Karma
Authors: Nikki Sex
Karma
By
Nikki Sex
Copyright
2013 by Nikki Sex
This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United
States of America. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material
or artwork herein is prohibited.
This book is a work of fiction. Names,
characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the
author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. All rights reserved.
To
Betty, my Goodreads pal, a courageous and inspiring woman, who needed to have
her own story told.
Orange
and red, with colorful splashes of blue and yellow - the Las Vegas casino
carpet was downright tacky.
The
human brain found such floor coverings both mesmerizing and welcoming. A vibrant
carpet, combined with low, mellow lighting created a safe, cozy feeling. What
could be better than having casino customers happily kick back and enjoy
themselves? Within a homey environment, a gambler would want to stay, play… and
continue to lose their money.
No
one was nearby when Marcy saw the man accidentally drop a $100 dollar bill on
that colorful carpet.
Everything
seemed to stop as the crisp flat note beckoned, singing songs of security and
comfort.
"Take me…take me… take me,"
it chanted, shining as bright
as the halo on a Christmas tree angel.
Marcy
figured that the damn thing was probably as enticing as the apple… just before
Eve decided to take a bite. For one long moment, an instant in time that seemed
more like an hour, Marcy considered picking it up herself. Going against her
principles.
Stealing,
in fact.
A
battle began inside. This was not her money. She didn't earn it.
Her
mind dazzled her with rationalizations. A part of her quickly explained that
the man would never miss it. And she deserved a small break for Christ's sake. The
determined honest side of her didn’t argue. It sent its disapproval through
uneasy waves of shame and guilt, making the entire argument nearly a 'no
contest.'
Growing
up in Vegas, Marcy promised her strict father that she would never ever work in
a casino. Casinos were 'Dens of Iniquity' according to him. Her dad's father
had been a Baptist minister. Marcy grew up being regularly reminded that,
"As
you sow, so shall you reap."
This was a common sense sentiment with
which she wholeheartedly agreed. For how could it be any other way?
But
her dad was long gone, and casinos paid five times the money she might earn
from any other job she may be able to get. Marcy was broke and on her own.
After covering food, rent and childcare there wasn't much left for anything
else. With debts and a seven-year-old daughter, she needed cash. Lofty
principles like keeping a pledge to her dead father simply didn't seem as
important anymore.
But
how far down will I have to go?
she wondered,
worrying her bottom lip.
Surely I've already hit rock bottom?
The
customer only took one step when she called out, "Sir!" As she moved
out around the bar toward him she added, "Sir, you dropped your money."
The
big man turned.
From
the back, the man seemed as large and solid as an old oak. From the front, his
face was gnarled and weather-beaten like the bark of an aged tree. Marcy saw
that he was well on the wrong side of sixty, stocky with a rounded paunch. He
wore blue jeans, a light blue western shirt, and cowboy boots. Only a wide
brimmed Stetson was missing… and his horse.
The
stranger appeared to Marcy as if he had used his body hard all his life. His
once, no doubt impressive muscular frame, with the passing of time, was slowly
turning into fat. The gentleman looked down, saw his money, and bent to pick it
up.
"Well
thank you, little lady," he said in a strong Texan accent as he
straightened. His lined face was flushed, a sign of high blood pressure or perhaps
too much enjoyment of the finer things of life.
The
stranger's grandfatherly smile, when he looked at her, warmed Marcy's heart. It
was expansive and generous. Genuine pleasure gleamed in his surprisingly vivid
blue eyes.
"Not
many people would have pointed that out," he observed. His deep gritty
voice easily carried over the cacophony of change-clinking sounds, bells,
sirens and whirring slots that made a continuous background noise in the
casino. "At least not in a place like this."
He
gave her a considering gaze. Marcy couldn’t be offended by the big man's shrewd
examination of her from head to toe. He regarded her as if she was something he
didn't often see.
"I'm
a-thinking, young woman, that you come from prime stock," he said. He ran
his hand absently through his short white hair, looking as if he almost
expected to find his hat there. "I bet cha dollars to donuts that there
are no nooses hanging on your family tree."
Having
never heard that illustrative expression, Marcy took a moment to process it,
and then burst out laughing. The gentleman's big chest shook as he laughed with
her.
"Yep,"
he nodded sagely. "Your mama surely raised you right."
"Thank
you, Sir," she said. A warm sting instantly burned in the back of her eyes
even now, a year after her mother's death. First laughing and now wanting to
cry. Talk about emotional whiplash. She blinked a number of times, preventing
tears.
What
next? Am I just over tired?
"That
she did," Marcy finally added, clearing her throat. "I was very
lucky. I couldn’t have had a better mother in the whole world."
Her
sudden surge of grief must have been obvious because he said gently, "Oh,
has she passed, then? Well, I'm sorry to hear that. Sure as shootin' she'd be proud
of you. Greed is one of the seven deadly sins, you know." He smiled.
"There's plenty of greed in a place like this. I think your honesty
deserves a reward darlin'." The big man drawled the last word.
He
handed her the $100 bill, and Marcy hesitated. She needed the money… oh, did
she need that money! Yet accepting it still didn’t sit quite comfortably with
her.
He
must have sensed her resistance. "You take it sweetheart," he said kindly,
grasping her hand in his much larger one, and pressing the crisp note into it.
"I'm still in tall cotton even after all I've lost tonight. I want you to
have it." He gave her a wry crooked smile as he squeezed her fingers and
let them go. "Consider it a tip… for luck."
