Chicken A La King Page Twelve

They went outside to the parking lot where the motorhome was parked.
“Here she is...I bought it to take the show on the road....Come on inside and have a look.”
The interior was out of the seventies with pink velvet sofas and built in cabinetry. There was a small kitchen all done in black granite with glossy black cabinets, two bedrooms, a bathroom, dining area and living area.
“This is so beautiful, “ said Ali awed by the motorcoach.
“Do you like it?”
“Oh gosh yes.”
“I was going to surprise you Sunday morning but I guess I was the one who was surprised.”
“Oh Scott, it’s not like that....Chet is just a friend.”
“I know, I know, I know....”Come here darlin’......
He lead her into the master bedroom which had a leopardskin spread on it with plush satin pillows.
“Lay down lady”, he purred
She lay down on the plush bed, her hair wild and sexy. He lay down on top of her and stared kissing her her neck.
“I think we could spend alot of time in here.”
“Yes.”
He made love to her for hours and they lay together in the darkened room. This was the first time she had seen him without his Elvis costume.
“You’re beautiful Ali”
“You are too. I could stay here forever, just like this.”
“Me too”.......
“You know, this is the first time I’ve seen you without your costume on....”
“What do you think of the real me, au natural?”
“I like it!”
He poured her a glass of wine and they relaxed awhile. He turned on the TV with the remote.
Sam Fullbein opened the front page of the New York Times. There was a featured article on chicken ranches in the US and a picture of a worker strangling a chicken at his ranch. He dialed the phone angrily.
“Manuel?
“Yes Boss.”
“I thought I warned you about reporters nosing around the ranch”.
“Boss, I am so sorry, so sorry...I went to town that night for a few hours and some of the handlers had a party. They got drunk and thats when that reporter took the picture. I am very sorry boss.
“I see. Is that how you run the ranch?”
“No boss, this never happens!”
“Well now, it did happen, didn’t it?”
“Yes boss”.
“Now, I know you’re good people Son, that’s why I have you there. These, these accidents, well, they happen, sometimes they happen to good people like you and me......I need you to watch for strangers, suspicious people, anybody who comes nosing around....Don’t let this happen again”.
“Sorry Mr Sam. I won’t”.
“You have my permission to shoot tresspassers”.
Sam hung up the phone. This was really bad news. Just as his new ad campaign was kicking off and now this unfortunate incident. The activists would be screaming now and so would the animal control board. Dammit!! Why did these thing happen to him?”

Chicken A La King Page Eleven

He sat down at the console and played a videotape of actress Mona Meredith, the sexy blonde bombshell superstar of Cove Island. She was known for her outspoken nature and her outrageous antics. Mona Meredith would stop at nothing to save a cat, a dog or in his case, a chicken. She was his biggest enemy these days, the way she courted the press.
He watched more videos of her talking and then switched to an image of her naked in playboy Magazine. He ogled the pictures and then fantasized about being with her.
She would be attending a function at the St. Regis in honor of the Humane Society and luckily Mindy would be out of town. He had made it a point to have a private invitation.
But she hates you, he thought. She thought of him as a repulsive murderer, an animal killer. Hmmm, that was true. She wouldn’t be receptive to him...He needed another identity, a disguise. That was it. Now he was thinking.... a tuxedo and perhaps a beard with an eye patch. Ah yes, women loved pirates. A bad boy image for him! He looked at her picture again and thought about capturing this lovely creature for his very own. He could make her love him.
Scott walked into Pleasures Lounge off the strip and took a seat at the bar. He was dressed in his Elvis costume but didn’t give a damn what anybody thought. At least no fans would bother him here. A topless dancer was on stage, shaking her ass to a loud disco beat.
He was so pissed off and down in the dumps. His girl had cheated on him. She had lied to him just when he thought he might be falling in love with her. Women. You could never trust them, he thought. They’re all the same; take and take and take and then they take your heart and stomp on it.
“Hit me with a bourbon on the rocks”.
“Sure Elvis”.
The bartender laid down his drink on a napkin. He shot it back quickly, the bourbon burning down his throat. He looked up at the TV and there was a commercial of The King Of Wings surrounded by young peasant girls at a castle.
“I’m Uncle Sam the King of Wings and I want you to try my new secret recipe for X-TRA crunchy wings...”
“The King Of Wings!!!! What an asshole”, the bartender said.
Scott looked away from the TV. Another Elvis impersonator came and sat beside him at the bar. He had a lot of thick black hair and was wearing a white jumpsuit with a lot of gold rings on his fingers.
“Hi Mate”.
“Hi....” Scott looked sad and surprised to see a twin at the bar.
“Hit me again”, Scott said to the bartender.
The bartender laid down another drink in front of him and he shot it back. The other Elvis spoke.
“Hitting the sauce fairly early this morning’ eh?” He had a thick English accent.
“Yeah, that’s right, dude”.
“Must be the likes of a woman that’s done this to ya”.
“What else?”
The other Elvis extended his hand.
“I’m Arnold Wexler, nice to meet you Matey”.
“I’m Scott Raymond, likewise.”
“Been doing shows long?”
“Long enough!”
“I’ve been doing shows in England for twenty years now, I do Leeds, Manchester and London.”
“I didn’t know they had Elvis impersonators in England.”
“Oh yes, Matey, very popular.... Can I have a Foster’s please?”
“What are you doing in Vegas?”
“I’m here for a convention, they hired me to do five shows”.
“Good for you”.
“So what’s got you down?”
“I guess I shouldn’t be drinking but I just found out my lady had a husband.”
“A husband eh?”
“Yeah, she told me that he wasn’t really her husband so I don’t know the whole story. She was such a nice girl, beautiful, sexy, pure....”
“Aren’t they all? It’s just the devil in disguise Matey, don’t you know that yet?”
“Ain’t that the truth...I had some big plans for us.”
“Maybe its not too late.”
“Nah, it s over...”
“Give it time Matey.”
“Yeah, sure, well thanks for the talk dude.”
“God bless.”
“Adios”.
Ali was getting dressed for work. Her life suddenly seemed so empty without Scott. She put on her black mini-skirt, the tight aqua top, and her black pumps. The pumps were the worst offenders for doing rounds at the casino. Why wouldn’t they let them wear comfortable shoes?
She walked the ten blocks to the hotel. It was another scorcher today, almost 95 degrees outside. She was sweating and vaguely aware of someone walking behind her.
“Hi ya Blondie.... Slow down”.
She kept on walking at a quick pace, her long legs working harder.
“Don’t you want to talk with me?” the voice persisted.
She turned around sharply. A young guy with a mop of red hair was doing the harassing.
“No!! Leave me alone”.
“Bitch!”.
She reached the hotel felt relieved as the cool air engulfed her. The carpet was thick under her feet and she walked into the casino. Scott was nowhere in sight. Why wasn’t he there? Maybe he was somewhere else tonight. She felt depressed.
Tony Fratelli looked at his watch. There was Cookie coming in five minutes late. He’d have to point this out to her. He didn’t want her getting into any bad habits.
“Cookie, come here a minute.”
“Yes?”
“You start here at 5:00 and it is now 5:07.”
“Sorry”.
“Just don’t get into bad habits. It makes me nuts.”
“Okay, sorry.”
“You alright Cookie?”
“Yes”.
“I need you to smile out there, look happy and I want you to do the roulette tables tonight and the craps tables too. Think you can do it?”
“Yes”.
“Good, now get to work and put on a happy face.”
Ali picked up her tray and started to make her rounds. Chet weighed heavy on her mind and she felt bad for kicking him out. Now Scott had deserted her too. She was alone, again. The gamblers were tipping exceptionally well and she had $400.00 in tips. It was turning out to be a decent night tonight.
She thought of her parents back at the farm and how hard her father worked to make money. She wished she could see them again soon but there was no time to go home yet, she would have to wait.
Her shift ended at 12:00 and she stopped promptly. Tony Fratelli was watching her like a hawk.
“How’d you do tonight, Cookie?”
“Really good.”
“See, I told ya so...Why don’t you sit down and have a drink with me?”
“I better go home, I’m tired.”
“Sure thing Cookie...Maybe some other time.”
Ali strolled out of the casino and walked by the lounge. Scott was there with his band, finishing up his show and signing some autographs. She stopped and watched him for a while. He was engulfed with fans of all ages.
“I loved your show. You are fantastic!” said an adoring fan.
“Thank you very much darling”.
“Can I have your autograph?”.
“What’s your name sweetheart?”
“Vanessa.”
“Okay, Vanessa.... Here you go darling.”
“Can I have a kiss?”
“Lay your best one on me honey”.
She gives him a long kiss and hugs him tightly.
“You are so handsome, I love you Elvis”.
“Thank you.”
Ali walked up behind Scott and tapped him on the back.
“Can I have your autograph?”
Scott turned around and smiled.
“Hey, it’s you!” He smiled and hugged her.
“I didn’t see you before, I thought you were gone.”
“I was late tonight”.
“Me too.”
“I’ve been thinking about you.”
“Me too.”
“I’ve missed you.”
“Me too.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, I’m sorry too.”
He kissed her and she kissed him back passionately. She melted into him and the world slipped away, all the noise, lights, and people until there was only him holding her in his arms. There was applause from the band members.
“Hey, get a room.” they yelled
“Mind your own business”, said Scott smiling from ear to ear.
“Want to get out of here?”
“Yeah”.

