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."
"You would think lugging around all those books would make a person smart but I swear, Jim, they haven't done a thing for me."
"I am sure you are making good grades." I had no reason to be sure of any such thing. Why was I sucking up to her? The answer was right in front of me with more curves than a question mark.
"I am not talking about my grades. My grades are OK, in fact, better than OK. I am talking about life. About life, I know nothing, nada, zilch. I think some ten year old girls know more about life than I do."
I was spared from making some silly-ass remark on her self-appraisal when she pointed to a Lincoln Continental Town car.
"It is my dad's. Before he left for Sicily, he made me promise to drive it once in a while so I have been bringing it to school."
She opened the trunk and I unloaded the books in it. She took her keys from her purse and leaned against the car and said, "I am sorry I got upset earlier, Jim. There is so much vicious gossip going around here. I don't understand why people are so mean. Sometime I feel sick of this place and want to drop out. Thank God, in a few months I will graduate and be rid of this dump for good. Don't people have anything better to do than spreading lies about a person?"
"It is probably just jealousy, Regina." I said, trying to sound wise.
"Why would any one be jealous of me? I haven't done anything to anybody." She sounded genuinely perplexed.
"You don't have to do anything to any one. You are good looking, that's enough to make some people jealous."
"Do you think I am good looking, Jim?" Her voice was suddenly an octave lower.
"Hell yes! You are more than good looking, Regina. You are drop-dead gorgeous." The words were barely out of mouth when she had her arms around me and her face buried somewhere in my neck.
"I was hoping for that. Oh God, I was hoping..." Then she let go off me just as fast as she had embraced me. Her back was against the car again, her hand that was holding the bunch of keys was half way stuffed in her mouth and her big brown eyes were full of panic. I believe if the car wasn't behind her, she would have turned around and taken of running. Luckily for me (and for her, as I was to later learn) the car was behind her. I took her hand away from her mouth, put my lips on hers, and pulled her to me. We stood there a long time, entwined and kissing; she giggled and she cried. I could taste her tears, which she said were all from happiness. Then she took me home with her and we both missed a few days of school. Big deal! I would happily do it again if given a chance but a chance like that comes only once, even to the lucky.
My meeting Regina was not a chance meeting as far as she was concerned. She had picked me for this. I did not ask why me. Why should I question her taste and may be even insult my Lady Luck? Let me just say, I am eternally grateful to both. Regina knew her mind and knew exactly what she wanted.
