The Gamble

And she was hilarious.

“What other words do they have?” Mindy asked, leaning into me.

I was educating them on English English versus American English, I’d been doing this awhile and they thought it was fascinating.

“Um…” I mumbled, sucking back more beer, of which I’d lost count how many I’d had, I swallowed, dropped my hand with bottle to the table and stated, “Rubbish.”

“Trash, you said that one already,” Arlene told me.

“Bunged up!” I cried.

“What?” Mindy giggled.

“Means you have a stuffy nose.”

“Love it! Bunged up!” Arlene said on a near shout.

“They also say ‘head full of cold’ when you’ve got a cold,” I shared and then carried on. “Pants are underwear, trousers are pants. Vests are called waistcoats, tank tops are called vests and robes are called dressing gowns!”

“We speak the same language at all?” Arlene asked and I smiled at her.

“Not much,” I answered. “But it works anyway, though never, but never, tell someone you were rear-ended. Ever,” I advised. “They don’t say that but what they think when you say it is very rude because they aren’t thinking of cars at all.”

We all laughed uproariously as if this was the height of comedy.

“I like you,” Arlene declared, grinning broadly. “Never thought I’d say this in my lifetime but I may even like you better than I liked Anna and she was a hoot.”

“Anna?” I asked, wiping a tear of laughter from under my eye.

“Max’s wife,” Arlene replied.

I stopped laughing, her words hitting me like I was a cartoon character standing at the bottom of the cliff and the anvil fell on my head.

I didn’t get the chance to crawl out from under because, shockingly, Mindy was suddenly yanked violently from the table.

“Hey!” Arlene exclaimed, hopping off her stool and I turned.

A tall, good-looking, dark-haired boy-man with scarily bulging biceps that did not look attractively powerful, just scary, had his fingers wrapped tight around Mindy’s upper arm.

“Big, bad Max moved you out today, did he?” he sneered in Mindy’s face, giving her a shake.

I hopped off my stool too as Arlene rounded on Mindy and the man.

“Damon, leave her be,” Arlene ordered.

“Fuck off, Arlene,” he clipped at Arlene and her upper body drew back in visible affront.

“You eat with that mouth, Damon Matthews?” she demanded to know.

“This ain’t your business.”

“Well,” I got up close to them and declared quietly, “it’s mine.”

He swung to me and gave me a head to toe. “Yeah? Who’re you?”

“I’m Nina Sheridan,” I announced like I was saying, “I’m SuperGirl.”

Damon was not impressed. “So?”

“She’s Max’s woman,” Arlene proclaimed and this wasn’t taken favorably by Damon.

“Fuck,” he muttered low, his eyes narrow and not leaving me. “That ass**le gets all the sweet pieces.”

“What’s going on?” Becca arrived before anyone could say word one to his rude comment and Damon swung to her.

“You f**k off too, bitch.”

“Did you call me a bitch?” Becca shrieked, instantly beside herself with fury and I got closer in an effort to defuse the situation.

“Listen, Damon –” I started but he jostled Mindy and began to move away.

“We gotta have words,” he told Mindy, ignoring me.

“Damon, I told you, we’re on a break for a week,” Mindy said softly, planting her feet, twisting her arm in his hold and he stopped and glared at her.

“Funny, you get nailed in Denver and we’re suddenly on a break.”

Mindy went solid, Becca went solid, Arlene went solid.

I, on the other hand, saw red for the third time in my life and moved.

“Take your hand off her,” I insisted, having got right in his face.

“Fuck off,” he bit out, right in mine.

“Take your hand off her!” I yelled.

He leaned into me and clipped, “Fuck… off.”

I got more in his face. “Take it off. Now!”

He took it off and shoved my shoulder, shouting back, “Bitch! Fuck! Off!”

I went back on a foot and, so furious at what he said to Mindy not thinking that, boy-man or not, he was bigger than me and his biceps were scary, I lifted both hands and pushed with all my might against his chest.

He went back two long paces and I shouted, “That’s it, ass**le, move along!”

Without delay, he took two steps forward, his arm went across, down and then swung out and around, backhanding me viciously, his knuckles connecting with dazzling accuracy at my cheekbone.

I jerked to the side and bent double, my hand going to my face, my hair flying then settling around me, my eyes blinking away stars.

I was still blinking away stars when I heard Mindy cry, “Max!” and then Max’s gravelly, frighteningly furious voice order, “See to Nina.”

Then I straightened as I felt Arlene’s hands on me and I watched Max do with one hand what I had to do with two. He planted his palm in Damon’s chest and Damon went flying. Max stalked after him and did it again and Damon went flying again.

“This ain’t your business, Maxwell,” Damon snapped, trying to evade Max’s hand but, as if it was a magnet and Damon was steel, Max’s hand hit his chest again and Damon was propelled back, right toward the door.

“You okay?” Arlene asked me and all I could think to say was, “Max.”

“Come on!” Becca shouted, grabbed my hand and Mindy, Becca, Arlene and I rushed to the door Max hustled Damon out of.

We were followed by a slew of people.

I didn’t notice because the minute we hit the parking lot and shuffled between two cars to get to the open area I saw Max’s fist connect with Damon’s face and Damon went down to all fours.

“Enough?” Max asked calmly and Damon’s head twisted up to look at him.

Then he rose to his feet, lifted his fists and said what I was guessing were two of the very few words in his vocabulary, “Fuck you!”

He lunged forward swinging, Max ducked away but righted with a powerful upper cut to Damon’s ribs and Damon went back several paces.

Max followed him and landed two more blows, left then right, both to the ribs again then another one to the face and Damon went back down to his hands and knees.