Chicken A La King Page Ten

One of the Mexican workers came over, picked Ritchie up, and tossed him up in the air. He flew down, feathers flying all over the place. Lili was scared. They were going to hurt Ritchie!!!
“You stupid bird”!! Dwight shouted. The other men laughed.
One of the other men lifted Ritchie up by his beak and smashed his face. Ritcthie yelled out in pain. Lili was scared for her husband. Scared for her chicks and scared for her. At the top of the barn in the loft a reported for the New York Times lay crouched down, shooting pictures of the workers manhandling the bird. He shot some close ups of their cruel expressions. He pocketed the film and made a run for it. One of the workers saw him running and threw Ricthie back on the ground.
“Gringo!! Gringo!!”
They chased after the reporter who fled to his car outside the barn.
Lili cuddled Ritchie and tended to his wounds. He was beat up but would live and for that he was grateful. This had been another close call, almost as bad as The Big House.
Scott pulled up to Ali’s place in a new, large motor home with his Elvis picture painted on both sides of it. It was his new toy, his vehicle for traveling around the country. He was going to take his show on the road and he couldn’t wait to tell Ali the good news.
He jumped out of the motor home and walked up to her door.
“Ali! Wake up, it’s me sweetheart!”
The door opened and a grumpy, sleepy Chet looked at him wiping the sleep out of his eyes.
“Who are you?” asked Scott
“I’m Ali’s husband.... Who the fucks are you, Elvis or something?”
“Is Ali here?”
“Yeah, she’s in the bedroom.”
“Would you mind getting her for me?”
“Yeah, whatever...Ali, the circus is in town.”
Chet disappeared inside and Ali appeared at the door in a bathrobe.
“”Oh Scott! I am so sorry”
“Yeah, I’m sorry too.”
“No, Scott, it’s not what you think.”
“I think it is what I think. That dude there says he’s your husband...Is that true?”
“No! He’s not my husband. I’ve known him all my life.... He’s a friend.”
“A friend?”
“Yes. From Iowa.”
“A friend from Iowa. Well now, isn’t that convenient...and so he just thought he’s come to town and shack up with you for the night.”
“No, we didn’t sleep together, he slept on the couch.’”
“Listen. Ali, it was nice knowing you all right. Fuck!”
Scott turned around to leave and Ali pulled him back around.
“It’s over. He’s leaving. I am throwing him out, alright?”
“ I think we’re over Ali”
“Why? I didn’t do anything!”
“I have to go. I don’t need this bullshit in my life.”
Scot turned down the driveway, jumped into the motor home, and sped away. Chet came over and put his arms around her. She pushed him away.
“Who the fuck was that?”
“That was my boyfriend”
“You already have a boyfriend? Don’t waste any time do ya?”
“Get out”
“What?”
“Get out now. I mean it, get out or I will.... I’ll beat you up.”
“You’re crazy!”
“One, two, three...”
“You belong out here in this cesspool. You belong out here with these crazy people Ali. You’re not the girl I used to know anymore.”
“Get out! “She screamed.
He got his clothes and left. She slammed the door behind him. He was gone. Now she would have to try and get Scott back.
Sam Fullbein arrived at Primrose studios on time for his commercial debut.
“Come into makeup Sam”. Demato took him by the arm.
“I want to look natural”.
“Don’t worry, this is Sheila...She’s the best”
“Let me just wipe your face Sam, it won’t hurt a bit.”
Sheila was a serious looking woman in her thirties. She had a soft touch whom Sam appreciated and she wiped his face over with a small sponge, her fingers working lightly over his face.
“I’m just going to give you a base and then we’ll go from there”.
She applied light touches of makeup while he fidgeted in his chair. Being a star was hard work, he thought. This was the beginning of his dream to be known as the King Of Wings. The world would know of his empire and of the man who founded it. He was leaving a legacy.
“Sam, we need to go over the final script approval.” Demato said, holding a clipboard in his hand.
“Alright, hit me.”
“Alright, first you’re on the horse, galloping towards the castle. Then the peasant girls in the castle, at the feast, surround you. You say, “Try my wings, they’re X-TRA Crunchy, that’s why I’m the King of Wings... Got it?”
“Yeah, I got it.... On the horse, in the castle, surrounded by girls....”
“Ready for the first take?”
“Ready.”
The shoot went well that day and Uncle Sam became a star. His first commercial was ready to air. The X-TRA Crunchy campaign was on its way. After it was all over Demato came over and gave him a pat on the back.
“You were great”
“I’m ready to do more”
“Well, there’s a whole campaign. We’ll send you the boards as soon as the concept is finalized.”
“Right.”
Sam sat back in his limo on the way to the East Side townhouse and thought about the spot. It was a hit and he’d be a star! Sam had always been a shy guy, not one for the limelight. He was a behind the scenes character but now it was time for the world to know who Uncle Sam The Chicken Man was.
The limo pulled into the driveway and the driver opened the door for him. He stepped inside the massive red doors and his small dog Walter greeted him barking ferociously.
The walls of the townhouse were painted a soft yellow and the marble in the foyer was black and white checkered pattern. There was oak paneling everywhere and the townhouse was very spacious and elegant. He had had it decorated by the famed interior designer Juan Pablo Montoya, who had offices in New York and Los Angeles.
He deposited his briefcase in the study and checked his messages. There were no messages from Mindy. She must be having a good time. No news was good news. There was a message from David Newirth who wanted to meet him later for a drink. He called him back immediately; he could handle that.
“David, Sam here”
“Sam, good to hear from you. I’m in town, thought we could have a drink at the Egret at 8:00”.
“I’ll see you there.”
The club was an elite gentleman’s club on the East side where powerful and rich men gathered to smoke cigars, make deals and generally avoid women kind. Women were not members of the club; it was tradition.
Sam took the elevator down to his basement, which he had fully remodeled. He went through a series of doors to a small room in the back, past the wine cellar, which stocked over 500 wines; He unlocked the door and let himself in. This was his secret room, a room that Mindy didn’t have a key to. His computer was the latest G-5 with a large monitor and electronic equipment lined the walls.

Chicken A La King Page Nine

Today had been a wonderful day with Scott. The wedding had been really cool and then they had lunch and talked. She found out more about him, His parents were both dead and he had a sister in California who was a film producer. He was tender, funny, very, very talented, and not at all tacky like you would think an impersonator would be.
She turned the TV on and surfed through the channels. She was so tired; maybe she would just take a little nap.... She drifted off to sleep and when she woke up she thought she heard knocking on the door.
“Hello? Ali?”
A familiar voice was outside her door. She stopped. It couldn’t be... She looked through the keyhole. It was Chet. Chet was standing outside her door wearing his uniform of a T-shirt and jeans and running shoes. Oh my God! She opened the door.
“Chet? Is that you?”
“Ali!”
“What are you doing here?”
“I came to see you baby”
“All the way from Iowa?”
“Yes! Can I come in?”
“Oh yes, come on in.”
He gave her a big bear hug and twirled her around. He stepped inside and scrutinized her place. She sure was living high off the hog these days.... Nice furniture and a big TV... It was very different from the farm.
“Nice.”
“Thanks...My God!! What are you doing here?”
“I came to see you Al..... I’ve really missed you baby doll.”
He hugged her again.
“Oh Chet!”
“Aren’t you glad to see me?”
“Well, I... I thought things were over between us Chet.”
“I still love you Ali.”
“Oh Chet!”
“No, I really love you Al....I want you to come home with me.”
She was aghast.
“Home?”
“Yeah. Get packed and let’s go back home and get married.”
Ali sat down, her head spinning.
“Chet, you don’t understand...I don’t belong in Iowa anymore.... This is my home now.”
”What? Are you nuts? You call this home? This ain’t a home Ali, it’s a cesspool of drug addicts and gamblers and hookers. All the scum of the earth is here.”
“Well, I’m on a journey in my life and this is part of it.”
“You’re just going through growing pains Ali. You’ve known me all your life and you feel you have to run from me now, but you don’t. You don’t...I’m the one who loves you Al. I always have and I always will. These people don’t know who you are and they don’t care who you are. All they want is a piece of your ass.”
“Chet! You don’t understand...Its over between us.”
“I don’t believe it”
“Well, believe it.”
She stood up, her voice cold and quiet.
“Do you want a beer?”
“Yeah.”
She went to the fridge and got him a Budweiser. She watched while he opened it and took a swig.
“How are Mom and Dad?”
“They’re fine. They know I’m here.”
“Oh God! Who else knows? The whole town?””
“Ali, we are your home, we are the people that love you.”
“Listen.... I love you all too. I do. But for this one time in my life I want to do something on my own and feel like I can accomplish something and make myself into something besides good old Ali from the cannery.”
“It’s not like that Ali”
“It is.”
She moped around the room. She was tired and now this. She couldn’t believe it. It was getting late and she knew that Chet probably had nowhere to sleep.
“Do you have a place to stay?”
“No. I was fixing’ to stay with you.”
“I guess you can sleep here on the couch.”
“Man, you sure have changed.”
“Yes, my life has changed.”
“Hey, I’ll sleep on the couch, I don’t care.”
She got some sheets and a pillow and made a bed for him.
“You are too much”
“Ali. I would do anything for you”
“Then shut up and go to sleep.”
“Alright...Anything to make you happy.”
She turned off the light, went into the bedroom, and shut the door. She didn’t want to sleep with Chet and give him any false hopes. She would kick him out in the morning.
The day was over at Super Chicken Ranch. The workers filed out of the Big House and a few stragglers headed off to the barn. Jed and Dwight were handlers at the ranch and dealt with those damn chickens all day long. At the end of the day all you wanted was a good steak and a nice cold beer. Tonight they were going to party a bit. Jed had brought his guitar and Dwight had a drum set in his truck.
“Come on, let’s set up in the barn”
“I hear you man.... Where are the beers?”
“I got’ em in back of the truck.”
“Hell, go get them man.”
Some Mexicans came and sat on the hay in the barn and watched them set up the band. Manuel was away in town and wouldn’t be back until late. It was a good time to party. They started playing country music and the Mexicans got up and danced, stomping their feet and laughing as they got drunker and drunker.
Lili was in her spot at the barn and was increasingly worried about all the ruckus. What were those men doing? It looked like a party but one could never tell. She guarded her chicks under her wings.
Ritchie was beside her and was watching the party in progress.

