Mo said she was quirky

by James Kelman

  you could never escape

  And her tummy. She just felt – horrible, why did she feel so horrible? and suddenly too. She hadnt been feeling it before. Because of him, it was him, dirty ogling thing that he was. He shifted on his chair, swivelling to speak directly into the ear of his mate who stood a little to the rear and was craning his head forwards to listen. They laughed quietly, heads bowed.

  What else but her? Their little snidey comments. What did it matter? horrible comments, it didnt matter. Because she didnt care. She so didnt care, like if they were who they were and she was who she was, really she just did not care, she really didnt, she so so didnt, if she lost the damn job she would just lose it, putting up with this, she would slap his bloody face, in a minute she would, what did they think she couldnt fight? she was from bloody Glasgow, she would just bloody

  dirty ogling thing.

  So if the Inspector was watching, so what? she would still slap him. Helen knew exactly what he was up to because men like him made sure of that. She was only a poor wilting female under the power of these so truly dominating powerful men like they were so so very powerful, they just reduced her to a shrinking violet, my God, if it was not so pathetic; she would have, she would have laughed in their face, it made you so angry; sometimes it did. Because it was always there, that was girls, having to put up with it, having to cope with it, how do they cope with it? however do they cope with it?

  She gathered in the discards from the last round, raising her head for a moment; the ogler was in her line of vision. Know thine enemy.

  ‘Louts’ was a good word. Thinking of this pair as opposed to somebody like the mad doctor, as a for-instance. He ‘looked’. Of course he did. Jill was wrong about that. Perhaps he didnt look at her but he did look at Helen and it was not boasting to say it. What did she care if he looked or not? Not if it was like normal man and woman. He was a gentleman and it was only a natural thing. Men did look, of course they did. And that was nice, it was nice they did, if it was only that. Who is going to worry about that? Never. Men look. So do women. Women look too. So ha ha there. If men dont think they do, they do, women look at men.

  Helen had shuffled the cards. The ogler grasped the marker. Helen had given him it. She had had to look at him directly. That was fine, that was easy. He tried to hold her gaze while inserting it into the deck of cards, thrusting it in. As unsubtle as a horse. He even resembled a horse. An ugly one, some are nice; horses.

  She split the deck, returned it to the shoe, ruffling and smoothing down the cards; even individually cards could stick, they didnt always slide; why was that? dirt or grit, sweat; sweaty palms; or just bending the cards. Helen didnt like to see that. Although it was nervous, punters got nervous and fiddled. A dealer she knew in Glasgow gave them a row: Dont fiddle, you’re bending the damn cards! Management gave the dealer into trouble. The money they lose they could buy the whole damn card factory.

  The ogler was still watching her. Cool, he said.

  So he was only admiring her expertise. Helen turned her head from him in a move, almost as though she hadnt heard him. His mate had the decency to look away. It would have been nice to laugh in his face. But it wouldnt stop him staring. ‘Leering’ was a good word. He had bought the right because he was at her table. He was a ‘leerer’. No, ‘ogler’ was better.

  He even had sweaty lips! Imagine! Helen couldnt, thank God. Why would she want to? Sweaty lips. It made her groo, the very idea. How ridiculous they were, some of them anyway, just so ridiculous; gross. Helen smiled. She would have called it a smile. She thought of it as one, like smiling without smiling, without moving a muscle. It was her own smile, it was only for herself she was doing it. Her actual face was expressionless. She wouldnt have allowed them the satisfaction, that was how little the oglers of this world meant to her. Although it could irritate. Of course it could. She concealed the irritation but not herself feeling it because she did feel it and she did think about it; so it did get to her

  oh God, she was tired.

  Although it was true, these people tried to hurt you. And they succeeded. They did. With her they did. Nowadays they did. All they had was money and they spent it gambling. Okay, a surgeon, he was different. But other ones? They werent scientists or faith healers or whoever, great actors, statesmen, they hadnt done anything, yet expected to act however they wanted, just like how they felt, like they had the right, going into a casino and treating everybody who worked there as though they were nothing. So so arrogant. They looked down on you. Some did. In their eyes you were funny; even they mimicked your voice. Oh it is just fun. Yes for them, nobody else. Mo didnt like her talking about it and he was right. It should have been water off a duck’s back but it wasnt. It used to be. Not now. Now it was everything, she felt everything. That was the problem. Helen’s problem. Too sensitive. She was. She should have been more of a tortoise. Was it the tortoise had the big shell? Something anyway, like with tough skins. That was what she needed, a leather skin, a hide. That was good, a ‘hide’, so you were hiding underneath it. It was an attitude people adopted in casinos. They thought they were something, and what were they really? Not anything. Only they acted like they were. The women were as bad, if not worse. Some of them. They had that hardness about them, they were tough. Helen had forgotten how tough. Perhaps it was worse in London. They would eat you up then crunch your bones, just like whatever, they would crunch them. It was like

  what?

  What was it like?

