”
“Yeah. I am. C’mon.”
I led her to a craps table.
“Oh! This looks complicated,” she said.
“Well, yeah. It is and it isn’t. Don’t worry. I will walk you through it. One question though, do you throw a baseball like a girl?”
“Ok then. We should be fine.”
Craps is the best game ever invented by Man.
I love the high-energy!
The Craps Crowds
I love the suspense as the galloping dominoes bounce down the table.
And last but certainly not least, I love the possibility of winning (and sometimes even losing) very large amounts of money in a very short amount of time.
“It’s all-in-the-game Yo!”
And yes, I am what some might call, a
Started when I was hustling crap games at Honey Grove Junior High in the school hallways between classes.
Only got busted once.
Rather Proud of my Record.
Shonnie and I shouldered our way in at one of the far ends of the table. We sandwiched ourselves between a middle-aged, gray-haired man (on our left) in a business suit (I immediately pegged him as a ‘Corporation Man’ on Convention) grasping what looked like a scotch and water and there was a cigar in a tiny ashtray set on the rail in front of him. It was obviously neglected, as there was an inch and a half of ash hanging from it.
On the right side of us, a ‘normal’ looking guy, about thirty-something, sporting a too loud red t-shirt and a gimme cap. Baseball. I forget the team.
Normal Guy had control of the dice, so that meant once his roll ended it would be Shonnie’s turn to ‘step up to the plate’.
The table was just about at ‘capacity’. I glanced around, looking at the contestants. You see, in Craps the idea is to find the table with the highest energy level. You want the most up-beat, loudest, rowdiest players at your chosen table:
Players who were having FUN–Again, Good Juju.
Sad to say, but one can never (in my experience) win any money at an empty table or one with an atmosphere of doom, which does sometimes come rolling in like a blue norther on a bad Texas Autumn afternoon.
Savvy crap shooters recognize the early warning signs of ‘The Atmosphere of Doom’ and fly away like scalded rabbits just before, or just as it descends.
This table was on the upswing and I intended to make quick work of it before the worm turned. (The worm always turns, but sometimes, thankfully, it takes some long time in the turning.)
Looking up and down the side of the table, opposite the ‘Boss’ and the dealers and the stick men and all, I studied the other contestants. There was a young couple to the right of ‘Normal Guy’. Right out of “Honey Moon Ville,” I guessed.
Next to them stood a nervous-acting, fidgety Middle-Eastern type wearing a white starched shirt and lots of bling. Next to him, a dude with a crew cut, tight shirt, bulging biceps, who may have been suffering from ‘Roid Rage’, given his overly passionate ramblings at the dice as they bounced down the green felt.
At the far end of the table there was a young big-bosomed bleach-blond hanging onto the arm of another elderly well-dressed business man. (‘A man and his Hooker’, I ungraciously thought).
Next to them there was a diminutive oriental man. I was thinking ‘China’, but could not be certain. I had a wonderful experience once at a craps table at The Golden Nugget following the streak of another China Man. Won almost two grand while he was in control of the dice.
You see, all craps players are infamously superstitious and from that night forward every time I encountered an ‘Ornamental’ man shootin’ crap the needle on my Juju Meter pushed slightly more into the green end of the spectrum.
There were several other players mixed in and even some standing behind, perhaps waiting for some space to open up. I was happy with the crowd and the level of ‘Good Juju’.
After the current ‘roll’ had ended (wins all around) I pulled out four Benjamins and put them on the table in front of one of the dealers.
“Give me two hundred green ($25), and two hundred red ($5),” I announced. The dealer spread out my four bills so ‘The Eye in the Sky’ could get a look. He then stacked my chips and slid them toward me.
“Good luck Sir,” he said, as I split the chips (‘Checks’ in the Vegas’ vernacular.) with Shonnie.
With all the bets paid, Normal Guy was ready to go at it again. I instructed Shonnie to take a red chip and place it in front of her on the “Pass-line” (If you don’t know how Craps works, you may be at some loss here—I will try to make it as easy to understand as possible.) I placed a red chip in front of me on the Pass-line as well.