“Looks like they’re having a good old time.” chuckled Ritchie.

Chicken A La King Page Eight

Mindy Fullbein arrived in Paris at the Charles De Gaulle International Airport at 2:00 pm. It was the largest airport serving Paris and second busiest airport after Heathrow. It was a drizzly, muggy summer afternoon and the place was mobbed with summer vacationers.
The driver met them at the airport. Cynthia had arranged for all the details of the trip with Madame Natasha Floyd. The Madame offered over 250 villas, offering the best choices of St. Tropez. She offered grand prix tickets, balcony spaces, helicopter and car hire, cleaners, chefs, bodyguards, musicians and more. Cynthia was such a dear for taking care of her this way. Mindy and Cynthia dashed through the airport, chatting away about their summer plans.
The driver loaded their Louis Vitton luggage into the BMW sedan and they sped off towards the city. They would spend the first night in town and drive to St. Tropez the following day.
Mindy was glad to be away from America. All of the media attention was getting old. She would be happy to be an unknown for a spell, just another glimmer on the beach of fascinating shells in St. Tropez. Eye’s candy for the rich and famous it is.
Paris was a favorite destination for her. She made buying trips twice yearly in the spring and fall to see the collections. She always stayed at the Ritz.
“Paris, so wonderful, isn’t it darling”, moaned Cynthia.
“Lagerfeld, Versace, Ungaro...I love them all.... Its like coming home” Mindy agreed. They arrived in the center of the city and the driver unloaded their luggage at the hotel. They checked into the opulent lobby, encrusted with marble columns and decorative statuary. The prim clerk wearing a starched white blouse gave her the once over.
“It’s under Fullbein”
“Madame Fullbein, welcome to the Ritz”
“Thank you”
“Ah, yes, the Coco Chanel suite.... It is ready for you, please follow us.”
The bellman opened the door to the suite. It was decorated in muted gold with heavy baroque mirrors adorning the walls. The bed and the chairs were quilted in white suede. Mindy threw her purse on the bed.
“Its good to be home.”
The driver tipped the bellman and the two women settled in, opening a bottle of chilled champagne at the floor of the bed.
“To Paris”
“To a marvelous time”
Cynthia undressed slowly, seductively in front of Mindy. She unbuttoned her silk blouse to reveal a lacy sheer bra and unhooked it slowly, her full ripe breasts perkily staring at her.
“To us”...
At the Super Chicken Ranch, Manuel Vargas had a lot of organizing to do. The chicken houses were in need of repairs, there was an overflow of birds and the birds needed water. He would get someone on these issues right away.
There was talk of approaching a neighboring farm to expand but Manuel knew that the crotchety old widow that owned the farm was difficult and stubborn. She had already complained to him about rodents on her land. He doubted that she would be interested in having poultry there.
Rosalita came out with a bottle of water.
“For you.”
“Gracias.”
“Are you coming in for lunch today?”
“No, I don’t have time. Bring it to me beauty.”
“I will.”
His wife was very sweet and dutiful, not like these spoiled American wives he saw on TV. He pitied the Boss Sam about his wife. He had seen pictures of her in the newspapers kissing another man. How could a man put up with such a thing? Not him, Rosalita would always be true to him, of that he was sure. She came out carrying a tray with some chicken and rice on it.
“Thank you Mama”.
“You’re welcome.”
“Where is Pedro?”
“I don’t know...he disappeared off playing an hour ago.”
“He must be around somewhere.”
“I’ll find him.”
Rosalita went off to search for Pedro...
Pedro was crouching in the barn, behind an old tractor. He was hiding from an invisible enemy who would strike at any moment if he were found...
Lili rested in the barn. She saw the boy there, playing on the other side. She didn’t like children, but they were safer than men. Men could be cruel. She counted her chicks, one, two, three, four, five...Where was the sixth? Sonny was gone!!
Lili stood up and looked around the barn. There was Sonny. He was walking wobbly legged towards the boy. Damn it! She called to him.
“Sonny!!! Sonny!!! Come to Mama.”
Sonny kept walking, right into the boy’s arms. Lili ran over to him and the boy ran out of the barn with Sonny clutched in his hands. Lili followed them to the front step of the house.
“Pedro!”
“Look Mama, a chucky.”
“Pedro, put it down! See, there’s his Mama coming to get him.”
Lili clucked gratefully and led Sonny away. It was tough being a mother hen.
Scott and Ali returned from riding. It had been a long wonderful day and Ali was happy. She liked Scott a lot and it was good getting to know him better. She was getting used to all the attention he got as Elvis. The motorcycle came to a full stop. She jumped off.
“Home sweet home”.
“I hope you had a good time today sweet thing.”
“I did, I really did.”
“I guess I’ll let you go even though I could spend every minute with you.”
“Cool.”
“Its true”
“Do you want to come in?”
“No, I have to go. I have my show tonight. I have to go over some songs with the band.”
“I’m so beat. I think I’ll take a nap.”
“Go on, get some rest...I’ll call you in the morning.”
He gave her a kiss on the lips.
“Okay, bye.”

She watched him drive away and looked through her bag for her key. She found it tucked away at the very bottom of her bag and she fumbled with the lock. Inside was dark and cool and she went into the kitchen and got a drink of ice water.

Chicken A La King Page Seven

David took the podium.
“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen, thank you all for being here. We want to welcome you to the world of Mmm! Foods, where our customers are our best friends”...
David took a sip of coffee from a company mug.
“The world of Mmm... Foods make a world of difference when it comes to delivering consistent growth. I’m pleased to report that this year was once again another year that demonstrated the underlying power of our global portfolio of leading restaurant brands.”
A big screen popped up in the ceiling and an image of an Mmm! Foods restaurant flashed on the screen. There was signage in Chinese on it.
“We are pioneers in China and we fully intend to capitalize on the total opportunity. We have bold goals to build dominant restaurants brands in every category. So in addition to casual dining we have begun to expand delivery service. We will soon have more restaurants in China than we do in the US.”
And today we have a special guest here, Sam Fullbein of Uncle Sam’s Chicken. We are on the threshold of having Uncle Sam become part of our family of restaurant chains. Sam, we’d like to hear a few words from you now. Everyone welcome Uncle Sam!”
David whispered in his ear.
“Seventy-five million for your chain consider it Sam”.
Sam nodded and took the podium.
“It certainly is an honor to be here in Arkansas today. I have enjoyed tremendous success as an independent retailer of chicken. My chain has fifty stores strong across the US, and I am proud to be known as The King of Wings. I know all of you youngsters out there have newfangled ideas about business and this global marketplace, but I am happy just to be doing business here in the USA where Uncle Sam’s was born. I intend to oversee operations at my stores myself and with a team of close associates. I thank you for inviting me to join Mmm! Foods! But for right now business will run as usual. Thank you.”
David approached the podium.
“Any questions for Sam?”
A young woman stood up.
“What about the secret recipe? Will you ever reveal it?” Sam smiled.
“I do have a secret recipe that has been in the family for thirty years. It is locked in a vault and no one has the list of ingredients. I will never reveal it to anyone.”
A man raised his hand.
“What’s next for your chain of restaurants?”
“I’m planning on expansion, building more stores in more cities and promoting those stores with a very aggressive ad campaign.”
A young woman stood up with a sign that reads chicken wings = murder.
慦hat about the cruelty charges and what do you plan on doing to stop it?”
Sam’s face got redder and he stammered.
“Well, uh...we do not see the processing of chicken as cruel or do we consider it murder. It is necessary to feed the public and we are not going to stop production of chicken wings. I am very sorry miss, I do not see your point”.
She waved her sign at him.
“Its slaughter.”
“Please get her out of here”, Sam said into the microphone.
Two burly men came and escorted her out of the convention center. David took over the podium.
“Thank you Sam, for being with us today. I am sure we will be doing business soon.”
David whispered in his ear. ”We’re willing to offer you one hundred million for your chain Sam, think about it.”
His mothers voice echoed in his ear. “Never tell anyone the secret recipe Sam, promise me Son”.
He vowed he would make good on his promise. They shook hands and Sam exited the building to his waiting limousine. The driver held the door open for him. Sam sat back in the plush seat. One hundred million dollars, it was staggering. He took a deep breath and lit up a cigar. He inhaled deeply, taking in the aroma of the pungent leaves. He stared out the window and wondered if not selling was a wise move. His cell phone rang. It was Mindy.
“Hi honey, how did it go?”
“Not bad.”
“What happened?”
“They made me an offer. I didn’t take it, I decided to stay.”
“How much?”
“One hundred million.”
“One hundred million? Sam? Are you sure? Why don’t you sell out honey?”
“Because it is not the time to sell. I have a lot of plans.”
“No, what you have honey, is a lot of headaches...We could retire!”
You are retired, he thought. He was the one who busted his ass, every day out there fighting the fight in the world of chickens while she spent his money and fooled around with gigolos.
“Let’ s discuss this at home.” he said.
“Well, that what I’m calling about...I’m on my way to the airport.”
”The airport? Why?”
“I’m flying with Cynthia for a week at St. Tropez. She rented a villa there darling...just a teensy-weensy week and then a tiny stopover in Sardinia.” Her voice had that tone to it, that tone that said she was going to get her way, as usual.
He was quiet.
“Do what you want” he said roughly.
“Sam? You’re not mad at me are you? If you are I won’t go, I’ll just stay home and be bored” she pouted.
“Go honey, have a good time...”
“Thanks sweetheart.”
“When are you getting back?”
“Sunday”
“Alright, see you then.”
Click. Sam was angry with himself for being manipulated once again by his wife. Any more of her hijacks and she was out. She had signed a prenuptial that entitled her to two million dollars if the marriage lasted five years, six million if it went to ten. He doubted they would make the five years. Even that was too damn much money.
“Mr. Fullbein?”
“Yes?”
”We’re here, sir”

“Oh yes.”