  Her brains were scattered. This happened dealing cards, you were in your own wee world till something dragged you back. It could be a simple matter like a man looking at his watch. Or the way he was looking at you – not ogling, looking – choo choo, where was your head and where your brains? scrambled, the train of thought. ‘Real’ gamblers are not supposed to ‘look’: not at dealers. All they see is the cards. Nothing else interests them. People say that. But it isnt true, not in Helen’s experience. They sip at their drink and above the rim of the glass their eyes glint, watching. Not dirty old men either like if they happen to be old at all, and a lot arent. The ogler wasnt. He was early thirties, at the most.

  Women watched too, and it wasnt freaky. They saw how you reacted to males. If it was a guy like the ogler, how did Helen handle him? There was a woman from Eastern Europe or someplace and she had that interest. Helen imagined her a spy or an undercover detective; she had quite a sharp demeanour and like her eyes too, seeing everything, they did, you felt that, and she never smiled. Even if Helen smiled she didnt smile back, and it wasnt a ‘professional’ smile like if she thought it was, perhaps she did think that. People have strange ideas. She acted as though she had never sat down at Helen’s table before. Some were like that. They didnt want you thinking they were regular gamblers.

  A young man came with her. He never smiled either. So their relationship, you wondered about that. Although they hadnt been in for a while. That was so like typical. People disappeared. Sometimes you didnt notice. They were regulars and then stopped coming. The only way you realised this is because there came a time you looked up and there they were, sitting right in front of you. Then you were surprised because it was the first you had seen them in ages. Weeks and weeks. You hadnt seen them. You didnt even know they were not there until now you saw them. Where had they been? You hadnt noticed they were gone till now they were back. Imagine not noticing. People’s lives; they have them and dont have them. They live and die, we dont even notice. Had they gone to another casino or what? were they taking a rest? had they lost too much money? But this couldnt apply to the East European woman. She hardly gambled at all, too busy noting people’s behaviour, and the young guy with her, like a male escort. You said hullo and they didnt even smile. Was that peculiar? Perhaps not. Perhaps it was Helen who was peculiar. Of course, yes, little Miss Peculiar. She sounded like a packet of sweeties, boiled ones, the kind old ladies like to sook.

  Oh well, she dealt the cards, that was her, the dealer, the one who d
ealt, she ‘crouped’, croupiers crouping and dealers dealing. She should have been a smoker, smokers smoking, they had these wee breaks in the alley round the back of the casino. A rear passageway ran the length of the building. Steps led down to the rear exit. Staff smokers used this; they went in twos and threes. In the old days the ‘girls’ took their ‘clients’ here. Druggies used it too, tramps and rats, drunks; people went there to be sick. It was dark and secluded, shadowy and horrible; who would want to go there? except in emergency. Nowadays it was still secluded, but security had been increased; good lighting and CCTV. But still not a nice place, having to step over bodies, watching where they put their feet; needles and human waste. It wasnt the first time a croupier had returned across the carpet in the worst poo-covered shoes imaginable. People never knew what they might find. There were the comical aspects; couples interrupted in ‘acts of gross indecency’. What the Smoker Saw, not the ‘Butler’. Experiences from the back alley provided some of the ‘green room’ hilarity. Anyway, people quite envied the smokers. They said that, escaping to the fresh air, it was worth the bad lungs and whatever else. As long as they went in company, not just the one person.

  The ‘girls’ werent supposed to use the casinos nowadays. Did they or didnt they? Ha ha.

  But if they did they werent cheap. They would never have gone to back alleys. It would have been good-class hotels or someplace nice, fancy apartments with all good furniture and proper everything, space and whatnot, bedrooms. Not like out the back where it was full of risk and filth and dangers too. Women never went on their own.

  Why did he laugh? The ogler laughed. He laughed because he had won. Helen paused a moment while paying out the money. Not only him, everybody. The bank had taken a card, and another, a picture card: bust. So Helen was paying out the money.

  But for the third hand in a row. The bank had lost the two previous. Yes, so that made the difference. To them it did. So they had beat the bank three times in a row. And Helen was the bank. Okay, but why laugh like that? Not only the ogler but the rest of them, sharing it with him; beating her, they wanted to beat her. It was sad, so sad.

  Such was her job.

  Did they actually for one minute believe she cared one way or the other? like really cared?

  ‘Wealthy woman’ too – she had returned to the table – perhaps her jewellery would fall off, perhaps somebody would step on it and break it, just crunch it like a whatever, under the heel of your shoe. But then it wouldnt be the genuine article, if it could be so easily crunched, and hers was real. Her man was back at the roulette. She only came to keep him company. Not to let him out her sight. Or him her. Comical. Males and females. Rich or poor.

  What did it matter?

  Helen had passed out the chips. People confused her with the job, that was the problem like it was her personal money, if it was did they think she would be gambling it all away? Ha ha. It didnt matter one way or the other. Not to her it didnt; not if she lost every hand. Or if she won every hand, although she would have enjoyed taking his money; that would have been nice, and if he waited a little longer she would, because in the end the bank always wins. What a fool.

  So things were getting to her.

  No they werent.

