Getting Lucky: Chapter 3

Hello world and all who inhabit it! I wrote another chapter of Getting Lucky. Well, sort of wrote it. I’m almost finished, it’s just taking me eight years longer than I thought it would. But I wanted to post this now so that I can publish another post that I’ve had ready for nearly a week. When I’ve finished it, i’ll alert you all so you  can finish the chapter on my Wattpad. Now, let’s get lucky.

Getting Lucky5_smallandcropped

Chapter 3: Frosty, The Businessman

He was made of snow but the children know how he came to life one day; There must have been some magic in that old silk hat they found; For when they placed it on his head he began to dance around…

I stopped as a car zoomed passed me, threatening to nick the tip of my nose as I waited for the walking light to blink. I feel like I’ve been run over by Santa’s Reindeer. Is this really how Grandma felt? If it is, I feel for her. This is horrible… My head is pulsing, my throat is raw, my legs and arms are numb and I’m pretty sure I’m covered in small purple and blue bruises. Why? Things are moving way to fast and it is taking everything in my power not to vomit everything I haven’t eaten yet, and scare this poor little kid next to me that’s looking up at me with his innocent big blue eyes like I just told him Santa doesn’t exist.

“Hey, kid,” I whispered as I bent down so that I was at eye level with him. He jumped, startled that I was speaking to him. His eyes somehow grew wider than they were just a moment ago and his mouth was turned upside down in an extreme frown. “Don’t drink and stay in school.” I said sagely and suddenly his face broke as he erupted in a waterfall of tears. His mother yanked him back and looked at me disapprovingly. I winced as the sound of his crying sounded like a grenade going off in my head.

Is this what happens when you get drunk? You wake up at some stranger’s house with absolutely no recollection of what happened the night before except for the fact that he claims that he did not take advantage of you?  Kid’s cry as they look at you in the street? The sun makes too much noise? If it is, this is terrible. Why do people even drink? It solves no problems; the only thing you have after it is more things to deal with and a big bump on the back of your head from who knows what or where. I lifted my hand up to my head softly touching the bruise, wincing as a pain shot through my head. The light turned red and I slowly began to walk across the street.

You know what hurts the most? My pride. As I take the walk of shame all the way back to my house I can’t help but wonder how absolutely terrible I look right now. I didn’t—couldn’t—even look in the mirror as I ran out of the apartment with my jacket and that strange CD in my hands. For all I know, I look like the ghost bus from Mean Girls just ran over me. I know I feel like it.

I looked around at all of the Christmas decorations in the windows of all of the buildings I passed. A big green bow with red accents sat on top of a perfectly wrapped present in the display window of a candy store.  Valerie’s Candy Haven. I smiled as I looked closely at the freshly cleaned window and saw something that made me gasp. In the reflection I saw… me. Or at least what I thought was me. My hair was practically one large knot on the top of my head, my makeup was smeared down my face and my bright red lipstick was smeared across my cheeks. Before this I knew I probably looked like crap but… damn. I did not know it looked this bad. I look like the Joker’s little sister on a bad day.

I began to vigorously rub at my face and run my fingers through my matted hair, but nothing seemed to be working. It looked like I had Rosacea and was crying black liquid. I sighed and forced my beanie over my head and continued the terrifying walk back to my house.

As I turned the corner to my house I stopped and attempted to look dignified. Oh Santa, Noël is going to tear me a new one. And then laugh at me. And then tear me another new one for me to enjoy for the holidays. Oh, joy to the world.  What am I going to do? Not only did I go against his wishes and go to the bar but I also stayed out all night and if he finds out why, I can consider this the last time I see the sun. I looked up at the sky. Judging by the grey skies and clouds rolling in it looked like it was about to rain, but knowing LA weather it probably won’t last very long. I looked both ways before crossing the street to the two-story house my brother owned. Trust me when I say this, living with your older slightly more successful sibling has both its advantages and disadvantages. Advantages? They could care less about what you eat and when you eat, they don’t really care about your grades as long as you continue to go to school, you can have a small Christmas tree in your room, and jobs are unnecessary unless you want one. Disadvantages? They can tell you what to do and you have to do it—kind of like a parent except parents don’t have “telling mom and dad” to hang over your head, and the when you get that chore done doesn’t really matter when it’s your sibling—, you can’t go to that bar and get drunk for the first time if he tells you you can’t, you can’t sleep over at friends’ houses if he doesn’t know them, and no wild parties unless he’s invited as well.  And I’ve nearly hit all of the disadvantages on the head when I defied my brother and went out last night. I stopped at the, big red door with the wreath hanging on it and took a deep breath.