All bets placed, Normal Guy tossed the dice toward the far end of the table. He rolled a four. (Meaning he had to roll another four before he rolled a seven, thus crapping out.)
“Put two red chips behind your bet,” I told Shonnie.
“We’re taking the odds,” I said.
“I don’t understand.”
“Just do it. Smartly.”
She stacked up the chips behind her original bet and I did the same.
On a hunch, I tossed a red chip onto the middle of the table and yelled, “Hard Four!” (Betting that the shooter will make his ‘four’—called his ‘point’, but that he will do it ‘the hard way,’ i.e., two deuces and not an ace and a three.
This is really a sucker bet, but I had Dama Fortuna in my corner. The bet pays ten for one, which if won, would net me forty-five dollars, plus of course our pass line bets with the odds placed behind them would win as well.
Normal guy tosses… wait for it… Double Deuces! Pandemonium from the players. Everybody wins!
“How did you know to do that?” Shonnie asks, as some decent stacks of red chips came our way.
I gently curled my fingers around Shonnie’s tiny neck, pulled her ear to my lips and whispered, “Stick close Baby. Gonna be a bumpy night.”
Winners paid, Shonnie and I put another two red chips on the pass-line. Normal guy rolls an eight. We back up our bets with two each red chips. Normal guy then rolls a seven. Aw Shit! Crapped out! No worries. We are still way ‘up’.
Now the dice pass to Shonnie. I can see she has stage fright. One of the dealers senses this too.
“Don’t worry Little Lady! Newbies are always lucky!” He says.
The ‘table’ agrees and I see chips of all colors dropping unto the ‘Pass-line’.
Shonnie and I both place one each twenty-five dollar green. Yes. I was confident. All bets now placed, I watch as she picked up the dice. Picked them up as one might imagine someone picking up a rotten banana, or a dead rat, or a used condom.
“They won’t bite,” I assured her. Just toss them at the end of the table. Oh and shake ‘em a little. And here, let me blow on ‘em.
“Blow on ‘em?” she said incredulously.
“Old Indian Tradition. Remember I am part Comanche.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Baby,” I said, “You can roll your eyes at me all you want, but right now I want you to roll those bones, er… dice toward the end of the table and don’t forget you can only use one hand to do so.”
“One hand?” she protested. “I always throw a baseball with both hands.” I hoped she were joking.
“Baby, this ain’t little league. Use only one hand or they will frown and act perverse.”
“Okay,” she said. Then after shaking the dice a bit, she wound up… and threw the dice…
…Right over the heads of the players at the far end of the table and off into space, most likely reaching escape velocity somewhere in the vicinity of Caesar’s Palace.
Collective groans from the table.
In craps, the absolute worst thing one can do is miss-the-fucking-table!
That, THAT! Is Extremely BAD Juju.
Dice are like the American or the Texan Flag. Never, ever let them touch the ground. Ever!
It always, always forecasts a negative outcome. Ninety-Nine times out of one hundred, the next roll will produce a crap out. In Shonnie’s case, the anticipated next roll would be snake-eyes, Box cars, or ace-deuce.
All instant losers.
I watched as most of the table players pulled chips back from their original bets. Not me. As someone went searching for the errant dice, I told Shonnie to put two more green chips on her pass line. I did the same.
We now had one hundred-fifty-dollars bet, even though I was not certain she would find green felt upon her second attempt.
She was offered two more dice by the dealer (stick man, just another word for him). I whispered in her ear, “Just relax Honey. Use a little less passion and a little more finesse this time. You’ll do great.”
She shook the dice, wound up, and pitched ‘em down the lane. When they came to rest: Natural Eleven! Winner! Winner! Chicken Dinner!
I grabbed her and kissed her hard on the mouth.
“Now, Do that again Little Dynamo Darlin'” I said.
Well… Now! Suddenly the table went nuts! Large bets were placed all around (after some applause).
Shonnie kept ‘control’ of the dice for the next fifteen or twenty minutes: an eon in ‘Craps Time’.
We won well over a grand, some thanks to my recklessly wild betting and some thanks to the favor of Dame Fortuna.
But of course, most of the thanks went to Shonnie’s curve ball.
