7/7/08
short story
she was tall, svelte, willowy.
he was rotund, swarthy, greasy.
together they made a pair worthy of the attention of everyone around them. Nicola and Cherchek. Cherchek and Nicola. fidelity was not required of either, but they adhered to it as if their life depended upon it.
they worked the casinos along Monte Carlo- Nicola insulting American women until their eyes would widen and their cheeks redden. that's one thing about those American women- they never know how to deflect the curled lip, the rolling eye. it is personal for them, inside their insecure little minds, very personal. the American women would stumble off to their American husbands, angrily demanding valiance and chivalry that had never been taught the American men, not since the Victorian times had chivalry been taught in the United States.
but, lo and behold, who would those women find drinking and laughing with their spineless husbands but a toady man with a large face and a gravelly voice. while the American women tottered on their pointy heels, sputtering rage and insecurity, their male counterparts would blink confusedly, unsure of what to do or say. and that is the point where Cherchek would sweep in with flattery and condolence. would she, the lovely lady, allow him, the lowly Cherchek, to assist in any way, any way at all? not to be a braggart- Cherchek would lower his eyes always at this line- but he was something of an experienced regular in this area, someone the casinos actually relied upon to keep things running smoothly...
the American husband would blink once more, assuring his wife that this toady man was really a good sort, and if he knew how to handle these damned uptight foreign women, then he would be quite a boon indeed.
and Cherchek would sweep off in all of his greasy-haired glory to accost the arrogant Nicola. but, no! the American woman would invariably put a hand out to stop the valiant man- no, not like that! because if there is one thing a wealthy American woman can handle less than an insult, it is a confrontation amongst what she regards to be her own class. but what did the American lady want of Cherchek then? surely she would not sit and stifle her anger at an insult? surely she required justice, requisite humiliation?
confusion is often the greatest weapon of all. next to confusion, in human weaponry, is obligation. by this time, you see, Cherchek had ingratiated himself to the couple. he would suggest drinks, a round of games in another gallery perhaps, and more drinks. he would apologize for his fellow people, although he and Nicola were not even from the same country- what did Americans know of the world outside of their television box and cozy vehicle?
and eventually Nicola would saunter into their gallery, whether they were playing craps, or roullette, or blackjack... she would find them and she would tilt a perfect eyebrow at the American woman and she would sit down- ever so gracefully on the edge of her seat. the American woman would become suddenly conscious of her every move, her own bulk compared to the lissome woman across from her, her own clumsiness in stark contrast to the measured grace of a single wave of Nicola's hand.
and here is where Cherchek would move in for the kill. he would lean across the table and encourage the American couple to humiliate the beautiful woman- humiliate her in a way that she would feel forever- with her pocketbook! bet hard against her! you have more card knowledge, Cherchek would elbow the American man, more card knowledge than this slip of a woman across from you- look she has just called on a knave of spades! how foolish, how clumsy!
and in her turn, Nicola would suddenly notice the American couple as an adversary. she would fidget, just a bit this turn, a tiny bit more the next turn. Cherchek never made eye contact with Nicola, and she never so much as glanced in his direction. she would pull out a cigarette and fumble with the lighter, cursing it under her breath. the American woman would sit up a bit more straight in her chair, would hold her head up a little higher than the last turn. as her confidence grew, so did her betting.
of course you know the end, the end of every single couple that crossed the paths of Nicola and Cherchek. it wasn't just Americans, oh no. sometimes it was Japanese groups, sometimes English folk who hadn't seen the racket before.
but it was a beautiful game, all such a beautiful game, for Nicola and Cherchek. and they would smile at each other in their hotel room later, smile as they undressed and counted their earnings. it wasn't a bad thing, they reminded each other every single day, not a bad thing at all. it is an education that we provide, and an amusement for the tourists.
and all such a beautiful game.
by sarah j. christenson, july of 2008
he was rotund, swarthy, greasy.
together they made a pair worthy of the attention of everyone around them. Nicola and Cherchek. Cherchek and Nicola. fidelity was not required of either, but they adhered to it as if their life depended upon it.
they worked the casinos along Monte Carlo- Nicola insulting American women until their eyes would widen and their cheeks redden. that's one thing about those American women- they never know how to deflect the curled lip, the rolling eye. it is personal for them, inside their insecure little minds, very personal. the American women would stumble off to their American husbands, angrily demanding valiance and chivalry that had never been taught the American men, not since the Victorian times had chivalry been taught in the United States.
but, lo and behold, who would those women find drinking and laughing with their spineless husbands but a toady man with a large face and a gravelly voice. while the American women tottered on their pointy heels, sputtering rage and insecurity, their male counterparts would blink confusedly, unsure of what to do or say. and that is the point where Cherchek would sweep in with flattery and condolence. would she, the lovely lady, allow him, the lowly Cherchek, to assist in any way, any way at all? not to be a braggart- Cherchek would lower his eyes always at this line- but he was something of an experienced regular in this area, someone the casinos actually relied upon to keep things running smoothly...
the American husband would blink once more, assuring his wife that this toady man was really a good sort, and if he knew how to handle these damned uptight foreign women, then he would be quite a boon indeed.
and Cherchek would sweep off in all of his greasy-haired glory to accost the arrogant Nicola. but, no! the American woman would invariably put a hand out to stop the valiant man- no, not like that! because if there is one thing a wealthy American woman can handle less than an insult, it is a confrontation amongst what she regards to be her own class. but what did the American lady want of Cherchek then? surely she would not sit and stifle her anger at an insult? surely she required justice, requisite humiliation?
confusion is often the greatest weapon of all. next to confusion, in human weaponry, is obligation. by this time, you see, Cherchek had ingratiated himself to the couple. he would suggest drinks, a round of games in another gallery perhaps, and more drinks. he would apologize for his fellow people, although he and Nicola were not even from the same country- what did Americans know of the world outside of their television box and cozy vehicle?
and eventually Nicola would saunter into their gallery, whether they were playing craps, or roullette, or blackjack... she would find them and she would tilt a perfect eyebrow at the American woman and she would sit down- ever so gracefully on the edge of her seat. the American woman would become suddenly conscious of her every move, her own bulk compared to the lissome woman across from her, her own clumsiness in stark contrast to the measured grace of a single wave of Nicola's hand.
and here is where Cherchek would move in for the kill. he would lean across the table and encourage the American couple to humiliate the beautiful woman- humiliate her in a way that she would feel forever- with her pocketbook! bet hard against her! you have more card knowledge, Cherchek would elbow the American man, more card knowledge than this slip of a woman across from you- look she has just called on a knave of spades! how foolish, how clumsy!
and in her turn, Nicola would suddenly notice the American couple as an adversary. she would fidget, just a bit this turn, a tiny bit more the next turn. Cherchek never made eye contact with Nicola, and she never so much as glanced in his direction. she would pull out a cigarette and fumble with the lighter, cursing it under her breath. the American woman would sit up a bit more straight in her chair, would hold her head up a little higher than the last turn. as her confidence grew, so did her betting.
of course you know the end, the end of every single couple that crossed the paths of Nicola and Cherchek. it wasn't just Americans, oh no. sometimes it was Japanese groups, sometimes English folk who hadn't seen the racket before.
but it was a beautiful game, all such a beautiful game, for Nicola and Cherchek. and they would smile at each other in their hotel room later, smile as they undressed and counted their earnings. it wasn't a bad thing, they reminded each other every single day, not a bad thing at all. it is an education that we provide, and an amusement for the tourists.
and all such a beautiful game.
by sarah j. christenson, july of 2008
1 Comments:
At July 11, 2008 2:34 PM ,
All of us said...
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