Good bye, everybody. It was nice knowing you. I let out the breath I hadn’t noticed I was still holding and turned the key to get into the house. I slowly stepped in and looked around the living room and when he wasn’t there I looked up the stairs and noticed his office door was open and there was music softly playing from inside. Noël is a music producer so there was always music playing in the house, especially where he is, something I usually didn’t think twice about but today it works in my favor.  I wanted to cheer and jump up and down in celebration, but didn’t want to risk making too much noise. But, despite what happened last night, It looks like my name behooves me. I softly closed the door behind me, bending down to slip of my boots wincing slightly as the zipper seemed the loudest thing in the house right now. I hunched down and began to slowly tip toe into the living room. Maybe he hasn’t noticed I am gone yet. Maybe I can just slip into my room and act like nothing even happened. Maybe I won’t have to…

“Lucky, where were you last night?”

Oh crap.

Getting Lucky: Chapter 2

So, I have completely changed the synopsis to my story. It’s not 100% different but I’ve added a few exciting things to it. This is the first couple of changes to the second chapter. It is my first time writing an entire chapter in a guys POV so please no judging! Thank You.

Getting Lucky5

Ivan Gregory’s P.O.V.

It’s the most wonderful time of the year; There’ll be much mistletoe-ing, and hearts will be glowing when loved ones are near; It’s the most wonderful time of the—

No. I can’t even allow the song to finish. I slammed the door to the carolers closed, ending the song before they could think that I was enjoying it. I whistled as I walked away, tightening my tie around my neck and flipping down my collar, feeling no remorse. Christmas songs have to be some of the most deplorable, unscientific nonsense a person can sing. How would a man that weighs nearly three hundred pounds get into a house through a chimney, eat cookies and put out presents without making any noise? What about the law? What about breaking and entering? Not to mention how impossible it would be for him to get back out again after everything was said and done. It’s unrealistic and stupid. This holiday, in my personal opinion, is probably one of the most distressing, well-thought of holidays I’ve ever experienced. Why? Because of marketing. Because of the gullible couples that have tricked themselves into believing that they are in love with their partner and therefore end up spending a lot of time and money on something the other person has a 55 % chance of actually liking. And the children? Don’t even get me started on the children. But despite what I know to be true, it’s good for business and I’ve got proof. Between November 1st and December 26th in 2011 consumers spent $35.3 billion online, over 15% more in the same time period of 2010. Which in laymen terms means people are only spending more every year. And as a man who gets a hefty percentage of that, I say that that is good news.

To put it simply, Santa Claus doesn’t exist, but business? Business does. Me? I do. And I am business so unless I want to implode I must pretend to enjoy this season for another—I looked down at my watch—36 days, 10 hours, and 38 minutes; give or take. I sighed as I clipped on my pure gold cufflinks and straightened out the fabric of my black-label white button down. Speaking of time, I better get going, I thought as I headed toward the door. I wrapped my scarf around my neck and draped my coat across my arm as I put my hat on my head and left my flat, the door closing and locking behind me with three consecutive beeps.

Today is going to be a great day.

I lied, I thought, the light of my phone blared into my face as I double checked to make sure I was at the right place. Bob and Apples’ Bar and Grill? Really? Bob and Apples?  I shook my head and sighed, a white puff of vapor appearing in my face like a billow of smoke. I wonder if my assistant got it wrong. Why would, Kenji Takashi, a billionaire mall owner from Japan be interested in coming to a place like this? I re-checked the text-message, scrolling all the way down to read the post script.

Yes, I am positive that this is the location. – Lori

She can be so sarcastic sometimes. She should work on that. I rolled my eyes and dropped my phone into my coat pocket, looking over my shoulder as I stepped into the bar. As soon as I walked in I wanted to walk back out. It was game night and the place was packed. I looked around at all of the normal people that were suddenly surrounding me and couldn’t help but wonder ‘Why?’. Why when I know a perfectly good 5-star restaurant that wasn’t full of people who smelt of cigarettes and food that looks like somebody threw it up on the plate, would somebody want to come here? I looked to my right at the coat hanger next to me and shook my head in disgust at how many coats were actually hanging there.

