Jackpot! Page 5

  The reporter was satisfied with that answer and the second he looked away I mouthed “thank you” to Richard.

  “How are you feeling right now?” a reporter from Craign’s asked my mother. It was the first question that began the live broadcast of the press conference, where the world got to see a sweet, older widow react to her new millions.

  Frankie gave her a huge smile and said loudly, “Loaded!”

  The crowd erupted with a laugh, and I realized the drama queen was truly in her element.

  “Are you planning on taking the monthly payments or will you receive the winnings in a lump sum?” asked Kim Vatis from WMAQ.

  Before Frankie could answer, a nerdy Jewish guy with glasses spoke up. “She’ll be taking the lump sum benefit,” he answered. Alan was the lawyer my mother had hired that morning. He was one of her friends’ sons. The name actually sounded vaguely familiar when she told me about him, and then I realized Ma had set me up with him years earlier.

  Sylvia Perez from WLS asked the question everyone was waiting for. “What are you planning on doing with the money?”

  Following Sylvia’s question came an extremely lengthy pause. In fact, it was so drawn out that the crowd seemed to be on the edge of their seats waiting for her answer.

  Finally, she spoke. “Actually…” Ma began. The way she was dragging it out was painful. “I plan on re-decorating my condo, and the rest…” The anxiety in the room was so high it was almost funny. What she announced next, however, was very much not funny. “The rest will be given to my grandchildren.”

  Some of the reporters started to ask follow up questions, but a couple of them who knew me turned around to see my reaction. Anna Davlantes from Fox, who I knew pretty well mouthed, “Are you pregnant?”

  When I tried to answer, I couldn’t speak. My mouth was hanging wide open.

  Chapter 6

  Whenever I get really stressed out, I walk. And tonight, after meeting with one of my students, Angela Walker, a junior who had just informed me she was pregnant and thinking of dropping out of high-school, my level of anxiety and worry was maxed out. Angela, who was a smart, talented and beautiful girl, and who I secretly had hopes would end up being the next Oprah, was thinking of trading in a potentially extremely productive life for the life of a single mother without a high-school degree. The thought was depressing beyond belief.

  So, I’d tried to convince her she could still have the baby and finish school. Apparently, her parents thought it was a better idea for her to stay home and get a job somewhere. I wanted to kill those people! I didn’t want to judge them, but it was frustrating as hell because it was such a bad idea.

  Because of my meeting with Angela, I’d missed my mother’s press conference. Yes, I could have rescheduled it, but I didn’t want to do that because Angela needed some guidance from her teacher. Plus, I figured I could DVR the press conference and watch it later.

  Throughout the day, dozens of friends texted and left messages asking me if I’d knocked up a girl and if I was going to have a kid.

  “What are you talking about?” I answered one of my buddies in a text message. He then informed me about the little announcement my mother had made on T.V.

  So, while I waited to hear back and get an explanation from the new multi-millionaire, I decided to clear my head with a walk down Armitage Avenue, a quaint tree-lined street with little shops, boutiques, neighborhood pubs and restaurants. I lived just off the beaten path of Armitage on a quiet side street in the garden apartment, (i.e. the basement) of an extremely old brownstone. My street and the brownstone were beautiful and had lots of character. However, my apartment was the size of a shoe box. I loved it, though. It was close to a lot of night time hot spots. Plus, it was pretty cheap. My job barely paid the bills, and even with my acting gigs on the side, I struggled financially, living paycheck to paycheck. But that was okay. I was happy teaching. I was happier acting, though, and someday, hopefully, I’d get a break and land a decent role.

  I walked by Ranalli’s, an Italian restaurant that serves over 100 different kinds of beer. I thought about going in, but realized today was Saturday and Rachel was working. I had no desire to deal with Rachel tonight. We had hooked up several months back when I went in for a pizza one night. Rachel was my waitress. We flirted with each other all night, and when she got off work I took her home and spent the night at her place. It had been a great time. I liked Rachel. But I never got around to calling her.