When she finally crapped out, there was more applause. Everyone had ‘gotten well’ with her streak. And there are no more appreciative gamblers than craps’ shooters when it comes to situations such as these.
“Color us up,” I said to the dealer as I pushed our stacks and stacks of chips toward him.
“But Sir,” He protested, “You’re up. Aren’t you going to shoot?”
“Nope. We’re done here, but thanks.”
Shonnie and I gathered our (now mostly black–$100 chips.
I double-tapped a black chip on the table and tossed it to the Pit Boss. “For the Boys” I said.
“Thank you Sir,” he said back.
“What now?!” Shonnie demanded gruffly, but wearing all smiles.
“Blackjack Baby. Blackjack.”
“Lance. You’re nuts! I have never had so much fun! I love y… this!”
“Yeah, I know.”
(On both accounts)
If you are new here, or a long-lost returning Pilgrim, you may want to begin your Shonnie Journey Below
And then simply “Follow the Yellow Brick Road”
i.e., The Lancelot Links:
Commentary Section From The Original Post:
LAMarcom June 26, 2014 at 16:45
Maybe ‘distrust’ is too strong a word. It is just that I have had some major losing streaks at the Plaza BJ tables. And of course I cannot blame my poor money management skills for that! Haha!
Thanks for your visits here and for your comments.
LAMarcom June 26, 2014 at 16:44 Edit
Thank you Sadie. Gonna try to get another chapter up tonight.
I appreciate your visits very much. And your comments Too!
~ Sadie ~ June 26, 2014 at 14:08 Edit
Can’t wait for more, Lance! Great story, great storytelling!! I have loved looking forward to each new chapter 🙂
Exile on Pain Street June 26, 2014 at 06:31 Edit
Why did you distrust the dealers at The Plaza? They’re as honest as the day is long. Seriously…what’s not to trust? Shonnie’s right. BJ is boring. Craps rules.
I’m going to catch up on on these chapters sooner or later. I love a good casino tale. Maybe I’ll get fired or laid off. That’ll give me loads of free time.
“I love Las Vegas! Jesus Christ do I love Vegas! I’ll make it, make it good and clear; it’s because my Girl’s Right HERE!”
“And MY Shonnie’s Right THERE!
Wearing Her ‘Come Hither’ Stare!”
–Lance ‘Martin’ Marcom
Vid Cred: icamatrix
I took Shonnie by the hand and we waltzed over to a blackjack table.
‘One Dollar Minimum Bet’
This was to be a training session and a trial run. An ‘Introduction’, or ‘Baptism’, or ‘Enlightenment, if you will.
Then again, it could just as quickly and easily degrade into a ‘Fiasco’, a ‘Waste of Time‘, an ‘Exercise in Futility’, given Shonnie’s paucity of patience.
“Hey! You said something about teaching me ‘counting down the deck’ in Blackjack. Was that bullshit, or what? I have never played blackjack. What is that anyway, counting down the deck? What does it mean?” She demanded.
“Lower your voice to somewhere around a three on your dial. And never use the ‘C Word’.
“Huh? The ‘C’ word?”
“Counting” I whispered.
She lowered her voice almost to a whisper, a difficult accomplishment for her. “Oh, Okay ‘Mister Mystery-Man’, I won’t use any ‘C’ words, until I call you out for being a ‘cunt’.”
“I’m a ‘man’. I can’t be a ‘cunt’.”
“Oh yes you can. I have met lots of ‘man-cunts’ in my day.” She did not whisper that, drawing some looks from nearby innocent bystanders.
Trying to ignore her remark for now, I said, “Just try to aim for ‘discreet’. This is Blackjack, not Craps. Blackjack is more subtle, more subdued, more cerebral. Craps is for screamin’ and hollerin’ and gettin’ rowdy. Blackjack is diametrically opposed and polarity opposite.”
“Do you ever speak ‘honest’ fucking English? You know, without all the bullshit fancy words that no one gives a rat’s ass to hear. You’re not as smart as you think you are, Cowboy.”
“Ah now, come on Lil Miss, Ah jes tryin’ ta inject ah little bit ah refinery into yer head.”
