Shell Out

Part 6: To Love a Gold-digger

            Somehow, around ten o'clock, Greg ended up standing at the front door of the Fiddlesticks Nightclub down the clogged neon-lit arteries of the city's downtown area. He assumed he could weasel out of it had he slipped a dummy in the passenger seat of a taxicab, but he couldn't find one amid his sparse inventory, nor could he find a cab willing to cart one to the club for free. So he threw on his best buttoned shirt, gargled some toothpaste with some tap water, and hopped in his piece of junk station wagon. And that's how he ended up at the front door of the nightclub. His wallet was empty, of course, but his friend Jeff made good on his promise. He stood there waiting for Greg with a five-dollar bill in hand.

            "There's a girl inside I want you to meet," he said, as he slipped the bill into his hand.

            Greg still felt darkly depressed over his eBay disaster and didn't want to meet a girl for fear it would intensify the pain. He didn't have much female experience to begin with, but he knew they didn't particularly gravitate toward guys on the verge of homelessness, so the last thing he wanted was to discuss not only his empty treasury but his life without a job or shred of survival ambition.

            "Tonight's not a good night."

            "Why, because you're broke? Nonsense. There's no reason why you have to enlighten her on that secret."

            "But what if it comes up?"

            "One word: misdirection."

            As depressed as he felt, a sense of laughter echoed from Greg's lungs at the sound of Jeff's response. After a moment's thought he figured it was worth a shot.

            "Fine, we'll see what happens."

            And that's what he did; he saw what happened:

                                                                            ***

            "Greg," said Jeff, with a smile as fake as that of a Hollywood actor's. "This is Mandy. She's a masseuse over at the day spa."

            "Great."

            Greg extended his hand to the blonde beauty standing next to the bar. She took it. Some flowery-scented perfume emanated from her neck while some beer-scented breath emanated from her mouth.

            "Nice to meet you," she shouted over the dance music with an eager smile. "Jeff told me a lot about you."

            "Really? Like what?"

            "He says you're studying to be the next Dr. Phil. I think that's awesome. So many people in the world have so many problems these days that we need someone with expert advice to solve our issues with three minutes of counseling because who really has the time to sit down for more than three minutes?"

            "Not I, certainly. Jeff, what about — "

            Greg looked over to discover that Jeff had slipped away. He scanned the crowded room, but couldn't locate him anywhere.

            "Hmm," he continued, "I guess he's gone."

            "Better for us to get to know each other, right?" Mandy held her smile.

            "Yeah. So you're a masseuse, are you?"

            "Yep, just got my license a couple months ago. You'd be surprised what people will pay for a backrub."