Chicken A La King Page Six

She was just about to prepare breakfast when the phone rang.
“Hello?”
“How are ya Baby? Look outside your window!”
She looked outside the window and there was Scott sitting on a silver Harley Davidson motorcycle in a navy blue Elvis costume with silver rhinestones on the front of his shirt. He waved to her.
“Come ride with me baby, I got a wedding to perform.”
“A wedding?”
“Come on out”.
She got dressed, brushed her hair, and flew out the door. He gave her a kiss and she jumped on the bike.
“That’s right, get close baby”.
She hugged his waist and they sped off.
“Where are we going?”
“To the Graceland Chapel”.
“All right!”
They drove past houses and apartments, sped past a commercial area and soon pulled into the Graceland Chapel. It was quiet and cool inside and organ music played quietly. She checked out the pictures on the wall and learned that a lot of famous celebrities had gotten married there. Scott appeared holding a guitar, a microphone, and some people started to wander into the chapel.
“Have a seat babe, I’ll be done in no time,” he whispered to her.
“Welcome to Graceland folks,” he said shaking hands.
She took a seat at the back of the chapel, watched, and waited. The groom arrived and stood nervously at the front of the chapel with Scott. They talked and joked, Scott putting him at ease. The bride was in the back getting ready. More guests arrived and sat in the pews. Scott addressed the crowd.
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Graceland. It is my home and I welcome you warmly. God bless you all.... We are gathered here today to witness two very special people tell the world of their love for each other. Fred and Loretta.”
The crowd applauded. The video camera was rolling.
Scott began to sing strumming his guitar softly.
“Love me tender, love me sweet, Never let me go...You have made my life complete and I love you so...Love me tender, love me true. All my dreams fulfilled, for my darling I love you and I always will.”
The bride walked down the aisle accompanied by her Father and took her place beside her husband to be. They looked madly in love.
“And now ladies and gentlemen, the moment of truth...Do you, Fred, take this woman to be your lawful wedded wife, to have and to hold, to honor and obey in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, till death do you part?”
“I do”
“And do you, Loretta, take this fine young man Fred to be your lawful wedded husband, to have and to hold, to honor and obey, in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, till death do you part?”
“I do”
“You may kiss the bride.”
They kissed and everyone clapped. Scott began to sing again and the bride and groom danced. Other couples soon danced also.
“Love me tender, love me long, Take me to your heart, for its there that I belong, and will never part...Love me tender, love me dear. Tell me you are mine, I’ll be yours through all the years, till the end of time....”
Ali sat and watched the wedding taking place. It was so strange to her, all this show biz stuff. She was used to farm weddings in Des Moines, where everybody knew everybody and you married someone you had known your whole life. Most of her friends had gotten married right after high school to their high school sweethearts and most of them had kids by now. She thought of Chet and knew how much he had wanted to marry her.
“Let’s do it Ali, we’ll have a big wedding right here under the oak tree, we’ll have a barbecue and a band”, Chet had said all excited.
She suddenly felt sad and caught Scott looking at her. She smiled for him. No need to be depressed here and now. Scott was breaking into another song.
“Here’s one to remember little lady.” Scott said.” It’s called, “Treat Me Nice.”
“When I walk through that door, baby be polite, You’re going to make me sore, if you don’t greet me right, Don’t you ever kiss me once, kiss me twice, Treat me nice...”
When all the dancing was over the couples filed out of the chapel to a waiting limousine and drove away. Scott came over to Ali and put his arm around her.
“Pretty awesome huh?”
“Yeah, it was magical.”
“It’s a good gig, marrying people”
“Is it? Are you a minister?”
“No, I have a special license.... Was this your first Vegas wedding?”
“Yes, they don’t have weddings like this in Des Moines”.
“Won’t be your last...Ready to go riding?”
“Sure.”
They hopped on the bike and sped off into the downtown area of Las Vegas
Traffic was heavier than usual Monday morning. Sam was in the back seat of a long black limousine drinking espresso. The limo swung up to the front door of the convention center and he stepped inside as the driver held the door open for him.
Mmm! Foods was the leading conglomerate in the world of fast foods and a mini-village was set up of various restaurants owned by the conglomerate. Brightly colored signs and graphics depicted the famous identities of each chain of restaurants all umbrellas owned by Mmm! Foods. There was H&P, Fisherman’s Delight, Pizza Oven and Taco King, all giants in the food industry.
Sam approached the main podium where chairs and tables were set up. David Newirth approached him with a welcoming handshake.
“Welcome Sam”, David greeted him
“Thanks, good to be here David.”
“Please, take a seat. I am going to give a short speech and then we’d like a few words from you.”

“Of course!”

Chicken A La King Page Fiv

Ritchie had narrowly escaped death once at The Big house and recounted his tale of horror many times to a concerned Lili. He now sat in front of her strumming his new guitar made from wood and string.
“I tell you Lili, it was the worst day of my life.”
“Oh dear, you don’t have to tell me if it bothers you.”
Some other chickens gathered around to hear the story.
“Come on, do tell”, said Henrietta, an old hen
“Well, it was a cold February day, there was snow on the ground and they gathered us up in some crates and stacked us on the back of an open truck. It was freezing and I thought my feathers would fall off. Some of my buddies froze right there and didn’t make it off the truck.”
“That’s terrible!” crooned Charlie, a wise old cock.
“Then we arrived at the Big House and they pulled some of us out of the crates and others were plucked off with a forklift. There we were dumped onto a conveyor belt. Some of the girls fell on the ground and were stepped on. Moving vehicles and heavy equipment crushed some.
Sighs of horror echoed through the barn.
“Then they hung us by metal shackles on a moving rail and we were sprayed with water and electricity. That’s when I escaped, before they could zap me. I saw the rest of the guys go through a tank and then their throats were slashed by a big blade.”
His eyes tear at the memory.’
“How did you get away?” asked Charlie.
“I ran like hell. I ran out the door and hightailed it back to Lili.
“Sounds like you were in hot water”, said Henrietta
“Oh, for sure”
“Thank Goodness you’re safe now Ritchie”. Lili hugged him
Ricthie continued to strum his guitar.
“I’m one lucky guy”.
Manuel walked by them, his heavy work boots kicking up dust on the floor. Some workers followed him. The chickens scattered about, running to dim corners of the barn.
“Quiet” said Lili, guarding her chicks. She snuggled down in some hay. It was going to be a long summer.
It was a quiet evening at Sam Fullbein’s mansion, except for him screaming at his wife. Sam turned and looked away.
“What the hell is this?” he screamed, shaking a tabloid in his hand. He turned around.
“Nothing”.
“Nothing? You call a picture of you kissing this, this...gigolo.... nothing? Are you trying to ruin me? Do you want me to have a heart attack?”
“No, it was an accident! It was an innocent peck on the lips and that garbage tabloid has blown it all out of proportion...And he’s not a gigolo, he’s my trainer.”
“I don’t believe you!” he sneered at her.
“Well, believe me, I would never cheat on you Sam! I swear, I swear on my mother’s grave!”
He looked her square in the eye.
“I am going to cut you off Mindy.”
“What?”
“No more credit cards.”
He picked up the phone and started dialing. She grabbed the phone out of his hands.
“You can’t be serious.... You can’t do this to me!” Her eyes filled up with tears
“Alright. All right, but I am warning you. One more incident like this and I am cutting you off, maybe for good.”
“I am so sorry Sam”. She hugged him
He pushed her away.
“I have work to do. Please leave me alone now”.
She left the room and Sam sat back in his tall leather chair. This room was his sanctuary. His trophy room, filled with trophies and awards from the chicken industry from his years of hard work. His phone rang.
“Hello?”
“Sam, Newirth here...”
Dave Newirth was the number one man at Mmm! Foods. A respected leader in the industry his conglomerate did over ten billion dollars of business worldwide.
慡am, I want you to come to a meeting at the Food Exposition on Monday. We have a business proposition for you”
“Sure David, I’ll be there”
“See you Monday at 10:00 am”
“Bye”.
Sam sat back and thought about what they might propose. He had a pretty good idea. They wanted to buy him out. He wouldn’t sell, because that would mean disclosing the secret recipe. He had worked hard for twenty years, building fifty restaurants in fifty states. His chain was worth 50 million dollars. He was damn rich. Why did he need anybody to be his boss?
The TV was on and he looked at the screen. It was Mona Meredith the sexy superstar turned animal activist. God how he hated these pesky celebrities always toting some cause they knew nothing about. He turned up the volume on the remote. She was hot though, he thought. She was a catch! He watched her show Cove Island every week.
Mona was clad in a tight white T-shirt accentuating her breasts and her full lips were a soft pink. She spoke quietly.’
“It’s cruelty”
“Why do you feel this way, Ms Meredith?”
“Animals have feelings. They care for their young. They have minds and hearts, its been scientifically proven. They are being killed senselessly.”
“What are you doing to stop it Ms. Meredith?”
“I do not eat meat. I do not support the barbaric institutions that kill animals. Everyone should stop eating meat and the world would become a better place.”
“Thank you Ms Meredith...That was Mona Meredith, star of Cove Island.”
Sam Fullbein turned the TV off. These celebrities were killing him, killing his business. But business was still good; there were still a healthy population of people eating Uncle Sam’s Wings. He dialed the phone.
“Demato?”
“Yes”
“Sam here...Get that X-TRA Crunchy campaign in effect immediately. I want advertising, print, broadcast...a full blown campaign.”
“Yes sir”
“Demato?”
“Yes?”
“I want to be in the commercials”
“Pardon me?”
“I said I want to star in the commercials. I want the world to know me as The King Of Wings”
Laughter was heard on the other end.
“Sorry”
“Did you hear me?”
“Yes sir!”
“Well, get on it...now!”
“Yes sir...”
Sam sat back and smiled. This was war. He would show them all who were The King Of Wings.
Ali woke up and looked at the clock. It read 10:10 am. It was a sunny Sunday morning and she had worked the night shift. Her uniform lay on the floor and the side of the bed kicked her shoes. She got out of bed, went into the bathroom and took a pee. Then she showered and brushed her teeth.