“Stop right now, or I am gonna ‘inject’ my fist into your head. Now, in English, tell me what is Blackjack. ‘Condensed’ ‘Abridged’ version if-you-please. See there Schmuck? I know a few ‘fancy six-bit words’ too.”
“Touché,” I said.
She smacked me hard on my ass.
I continued, “Surely you played ‘Twenty-One’ as a kid, right? Or was it all ‘Strip Poker’ or ‘Strip Her and Poke Her’ with The Boys-on-The-Block?”
“I’m warning you Asshole,” she said playfully, almost tenderly.
Shonnie is the only woman I have ever known who can successfully use ‘Asshole’ as a term of endearment.
“Okay. Okay. Seriously Shonnie, I just want you to get a feel for the game. Tomorrow, I will teach you how to count. You seem to have some ‘Rain Man’ in ya. No offense.”
“Never mind. I’ll tell you later. You just listen to me, and as we play, and I’ll teach you all about what are called the ‘Basic Strategy’ rules of the game and more important, the rules you never, ever break while playing. Not The Dealer, nor the other players will mind or care.”
“Besides,” I continued, “It’s common for neophyte players to show up at a ‘Dollar Minimum’ table and get verbal instructions, even from the Dealer, if the dealer has any class at all, that is. Tomorrow, we’ll hit The El Cortez, and we’ll be in disguise. They have one of the last double-deck games in town.”
El Cortez is Jumpin’! Hahaha!
Worth a read: One of my ‘El Cortez Moments’
“El Cortez? Double deck? Disguise? Get the fuck out! And, by the way, I don’t remember seeing any ‘El Cortez’ anywhere.”
“Not surprised you missed it. It’s a bit of a rundown joint… But in a good way, in the tradition of the old ‘Sawdust Joints’. Don’t worry. They used to know me there. Hopefully they have forgotten that they used to know me there. I’ll explain later. Please sit down and think about what you want to drink. The waitress will need to know.”
We sat at ‘Third Base.’ Well technically, ‘I’ sat at third base. Shonnie sat next to me.
“Card counters actually have an advantage when it comes to the seating. These players are recommended to sit in the third base position to give them more time to keep an eye on the table, as well as count, and of course bet last.”
Credit: Blackjack Australia
The dealer was a perky blond. Her name tag announced
“I’m Debbie-From-Des Moines”
“Live it Up!”
This Here’s Debbie. Kinda Cute an’ Innocent-Lookin’ Ain’t She? Be Thee Not Deceived;
She’ll Take ALL Your Money Ere You Leave
(If You Grow Careless)
And as the hours passed by, I taught her Basic Strategy Blackjack. She was good with it. Grudgingly very good with it. (My gal ain’t stupid, just stubborn and impatient.)
We never bet much. This was just for training after all, (and we already had our stake from Shonnie’s earlier very profitable ‘Dice-Capades‘) and I distrusted the dealers at the Plaza anyhow, so we just chilled. Well, at least I chilled… and taught.
“This is boring.” she said rather abruptly.
“Honey, you’re learning the game. Relax.”
“I like craps better.”
“Darling, we all do, but Craps is all about luck and guts and gambling. Blackjack is all about skill, smarts, strategy, and patience. ‘Patience’, I realize, is not your strong suit, and I know from time to time I strain what little you have, but this game is gonna pay off for us tomorrow night. Trust me.”
We continued with the Blackjack Lessons for a few more hours.
Shonnie was growing weary and bitchy and mouthy so I called an end to the training session, satisfied enough by then with her understanding of the game.
We walked over to the coffee shop and I bought her a bagel with cream cheese (Her favorite food-of-the-moment, she claimed) Then I took her off to bed.
She was beyond ready, and fell asleep just as soon as blond hair hit white pillow. I gently pulled the blanket over her petite little, exhausted body.
I was left alone with my thoughts, my plans, and a hard on.
“Sleep Princess,” I whispered to her, “And I have something important to tell you tomorrow.”
She stirred a bit and moaned, but did not hear.
I lay down beside her, wrapped myself around her, and slept too.
And dreamt happy dreams.