  The ogler was whispering to his friend. It wasnt annoying but

  It was annoying. It shouldnt have been but it was. So she was letting him get to her. She should never have let him get to her. No emotion in this job. You werent paid for emotion.

  Helen smiled to the ogler and his mate. Yes.

  She was waiting for the bets to be placed. An elderly man had sat down at the corner of the table. He seemed familiar. She waited for him and another player to place their bets. The ogler had left his winning chips from the last hand, so that was his. At the same time impressing her with the size of his bet, trying to anyway. Always the size of something. Him and his money. So silly, so childish, but that was a trait in men. Helen, what is the outstanding trait in men? They are childish.

  That would annoy him, smiling, why had she smiled?

  What if she giggled? If she laughed aloud? That would annoy him even worse. Did his wife know how much he wasted in this place? He was obviously married. Even without the ring he was married. He had like arrogance, that certain arrogance. He knew women. That is what it was. Did his wife even know where he was? Probably not. He would control everything. Even what she knew, what went on in her mind. That is what he would control, never mind the money. That was her ex my God oh yes, Mr Big Boss, he was the man, of course he was, arent penises wonderful? She could have carried one in her bag, dropped it on the table.

  Goodness,

  the card the card the card, the card the card the card, the card, seven players, and one for the bank.

  the card the card the card, the card the card the card, the card

  The ogler’s mate was whispering to him. He wasnt so bad-looking; only the scar, the front of his ear down to his neck. That summed it up.

  stay, stay

  Card, asked the ogler. He was showing 12.

  Helen turned a picture to bust him, raked in his chips and continued the hand. And to the banker’s own she added an 8 to the face card showing, raked in the remainder of the chips, in a disinterested way. No comment from the ogler. She enjoyed taking his money. But did she? Perhaps she didnt, perhaps really it didnt matter, it didnt. She didnt care.

  ‘Wealthy woman’ passed money across and Helen exchanged it for chips. Usually with couples it was the other way about. The male played cards for pounds and the female roulette for pence. It was the competition. You could like beat somebody up at cards, but not roulette. At cards you showed who was boss. So they thought. But they thought wrong; blackjack and house-poker are the same, you bet against the ‘house’, not against people.

  She rarely thought about money when dealing cards. If she did it would be all the time. She hardly saw it as money. She was an experienced worker. She listened to other croupiers but had her own opinions. She was a dealing machine and that was that. There would come a day when they wouldnt have any croupiers, it would all be machines. Already in the States they had entire casinos with machines. To each their own. The punters put in their money and hit a button. Money money money. Standing at the machines with that glazed expression, buckets of coins and buckets of popcorn; unable to hear or see, mindless. That was her ex, the proverbial.

  All the people and all the money.

  And up pops he. The bad penny.

  Money money money. Mostly she didnt care. She had no control, like none, she had none. None! What did they think? In one casino where she worked an Inspector thought it was the dealer’s fault. That was how he acted, just so so stupid. If he saw you losing too many hands he whispered sarcastic comments, the same as any punter, thinking individual dealers were lucky, or unlucky. Even some dealers believed it about themselves, they were lucky, or unlucky. Anyway, it was all mixed up. If your every hand was a losing hand it was lucky for the punters; to be lucky for them was to be unlucky at the cards. Lucky at the cards was lucky for the house. Back in Glasgow there was one guy only played at her table because she was ‘far too good’. He said it to her when giving over his money: Helen, you are far too good, you are far too good.

  So why come to her table? Was that not silly? just foolish. Helen, you are slick. Of course Helen was ‘slick’; it was her job to be ‘slick’. You take my money why do you take my money? Silly man.

  Concentration concentration. She looked up from the baize. Her eyelids flickered. Waves in her tummy, slight little things, butterflies.

  Nothing about the time forget the time, nothing nothing nothing, the cards the people the money; what was the order? it didnt matter the order, people money cards, oglers.

  Nerves, because Brian, what if he was there?

  Oh God the time the time what was the time?

  Oh well, if he was he was.

  But it was true and she had to think because what was she going to do! It was nearly
time and she was going home; she would be. Very soon; very very soon, that would be her, my God, if she shared Danny’s taxi, like just as usual. Because with Caroline and Jill like if she didnt share with them, what would they think? They would think something. Better they didnt. Better she went home with them, same as usual, got off at her street same as usual, then when Danny’s taxi was out of sight she would jump the next one back into the city. She had enough money, she had brought enough.

  Helen knew what she was doing. She had thought about what she was doing. The whole damn day.

  But she did know. Because there was a good chance they would be in the same area, roughly speaking, at roughly the same time. People are people, creatures of habit, him with the limp and the tall skinny one, and if it was, imagine it was. Although it was unlikely. But you never know, because with Brian, Brian was Brian.

  Taxis were so so expensive; going home then back was like a return so twice the money my God it was like half a night’s work to pay for it, a third. It was just so much. She would have to tell Mo. There was no choice because it wasnt fair if it was house-money, extra for this and extra for that on top of the debt my God two taxis was like a day out for the three of them it was so – indulgent.