Until now, I have kept my Lady Luck secret from the world. I will hide her no more. I am coming clean and declaring, loudly and publicly, that all the good things in my life came to me because of my luck, not hard work. I know my confession is inflaming the hemorrhoids of all the people who continuously preach the virtues of hard work. Hard work, they tell you, is the only way to succeed, the only thing that will get you ahead. Yea, right, ahead in the line of the dying. What about those born rich? Hard work didn't get them there, luck did.
In my mind's eye, I see my Lady Luck a as red-haired Amazon; her breasts, two mountains oozing rivers of milk; her belly, a Sahara of rolling sand dunes; her bush, a flaming-red New England forest in Autumn. Don't ask me about her ass; I don't ever want to imagine her turn her back on me. You can imagine your own luck according to your own fancy. She is, after all, a goddess with a thousand faces and more moods than an adolescent girl. This much, however, you can take to the bank: if she chooses you; she will be what you want her to be and will give you what you need.
She gave me intelligence and made me a natural athlete, two discreet but incredible gifts, one tucked under my cranium and the other woven in my sinews. Even as a kid, I knew what she gave me. I was an all around firecracker on the playground and could have played any sport. Only reason I chose baseball was because football is too damn dirty, all that mud and mess; basketball is mostly shoving, elbowing and, from my point of view, too much body contact. Even as a kid, the only body contact I wanted was with the opposite sex. (Notice I used the word sex, it even sounds slippery and wet; gender sounds like a dry tree branch splitting in two).
Until high school, cheers from the sidelines: of my parents, out of job uncles, spinster aunts and assorted sports nuts of the town; supplemented with kudos from the coach, was the only reward I got for all my kick-ass athletics. It was in high school that I reaped my first real 'reward' and her name was Regina. She was a saucy senior with a reputation of being stuck up and a body that could give a dead man an erection. I know there are more accurate words than 'reaped' when talking about sex, but this story is about high school; let's keep it clean as long as we can. Besides, I am quite confident that you can provide just the right word when I tell you that she was eighteen, stacked to the rafters, bubbling with hormones and (drum roll, please!) she was a virgin.
It was after one of those home games played against a traditional foe from a nearby town when Regina became my 'reward'. We had not only won the game, we had trounced our opponents. Testosterone ran like rainwater in the streets that night and there were rug-burns on the backside of half the wives in town next morning. Even the neglected mistresses got a chance to blow some steam after blowing the necessary. Why else do you think sports are so popular? Victory of your own team and humiliation of the opposition triggers a huge rush of testosterone production. If you don't believe me, check out what happens to birthrates when the local team keeps winning.
Since the death of my mom and dad in a car crash, for me the thrill had become hollow. When my parents were alive, I could always enjoy myself in the reflected glow of their happiness. People praise me for my modesty, for not doing the silly stuttering chicken dance but they don't know the half of it. Every time I play too well and we win too big, a sense of sadness invades me and I tend to slink away. I did the same thing that evening and was walking home through the empty parking lot; my head hung low, my eyes to the ground.
"Hey!" Someone called. I looked up. She was standing under a tree, leaning against its trunk. She had an armful of books held against her chest.
"Hey yourself!" I said.
"You are Jim, aren't you? I am Regina."
"Yes, I know."
"You know me?" She sounded surprised.
"Practically every one in school knows you. I have just heard about you, your name and stuff."
"What have you heard about me, Jim?" Even in the fading light, I could see her face redden and eyes fill with suspicion.
What do I tell her? Do I tell her that boys drool when she walks by? Should I repeat the crude language of their hunger? "Take my word; I am going to jump her bones one of these days". Says one pimply faced kid "I am going to ram her from behind and give it to her good; give it to her until she begs for mercy," promises another. Do I tell her that she is the school's walking wet dream? Do I also tell her that most of those boys would become stuttering fools with fright if she went and said hello?
"Good things, Regina, I have only heard good things about you." Right away, I realized that my answer was too flippant for her liking.
"I want to know what you have heard about me, Jim. I want to know."
"Let me carry your books." I extended my arms towards her. She shook her head in a determined refusal and clutched her books tighter to her chest.
"What have you heard about me? Tell me, PLEASE!"
"Well, I just heard guys talking about you. Guys saying things like how attractive you are, that you are a senior. Some guys saying that you are the most beautiful chick, I mean girl on campus. Stuff like that. Of course, I heard your name."
Obviously, I said the right things. She seems to have visibly relaxed and her eyes were not shooting daggers any more.
"Will you carry my books now, Jim? Darn things weigh a ton."
She extended her books towards me. There was a whole stack of them and trying to get them to my arms she came touching close and her girl-smell made me feel kind of drunk. We stood like that for a while, silenced by shyness until she took a small step back. She was nearly as tall as I was. She looked at my face with a candid and unabashed appraisal.
"My car is parked over there." She pointed to the other end of the parking lot.
"I'll walk you to it."
"That will be nice. Sometimes I feel like a damn donkey carrying...here, let me carry some of the books too."
"No, please, let me! I need the practice. I am going to be a senior soon."