BENNIE THE CONSOLER

In a corner of Frau Nirlanger's bedroom, sheltered from draughts and glaring light, is a little wooden bed, painted blue and ornamented with stout red roses that are faded by time and much abuse. Every evening at eight o'clock three anxious-browed women hold low-spoken conclave about the quaint old bed, while its occupant sleeps and smiles as he sleeps, and clasps to his breast a chewed-looking woolly dog. For a new joy has come to the sad little Frau Nirlanger, and I, quite by accident, was the cause of bringing it to her. The queer little blue bed, with its faded roses, was brought down from the attic by Frau Knapf, for she is one of the three foster mothers of the small occupant of the bed. The occupant of the bed is named Bennie, and a corporation formed for the purpose of bringing him up in the way he should go is composed of: Dawn O'Hara Orme, President and Distracted Guardian; Mrs. Konrad Nirlanger, Cuddler-in-chief and Authority on the Subject of Bennie's Bed-time; Mr. Blackie Griffith, Good Angel, General Cut-up and Monitor off'n Bennie's Neckties and Toys; Dr. Ernst von Gerhard, Chief Medical Adviser, and Sweller of the Exchequer, with the Privilege of Selecting All Candies. Members of the corporation meet with great frequency evenings and Sundays, much to the detriment of a certain Book-in-the-making with which Dawn O'Hara Orme was wont to struggle o' evenings.
Bennie had been one of those little tragedies that find their way into juvenile court. Bennie's story was common enough, but Bennie himself had been different. Ten minutes after his first appearance in the court room everyone, from the big, bald judge to the newest probation officer, had fallen in love with him. Somehow, you wanted to smooth the hair from his forehead, tip his pale little face upward, and very gently kiss his smooth, white brow. Which alone was enough to distinguish Bennie, for Juvenile court children, as a rule, are distinctly not kissable.
Bennie's mother was accused of being unfit to care for her boy, and Bennie was temporarily installed in the Detention Home. There the superintendent and his plump and kindly wife had fallen head over heels in love with him, and had dressed him in a smart little Norfolk suit and a frivolous plaid silk tie. There were delays in the case, and postponement after postponement, so that Bennie appeared in the court room every Tuesday for four weeks. The reporters, and the probation officers and policemen became very chummy with Bennie, and showered him with bright new pennies and certain wonderful candies. Superintendent Arnett of the Detention Home was as proud of the boy as though he were his own. And when Bennie would look shyly and questioningly into his face for permission to accept the proffered offerings, the big superintendent would chuckle delightedly. Bennie had a strangely mobile face for such a baby, and the whitest, smoothest brow I have ever seen.
The comedy and tears and misery and laughter of the big, white-walled court room were too much for Bennie. He would gaze about with puzzled blue eyes; then, giving up the situation as something too vast for his comprehension, he would fall to drawing curly-cues on a bit of paper with a great yellow pencil presented him by one of the newspaper men.
Every Tuesday the rows of benches were packed with a motley crowd of Poles, Russians, Slavs, Italians, Greeks, Lithuanians--a crowd made up of fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers, aunts, uncles, neighbors, friends, and enemies of the boys and girls whose fate was in the hands of the big man seated in the revolving chair up in front. But Bennie's mother was not of this crowd; this pitiful, ludicrous crowd filling the great room with the stifling, rancid odor of the poor. Nor was Bennie. He sat, clear-eyed and unsmiling, in the depths of a great chair on the court side of the railing and gravely received the attentions of the lawyers, and reporters and court room attaches who had grown fond of the grave little figure.
Then, on the fifth Tuesday, Bennie's mother appeared. How she had come to be that child's mother God only knows--or perhaps He had had nothing to do with it. She was terribly sober and frightened. Her face was swollen and bruised, and beneath one eye there was a puffy green-and-blue swelling. Her sordid story was common enough as the probation officer told it. The woman had been living in one wretched room with the boy. Her husband had deserted her. There was no food, and little furniture. The queer feature of it, said the probation officer, was that the woman managed to keep the boy fairly neat and clean, regardless of her own condition, and he generally had food of some sort, although the mother sometimes went without food for days. Through the squalor and misery and degradation of her own life Bennie had somehow been kept unsullied, a thing apart.
"H'm! " said judge Wheeling, and looked at Bennie. Bennie was standing beside his mother. He was very quiet, and his eyes were smiling up into those of the battered creature who was fighting for him. "I guess we'll have to take you out of this," the judge decided, abruptly. "That boy is too good to go to waste."
The sodden, dazed woman before him did not immediately get the full meaning of his words. She still stood there, swaying a bit, and staring unintelligently at the judge. Then, quite suddenly, she realized it. She took a quick step forward. Her hand went up to her breast, to her throat, to her lips, with an odd, stifled gesture.
"You ain't going to take him away! From me! No, you wouldn't do that, would you? Not for--not for always! You wouldn't do that--you wouldn't--"
Judge Wheeling waved her away. But the woman dropped to her knees.
"Judge, give me a chance! I'll stop drinking. Only don't take him away from me! Don't, judge, don't! He's all I've got in the world. Give me a chance. Three months! Six months! A year!"
"Get up!" ordered judge Wheeling, gruffly, "and stop that! It won't do you a bit of good."
And then a wonderful thing happened. The woman rose to her feet. A new and strange dignity had come into her battered face. The lines of suffering and vice were erased as by magic, and she seemed to grow taller, younger, almost beautiful. When she spoke again it was slowly and distinctly, her words quite free from the blur of the barroom and street vernacular.
"I tell you you must give me a chance. You cannot take a child from a mother in this way. I tell you, if you will only help me I can crawl back up the road that I've traveled. I was not always like this. There was another life, before--before--Oh, since then there have been years of blackness, and hunger, and cold and--worse! But I never dragged the boy into it. Look at him!"
Our eyes traveled from the woman's transfigured face to that of the boy. We could trace a wonderful likeness where before we had seen none. But the woman went on in her steady, even tone.
"I can't talk as I should, because my brain isn't clear. It's the drink. When you drink, you forget. But you must help me. I can't do it alone. I can remember how to live straight, just as I can remember how to talk straight. Let me show you that I'm not all bad. Give me a chance. Take the boy and then give him back to me when you are satisfied. I'll try--God only knows how I'll try. Only don't take him away forever, Judge! Don't do that!"
Judge Wheeling ran an uncomfortable finger around his collar's edge.
"Any friends living here?"
"No! No!"
"Sure about that?"
"Quite sure."
"Now see here; I'm going to give you your chance. I shall take this boy away from you for a year. In that time you will stop drinking and become a decent, self-supporting woman. You will be given in charge of one of these probation officers. She will find work for you, and a good home, and she'll stand by you, and you must report to her. If she is satisfied with you at the end of the year, the boy goes back to you."
"She will be satisfied," the woman said, simply. She stooped and taking Bennie's face between her hands kissed him once. Then she stepped aside and stood quite still, looking after the little figure that passed out of the court room with his hand in that of a big, kindly police officer. She looked until the big door had opened and closed upon them.
Then--well, it was just another newspaper story. It made a good one. That evening I told Frau Nirlanger about it, and she wept, softly, and murmured: "Ach, das arme baby! Like my little Oscar he is, without a mother." I told Ernst about him too, and Blackie, because I could not get his grave little face out of my mind. I wondered if those who had charge of him now would take the time to bathe the little body, and brush the soft hair until it shone, and tie the gay plaid silk tie as lovingly as "Daddy" Arnett of the Detention Home had done.
Then it was that I, quite unwittingly, stepped into Bennie's life.
There was an anniversary, or a change in the board of directors, or a new coat of paint or something of the kind in one of the orphan homes, and the story fell to me. I found the orphan home to be typical of its kind--a big, dreary, prison-like structure. The woman at the door did not in the least care to let me in. She was a fish-mouthed woman with a hard eye, and as I told my errand her mouth grew fishier and the eye harder. Finally she led me down a long, dark, airless stretch of corridor and departed in search of the matron, leaving me seated in the unfriendly reception room, with its straight-backed chairs placed stonily against the walls, beneath rows of red and blue and yellow religious pictures.
Just as I was wondering why it seemed impossible to be holy and cheerful at the same time, there came a pad-padding down the corridor. The next moment the matron stood in the doorway. She was a mountainous, red-faced woman, with warts on her nose.