I closed my eyes briefly, tightening my jaw as a woman passed by me smelling of apple martinis and disparity. Why? There were Christmas decorations and light-beer posters hanging on the wall. And one thing I hate just as much, if not more, than Christmas songs is Christmas decorations. I looked behind the bar where there were a few, rather large round tables and at one of them sat my client and his assistant.  I took off my hat revealing my short, $250 cut ashy brown hair and made my way to the back table. As I passed by the coat rack I nearly bumped into a small woman who out of my peripheral vision I’d seen standing there like a statue since I came in. I touched her shoulder softly excusing myself as I continued my beeline toward Mr. Kenji Takashi’s table. I vaguely heard her say something along the lines of ‘Oh no… it’s okay.’ But it was faint and barely audible over the sound of the jazz and soccer match going on in the front. For some reason unbeknownst by me, I looked over my shoulder back at her, I didn’t know what I was expecting but she was gone, clearly swallowed up by the crowd that had taken her place. I shrugged it off as I quickly approached the back of the bar slightly disappointed to find that it was no quieter here than in the front but I did my best to hide it well as I smiled politely and bowed at my waist in front of Takashi’s table.

Kobanwa.”  I said and stood.

“Kobanwa.” He smiled, the crow’s feet around his eyes tightening so that I could barely see the brown flick of his eyes. He held out his hand, inviting me to sit opposite of him.

“And Merry Christmas. Please, sit.” He continued, that smile that prohibited me from seeing much more than the skin around his cheeks still etched on his face. Kenji Takashi was an older man, had to be in his late fifties. He had a thick crop of dark black hair that lightened to a light grey toward the sides. And just like me, he was a man of business. As the owner and founder of a multi-billion dollar franchise in Japan, he takes the Christmas season very seriously.  Based on the place he chose to meet at I say slightly more seriously than I had thought.

With much care I pulled out the wooden chair that had been forced against the table, glad I had decided to wear my gloves and disgusted at the same time at what might be attaching themselves to it right then. I gulped and looked down at the seat trying my hardest not to show my disgust at the red pleather cushioning. But I knew it would be rude to refuse so I sat, smiling politely at the man who was unknowingly torturing me.  Just as I looked up, there was a fleeting glance between him and his assistant, his smile dropping and a knowing look appearing in his eyes. But it was gone within seconds, forcing me to believe that it was maybe I trick of poor lighting. Besides, this merger was worth far more than my superstition.

I cleared my throat, “So, let’s talk business.”

“Yes,” Kenji Takashi looked away, grabbing a napkin and careful placing it on his lap. He held up his hand to signal a waiter, “But first, a drink.”

You’ve got to be kidding me.

Toward the middle of our meeting it seemed as though Takashi had completely seized listening to me. It seemed that the soccer game had entertained him far more than I had and It was as though nothing I said was getting through to him. Now, clearly this is a first for me. Usually at business meetings when I speak what I say is gold so why is it, when I talk to him all he seems to hear is plastic? I tried not to be deterred by this fact as I continued to talk about the statistics of my establishments, how much we made last year both at our in-person locations and online, our costumer reviews and our return rates. But nothing seemed to impress him. I sighed and stopped talking just as the noise level suddenly dropped. For a moment the noise level didn’t register and I sat with my back toward it all as I looked over the papers I held in front of me for whatever Takashi was finding unappealing. Wait, I furrowed my eyebrows, Did somebody say something about a fire?, I thought as I turned around and watched as a young woman  with nearly the whole bar surrounding her, stared nervously down at a flaming blue drink. I watched, for some reason slightly entranced as she tried to convince herself that this was something she wanted to do. I was slightly surprised at how young she looked. Like she couldn’t be more than 16 years old, how is it that she managed to get an alcoholic drink? Didn’t they card her? The bartender must be blind to not be able to tell that she was under-aged and probably still in high school. People chanted and cheered her on until she reached out to grab the straw the bartender held out to her, they spoke briefly, their words mumbled and incomprehensible at such a distance. She took a deep breath before sticking the straw into the drink, drinking it all down in one gulp. I turned my back to her before she was done. Well, it’s her problem now. Or should I say “theirs” because they were so going to jail for selling alcohol to a minor. I turned back toward Takashi as he laughed, tossing back his drink.

