Who would have expected the upset of the century? The Padres, who had never won a Super Bowl, defeating the six-time Super Bowl champion Patriots. The outcome was so predictable that it was the least watched game of the season. The bookies were unwilling to take bets without a 21-point spread. Instead of going broke, they made fortunes off that one game. Monday morning, they began making their collection calls.
Millie was warming up some leftovers when Ben got home from work. He put his arm around her waist and kissed her cheek. "How was your day?" she asked him.
"It was good," he said. "I signed up twelve new subscribers today."
"Don't you need fifteen to get a bonus?"
"Yes, but I still get my base salary. The company is growing, so I should be making bonuses pretty soon. Then we can pay down some of our wedding bills and start saving money toward a house. We knew when we got married it would be tough financially for a while."
"Yeah."
"You sound rather glum. Is something wrong?"
She hesitated a moment, then softly said, "Yes."
"What's wrong?"
She handed him a plate a beef stew and ladled stew onto a plate for herself. "Let's eat before this gets cold."
They sat down at the dining room table. She had already set out utensils and two glasses of ice water. "Are we out of wine?"
"Yes," Millie said quietly. "I was thinking we could save money if we switched to water with dinner. We could easily save eight hundred dollars a year that way."
"I didn't realize our one luxury cost that much."
"It's not a lot. We could use the money to pay down one of the credit cards. Every little bit helps."
"That's true. I guess we could do that. That's not worth getting upset about."
Millie was quiet for a minute. She stopped eating. "Ben, there's more." He put his fork down. "I did something stupid."
"Everybody makes mistakes occasionally," he said. "Whatever it was, I forgive you."
"You might change your mind. Last Friday in the cafeteria, all the guys were talking about the Padres-Patriots game. They agreed they should bet on the Patriots and make some money. One of them knows a bookie who would handle the bets. I asked if I could get in on the betting.
"'Sure,' Charlie said, 'your money is the same as ours. His minimum is fifty dollars. That is what all of us usually bet. Keep in mind that the Patriots have to win by twenty-one points or more or you lose. That's a pretty tall order for even them. Here's a piece of paper. Write down your name, address, phone number, amount of your bet, and which team you think will win.'"
"So, you bet fifty dollars?" Ben said. "We can cover a loss like that."
"It was more," Mille said timidly.
"How much? A hundred?"
Millie's voice trembled when she whispered, "A thousand."
"A thousand? You had better be joking."
"Ben, I'm so sorry. You have every right to be angry. All the experts said the Patriots would walk all over the Padres. It was a sure bet. We can certainly use an extra thousand right now."
"How could you bet money we don't have? We live paycheck to paycheck now. Nobody will lend us money to pay off a bookie. That would create another bill we can't pay. He will probably be here soon. What are we supposed to tell him? We don't have the money? How many other losers don't have the money when it's time to pay up? He won't believe us."
Millie pushed her plate aside, folded her arms on the table, put her head down, and began sobbing. "Ben," she said between sobs, "I am so sorry. I thought about the money and got greedy."
Ben stood up, knelt beside his wife, and put his arm around her back. "Darling," he said softly, "I understand you wanted to help. There is good help, and there is bad help."
"I know this is bad help. My parents taught me that gambling is a sin. I'm a bad daughter and a terrible wife. You should divorce me."
"That won't solve anything. We have to convince him we don't have that much. Maybe we can talk him into a payment plan."
"The guys at work say it's a strictly cash business, no credit, payment in full immediately. He's not a gentleman. I don't know what to do."
"I don't either."
"Ben, he will probably end up beating both of us to a pulp. Get out of here. Save yourself. I'll handle his rage."
There was a knock on the apartment door. Ben took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Too late," he said. Ben stood up and opened the door.
A large man stood in the hallway. His biceps were easily as large as Ben's legs. "I'm Sam," he said pleasantly. "I'm here to see Millie."
"Yes, come in," Ben said.