  So Rachel called me. She had gotten my last name and phone number off of my credit card receipt and left two messages on my voice mail that week. That weekend, I had a great idea. I thought I’d return Rachel’s phone calls in person with a surprise visit. So I stopped into Ranalli’s, prepared to get a warm reception from her. But instead of a nice hello and a smile, she threw a beer in my face.

  Rachel went off on me, screaming and yelling, “How dare you sleep with me and then not call me!” A couple of the waiters had to hold her back because she began to get physical. She actually threw a few punches, but luckily for me she missed.

  So that was that. ‘Such a shame,’ I thought, ‘good pizza.’

  I passed by a couple more storefronts, walking at a leisurely pace on this gorgeous evening, casually looking in the windows of each place. Lucky Brand was having a sale on men’s jeans. Good to know. Sushi on Armitage was now offering half-price rolls on Tuesday nights. Not bad. It was the next window, though, that would perhaps change my life forever.

  A new store was opening soon, the sign not even up yet. A large poster taped onto the window read, “Coming soon…YOU SEXY THING YOU-sexy lingerie for sexy women. And by the way… all women are sexy.” I took a closer look inside the shop, peeking through the window just below the sign. What I saw made my heart stop. A gorgeous woman was dressing a mannequin. She was placing a pink lace bra and panties on the wooden model. The girl wore just a black tank top and jeans, and she was barefoot. I couldn’t quite see her face, but I was somewhat sure she was a knockout. ‘You sexy thing you!’ I thought.

  All of a sudden, I heard Sean Kingston’s “Fire Burning” playing in the background. And then I saw a sight I’ll never, ever forget for the rest of my life. The girl stopped working, and she started dancing. Actually, she began doing the exact dance Sean Kingston does in his video of this song. It was almost as if she’d watched the video several times and memorized the choreography. That’s how down pat she had it. And she was great!

  I was chuckling and laughing, fully entertained by what I was witnessing. I turned around to see if anyone else was watching her. It was amazing to me that no one else noticed what was going on. I turned back around to see more.

  As she moved to the music, You Sexy Thing You looked like she was having a blast. I was dying to see her face. I still couldn’t, though. Was it possible to fall in love in 15 seconds? Finally, she moved closer to the front of the store and that’s when I got a full view. Now my heart was really pounding! The girl was the same girl from Jennifer’s building. She was the same girl with the same gorgeous jet black hair, the same full lips, and the same curvy, sexy body.

  I watched her for a couple more minutes, knowing the look on my face was that of a lovesick puppy dog. Then, You Sexy Thing You happened to catch a glimpse of me out the window. She froze for a second and then quickly ran out of sight. Next, I heard the music stop. I now knew what I had to do. I wasn’t letting this girl get away from me a second time. So I went to the door and knocked.

  “Uh, we’re closed!” I heard her shout.

  “Yeah, I know but…”

  “We open next Saturday. Ten o’clock!”

  I thought about what to say next. “Listen, can you just open the door for two seconds? I know you. I’m the guy from the other night…in the lobby of your building. Remember?”

  The girl finally came to the door and opened it, just a crack. “How can I help you?”

  It was hard not to laugh. “Is this your store?”

  “Y
eah,” she said trying to be cool.

  “Wow, that’s awesome. Congratulations!”

  The girl managed a smile. “Thanks. How can I help you?” she repeated.

  “Well, I was wondering, would you like to go have a drink with me? Or coffee?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Why not?” I asked her.

  She opened the door a bit wider. “Um…cause I don’t know you? Thanks, anyhow.”

  She started to shut the door, but I put my hand up to stop it. I was desperate now. I wanted to get to know this girl. I would not let her get away a second time. Things with Jennifer were done. I hadn’t heard from her. She hadn’t answered my apologetic texts (even though I didn’t really have anything to apologize for) so we were done. And I had every right to go after this girl.

  “Wait a second. Will you just tell me your name?”

  “Courtney.”

  “I love that name,” I said. ‘Not Jewish,’ I thought. I didn’t care, though. Ma would care, but I didn’t care. I never cared about that. But if I didn’t care, why every time I met a girl did I wonder about her religion?