"Good-afternoon," I said, sweetly. ("Ugh! What a brute!") I thought. Then I began to explain my errand once more. Criticism of the Home? No indeed, I assured her. At last, convinced of my disinterestedness she reluctantly guided me about the big, gloomy building. There were endless flights of shiny stairs, and endless stuffy, airless rooms, until we came to a door which she flung open, disclosing the nursery. It seemed to me that there were a hundred babies--babies at every stage of development, of all sizes, and ages and types. They glanced up at the opening of the door, and then a dreadful thing happened.
Every child that was able to walk or creep scuttled into the farthest corners and remained quite, quite still with a wide-eyed expression of fear and apprehension on every face.
For a moment my heart stood still. I turned to look at the woman by my side. Her thin lips were compressed into a straight, hard line. She said a word to a nurse standing near, and began to walk about, eying the children sharply. She put out a hand to pat the head of one red-haired mite in a soiled pinafore; but before her hand could descend I saw the child dodge and the tiny hand flew up to the head, as though in defense.
"They are afraid of her!" my sick heart told me. "Those babies are afraid of her! What does she do to them? I can't stand this. I'm going."
I mumbled a hurried "Thank you," to the fat matron as I turned to leave the big, bare room. At the head of the stairs there was a great, black door. I stopped before it--God knows why!--and pointed toward it.
"What is in that room?" I asked. Since then I have wondered many times at the unseen power that prompted me to put the question.
The stout matron bustled on, rattling her keys as she walked.
"That--oh, that's where we keep the incorrigibles."
"May I see them?" I asked, again prompted by that inner voice.
"There is only one." She grudgingly unlocked the door, using one of the great keys that swung from her waist. The heavy, black door swung open. I stepped into the bare room, lighted dimly by one small window. In the farthest corner crouched something that stirred and glanced up at our entrance. It peered at us with an ugly look of terror and defiance, and I stared back at it, in the dim light. During one dreadful, breathless second I remained staring, while my heart stood still. Then-- "Bennie!" I cried. And stumbled toward him. "Bennie-- boy!"
The little unkempt figure, in its soiled knickerbocker suit, the sunny hair all uncared for, the gay plaid tie draggled and limp, rushed into my arms with a crazy, inarticulate cry.
Down on my knees on the bare floor I held him close-- close! and his arms were about my neck as though they never should unclasp.
"Take me away! Take me away!" His wet cheek was pressed against my own streaming one. "I want my mother! I want Daddy Arnett! Take me away!"
I wiped his cheeks with my notebook or something, picked him up in my arms, and started for the door. I had quite forgotten the fat matron.
"What are you doing?" she asked, blocking the doorway with her huge bulk.
"I'm going to take him back with me. Please let me! I'll take care of him until the year is up. He shan't bother you any more."
"That is impossible," she said, coldly. "He has been sent here by the court, for a year, and he must stay here. Besides, he is a stubborn, uncontrollable child."
"Uncontrollable! He's nothing of the kind! Why don't you treat him as a child should be treated, instead of like a little animal? You don't know him! Why, he's the most lovable--I And he's only a baby! Can't you see that? A baby!"
She only stared her dislike, her little pig eyes grown smaller and more glittering.
"You great--big--thing! " I shrieked at her, like an infuriated child. With the tears streaming down my cheeks I unclasped Bennie's cold hands from about my neck. He clung to me, frantically, until I had to push him away and run.
The woman swung the door shut, and locked it. But for all its thickness I could hear Bennie's helpless fists pounding on its panels as I stumbled down the stairs, and Bennie's voice came faintly to my ears, muffled by the heavy door, as he shrieked to me to take him away to his mother, and to Daddy Arnett.
I blubbered all the way back in the car, until everyone stared, but I didn't care. When I reached the office I made straight for Blackie's smoke-filled sanctum. When my tale was ended he let me cry all over his desk, with my head buried in a heap of galley-proofs and my tears watering his paste-pot. He sat calmly by, smoking. Finally he began gently to philosophize. "Now girl, he's prob'ly better off there than he ever was at home with his mother soused all the time. Maybe he give that warty matron friend of yours all kinds of trouble, yellin' for his ma."
I raised my head from the desk. "Oh, you can talk! You didn't see him. What do you care! But if you could have seen him, crouched there--alone--like a little animal! He was so sweet--and lovable--and--and--he hadn't been decently washed for weeks--and his arms clung to me--I can feel his hands about my neck!--"
I buried my head in the papers again. Blackie went on smoking. There was no sound in the little room except the purr-purring of Blackie's pipe. Then:
"I done a favor for Wheeling once," mused he.
I glanced up, quickly. "Oh, Blackie, do you think--"
"No, I don't. But then again, you can't never tell. That was four or five years ago, and the mem'ry of past favors grows dim fast. Still, if you're through waterin' the top of my desk, why I'd like t' set down and do a little real brisk talkin' over the phone. You're excused."
Quite humbly I crept away, with hope in my heart.
To this day I do not know what secret string the resourceful Blackie pulled. But the next afternoon I found a hastily scrawled note tucked into the roll of my typewriter. It sent me scuttling across the hall to the sporting editor's smoke-filled room. And there on a chair beside the desk, surrounded by scrap-books, lead pencils, paste-pot and odds and ends of newspaper office paraphernalia, sat Bennie. His hair was parted very smoothly on one side, and under his dimpled chin bristled a very new and extremely lively green-and-red plaid silk tie.
The next instant I had swept aside papers, brushes, pencils, books, and Bennie was gathered close in my arms. Blackie, with a strange glow in his deep-set black eyes regarded us with an assumed disgust.
"Wimmin is all alike. Ain't it th' truth? I used t' think you was different. But shucks! It ain't so. Got t' turn on the weeps the minute you're tickled or mad. Why say, I ain't goin' t' have you comin' in here an' dampenin' up the whole place every little while! It's unhealthy for me, sittin' here in the wet."
"Oh, shut up, Blackie," I said, happily. "How in the world did you do it?"
"Never you mind. The question is, what you goin' t' do with him, now you've got him? Goin' t' have a French bunny for him, or fetch him up by hand? Wheeling appointed a probation skirt to look after the crowd of us, and we got t' toe the mark."
"Glory be!" I ejaculated. "I don't know what I shall do with him. I shall have to bring him down with me every morning, and perhaps you can make a sporting editor out of him."
"Nix. Not with that forehead. He's a high-brow. We'll make him dramatic critic. In the meantime, I'll be little fairy godmother, an' if you'll get on your bonnet I'll stake you and the young 'un to strawberry shortcake an' chocolate ice cream."
So it happened that a wondering Frau Knapf and a sympathetic Frau Nirlanger were called in for consultation an hour later. Bennie was ensconced in my room, very wide-eyed and wondering, but quite content. With the entrance of Frau Nirlanger the consultation was somewhat disturbed. She made a quick rush at him and gathered him in her hungry arms.
"Du baby du!" she cried. "Du Kleiner! And she was down on her knees, and somehow her figure had melted into delicious mother-curves, with Bennie's head just fitting into that most gracious one between her shoulder and breast. She cooed to him in a babble of French and German and English, calling him her lee-tel Oscar. Bennie seemed miraculously to understand. Perhaps he was becoming accustomed to having strange ladies snatch him to their breasts.
"So," said Frau Nirlanger, looking up at us. "Is he not sweet? He shall be my lee-tel boy, nicht? For one small year he shall be my own boy. Ach, I am but lonely all the long day here in this strange land. You will let me care for him, nicht? And Konrad, he will be very angry, but that shall make no bit of difference. Eh, Oscar?"
And so the thing was settled, and an hour later three anxious-browed women were debating the weighty question of eggs or bread-and-milk for Bennie's supper. Frau Nirlanger was for soft-boiled eggs as being none too heavy after orphan asylum fare; I was for bread-and-milk, that being the prescribed supper dish for all the orphans and waifs that I had ever read about, from "The Wide, Wide World" to "Helen's Babies," and back again. Frau Knapf was for both eggs and bread-and-milk with a dash of meat and potatoes thrown in for good measure, and a slice or so of Kuchen on the side. We compromised on one egg, one glass of milk, and a slice of lavishly buttered bread, and jelly. It was a clean, sweet, sleepy-eyed Bennie that we tucked between the sheets. We three women stood looking down at him as he lay there in the quaint old blue-painted bed that had once held the plump little Knapfs.
"You think anyway he had enough supper? mused the anxious-browed Frau Knapf.
"To school he will have to go, yes?" murmured Frau Nirlanger, regretfully.
I tucked in the covers at one side of the bed, not that they needed tucking, but because it was such a comfortable, satisfying thing to do.
"Just at this minute," I said, as I tucked, "I'd rather be a newspaper reporter than anything else in the world. As a profession 'tis so broadenin', an' at the same time, so chancey."

