I was winning big. The fun, though, was wrung out by the two ladies ridding my skill and luck and yakking about something on the rare times I lost at Blackjack. They wanted every hand, not just the two of three I was bringing in. I should have sat on either end of the table, not the middle. Looking around, my eyes caught the strong and slender back of a dark-haired lady, intently playing Blackjack at the next table. I could not see her face, but the more the two old ladies voices' cluttered my space and fun, the more I wanted the lady at the next table to be quiet, pleasant to look at, and sexy. In that order—but it is not what I got. She stood up, wandered towards my table, glanced at the action, walked away. My table got more crowded and my fantasy grew. The two ladies had won enough, banking on me. I cashed my chips in and left and went to the next table, which was empty, intentionally sitting in the middle, risking the two ladies following suit, hoping my mysterious lady would return.
She did. My heart leapt when I saw her beauty, especially her full lips. I am an unabashed lip guy, looking there first, then the eyes, the ass, shoulders, hips, and breasts. With her, I stopped at the lips. She broke the ice, commenting that it looked I was doing pretty good at the other table, judging by the stash of chips. Here I was, two months into a work contract in Cape Town, South Africa and, well, deprived of human touch for a long time. Her intonation and sweet lilt made her Afrikaans accent almost sound erotic. Yea, I told her I was doing good, but it wasn't fun with the two ladies yakking away my fun. This brought an easy, radiant smile to her intent face. She moved next to me to protect one side from unwanted visitors, just in time as the two ladies spotted me and swarmed onto our table, piling bets on my cards, again. I lost 2 hands in a row and they left. Now she laughed at my audible sigh of relief and the situation. Zoe, she introduced herself with a nudge on my shoulder.
Not that I needed it, but the cards turned hotter, not just for me, but for Zoe too. In the space of 15 minutes we both doubled our chips. This time it was fun, talking and flirting with Zoe over the simplicity of Blackjack and intricacies of people. Like the inevitable strong wind that can ruin a perfect Cape Town beach day, the two ladies returned, hovering over both sides of me, trying to squeeze close to the table. Strong though the fantasy of Zoe's mystery, I cashed my chips and went looking for the nearest bar in the casino. I just wanted to enjoy the action, breathe in the winning moment, and let the Zoe fantasy percolate in my mind before heading to my flat, alone.
"I've come to rescue you." Jerked out of the moment and fantasy by my fantasy, Zoe slid into the booth next to me. We had shared high fives and fist bumps at the table over winning hands, good hits, and dealer busts, but her slight touch on my arm tingled. She ordered another gin and tonic for me and one herself, saying she wanted to thank me for making winning fun. She tapped my wedding band; I told her about my 6-month work contract 7 time zones and continents away from family and friends. I tapped her cell phone, which she seemed tethered to, glancing at SMSs and in-coming call, not responding to any. She told me about a guy wanting a third date but she was just not interested and wished he'd get the message with no drama. We traded stories. It wasn't just making a connection that we both clearly enjoyed; it was the sheer ease and excitement with which we opened up.
Where could this possibly go? I'm 60 to her, what, 20s; married to her single; American to her South African; California coast to her Cape Town; my temporary work visa to her citizenship. The man with no future for her. The woman whose life is just unfolding.
