Karma Read Free Page A

glass and wet the rim with a halved lime and then dipped it into
salt, to give it a salt rim. Filling a cocktail shaker two-thirds full of ice,
she added a generous shot of Tequila. A slightly less amount of Cointreau went
in after that. Then lime juice equal to the amount of Tequila. After vigorously
shaking it, she strained it into the glass. She handed it to Mr. Chevalier,
serving it with an extra wedge of lime.
    He
took a sip and his lips tugged up in an appealing grin. "I like this very
much," he said.
    "That
will be seven dollars even."
    Mr.
Chevalier pulled out a hundred and Marcy paused for a moment, startled by
seeing another hundred dollar bill so soon after the last one. That preceding c-note
still rested comfortably in her pocket. She took the money, and got out
ninety-three dollars in change.
    As
she began to hand his change back to him, he refused to take it. "That
will not be necessary. It is a gift."
    Marcy's
mind reeled. Virtually two hundred dollars in tips and she was only working the
bar tonight! The staff rotated as fairly as possible. Waitress work was where
the best tips were, but someone always had to tend the bar.
    Wow.
It must be my lucky day.
    Marcy's
frivolous thought was astonishingly accurate. Because her lucky day was about
to become even luckier.

4. A Proposal
    " Merci beaucoup ," she said, tucking the money in
the pocket of her dress. "Did you have a big win? Is there a reason that
you're being so generous?"
    He
shook his head. "No," he said. "I do not gamble. But there is a
reason. I wish to talk to you. Pardon if this may perhaps be considered
an insult. I do not intend such, yet I desire to pay for your time."
    "But
I'm working."
    "You
may continue to work, of course." He shrugged his shoulders in that uniquely
Gallic way. Marcy recalled many such shrugs when on her visit to France. Generally
it signified, "That is the way it is. We must both live with it." An American translation might be something like "shit happens," perhaps.
    She
studied him closely. "Mr. Chevalier, I don’t mean to offend you. Are you hoping to um…date me or something? Because I don’t date."
    The
smile he gave her grew wider. He theatrically flung his hands up in the air,
ending by placing his right hand over his heart. "You wound me, Mademoiselle !"
and his warm laugh was so carefree that Marcy found herself grinning.
    His
gaze traveled over her body, assessing her feminine charms in the open way the
French had. "I would most assuredly not be averse to a sensual connection,
you understand," he said with a glint of frank male interest in his eyes.
"You are most attractive and oh so charming, j e vous assure .
And yet I swear that I only wish to speak with you while you occupy yourself
with your duties as the bartender."
    Still
smiling, Marcy narrowed her eyes, trying to interpret his intentions. Mr.
Chevalier was definitely a gentleman; a gentleman who wanted to talk. What harm
could he be after all?
    "Okay
then, if that's what you want," she said, nodding her agreement.
    Marcy
continued working, turning from him apologetically while she arranged the next
round of drinks – twenty Jägermeister
and Red Bull cocktails. The Frenchman's gaze was hot upon her as she poured the
shots into each glass. It was difficult not to be thrown off balance by his
concentrated attention.
    Why
did he want to talk to her? Perhaps he wanted to live the cliché and tell a
bartender all his problems? She hid an internal snort at that because the guy
didn’t look like he had a care in the world.
    The
smell of 70 proof alcohol filled her nostrils while the casino buzzed with the
hypnotic noise of slot wheels whirring and flashing lights all shouting: " Win!
Win! Win!" These festive sights and blaring euphoric sounds were
exhilarating and captivating to gambling addicts. It gave them the impression
that everyone was getting rich. The truth was, except for a very lucky few, a
far greater percentage was losing.
    When
the various