A Good Score

Coins, Money, Profit, Wealth, Business

Fiction  ©  Copyright 2014 by Sara Jacobelli

Jake was running out of ideas to scam money. For awhile he had a run of luck: meeting women on a dating website, bumming meals and drinks off the lonely ladies, using their cars, borrowing money from them, but then these broads started circulating his picture on the web and that deal was dead. A score, that’s what he needed, something quick and not too risky. He couldn’t go back to selling weed, that’s for sure. No capital to get started, no one would front him anything anyway, and too much competition these days from every high school and college kid.

He had enough for one beer and sipped it slowly, sitting on a stool near the end of the bar. It was a hotel bar, a good place to meet traveling business women. Maybe I could hook up with a cute divorcee.  Something steady. Someone who just wants a regular man who looks good. The bartender avoided him, he knew Jake’s type.

A slender, attractive woman about ten years older than him slipped onto the next stool. “A Cape Cod, please.” Bingo, thought Jake.

She bought him a few Heinekens. Her name was Glenda and she was in town for a conference, something to do with marketing, whatever that was. Jake never knew what these women were talking about; he never had a real job in his life, other than waiter’s jobs where he usually got fired for stealing customers’ credit card numbers.  He just nodded his head and went along.

“Did anyone ever tell you that you look kinda like George Clooney, except younger, without the gray hair?” Glenda said.

He smiled. Everything about her looked expensive, from her styled auburn highlighted hair to her capped snow white teeth. From her gold jewelry to her tiny beaded purse to her red skirt suit.  Classy.  She probably made a hundred grand a year, maybe more. He fantasized about settling down: a cushy condo, a steady income, a BMW, island vacations replete with Mai-Tai’s and scuba diving.  Maybe a coupla good looking kids with Rich Kid Names like Madison and Grant, private school, sailing lessons.

“Wish I could act like him, be a star. But I’m too shy.” He fiddled with the drink coaster. He was dying for a cigarette, but smoking’s not allowed in San Francisco bars. Besides, smoking turns off these types of broads.

“Oh.” She leaned in close and touched the slight stubble on his face. “I love shy men. I so prefer them to loud, aggressive, pushy men.” They always do, he thought. Works every time.

He inhaled her deep perfume smell, some expensive exotic scent, he was certain. “Do you want to go for a walk? By the ocean?”

“Oh, it’s so cold out there. I don’t think so. Let’s just stay in here and chat. We can sit by the fireplace.” She pointed towards the leather sofa. “It’s so cozy.” Sinatra tunes played softly in the background. Perfect. Jake eased into the comfy leather as the bartender brought over a tray of drinks and the hors d’oeuvres menu. She snuggled against him. I could get used to this, Jake thought. I really could.


Jake was pretty pleased with himself. He got out of “the life” having done hardly any jail time, well, except for that nasty stint in Tijuana back in 2002. Now here he was living the good life, in Boston, of all places, with a million dollar condo overlooking Boston Harbor. Gym memberships, vacations, twin Beamers. They even had a maid.  He got out of “the life” before he lost his looks and his charm, and now, now he didn’t have to put on the charm, he didn’t have to worry about anything, hell, he didn’t have to do anything. Turned out Glenda wasn’t divorced, she was widowed. Twice.  Freak accidents. She couldn’t wait to hook up, make it permanent. They were married; they were set, she traveled a lot on business, whatever she did. He leaned over the balcony, sipped his Heineken. The Good Life. Finally.

Glenda came home from work and tossed her blazer on the dining room chair. “Honey,” she came up behind him and nuzzled his neck. “We need to discuss names if we’re going to have a baby; I’m not getting any younger.”

“So, the proverbial biological clock is ticking?” He winked at her and went to the bar, fixed her a Cape Cod. “Baby, I’m so happy with you, I’ll go with whatever name you pick.”

She stirred her drink with the tiny cocktail stirrer.  “Honey, we have an appointment to meet with our financial adviser tomorrow. Two pm.”

Jake frowned. “But that guy hates me.”

“He doesn’t hate you Jake, it’s just that he thought I was foolish not insisting on a prenup. I mean, with me making a good living, and you not working. With all those con artists out there.”

“Yeah, I know.” Jake walked out to the balcony and lit a cigarette.  They compromised that he would only smoke on the balcony.

“We’re just going to sign some papers, get our stuff in order. Bump up the life insurance. With the economy being so bad, you know.”


Glenda insisted they take a nice vacation before she tossed out her birth control pills and they got serious about making babies. They went to the Caymans so Jake could go scuba diving. He wanted to take the course, get certified, the works. Glenda worried a bit. “Honey, Jake, it’s dangerous.”

“I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.” He hopped onto the boat with Giorgio, the captain. “So what-are-you gonna do today?”

“I’ll just lie around on the beach, relax, get a tan, read some mysteries.” She smooched him on the lips. “Jake, I just want you to know, you’ve been the best one.”

“The best what?” He called out to her as the deckhand untied the boat. Giorgio started her up and they zoomed off.

“Husband! You’ve been the best husband so far!”


Photo Credit: “Coins.” Pixabay Copyright free images. CC NonCommercial ShareAlike.




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