“Shonnie The Biker’s Wife, Part IX: Counting”
Update: Part IX is Up
If you are new here, or a long-lost returning Pilgrim, you may want to begin your Shonnie Journey Below
And then simply “Follow the Yellow Brick Road”
i.e., The Lancelot Links:
Music Credit: Steely Dan – (‘Blackjack’) Do It Again
Video Edit Credit: Eduardo Montenegro
Bastardized Title Credit: Lance Marcom
So about six in the evening we walked down to the El Cortez. Shonnie goes in and I hang back a few. Smoke a Marlboro on the street then head on in. Making my way through the slot machine triple canopy jungle I head to the back, the bar, and the blackjack tables while looking for Shonnie.
I spot her all alone at a two-dollar-minimum table decently close to the bar. She was sitting next to ‘Third Base’ on her left, and five empty seats to her right, just as I had instructed.
“Good Girl,” I thought, “Now, let’s see what you can do.”
‘Blond Bombshell Blackjack Babe’s Back
I sat down at the bar, lit a cigarette and ordered a gin and tonic while watching Shonnie. She placed a two-dollar bet then defiantly tossed her hair back. I cannot prove this, but she must have sensed my stare and was showing out for my benefit. Glancing about the casino, I observed it to be a mite slow.
Almost dead, in fact.
From my look-out perch I could spot only one or two others playing blackjack. Sitting at the closest table to me was an old geezer with long gray hair and a long brown cigar. He had a modest stack of red chips in front of him. He didn’t appear to be drunk, just a little ‘un-steady’. There were some bored dealers manning the other, mostly empty tables, struggling to stay awake, would be my ‘astute’ observation.
Dead or not, the casino noises are forever a constant. Most of the sound emanates from the banks and banks and banks of slot machines.
Slot machines never shut up, busy or not.
The slot machine cacophonous chorus resembles that cicada sound, but the cicada sound comes once every seventeen years. The slot sound is ubiquitous, loud and intrusive, even somewhat abusive.
Don’t get me wrong. I love the ‘Casino Sounds’–When I have money–Hate them when I don’t. But with or without funding the earworms are always there, unavoidable as a matter of fact and as a matter of course. No escaping ‘them’. I can still hear their noise as I type these words, and it has been more than some few years since I have been treated to a ‘live’ performance.
Yep, they’re the only ‘Ear Worms’ that don’t fuck around. Once they bore deep inside of you, you’re done.
Deal (pun intended) with it.
True Casino Junkies must live with them forever. One gets used to it though. There are definitely worse afflictions to be had.
I could see a few banks of slots from my bar stool as well. In modern era casinos slots are dominating and they are everywhere. Some joints even have them in the head.
Allow me to go even further: you cannot throw a dead cat across a casino floor without hitting a slot machine.
(Never actually try this Y’all; just take my word.)
But I used to have this fantasy whereby I was allowed to try—for science, of course. This fantasy only appeared if I had lost my stake and was forced to go home to my ship, empty-pocketed, empty-headed, physically and emotionally spent and depressed.
There is nothing on Earth more disconsolate than finding oneself in a lively casino with no money.
A few blue-haired ladies were feeding the beasts. There is something rather charming, heart-warming and endearing about ‘Grandma’ gleefully tossing away the social security or the pension or ‘Daddy’s’ money. Not their ‘Actual Daddy’, but their husband, if they happen to be from Dallas, or Fort Worth, or Waco, or Atlanta, or Little Rock or Baton Rouge or… Y’all catching my drift here?
The ‘Erstwhile Southern Belles’ are always a delight to hear and to watch.
As much as I love to ‘Casino-People-Watch’, I could not indulge. Had to keep my attention on Shonnie and wait for her to light a cigarette in her left hand.
Never thought I would be waiting for that girl to fire up a smoke.
Sometimes life is just weird.
The barren emptiness of the El Cortez would not last long. It was a Saturday Evening, soon to be a Saturday Night and the place would fill up soon enough.
Allow me a word or two about the El Cortez. It has been my experience that this particular joint has always been frequented more by the locals than by the tourists, at least in the modern era. The place has a long and rich history. First constructed in 1941, remodeled many times, but still manages to maintain what I like to call ‘The Cheers Effect’.
