Daddy Luck Read online

addy Luck

  By Thomas M. McDade

  Copyright 2013 Thomas M. McDade

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS:

  Special thanks to the following publication that previously published this story: First Class.

  Third shift, late August in the Crowell Textile lunch room, Ray Hooper crushed a Coke can, top to bottom with one hand before walking to the men’s room. He left two men behind at the end of the picnic-like table

  “There’s a friggin strange one,” whispered thickly mustached Arky Moran. “I’ve seen floor sweepers wear penny loafers but never ones with tassels. He goes straight to the pony page in the Herald, manly that way and he’s built like a weightlifter. I saw him doing one-arm pushups in the winding room, easy as any athlete would both arms.”

  “Strong one is right,” offered Russ Tate, tracing the eight ball tattoo on his arm. “He lifted a rod for a weaving machine by himself.”

  “When Hooper returned, he was dabbing his bald head with a paper towel. Russ and Arky stared at the coffee vending machine. Hooper sat at the other end of the wooden bench, wiped dust off his loafers.

  “Arky,” asked Russ, “gonna give blood for George Poole?”

  “What they pay these days?”

  “You’ll feel good, like the bumper stickers say.”

  “Screw George and his leaky Poole,” said Arky, grinning.

  Hooper crossed his arms. “I’ll give,” he said.

  “Strong guy like you could give two pints,” said Russ.

  “Where do I go?”

  “Orange Street,” said Russ.

  “Zinc Penny Bar next door: they say double on liquids after donating! Arky added, chuckling. “Do some of those industrial pushups I saw you doing the other day and they’ll pay you to drink.”

  Hooper got to his room at eight-thirty after breakfast at Lovely’s Diner. He did excruciating pushups on extended fingers until he collapsed the way he did after many, many more when he was a Cole Brothers Circus strongman. He slept three hours on the floor. After a shower and shave, he dressed and checked his tie in a small wall mirror. He tried to recall when he’d last worn his gray trousers and blue blazer. It came to him. It was a Saturday; he’d just sold a red Thunderbird to Mrs. Mary Hodges. His tie was the same too, had regimental stripes. “Regimental Zip scores a major upset in the feature at Hialeah,” he said like the announcer he’d been listening to when they busted him for embezzling from Dittmer Ford to bet horses.

  Hooper splashed Jade East on his face. He bared his teeth, stretched his face like a yoga instructor he’d once seen on TV. The lion pose. He read somewhere it would get rid of crowfeet and eye bags.

  On the dresser was a photo of him with Judy Garland and Liza Minnelli. Another frame held a girl between eleven or twelve blowing a kiss. Hooper caught a bus to an Avis Car Rental. Only decent car was a dark blue Riviera. “Goddam, Ray Hooper driving a Buick,” he said to his side-view mirror. He opened the sunroof, reached up to feel the wind.

  His ex, Dawn, had sworn he’d never see his daughter again. Until she hooked up with a drunken window washer half her age, Dawn was Pam’s shadow. Jack the Ripper could have babysat after that. Hooper saw Pam regularly. Tuning the radio to the oldies station he was pleased to find The Platters singing “Twilight Time.”

  Hooper parked at a Wendy’s then lit a slim White Owl Cigar. He got lost in smoke drifting out the sunroof. When he reached to find the radio news, he saw Pam with her nose pressed against the windshield. She rolled off and waited for the passenger door to open. “Where’s all your raven hair?” asked Hooper, as she knelt on the seat. He kissed her forehead.

  “I donated it for wigs for kid getting chemo! And I want to look more like mother,” Pam said, through hot pink lipstick and braces. She’d left a backpack, the same color as her lips on the hood. Hooper retrieved it.

  “That’s a hell of a fine thing you did. But how far are you going to go with this mom adoption, Pam?”

  “When your ex and her creepy boyfriend watched the Cabaret video I did too – as long as I could stand being in the same room with them. I was convinced that Liza Minnelli is my real mom. No getting around it.”

  “Pretty soon we’ll be meeting at a shrink’s office, my dear.”

  “I know about you and Liza at the circus in Akron!”

  “It might not have been her!”

  “Dad, that photo of you with them: Judy on one side, Liza hanging on your bicep!”

