Transplant — Chapter Two

by Arnold Snyder

 

Despite my coffee break at Megan’s, I still finished delivering my mail fifteen minutes early, so I parked on a side street and called Pete. Since he’d gotten his combination host/floor manager job at the Peppermint Hippo, he’d become my confidant for all things relating to women and sex.

Pete made better money than me, but he blew every cent he had gambling, mostly on the dice tables. I liked hanging out with him because he got dinner and show comps in all the joints.

“I’ve got a date this afternoon,” I said.

“First time in a long time, Morg. Who’s the lucky girl? Not another postal clerk…”

“Babsarella.”

Silence on his end for a moment, then, “Horseshit.” Pete had seen every stage show in Vegas half a dozen times, all comped. He knew who Babsarella was.

“I’m not shitting you.”

The Babsarella?” he asked.

“Her real name is Megan,” I said.

He started laughing. “Unforkinbelievable! You’re going out with Babsarella? I heard Fred dumped her, but damn! Morgan, you are my hero! Where are you taking her? I can get you a dinner comp at Spago. You can’t afford this girl! I’ll get you all the comps I can just to see how far you get with her. I’ll get you a room at the Hilton. One of the big villas. The Conrad Suite. My host owes me a favor.”

“It’s not the Hilton anymore,” I said. “Westgate bought it out. Years ago.”

“It’s the Hilton to me. My host is the same. The RFB is the same. They got new felt on the dice tables, but unfortunately the new dice are just as fucking mean to me as the old dice.”

“I don’t need the comp,” I said. “Thanks for the offer.”

“Morg, you’ve got to impress the shit out of her. You can’t pick her up in that piece of shit Toyota of yours. I’m going to rent you a Jag at Celebrity Wheels. You just have to tell me everything. You’ve got to convince her you’re a millionaire.”

“She knows I’m a mailman, Pete. I’m her mailman. That’s how I met her.”

Silence, then… “Are you sure this is the Babsarella?”

“The one and only.”

“Describe her tits.”

“Like basketballs with nipples.”

“You saw her nipples?”

“She was wearing a t-shirt. With a bra. And I could still see her nipples. It’s her, Pete. She just moved into an apartment on my route.”

“Unbelievable. What time do you want the comp at Spago?”

“I don’t need any comps. She invited me to her place for… She said she just wanted to talk about her houseplants. She has a lot of plants and, you know, I’ve always been into gardening and stuff like that.”

“Horseshit!” He started laughing. “You fucker! You wouldn’t know a daffodil from a dildo.” He laughed harder. He wasn’t forcing it. He was really cracking up. Then he said: “Now I don’t know if you’re bullshitting me.”

“Don’t spread the word, okay?” I said. “You’ll fuck up my chances with her.”

Go to Chapter Three

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