‘Where everybody knows your name.’
Not quite, but it is a pleasant fiction.
1941: THE EL CORTEZ IS BORN
John Kell Houssels partnered with John Grayson from California, and Marion Hicks, a Los Angeles Architect and developer, to build and operate the El Cortez Hotel-Casino on East Fremont Street. Constructed for $245,000, it was Downtown Las Vegas’ first major resort with 59 rooms and designed in a Spanish Ranch theme.
© 2021 EL CORTEZ HOTEL & CASINO. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
I love the El Cortez.
But I hoped we would not be here long and we would be long gone before the crowds arrived.
As recounted in a previous chapter of this series, for Craps, the louder and rowdier, and crazier the better.
None of that is needed, nor even desired for Blackjack. In truth, better off without it.
Shonnie had learned the basic count pretty quickly, but I did not think she would be able to sustain if there were a table full of other players and thus many more cards to count and many more distractions to distract.
If she could pull it off with just herself and the dealer, well that was good enough. We had already made a good score with the Craps game the night before and I really wasn’t looking to get rich. I just wanted to (truthfully) impress her with my ‘Gangsta’ ways.
Merely To Prove a Point, as it were. Whatever ‘Point’ I was trying to ‘prove’ escapes me now.
She was playing a double-deck game (again per my instruction), and I noted that the dealer dealt deep into the decks (a very good thing).
Between reshuffles, I could see Shonnie chatting it up just a little with the dealer, a very young, diminutive ‘Ornamental’ Girl wearing a bright perma-smile: Pretty much the ‘Norm’ in Vegas at that time. Chinese or Korean, best guess. Definitely not Southeast Asian; her face was too flat. The lovelier S.E. Asian girls mostly worked The Strip.
And yes, ladies and perhaps even some of you gents may be tempted to chastise me roundly for being a male sexist pig, but damn it! I am a Sailor!
It is genetic in me, like the salt water that runs through my veins. Nothing to be done. Believe me, many women have tried.
I was on my second gin and tonic and my third Marlboro when some schmuck waltzed over and sat down to Shonnie’s left–Proper Third Base–My Seat!
He looked about fortyish and was wearing a fake cowboy hat, ruffled shirt à la George Strait, red, yes, red! cowboy boots, and a stupid face.
He began chatting her up. Now, I had not really planned on this, but I did realize a good-looker such as Shonnie, sitting all alone at a BJ table, would be bound to draw some varmints. I only hoped this asshole did not distract too much from her count.
We had practiced ‘distractions’ in the hotel room. As I played dealer and dealt way too fast, I would ask her questions and play with the remote on the TV.
She did just fine.
(She is sharp, this one. Very sharp. Sharp of mind, and being the faithful reader that you are, you also know she is sharp of wit and tongue and temper as well.)
Shonnie played through three reshuffles and was winning. I even saw her double-down a few times and in fact she was increasing her bets. ‘What the fuck?!’ I’m thinking. ‘How long does it take a double-deck to go hot?’
‘George’ remained and was beginning to piss me off. Obviously he was distracting her from her count. I ordered up another gin and tonic, lit a cigarette and stewed in my own juices some.
My drink arrived just as I saw Shonnie pull a cigarette out of her pack, hold it in her left hand and wait for George-The-Sycophant to light it. He ignited his lighter and Shonnie seductively put her hand on his and guided it to her cigarette!!
I WOULD be bringing THIS up with HER later in the evening.
Anyway, Game on! Blackjack Game. The ‘George Game / Situation’ would have to wait.
I gathered my drink and my pack of Marlboros and sauntered over to the table. Sat down at first base, threw out (drunkenly, for show), a few crumpled up hundred dollar bills. The dealer smoothed them out on the table for ‘The Eye in the Sky’ to peruse, then announced over her shoulder toward the Pit Boss, “Changing six hundred.”
She passed me some big stacks of red and some lesser stacks of green chips. I noted that Shonnie had slid two stacks of five chips just slightly to the right of her stack. If she was spot on, this meant the count had gone to ‘plus ten!’ I had coached her to constantly count and fiddle with her chips, as if she were nervous or bored, so that this act would not draw any undue attention.