“Now, what were you saying?” He asked and I continued on where I left off as if I had not stopped. Once I found what I felt he did not like, I was in the zone, like in movies where all noise but what I’m saying zones out. It doesn’t take much for me to get there, but once I’m there it takes a car crashing into the building I’m in to get me out. Or at least that’s what I thought until moments later when she let out a cry of victory, picking up the glass and turning it upside down to show that it was empty, the glass clinked as it hit the wood of the bar counter. This sudden sound invited a whole new wave of noise 10xs as loud as the first, because now it included a semi-drunk teenage girl.

Tell me what you think and read the rest here! — Sage 🙂

It’s Time To Get Lucky

It is exactly two days (3, if you count the fact that I am posting this at 2 o’clock in the morning) after Halloween and it’s is now time to get ready for the next big business lucrative holiday. Black Friday– I mean, Christmas. Forget about Thanksgiving, the only people that make money from that is the grocery stores, or Veteran’s Day, nobody really makes money off of that. It’s time for the holiday where you wake up at the butt crack of dawn to buy presents that are never going to be used, or returned for the money the person you bought it for would have rather had. Don’t lie, you’re excited.  So in light of such news, I bring you ‘Getting Lucky’, a story I am writing and would love for you to read.

Synopsis:

It’s Christmas Vacation: I don’t have a boyfriend, all of my friends are gone, and I’m lonely. Tonight, I’m getting wasted. Under-aged or not.

Lucky Anderson doesn’t feel so lucky. It’s Christmas vacation and while all of her closest friends are either visiting their relatives or spending quality time with their boyfriends she stuck at home with a Romantic Comedy and a box of tissues. One night, when she’s at her lowest, she decides to get drunk for the first time and while doing so she runs into more problems than just loneliness.

Enter Evan Gregory, the icy businessman who saves her life but wants nothing to do with her unless it involves a law suit. But inside of his snowy interior does there reside a warm teddy bear?… Lucky doubts it.

If that’s not enough, her so-called friends are teasing her for being alone on a holiday and on a whim she claims to have a boyfriend. Where is she going to get this magical boyfriend? She doubts Santa will be visiting her this Christmas.

It’s at times like this that Lucky wants nothing more than to be just that, Lucky.

___________

I know, I know. Calm down. It’s Amaze. Now, Read on. It’s about half of the first chapter.

Getting Lucky

Getting Lucky

Chapter 1: Now the Jingle Hop Has Begun

He sees you when you’re sleeping, he knows when you’re awake, he knows if you’ve been bad or good so be good for goodness sake…

Oh gosh this song is annoying. I mean, can one guy really do all of that? It’s enough that he knows whether I’m naughty or nice but now he knows when I’m sleeping too? Gosh, talk about being spread too thin. Ha-ha “thin”, Santa’s not thin. I’m not gonna lie, this song used to get me… still does, to be completely honest but what am I supposed to do when it’s Christmas break and I’m alone… again? Don’t worry, I already have the answer to that. Drink, that’s what you do. Right? That’s what they do in the movies. You know, to get courage or something? Maybe I’ll find my Ryan Gosling, maybe I won’t. But I’m still going to do it. Maybe. I sighed. Oh Santa, why is this place so intimidating? Is it because it’s a bar and everybody inside are probably zombies or is it because I’m under-aged and technically not allowed to drink yet?

I looked up towards the sky for strength and took a deep breath, cool air filling my lungs as I tried to muster up the courage to take a step forward. It was dark out, the stars barely visible through all the smog and lights of the city.  I shook my head, all of my wild curls hitting my face as I stomped around in a circle my hands so tight I could feel my skin through the striped fabric of my mittens.

I stopped and tried to seem normal as an older couple walked by. I smiled politely at them as they stared at me judgmentally shaking their heads in disappointment with the youth of these days. That’s literally what I heard them say: “The youth these days”, who does that?

When they were far enough to be out of ear shot, which wasn’t far I might add, I sighed, “Self-righteous **** ** ******.”  I shook my head, cutting my brown eyes in their direction. Calm down, Lucky, no need to curse the elderly.

My shoulders sagged as I looked back toward the tall, red brick and mortar building in front of me. There were two large windows next to the glass door and yellow light streamed out to the sidewalk from the glow of their cheap bulbs. From outside you could see a chair and circular table in front of the left window and the right one had what looked like coats pressed up against it. The door had a “We’re Open” sign stuck on it followed by their time slots. I looked up at the name of the pub; “Bob and Apples’ Bar and Pub” was carved into a wooden plaque in curly letters and painted gold. Seemed harmless enough and it had gotten rave reviews from friends, though most of them are older than me and therefore allowed to drink here.

