hapworth

"Check it out. Guess who got her phone number?"

"Congratulations."

"Yeah, she just whipped out her pad of paper and wrote it on her tray. Then, she just threw it down on the table. I wonder if her boss is going to be pissed? Hey, look at that sweater - it looks like one of Bill Cosby's sweaters!"

The walk to and from the parking garage took me past this store, several times a week. Each time I'd glance at the sweater and snicker to myself. After the old picture of Jimmy Durante, performing on the very stage I perform on, this was my favorite thing to look at every night.

"Yeah, but really, what are you going to do with it?"

"The sweater?"

"No. The number. What are you going to do, call her and say, "Hey, it's the guy from the show! Want to get together so I can bang you? It's ok that you don't speak English very well!"? Seriously, you really think you'll call her?"

"Yeah. You're right. What the hell would I say? We can barely talk to one another. She did give me her number though, without my even having to ask!"

"Maybe she's a prostitute. This is Vegas."

"Son of a bitch. You think so?"

"Look at the way she dresses."

I have to admit, she seems to be able to wear her dress in a much different way than the rest of the cocktail waitresses. I wonder if she has to get her tiny version specially made? Boy, do I love that dress.