Marcy
just looked at him for a moment, hardly able to speak because her throat seemed
suddenly so thick. This big-hearted cowboy was generous and kind. Mean people
never made Marcy cry. It was the nice ones that slid right through her
barriers, slamming into her heart and causing an unexpected landslide of
emotion.
"Thank
you so much," she said, "for this… and for what you said about my
mother."
The
big man's blue eyes met hers and a sympathetic smile lingered on his lips. With
an understanding nod, he turned and left.
Marcy
didn't steal the hundred dollar bill. She had no idea of how much good fortune
that one ethical choice was destined to bring her. Just like knocking over the
first of a chain of dominos, being given this $100 note was only the beginning
of her good karma.
Returning
to her work space, Marcy quickly began making another round of cocktails for
the girls to hand out. It was a steady ongoing task that kept her occupied.
Working
as bartender tonight, ten waitresses relied on Marcy to keep them supplied with
alcoholic drinks. The girls wore sexy, low cut, dark cocktail dresses that
accented their curves. They breezed around the casino light and graceful as black
swans gliding on a lake. Their function was to offer free drinks, helping
gamblers feel special and important - not to mention raising their blood
alcohol levels to intoxication. It was all part of the plan to ensure that the
customers spent more money.
When
Marcy applied for this job, she wore a bra with falsies in them. These made her
breasts press together with an impressive 36 double D. At thirty-four she was
older than most. In a casino, female staff were all young and attractive or at
the very least enticing eye candy. Marcy's boobs were large already, but a fake
rack gave her a better chance to get the position.
For
over six months Marcy had been working at the Bellagio. With tips and extra
shifts she was finally beginning to get on top of her financial problems.
Sandy,
a blonde bombshell arrived and handed in her empty tray. The pert young
waitress's long hair was pulled back in a ponytail. "Whew!" she said,
leaning against the bar and rolling her eyes. "Three different men in my
station want to sleep with me real bad."
"How
can you tell?"
"Honey,
haven't you noticed that all men display subtle hints when they want to bed a
woman?"
"Oh?
Like what?" Marcy said, pushing a full tray of drinks toward her.
Sandy
pursed her lips, tapped her chin and gave her a saucy grin. "Well, some of
the more obvious ones are talking, looking in a woman's direction, and
breathing."
Marcy
put a hand over her mouth, smothering her bark of laughter into a giggle. Her
fellow casino employees were the best. No matter what was happening they managed
to make her laugh.
"Are
any of them good prospects?"
Sandy
gave her an ironic snort. "I'm not sure yet. After my last loser boyfriend
I'm planning to use my head rather than my hormones to judge. I'll let you know
as soon as I figure out if any of them have a real job or money in their bank
accounts."
Holding
her tray with one hand over her shoulder, Sandy nodded her goodbye. Flashing a
cheeky grin she sauntered back to her customers.
"Can
you tell me the time?" an older woman walking by asked.
"Oh,
I'm sorry I don't know it myself," Marcy said. "But I think it is probably
about eight o'clock in the evening."
"Thank
you," the woman said and went back to her slots.
Marcy
wasn't wearing a watch; employees weren't allowed to wear them. There were no
clocks in the casino either. What better way for a customer to lose track of
time?
That
was why windows were near an entrance only. Within the walls of a casino the
gamblers internal clock disappeared and they fell into a trance-like state. The
lighting was the same, soft and calming. It was impossible to see out once inside.
No one could view the sun going down, or coming up with the dawn. This confused
biorhythms and sleep patterns.
This
restful sameness was disorienting, even to Marcy - and she worked here. It was
in the casino's best interest to make the outside world nonexistent. Everything
a patron needed was right here, so why would they leave?
In
the time she had been working at the Bellagio, Marcy had come to recognize the
regulars. When one of them slumped by, she flinched as a pang of remorse
stabbed at her. She hated seeing the gamblers that came here day after day.
They had no life.
Tourists
coming in, having fun and losing their money were one thing. What was the sin
in that? They paid for an experience and they received one. Yet the regulars
were trapped. To them a casino must be like Dante's Inferno. Gambling could be
so addictive. Marcy felt like an unwilling cog in a well-orchestrated machine:
A machine that helped to suck their lives away.
I
hate this job!
Marcy's
own life circumstances were outside her control. It was almost like giving up a
piece of herself every time she went against her own sense of right and wrong.
Working in a casino had been the start, but today signified something worse.
Her skin went cold as she recalled how the $100 bill had tempted her, and how
close she had come to taking it.
I
seriously considered stealing, something I would have never, ever have even contemplated
before.
A
number of basic principles had been drummed into Marcy as a child. These were
fundamental to her personality and upbringing: be self-sufficient, do the right
thing, be honest, be kind to others, and work in a job you're proud of. Yet out
of necessity, Marcy had gratefully accepted the help of the Salvation Army. She
also sought and took employment in a 'Den of Iniquity.' The last two years were
a dark time. It was as if cracks had begun to appear in the foundation of her
soul.
Would
I have stolen that money?
Shaking
her head, her lips curved in a smile.
I might have, but I didn't. I was
tested, but chose not to succumb to temptation.
Marcy
was barely conscious of the blaring siren sound of a nearby winner. Clinking
coins and screams of excitement were insignificant background noise, as her thoughts
were so focused.
I
didn’t take the money,
she reassured herself, and the
tsunami wave of calming relief that flooded her didn't feel out of proportion
at all.