A black car passed behind me and an icy draft caressed my face, reminding me that it was -0 degrees outside and I should not be standing outside in a school girl skirt and stockings like it’s the middle of August. So when the door opened and the bell rang as a laughing couple came outside with large smiles and a dazed look of new love in their eyes, I cringed inwardly but took that sudden sense of jealousy, did a little dance, my boots clicking softly on the cement and ran in, the door closing shut behind me.

The sound of good old fashioned drunken laughter and cheering with the faint underlining of jazz filled my ears as I stepped inside, it was a welcome replacement from the Christmas music coming from the speakers outside. It smelt strangely of cranberries and sweat as I looked around. My wide, brown eyes feasted on all of the various colors and people as I realized something—they were all so normal. The tall guy with the pot belly and plaid shirt with mustache-clad lips wrapped around a tilted beer bottle could easily be the UPS man or, a killer.  I narrowed my eyes and scanned the area. There was a large, wooden bar in the center of the room with bottles and bottles of alcohol all the way up to the ceiling. Chairs and round tables filled the empty space around the bar and there was a television mounted on the ceiling playing a soccer match. People cheered, arms flailing and bodies rubbing together. This explained the sweaty smell that nearly dominated the establishment.

As I stood there with my mouth agape in astonishment, a man walked in behind me and bumped into me. His strong hand touched my arm softly and excused himself before walking away.

“Oh no… it’s okay.” I muttered, distracted. I took off my forest green wool coat and turned around to hang it up, glancing around me in curiosity. More cheering commenced and I giggled. This was nothing like I had expected to be. There were no zombies, just normal people out to forget all their problems and enjoy themselves. Like me. This is exciting. This is fun. This is… good. I can do this.

In an attempt to fit in, I started bobbing my head to the jazz, smiling at the people who glanced at me. Are you supposed to dance at a bar? I stopped. Do I look like I’m only 18? Amidst all of these twenty and thirty year olds I certainly feel like it. Oh Santa—- no, nope, stop it right there. I can do this. No more Daisy Downer. I’m already in, there’s no turning back now. I straightened my back and tilted my head. The place was a lot fuller than it seemed at first; all of the tables were full and there were only a few barstools left.  I quickly left my awkward spot in front of the door and began to wade through the crowd to get to the counter where I saw the bartender with a towel over his shoulder and his back to the crowd.

Excuse me.” I muttered, but my voice sounded small in comparison to the yells and cheers going on around me. So I joined in as I more roughly shoved those pushing me against others. When I saw an empty barstool I immediately took it, cheering, for other reasons beside the game. There was an older guy with a hat on his face that was passed out to my left and some lady with too much perfume on to my right.

I tried to hide my disgust as I turned to the bartender, “I love this game.” I said with a smile—people always tell me I look a little older when I smile. Well three people told me. Three honest people… I hope. The bartender looked to be a man in his early forties with short, dark black hair and hazel-blue eyes depending on the lighting. If I had to guess I’d say he was Italian.

“Oh, yeah? Who’s playing?” The bartender raised an eyebrow suspiciously as he turned around, drying out a small shot glass.

I glanced down, gnawing nervously at my bottom lip. I tapped my red painted nails on the wood and guessed, “The, uh, Wild… Kangaroos?” I looked to him for confirmation, but I already know that I was so wrong.

The bartender smiled showing off a nice set of pearly whites, “You don’t even know what game it is, do you?” He asked with a chuckle.

“Uh, yeah!  I totally do—its soccer!” I exclaimed, excited that he finally asked me a question I could answer. I grinned proudly, unwrapping my scarf from my neck and laying it out on my lap.

Ding ding ding.”  He called, turning swiftly on his heel, his arms spread out wide. I chuckled, slightly surprised by his sudden outburst. He didn’t seem like the type to get so excited so quickly. Nonetheless, I think I’m gonna like this guy. He plopped the glass down in front of me on the table. “So, what’s your poison?”

What… poison? I thought they only sold drinks here, and chili fries…  “Oh, right. A drink. Uhm…” I looked around as a waitress walked by with a tray in hand that held three shot glasses one of which had tons of ice and lime at the bottom. “I’ll have one of those.” I said pointing at it.

“Do you have an I.D.?” He asked. I tried not to panic. I did come prepared with a fake I.D., I just hoped it worked. I’d practiced, if he asked any questions. Yes, my name really is Lucky Anderson. No, you aren’t getting lucky tonight.

Read the rest here. 🙂