“No Darlin’, gimme a few black,” I half-slurred to the dealer, pushing away the red chips. She took them back and pushed out three black chips to go with my twelve green. I placed two bets (two hands—one may play multiple hands if the table is basically empty) of one hundred dollars each.
Shonnie dropped a green chip (I had told her nothing fancy dammit!) George dropped a red and seemed more interested in Shonnie than his game as whispered something in her ear.
“All bets placed,” ‘Ornamental Dealer Girl’ said as she began the deal. I estimated only one-third of the two decks had been dealt, so this bode well for me.
A plus ten count!
I caught a pair of eights on my first hand and a hard eighteen on my second. Shonnie caught a natural blackjack and sent me a smug sideways glance.
George caught a ‘dead man’s hand,’ a thirteen. Which seemed appropriate to me.
The dealer had her hole card concealed, but a five showing. Surely she would bust on that weak ass shit. She would have to take a hit, no matter what and with the decks so rich in face cards, she was bound to bust.
Of course I split my eights. (‘Always split Aces and Eights’—Never forget this ‘red-bird-cardinal rule’) Caught a three on the first eight and doubled down (now two hundred on that hand) Caught a jack!
Caught a deuce on the second eight, doubled down again. Caught a king! Twenty on that hand.
Another two hundred. I am now five hundred into this deal. I stood pat on my other hand, the eighteen.
Shonnie had already been paid for her natural blackjack, so it was up to George. He hit his thirteen! (A stupid, stupid, should-be-illegal stupid rookie move: He should have stood on his thirteen against a dealer showing a five up card. Idiot!)
He caught another face and busted. A face card meant for ‘Miss Ornamental’. Again: Idiot! I have seen players get their ass kicked for being so stupid and screwing up a play such as George had just performed.
But it all worked out… Lucky for him.
Still, he had pissed away a face card!
The dealer flipped her hole card, revealing a ten, making her a fifteen. She hit the fifteen (as required), caught a nine and busted.
The deck was still hot (plus to the plus) so I played another three hands and won eight or nine hundred or a grand more. Shonnie won another fifty or sixty or so. George lost another ten, or twenty. The dealer started to reshuffle. I was done here.
I pushed all my chips toward the dealer and said, “Color me up Darlin’ and keep this one,” as I tossed her a green. I saw Shonnie throw me yet another sideways glance, rolling her eyes.
I gave her and wink and a discreet nod in ‘George’s direction in an effort to make her understand I wanted her to leave earlier than we had originally planned. “Leave in ten, instead of twenty” was my silent communique. Not sure if the transmission arrived in-tact and un-garbled.
Shonnie ignored me and turned her attention back to her drink and her Marlboro.
George tried to whisper some more bullshit into her ear. She pulled away, but not quickly, nor forcefully enough to suppress the ‘Green-Eyed-Monster’ inside me.
The Green-Eyed-Monster who Torments Me Is Always Female, Feline-Like, and Redheaded.
Yours May Be Different.
“O beware my lord of jealousy.“
“It is the green-eyed monster which doth mock the meat it feeds on.“
–Iago (From ‘Othello’)
Sugarloaf – Green Eyed Lady
Cred for Vid: musicvideoswhd
I had to leave before I blew my cover by goin’ up-side this asshole’s head.
I gathered my chips and headed over to the cashier. Got my money and split back to the Union Plaza to wait for Shonnie.
And wait some more.
“Shonnie The Biker’s Wife Part XI: Un-Graceful Exit”
Update: Now Published Below
And then simply “Follow the Yellow Brick Road” i.e., The Lancelot Links:
Below You Will Find Most Of The Original Posts. Once / If You Arrive At Thirteen There Are Links To The Final Few Chapters. Please keep in mind however, that each and every one of them is in the process of being rewritten: first to last. This will probably take at least two or three weeks.
But if you can’t wait… Here ya go!
Commentary Section from Original Post.
For continuity, please read from the bottom up.
LAMarcom July 18, 2014 at 18:25 Edit
Yeah ‘George’ pissed me off too.
And thanks for visiting.
