From Riches to Rags Read Online Free PDF Page A

prettiest one.
    I copied the address and phone number down, now I just need to book a flight to Memphis, reserve a hotel room and pack my bags.
    I seldom get out of Los Angeles, and even rarer is a trip outside of California for an extended period of time, except to accept an award or secure a customer. On those occasions, it usually only took a day or two, and even then, it was always New York or Chicago. Never have I been in the south before, or to such a small city like Memphis. I wonder if it’s true that all southerners eat pork rinds and guzzle beer, like my cousin Jake does. Pork rinds? That would certainly add some synthetic flavor to my book.
     
    ***
     
    Attitudes ‒ Melinda aka Blackie Blackstone
     
    “Happy birthday, Blackie!”
    “What’s happy about it?” I asked her, though we could barely hear each other over the band playing up on stage. I was back in Las Vegas, my sanctuary, and the hotel my father owned was having a birthday party just for me. Boring… every year it’s the same thing.
    “It’s all in how you look at it. You’re stinking rich, stinking beautiful and stinking drunk. You can’t top that…, can you?”
    “What’s your name?” It was unusual for me to even care but I thought just this once, I’d like to know the name of the girl I was about to take to my bed.
    “I told you, it’s Penny, as in a penny for your thoughts.”
    “You’re not very clever‒”
    “What?” She yelled over the music.
    “That’s was really clever.” I shouted back.
    Finally the dreadful music ended and we walked back to our secluded booth where the waiter met us instantly with fresh drinks.
    “Raise your glasses for a birthday toast to Blackie Blackstone.” The maître d' cheered into the microphone, and everyone raised their glasses. Never one to pass up a chance to drink, I nodded at them and gulped my champagne in one swallow. I don’t know a single person here.
    “Blackie, aren’t you happy?”
    “Huh? Where did that come from?” I asked Penny. Where did I pick her up from?
    “It just seems like you aren’t satisfied with anything. You’re here, but not in the moment. I’ve told you my name three times already, and you still don’t know it. Those are classic signs of disassociation.”
    Now I remember, I picked her up at the university that has my father’s name stenciled across the top of the buildings. I was there dedicating a new wing to the psychiatry department. When, when, when will I learn never to pick up psych majors!
    “Penny.., there, you see, I remembered it. Listen, I’ll give you a thousand dollars if you promise not to analyze me any more tonight, all right?”
    “You’re serious?”
    “Of course I’m serious.” I pulled out a wad of cash and slapped it on the table in front of her, “Promise?”
    “Shit yeah!”
    Thought as much. Problem solved, we drank some more, danced some more, and then made love until we passed out. But come the morning, I woke to find her sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at me.
    “Blackie, I had a really good time with you last night, and although I’d like to see you again, I have a feeling I will never get that call.”
    I started to assure her she was wrong, even though we both knew she was right, but she wouldn’t let me speak.
    “I want to leave you with two things. First, find someone to love you, Blackie, to love your heart, not your money. There has to be someone out there who can see past your billions. Unfortunately, it’s not me.”
    “And second?”
    She stood up and slipped on her clothes, pushed her feet into her shoes and stuffed my money into her purse, “And second, I’m keeping the cash. Thanks!”
    She skipped out the door leaving me naked and alone, figuratively and literally. I closed my eyes, trying to feel her touch, smell her skin, feel her sex, and none of it had lingered behind. The emptiness became overwhelming, and for the first time in my life, I wasn’t sure what to