  “Thanks,” she said with a kind smile, “But I really have to go.”

  As she started to close the door again, I felt even more desperate. I had to do something. So I blurted out, “How about I help you?”

  “Help me?”

  “Yeah. I’ll make a deal with you. I’ll stay here and help you unpack and clean and get your store ready, and I won’t mention anything to anyone about what I saw. You know…Sean Kingston…”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she struggled, “I was just…”

  “You don’t have to explain. I enjoyed it,” I said with a wide grin, “But I did snap some photos of you on my phone, and if you don’t let me in, I might have to go public with them. You wouldn’t want that, would you?”

  Courtney looked amused and I knew I was winning.

  “Look,” I continued, “it’s obvious you need some help here. I’m a guy. I can lift heavy boxes, hang things… I’ll even clean the john.”

  When I saw the look on Courtney’s face, I knew I’d just succeeded in my quest to get into her life. “Deal,” she said matter-of-factly. She started to open the door wider but paused for a second. “What’s your name?”

  “Danny,” I said with a smile. Then I pushed the door open and walked in past her.

  “The bathroom is straight back and to the right, and the cleaning stuff is already in there.”

  I walked back to the bathroom, whistling and wondering how I could be so damn happy about becoming a restroom attendant.

  The two of us worked and worked, and a few hours later the future site of “You Sexy Thing You” looked amazing. But the two people who worked so hard fixing it up looked like they had been in a gang fight. Both Courtney and I were hot, sweaty, smelly and tired. We had been moving things around, unpacking, dusting, cleaning, vacuuming and arranging displays. The dozens of merchandise-filled boxes that were sitting all over the store were now empty and stacked up against a wall, their contents now hanging on racks throughout the shop. The place was completely transformed and looked almost ready to do business.

  “Hey, want to order a pizza?” I asked Courtney, who was organizing some bras on one of the tables.

  “Sure,” she replied, “How about Ranalli’s?”

  Yikes! I thought, as I remembered the Rachel factor. “Fine if they’ll deliver.”

  “I’m sure they will,” she replied.

  When the pizza came, we sat and ate in silence for a few minutes, pretty much because we were both starving. We had worked long and hard, all the time while making small talk, laughing a lot and getting to know each other. I found out Courtney was into kick boxing, loved Jerry Seinfeld, had had her appendix removed a year earlier, had a white chocolate fetish, and the most shocking thing, Courtney, with her majorly non-Jewish name, was Jewish. And surprisingly, I found that a very attractive quality.

  After inhaling a couple slices of pizza, I finally spoke. “So, I want to know more about you. Tell me something.”

  “Well, let’s see,” Courtney replied, “I’m thirty-six…”

  “You cougar!” I joked, “I’m thirty-four.”

  “I’m not a cougar unless you and I are on a date.”

  “I’d call this a date, wouldn’t you?”

  “I haven’t decided yet,” she replied. I felt like she was flirting and I was psyched. “I have two questions for you. First, what do you do, and second, why were you in my building the other night?”

  “Well, I’m a history teacher at Martin Luther King High School.”

  “I love that,” she exclaimed.

  “Yeah, it’s cool, but I’m also an actor on the side. My agent lives in your building. Actually, my ex-agent lives in your building. She’s also my ex-girlfriend. We broke up that night I saw you.”

  “Which is why you’re here with me, the major cougar,” she said with a giggle.

  I smiled, but I didn’t laugh. Instead, I stood up and walked over to her. I had major pizza breath and I couldn’t even begin to imagine how I smelled after cleaning and lugging boxes around for four hours, but something in me didn’t care. I took her face gently in my hands and kissed her lips. She kissed me back, and in my entire life I couldn’t remember a better kiss, and trust me, I’d done my share of kissing.

  “So why’d you guys break up?” she asked.

  “Want to hear the truth?”

  She nodded.

  “She wanted me to get her pregnant and I said no.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, she’s 37 and she wants a baby.”

  “So she’s a cougar, too.”