Teela Hart July 18, 2014 at 10:15 Edit
I’m with Mark.
“George” is pissin’ me off.
Love Steely Dan, takes me back a step.
markbialczak July 7, 2014 at 22:58 Edit
I hope you were not arrested, dude, by anybody, really.
LAMarcom July 7, 2014 at 22:42 Edit
You are correct: The vid did not look right to me either, but I have smoked a lot of shit in my time and … I was in a hurry to get the post ‘posted’, so I probably did not pick the best YouTube.
Point well taken: I shoulda know’d.
I will change it (when I have time)
LAMarcom July 7, 2014 at 22:39 Edit
Thank you for reminding me of that song (one of the best Steely Dan) and it does fit.
Sorry for the tardy response. I was arrested by the NSA.
(Now…that was a joke–kinda)
LAMarcom July 7, 2014 at 22:24 Edit
I alternate between black coffee and whiskey. Keeps the cocktail waitresses on their toes.
Thanks for your comment. I have been in jail for the past few days, so I do apologize for the tardy response.
(I was framed, by the way).
P.S. “All’s Well That Ends Well With The Protagonist Still Alive and Walking About.”
markbialczak July 4, 2014 at 22:29 Edit
It looks like Walter Becker to me, 1971 or so.
Exile on Pain Street July 4, 2014 at 21:39 Edit
WTF is up with that video? That’s not Donald Fagan singing, but that’s his voice. What’s going on there?
Exile on Pain Street July 4, 2014 at 21:32 Edit
I never drink and gamble. There’s a good reason why the casinos want to ply you with free hooch while you’re trying to do the odds math.
Things look good but why do I feel like it’s not going to end well? Where have I heard this song before. Oh, yeah…I’ve sung it myself a time or two.
markbialczak July 4, 2014 at 08:59 Edit
Just like with The Dan, with The Lance and Shonnie, I will wait patiently and enjoy the ride. “Aja, when all my night dancin’ is through, I run to you” … said the song “Deacon Blues.” And that’s the song that your Vegas tale is now reminding me of, Lance. “They got a name for the winners of the world, I want a name when I lose. They call Alabama the Crimson Tide. Call me Deacon Blues.” So, you see, I fear your winning streak is coming to an end here. Can’t wait to read more. I am already hating “George.”
LAMarcom July 3, 2014 at 18:49 Edit
evil grin *
LVital7019 July 3, 2014 at 18:47 Edit
Well, I’m over 18 so… 😉
LAMarcom July 3, 2014 at 17:09 Edit
I still remember the street address of my house in Fremont California back in ’66, but I can’t remember what I had for supper two nights ago. Go figger. 😉
Thanks very much for your visit and I do hope you will read the entire series. It does get a little racy in parts though.
Cheers to you!
LAMarcom July 3, 2014 at 17:02 Edit
Thanks for the enthusiasm. 🙂
Appreciate your visit as always.
LVital7019 July 3, 2014 at 10:17 Edit
THAT was flipping fascinating! I’m listening to Steely Dan as I type this – cool song; great band! Seriously, you make me wanna sign up and take classes with you! I’ve always been fascinated with films about card-counting heists – they always have savant-like mathematical & memory skill. My only skill is REMEMBERING numbers; like phone numbers from 35 years ago…
Now I have to go back & start from the beginning of your Shonnie-tales. 🙂
Mad Annie, Bronwyn, Ann July 3, 2014 at 08:43 Edit
I am with Sadie and Heathen here…I GOTTA know what happened! LOL
LAMarcom July 2, 2014 at 23:40 Edit
I am gonna end this one soon.
LAMarcom July 2, 2014 at 23:39 Edit
I truly, do, want, to, end this one.
But there is so very much more to tell.
Please be patient.
~ Sadie ~ July 2, 2014 at 23:32 Edit
Damn – your killing me here Lance – can’t wait to see what happens – LOVE me some Steely Dan from way back . . . 😉
happierheathen July 2, 2014 at 23:31 Edit
I hate waiting. Especially on a woman who’s being chatted up by a dude in urban cowboy get-up. Especially with that song playing. Good choice or diversion?
Keep writing, man! I’m ready for the next installment already!