Chicken A La King Page Four

Sam Fullbein was in a foul mood. The media had blown this whole chicken abuse incident out of proportion and now he had to deal with the Federal Animal Control Board and all of the animal rights nuts out there in the country. It was bad press for him.
Uncle Sam The Chicken Man was fifty pounds overweight, had a receding hairline and was fond of doing a comb over to hide his bald spot. He liked to wear white polyester suits and sported a gold chain and pocket watch to complete the outfit. On occasion he would sport a gold crown on his head if the occasion were important, like a store opening or photo opportunity.
Born in New Hampshire, Sam learned to cook for farm workers on his father’s farm. Betty, his mother taught him how to cook. Then his father opened a service station and he began to cook for travelers on the road. He soon became known for his cooking, opened his first restaurant at age 31, and called it Uncle Sam’s.
His mother passed down a secret recipe for his famous wings and made him promise that he would never tell anyone the ingredients.
“Sammy, come here, I want to show you something”.
“All right Maa!”
“This is our family’s secret recipe...Just watch me....”
He watched as she sprinkled salt and pepper over the wings. Then she added vegetable oil and butter, a touch of Tabasco sauce and white wine vinegar. Then she added the secret spices, which she sprinkled from a tin cup.
“These are what makes the flavor unique. Don’t ever tell anyone this recipe. Promise me Sammy.”
“I promise Ma”.
She handed him a carefully folded white piece of paper and he tucked it away in his pocket. She died a year later of cancer.
Sam had grown rich from chickens and he considered himself to be The King Of Wings, so to speak. His national chain of chicken restaurants was famous and today he was headed to the Madison Avenue advertising agency of Demato & Light to hear the newest ad campaign. Better be damn catchy or heads were going to roll.
The elevator doors opened and he walked into a marble clad reception area. The receptionist greeted him pleasantly.
“Good morning Mr. Fullbein”
“Yeah, whatever”, he mumbled.
“Mr. Demato is waiting for you in the conference room.”
Sam walked into the conference room and ten people stood up to greet him with nervous smiles on their faces.
“Please, have a seat”. Mr. Demato held out a chair for him. Mr. Demato was a pleasant looking man in his fifties with a balding head and wire rimmed glasses, wearing a black T-shirt and black pants. Sam lit up a cigar and sat back to hear the pitch. Mr. Demato started speaking.
“We understand that today’s market is a constantly shifting demographic. But since the beginning of time there has been only one important factor in increasing sales and that is the customer. Mr. Fullbein, if I may, your customers know you as The King Of Wings, is that correct?”
All eyes turned to Sam puffing on his cigar.
“Yes, that is correct.”
“And what is more important to the kingdom than the introduction of a new wing, the X-TRA Crispy Wing?”
Sam was surprised. This was something new.
“X-TRA Crispy?”
“Yes, the King of Wings has a new secret recipe and it is to make the crunchiest, crispiest wings in the kingdom. The new crispy sensation to retail for $7.99 a bucket, a breakthrough in the chicken market.”
Sam Fullbeins eyes were about to bulge out of his skull. So this was it? This is what he spent millions of advertising dollars per year on? For a bunch of Harvard flunkies to tell him to make his wings X-TRA crispy? His cell phone rang.
“Hello? Oh yeah sweetheart, I’m in a meeting, all right?
He slammed the phone shut. All eyes were on him waiting. He hesitated a moment.
“I love it!”
The room lit up in smiles. The King Of Wings was back in action! A new campaign to reach over two hundred million households in America, Sooner or later they would all be paying a visit to Uncle Sam the Chicken Man.
Mindy Fullbein shut her cell phone off. Screw him if he was in a meeting! This was important! She’d spend more of his money to show him who was boss.
Mindy was 28, a full figured brunette that Sam had hired as his personal masseuse while he was still married to Mrs. Fullbein The First. Before you knew it, she had become Mrs. Fullbein The Second. Mindy was a natural spender and couldn’t resist a sale. Diamonds, personal trainers, limousines and designer clothing were some of her favorite pastimes.
Being the wife of a chicken mogul was no easy task. It required that she be groomed and coiffed at all times in case the press, the social pages, or the paparazzi were lurking about.
She dialed her cell phone.
“Get me Mario please...”
Mario was her hairdresser and knew how to tease her wimpy bangs into submission.
“Mario, I need an appointment at 3:00 today. It’s an emergency.”
“Yes Mrs. Fullbein.”
But before seeing Mario she had to see Jason. Jason was her latest boy toy personal trainer, a tall handsome super stud on and off the weight machines. Jason did all the things Mr. Fullbein could not, for a lot of cash of course.
“Jason. I have to see you....”
“Hey Mindy, it’s cool, come on over.”
Mindy got behind the wheel of her new Mercedes and headed up Fifth Avenue. Jason lived on the upper West side in a luxurious filled with weight training gear overlooking the river.
Behind Mindy trailed Dexter Shack from the World Mag agency, the largest leading agency for gossip magazines in the country.
Mindy didn’t know she was being followed and drove straight to Jasons apartment where Dexter captured some candid shots of Jason and Mindy greeting each other passionately at the door.
“Yes!!!!” Dexter chuckled.
These shots would be headlines soon.
Chicken houses dotted the land 30 miles northeast of Batesville, Arkansas. There was a gagging stench outside the Super Chicken Ranch and Manuel Vargas looked up from his fried tortilla and cornmeal lunch.
Dust and dander was thick in the air today, he noted. How different this place was from Mexico where he grew up. Manuel was forty-five years old, his face weathered and his hands rough from a lifetime of working on farms. Sam Fullbein, the boss and owner of the land, had promoted him from ranch handler to manager of the Super Chicken Ranch.
He knew his job well and was respected by the workers who were mostly of Mexican decent. If there was one thing he knew it was chickens. His wife Rosalita worked on the farm too, mostly cooking fresh tortillas for the workers and caring for their young son Pedro.
Sam Fullbein paid him a good wage $15.50 an hour which was more than most made, most of them working for minimum wage. It was hard, grueling work and there were more than 25,000 chickens to manage.
Many of the local workers were desperate for jobs and ignored the arsenic, ammonia and other chemicals from the chickens that created health and environmental hazards on the farm.
His cell phone rang.
“Manuel? It’s Sam.”
“Hi Boss.”
“I want you to keep your eyes open for any media type people nosing around the ranch. They’re in our business again and I don’t like it.”
“Yes sir, no problem Mr. Sam”.
“Did you get that last shipment of birds out?”
慪es Boss.”
“Good job”...

He hung up and walked into one of the side barns off the Big House. The barn doors opened and a crack of sun burst in shining right on Lili and her chicks. Lili was a hen on the Super Chicken Ranch. She and her husband Ritchie had escaped the fate of The Big House and lived a very quiet and peaceful life in the back barn. Lili was a concerned mother and guarded her chicks cautiously from any danger.

Chicken A La King Page Three

Ali and Scott walked into the Nascar cafe. The air was filled with electricity. Even though it was late night, gamblers were there in droves, commiserating over their losses and gloating over their winnings. They took a booth at the back. Some people stopped and stared when “Elvis” walked by.
“Hey Elvis, I’m all shook up Man” a Nascar fan commented. “Thank you, thank you very much” Scott retorted and shook his hips.
They sat down in a booth. Ali marveled how Scott managed to drift in and out of his “Elvis” persona.
“Thanks for saving me tonight,” she said.
“They don’t call me The King for nothing”.
“It happens all the time, men from out of town...”
“Yeah, they see a pretty girl like you and just assume they can buy her, like ordering a pizza.”
“I guess that’s true. So sad...”
“That’s Vegas Baby...So you’re from Iowa?” He gazed at her nametag
“Yes, from Des Moines. I lived on a farm out there all my life”.
“Vegas is quite a switch for you then”
“Yes, it’s a world away...Where are you from?”
“California”.
The waitress took their order for two vanilla shakes. Ali wondered about the person in front of her. He was an illusion of Elvis yet he seemed like a nice normal guy underneath the Mr. Showbiz facade.
Scott studied the woman child in front of him. She looked about seventeen years old with her long blonde hair hanging all over her face yet she carried herself like a mature woman.
“How old are you if you don’t mind me asking?” he inquired.
“I’ll be twenty-five in September.”
“You seem older but you look younger...If that makes any sense.”
“Years at a farm will do that to you, builds character”
“So what kind of farm were you on?”
“Well, my father loved horses so we had twelve of them, we had some chickens and a sheepdog named Chester. I miss him”
“Your parents still out there?
“Oh yes, they’re all worried about me being here by myself. They call it Sin City. It probably broke their hearts for me to leave them, but I had to leave.”
“Why?”
She suddenly looked sad.
“Because I probably would have died if I had stayed there.”
She stopped short of telling about Chet. No need to rush into sad stories about exes yet. She wondered why she was baring her heart to a total stranger. He seemed so kind and he was a good listener. She thought of Chet. He would be jealous if he knew she was out on a date with a man. Was that what this was? A date? The waitress appeared with two shakes and they toasted.
“To new friends”, he smiled
“To new friends”....
“So, tell me about you”, she looked at him.
“Me? Nothing to tell, why I’m just a good old country boy...”
“Oh come on now!”
“Well, let’s see.... I’ve been performing since I was ten years old. I’ve performed in countless venues here in Las Vegas and around the country. I sing all of Elvis’s songs, maybe a few hundred of them. I performed on a TV show once and played a small part in a movie. I was invited up on stage with Tom Jones one night at the MGM Grand...but I have bigger things planned. I feel blessed to be a part of the Vegas entertainment scene.”
“That’s fantastic!”
“It’s an honor to invoke the spirit of Elvis”.
“Do you charge a lot of money for your shows?”
慦ell, I’ll go anywhere if the price is right. I generally charge anywhere from $500.00 to $10,000 per show.
“Wow”.
“What kind of gigs do you do?”
He pulled out his business card with his glossy picture on the front.
“Anniversaries, bachelorette parties, banquets, bar mitzvahs, conventions, funerals, dinner dances, jingles, movie soundtracks, private parties, reunions...You name it sweetheart.”
“You must be a very busy man.”
“I stay busy.”
“Do you think you’re Elvis?”
“Well, I know I ain’t Elvis himself but I think I got part of The King in my heart.”
“What about the real you?”
“Oh, that’s a long story”
“Come on, I told you about me...”
“Well, I’m from California.... I moved out here ten years ago. I divorced my wife, we got married real young. We had to call it quits. She didn’t believe in me and didn’t understand my need to perform. And I couldn’t imagine going on without doing it, so we split. It’s like you said...I would have died if I didn’t follow my dream.”
“No kids?”
“Nah, no kids.”
Ali looked at him and wondered what kind of person he was. It was hard to tell in his stage clothes. He was obviously very talented. She wondered if he thought she was just another groupie.... Two middle-aged ladies came over to the table with digital cameras poised.
“Oh Elvis, we love you”
“Thank you Ma’am, thanks very much...I love you too darling.... Give Elvis a kiss now.”
She kissed him. The other woman looked at him.
“Can I have a kiss too?”
He kissed her hand.
“Can we have a picture?”
“Surely Ma’am!”
Ali snapped the picture of Elvis with his arms around the two women.
“God bless ladies”
They sipped their shakes and talked into the night. The place was soon empty and the busboy was mopping the floor.
“I guess its time to go”, Scott helped her out of the booth. They walked home past glaring neon signs and drunken college students that stumbled in their path. They finally reached her apartment complex. It was an Adobe style building with massive wooden doors in front.
“Well, goodnight gorgeous, I guess I’ll see you around.”
“Goodnight, thanks for everything”.
He gave her a peck on the cheek and she let herself in while he waited outside. She watched him leave from the window. His white cape swung behind him. He was a funny guy.
Home now was a one bedroom flat, a small stucco covered place with terra cotta tile floors and wood beams in the ceiling. She had furnished it herself with a leather couch, a wooden coffee table, and a neat Navajo rug. She had a vast CD collection and turned on Etta James.
Tonight had been good. Scott was the first person that had actually been kind to her in Vegas and not some loser coming on to her. She turned on the TV and watched some news reruns. There was some news about the war in the Middle East, a kidnapping of a twelve-year-old girl in Reno and a spot about animal cruelty on a chicken ranch owned by a wealthy entrepreneur. She turned up the volume.
“Today the man America knows as Uncle Sam The Chicken Man is under investigation of alleged charges of animal abuse. Uncle Sam has denied all charges and the investigation continues. More tomorrow,” the announcer said.
She shut the TV off and was disturbed by what she had heard. They had raised chickens at her ranch in Des Moines and she knew what smart creatures they were, how they cared for their young and were dutiful breeders. She settled down to sleep; her long hair framed her face like a golden halo. That night she dreamt of dancing with chickens dressed in tuxedos on her ranch.