  I chuckled, “Yeah, I guess she is. The thing is, I’ve known her for years. She was my agent. But we’d only been together as a couple for a few weeks. I like her a lot, but I don’t want to have a baby with someone I don’t love.” I gave Courtney a wide grin and said, “I’m holding out.”

  “For love?”

  All I could do was smile and nod. I didn’t want to speak, because I was afraid three little words would come out. I know it sounds nuts, but I loved her. I mean, not really LOVE since I barely knew her, but for the first time in perhaps my entire life, I understood how a guy could fall. And it was scary as hell, but frighteningly appealing, too.

  “Good for you,” she replied with a smile, “Good for you, Danny.”

  Chapter 7

  “Why are you acting so weird?” I asked Ma over the phone a couple days after the press conference, “You still haven’t explained that strange thing you said about giving your grandchildren the money. Do you have other kids that we don’t know about, Ma?”

  “No,” she answered with a laugh.

  “Ma, please don’t play games. What’s going on?”

  At that moment, Drew appeared at my office door with a Vanity Fair in his hands. He was reading an article, waiting for me to get off the phone. I wondered why he was reading Vanity Fair, but I was more focused on how his arm muscles looked in the tight white shirt he had on.

  “Listen,” said Ma, “Can you come over tonight at 7:00?”

  “Um…okay, sure,” I answered, “Is everything okay?”

  “Yes. We’ll talk about things tonight. Got to run. Mwah!” Then she hung up.

  I looked at Drew. “I can’t figure that woman out.”

  “That’s funny. You usually have her pegged pretty good,” he said.

  “I know. So what’s up with the magazine?”

  “I wanted you to see this article about Amy Adams. Did you know she worked at Hooters before she became famous?”

  “Are you comparing a Hooters waitressing job to what I do?”

  “No. I just thought you might find it inspirational.” He handed me the magazine.

  Right then, I wanted to throw my arms around him and tell him how much I appreciated his thoughtfulness. He really was a sweet guy. Hot, too. But as I always did, I k
ept my feelings to myself. “Thanks,” I said.

  “Sure. So, is your mom finally going to explain the grandchildren comment?” he asked.

  “That’s what I’m thinking.”

  “I have a good feeling about this whole thing.”

  This time I didn’t hold back. With a wide grin I said, “You always seem to see the bright side of everything.” I was dying to add, “And your biceps rock,” but I didn’t.

  A few hours later, I knocked on Ma’s door. For some odd reason I felt really nervous. I’d been knocking on that door for almost 15 years, and every time my mother answered I would hug her tightly. I really did love her. Sure, we had always had our differences, like the time I went to Aspen for the weekend with Kerry Wood (pitcher for the Chicago Cubs at the time) and Frankie had a complete fit, telling me I was going to end up labeled as a groupie-slut. Then there was the time I sat her down and told her I wasn’t sure I loved Max.

  Frankie’s reply was, “What’s not to love?”

  “Ma, I know he’s a good man. But I’m not sure if he’s right for me. Shouldn’t I feel more?”

  “Feel more what?” asked Frankie, “More attraction? More lust?”

  “Can I just shoot myself?” I’d replied.

  “You see where that got you, right? You don’t need another John. You need someone to take care of you. Max is that someone.”

  I knew my mother loved me and wanted to protect me, but we didn’t always agree. In fact, we rarely agreed. Still, we had always been close. Besides seeing Ma every Friday night, the two of us loved to shop together, we liked the same movies, and for special occasions like birthdays or Hanukkah, we loved going to The Drake hotel together for tea.

  Ma was great company. She was fun. She loved to gossip about Hollywood people, and I had no idea where she heard them, but she always told hilarious jokes. Perhaps my favorite thing to do with my mother, though, was to sit and talk about my dad.

  I could listen to her stories for hours. They interested me. They comforted me. And Ma enjoyed telling them. She would describe everything very vividly about her life with my father. Because of her drama and the colorful details she shared, I felt like I was there. Often times, I’d ask to hear some of the stories over and over again. The details of how my dad proposed, or how my parents spent their first New Years Eve together had been shared by Frankie at least fifty times.