  “Could be trick photography, kiddo.”

  “Speaking of tricks, when are you going to get me into that photo?”

  “Christmas I reckon, it’ll be sitting under the tree.”

  “Sure!”

  “Why are you dressed in black in daytime?” asked Hooper. “Blue is your color, royal blue, goes with sunlight or clouds!”

  “I’m going to be a dancer, just like Liza. Bet she could dance like hell when she was twelve. I got catching up to do.”

  “Are you writing Liza on your tests?”

  “No, just P.L. Hooper and I know a uniform shop where you can buy me a nurse cap for Career Day at school.”

  “Dancing nurse, huh? There’s room enough in those beanstalk legs to store a thousand dances!”

  “I’m not sure that’s a compliment, Daddy, but I’ll let it slide this time! Actually, I’m realistic. I want something to fall back on.”

  “Sure you weren’t just casing the joint? Funny, I’m donating a pint of blood today. You may comfort me like a nurse in wartime.”

  “Gross! Can we go to the track after?”

  “Next week.”

  “You always say that. How’s the Daddy Luck?”

  “It’s cloudy and mild; officer?”

  The M.J. Deli had a shelf on every wall about a foot and a half from the ceiling where a miniature circus lived. There were colorful horse drawn wagons, a marching band, and three feet of elephants joined trunk to tail. Tigers jumped through hoops, bareback riders stood on their mounts, raggedy clowns showed up left and right. Hanging from the ceiling, trapeze artists were set in motion by the air conditioner. Figures were fixed on a high wire corner to corner. A wire attached to a cannon barrel supported a daredevil, arms extended like Superman in flight. Pam saluted a strongman wearing a leopard skin in honor of her father, she said.

  Hooper and Pam ordered glasses of Mountain Dew and four pieces of cherry cheesecake. Olive, an old waitress with ankles so swollen it was a miracle she could walk asked Pam if she’d sold her hair to buy a gift for her dad.

  “Yup,” she answered, reaching into her backpack. She handed Hooper a Timex. “And this is for you Olive.”

  “My Jesus, Mary and Joseph, Chanel Perfume! I couldn’t.”

  “I’ll pour it in the sugar, “warned Pam.

  “Well, I guess,” said Olive, mussing Pam’s cropped head.

  “Okay, where, how and why?” questioned Hooper, weakly smiling after Olive moved to the end of the counter.

  “When we saw Close Encounters, you said the light in your watch wasn’t bright enough. You won’t have that problem with this model. And Olive always cuts us big slices of cheesecake.”

  “I need a little more explanation than that, sweetie.”

  “I hid in a trash barrel at K-Mart. I was locked in, slept in a hammock. I tested every kind of Little Debbie sweet. What a night. The two that opened up in the morning were in love. I sneaked out while they were panting in home furnishings. God, CD’s, you name it. My backpack was about to burst.”

  “Any fireworks greet you at home?”

  “That Dawn hag was out with dumber than oatmeal.”

  “Christ, K-Mart! Should I expect Tiffany break tomorrow? Hope we don’t have to celebrate any birthdays under heavy
slammer guard.”

  “Not a chance, I’m slicker than spit on a glass doorknob.

  “Are your glass doorknob words original?”

  “No but I’ve used them three times so they are mine.”

  On her way to take a cop’s order , Olive brought another slice of cheesecake and dabbed perfume on Pam’s wrists.

  I just hope all the sugar I gobble doesn’t give me big boobs like top-heavy Dawn, could throw my gymnastics and dancing, etc. off. Say ever get cheesecake behind bars, Daddy?” leaning to her father’s ear.

  “Just once but it was rusty from a saw.”

  “That’s pretty funny. If that woman had let me visit, I’d have found you a way to escape,” whispered Pam.

  “In a K-Mart trashcan I suppose!”

  They didn’t leave a crumb on their plates. Olive shook her head in disbelief. Pam chugged her Mountain Dew and put on a drunken act. She pulled a tight roll of bills from her backpack. She tipped Olive a hundred percent.

  “What’s with the blood, dad?” asked Pam as they got drove back on the highway.

  “Guy at work’s having open heart. Good deed. I need to do a good deed too.”

  “Maybe I’ll donate.”

  “You