Chicken A La King Page Two

Tony came around the corner, looking dark and moody.
“Okay ladies, enough chit chat, now get to work. Ali you cover section seven and eight by the $1.00 machines. Brittany gets on section fourteen over by the craps tables.”
They scattered and Ali scouted her section of the casino. She began her rounds.
“Cocktails, cocktails”...
Ali made her rounds serving cocktails to anxious slot players. As she handed out white wine and Bloody Marys her thoughts turned back to Iowa and to Chet. She remembered lying with Chet in the barn, him stroking her hair, telling her she was the most beautiful woman on earth. Oh, he had adored her so. She felt bad now, bad for leaving him. Sometimes she wondered if she had made the biggest mistake of her life not marrying him and having his babies.
Across the hotel the crowd broke into a huge applause as Scott wrapped up his show with “Jailhouse Rock”.
“The warden threw a party in the county jail.... The prison band was there and they began to wail...The band was jumping and the joint began to swing...You should’ve heard those knocked out jailbirds sing. Let’s rock everybody, let’s rock.... Everybody in the whole cell block...Was dancing’ to the jailhouse rock.”
It was a number that always got the crowd rocking and he liked to end his set on a high note. A white haired fan came up with a pad to get an autograph. She hugged him tightly. He flashed his Elvis smile at her.
“Well, hello darling...”“
“Oh you were so wonderful!” The fan gushed.
“Why thank you, and who should I make this out to?”
“Wendy”...
“Where are you from honey?”
“Buffalo”.
He scribbled on the pad: “To Wendy. Love Elvis.”
慔ere you go Wendy, and stop by the front to pick up my CD, its a great one and I think you will really enjoy it back in Buffalo.” “I will, I love you Elvis!”
And so, one after one they lined up for autographs and to purchase CD’s. Scott thrived on the attention and prided himself on being one of the best impersonators in Vegas. He was twenty-nine, and would be thirty, in two weeks. The crowd slowly drifted away and he wandered into the casino.
Ali was serving drinks to two gentlemen. One wore a black cowboy hat with jeans and boots and one a gray business suit. She balanced the beers on her tray. The man in the black cowboy hat threw a twenty-five dollar chip on her tray.
“Thanks”, she said.
He looked her up and down staring at her long legs and her breasts. He grabbed her arm.
“Ill make that three hundred. I’m staying here at the hotel, room 2036...If you want to come up and party with me later...
“No, I...Uh...Thanks anyway.”
Suddenly Scott appeared from around a slot machine, his white cape trimmed with gold sequins swinging wildly behind him. His expression was intense. He moved the man’s hand off her arm.
“You ain’t nothin’ but a hound dog, cryin’ all the time, you ain’t nothing but a hound dog, crying’ all the time...She’s with me buddy.”
The man backed off her. Ali smiled at Scott gratefully and the two men walked away.
“Thanks...I didn’t know what to do. I hate to be rude to a customer but....”
“That guy was a jerk. Believe me, I know the type”
“Well, you saved me, thanks.”
“Ah hell, it was nothing. I noticed you walking in tonight.”
“Yeah, I saw you doing your show. You’re really good”
“ God Bless you Ma’am! Are you new here?”
“Yes, I started last week.”
“My name is Scott, nice to meet you”.
“I’m Ali”.
” So, when’s your shift over?”
“Twelve.”
“Care for a shake later?”
“Sure”.
“See you at twelve”.
He disappeared around the corner and Ali had an eerie feeling that this was the start of something big in her life. She finished up her shift and got ready to leave. Tony Fratelli was watching her cash out.
“Have a good night Cookie?” “Yes, I made two hundred and fifty dollars”.
She held up a stack of cash for him to see.
“You’ll be doubling that once you learn the ropes kiddo. You have to learn how to work the customers.”
“Thanks - goodnight”.
“Hey, not so fast...Care to have a drink at the bar on me?”
“No thanks, I have to go.... Goodnight”.
“Sure, maybe some other time.”
Tony watched her walk away. She sure was a looker; he’d have to keep his eyes on her.

Chicken A La King Page One

Taxis sprinkled with gawking tourists crowded the Vegas strip. Ali walked along the littered sidewalk past the lounges, shops, sports bars and cafes that all offered air-conditioned interiors and escape from the unrelenting afternoon sun. Somewhere “Viva Las Vegas” played on a jukebox and sweat poured down her arms and the back of her neck in droplets. The Sahara was just another block away, a mirage waiting ahead of her.
Ali Walker was a tall blonde with sparkling blue eyes and a long lean figure, which she hid, in baggy clothes. She had come to Vegas from rural Iowa, where she had left behind her dead end job in a cannery. Her parents were still back in Des Moines at the family farm and called her often to warn her of the perils of Sin City.
“Be careful dear!” her mother warned, “There are drug addicts and prostitutes there”. “I am careful Mother”, she retorted. “Don’t worry”.
She left Iowa to escape the unbearable boredom she felt of living in a small town. She did miss the landscape there, the wide-open fields of corn rustling in the sun and the quiet night skies. She missed the prairie dogs burrowing into the earth at the end of the day. Las Vegas was a new harsh reality for her, a landscape of neon signs and bright lights, and she felt fuelled with lust and excitement each time she stepped out her door.
She had left behind her old boyfriend Chet, dependable sweet Chet. They had grown up together and had known each other their whole lives. He wanted to get married and settle down but her wanderlust was too strong, her drive too hard to ignore. She vowed she would write but she knew in her heart it was over. She had left Chet heartbroken.
The Sahara was a faded starlet on the strip. It’s exterior was fading and dated. It wasn’t as opulent as the Bellagio or as grand as New York New York but she had a job there as a cocktail waitress. The manager of the casino Tony Fratelli had taken one look at her healthy blonde hair and her long lean legs and ushered her into the uniform department where a short Spanish woman looked up from the sewing machine. Tony handed her some clothing off a rack that looked quite minimal.
“Try this on, it’s about your size”, he urged, “Come out when you are dressed and I’ll take a look at ya.”
She squeezed into the short black mini skirt and aqua body stocking top. It was so tight and short! The seamstress came over to make adjustments.
“Perfecto,” the Spanish lady beamed.
She emerged from the dressing room where Tony Fratelli inspected her uniform. He had a smash in his face and crooked, thin lips. He was wearing a worn-out blue suit and had a pinkie ring with a fake blue stone in it. He looked at his book and penciled in some dates. He dragged on a cigarette. His voice was scratchy from smoking cigarettes.
“I’ll put you on from five to midnight, Monday to Saturday. Then once things start rocking I’ll give you an extra day off now and then. Is that okay with you Cookie?”
He stroked the seam of her skirt with his pudgy finger. He liked this one, so young and so innocent. That would change soon, he thought. Nobody who stayed in Vegas remained naive for very long. It was the only way to survive here.
“Nice...You’ll make lots of tips here, you are a very good-looking chick”.
“Thank you”. She blushed
“If there’s one thing I can’t stand its late waitresses, so be on time”.
“I will”.
So that was that. She had landed a job; she was on her way. Ali walked into the hotel, the air-conditioning hitting her like a ton of ice water, cooling her moist face. She strode past the lounge where an Elvis impersonator was crooning “Suspicious Minds” to a crowd of white haired ladies in bright leisure clothes. He had a head of thick black hair, was wearing a white jumpsuit with multi-colored rhinestones in the front, with a white cape flowing in back, and white shoes.
Scott Raymond was in his late twenties and had been impersonating Elvis all his life. It started back in the seventies when he would watch Elvis movies on TV and listen to The King’s records. His dream was to become as rich and famous as the King. That dream was being fulfilled every day as he worked Vegas to crowds of seniors and die-hard Elvis fans. Scott sang his heart out.
“We’re caught in a trap, I can’t walk out...Because I love you too much baby.... Why can’t you see, what you’re doing to me...When you don’t believe a word I say.... We can’t go on together, with suspicious minds.... And we can’t build our dreams...On suspicious minds...”
A flash of blonde hair caught his eye and he saw a tall, pretty woman wearing a cocktail waitress uniform walking briskly towards the casino. He spied on her, ah.... She must be new...He shook his hips for the crowd.
He caught her eye and winked at her. She waved back quickly and disappeared into the casino. The bling bling of a thousand slot machines buzzed in her ears. She picked up a tray and put on her badge. It read Ali Iowa.
“Ready for another night Miss Iowa?” asked Brittany Texas, a waitress on her shift.
“I’m ready”.
“Remember, chips are as good as cash.”
“Oh yes...”
“It’ll be busy tonight, there’s a convention in town. Tools.”
 “Great. Have fun out there. And don’t forget to smile because it’s show time baby.”

WALLY

What constitutes a wally
A really first class twit
I mean, who is really dopey
With brain like a piece of grit

He is not one who takes much spotting
Stands out quite well in a crowd
Not one who needs wear a placard
Though with one he would be quite proud

Now firstly he wears a baseball cap
Quite naturally back to front
And should you deem to speak to him
He will answer with a grunt

He drives a clapped out Ford Capri
On the windscreen, “DES LUVS FLO”
And just to irk one even more
The trash that comes from his radio

They say that he is harmless
Would not say boo to a goose
It is just that he’s so blooming stupid
He should not be out on the loose.