Maggie was waiting for me in the employee parking lot. She did not want to wait in the casino for obvious reasons. I was looking for a blue 1974 Datsun 510 4-door sedan. We saw each other at the same moment, she flicked her lights as I turned in her direction. She had been waiting about 20 minutes because I had to close out several more change girls after she was relieved by the floorman in her area. She had used the time to apply a little bit of make-up and brush her hair. The effect was stunning, and I let her know immediately.

“Wow, you look great. I mean you always look great, but this is the first time to see you away from work, you really do look nice.” I continued, as I opened the door and slid into the passenger’s seat.

“Thanks.” She smiled and started to blush.

“I was kind of surprised when you asked if you could give me a ride tonight. I didn’t know you bowled, but I guess that might have been difficult, you know with the baby and all.”

She laughed and turned to face me.

“I don’t bowl. I was attracted to you the day you started. Just so you know.”

It was a little difficult to follow up a line like that, so I stalled.

“Are you from here?”

I realized how dumb and lame the words were before they hit her ears.

Maggie laughed so hard she couldn’t start the car

“Relax, I just want to see you bowl.”

We had reached the strip and Maggie turned left towards Downtown Las Vegas. We were heading to the Showboat Hotel and Casino. Built in the late 70s, it became the Mecca for bowling leagues across the country and was a major stop on the PBA tour. It was a tribute to the Dunes, that they were able to get the Showboat to carve out a time slot for its employee-only league. Our twelve teams used six lanes of 70 lanes for three hours during the season every Wednesday night. Quiet little Maggie pulled out a can of ice-cold Budweiser from a cooler on the back seat and handed it to me.

“You’re about two cans behind so drink up”.

She must be quite the drinker to down two cans that fast, I thought, pulling the tab and taking a large pull, followed by a large and loud belch.

“Excuse me”.

She ignored my apology and veered right to take a shortcut to the downtown resort. I watched her as she maneuvered around back streets and alleys, before confidently pulling into the main parking area of the bowling alley.

We headed to the area where I could pick up shoes and get our team’s lane assignment. I got a decent pair of 11’s and started looking for a 16lb ball as we made our way to lane 67. Dunes employees from other areas of the hotel and casino shouted out greetings as we headed towards the slot team. We called ourselves The Jackpots, and we were currently tied with the Bogey to Par team from facilities maintenance. Bob was our team leader and he pulled me aside after I had signed in.

“What the hell are you doing?”, he asked, gesturing towards Maggie and looking at me with his eyes bulging out.?”

“She asked me if I needed a ride, what’s the matter with that?”, I replied innocently.

Bob turned a brighter shade of red and moved closer.

“YOU KNOW DAMN WELL WHAT IM TALKING ABOUT. NO FRATERIZATION!

“Relax Bob, let’s go take first place. It’s just a ride.”

We had elected Bob as captain because he was a good bowler and he picked up our bar tab every week. I had a scotch on the rocks and a Budweiser waiting for me and saw that Maggie had teamed up with two other change girls on a pitcher of beer. There were six bowlers scheduled each week out of a group of ten total members per team. I was one of the two permanent bowlers each week, along with Bob. We were both among the top twenty bowlers in the league and had become a deadly duo when we were on our game. Tonight, we had an equal split of male and female bowlers. Each team had to include at least two female bowlers or forfeit the spot. Looking at the weekly scores I saw that our best female bowler beat out two of their male bowlers for tonight’s match. That should work to our advantage. I made my way to an open lane and got in line for some practice rolls. The Showboat was pretty good at replacing public balls, but each ball is unique because of finger hole placement. I had ordered a custom ball four weeks into the season, but delivery was still a month away.

I started bowling at an early age. Our parents were in two leagues. One was with the NAACP and the other was through the Teamsters Union, our dad belonged to. The Teamster league was easily the best of the two. They were able to add to the seasonal cash awards by supplementing the money earned from dues and a percentage of the lane’s profit from the league. Every bowler participating in the league was given prizes for him and every member of his family at their annual Christmas party. I vividly remember the large crowds and wondering if the food, drinks, and presents would run out before it was our turn. They never came close, as evidenced by the truck loads of goodies that were gathered each year at the end of the party. The trucks would drop off the extras at local charities. I think I was nine the first year I started bowling. Uncle Carl, my mom’s brother, and my dad both threw balls that hooked. My uncle was left-handed, and Dad threw from the right. It was fascinating to watch their balls head towards the gutter before making a left or right turn into the sweet spot of a full rack or picking up impossible spares. We were taught to roll straight balls and it wasn’t until I joined the service that I learned to master a hook. I bowled in military and civilian leagues around the world and was now a solid 215-225 bowler.

I had to switch my starting point two marks to the right of center and unconsciously developed a little hop step in my delivery. I found my mark and slowly bent over to where my back was nearly parallel to the floor. Most of the league had seen me before but I still had to block out comments about my stance and long-winded approach. I stared at the third arrow from the right and started forward. My right hand raised higher with each step before dropping into a full swing and released just as the ball was about to hit the floor. I knew it was a strike when it left my hand and I watched the ball go over the arrow, turned and walked to the starting area just as the ball hit between the 1st and 3rd pin, resulting in an explosion of pins and balls, that left nothing standing. I practiced a couple more shots, concentrating on making spares, and then sat at the table with Maggie and the two change- girls, Florence and Jennifer. Florence was a chocolate brown, with an hour-glass shape. The entire pit turned to watch her bowl; their eyes glued on her round buttocks straining against the nylon-based fabric of her uniform pants. Florence was the female bowler that would beat out two of the male opponents tonight if they all bowled to their average.

There was a 15-minute delay to the night’s bowling, so I took Maggie on a tour of the facilities. I had to introduce her to acquaintances several times and after a little thought, just introduced her as Maggie. The members of the team were more direct in their questioning, especially when she was announced as my designated driver, after they ordered their third pitcher. I bowled 220, the first game and Bob hit 250, leading us to an easy victory. The second game remained close until one of the light weights on the Par team hit an incredible spare in the eight frame and used the excitement to strike out in the ninth frame. We lost by two pins despite 200 games from me and Bob. The last game was a match between Bob and I, for the perfect game. We traded strikes thru the 6th frame before I settled on a spare in the 7th and Bob missed his first shot in the 8th. We relaxed and finished with scores of 260 and 248, leading to a blowout victory that put us first in the league. Bob wanted to celebrate and insisted on nightcaps before anyone could leave. By now, our teammates were determined to know what was going on with Maggie. We were sitting in a booth with Bob, Florence, and Jennifer. Maggie was relaxed after the third pitcher was followed by two gin and tonics. She was touchier and had nestled her head against my left shoulder. I stood up to make an announcement, swaying slightly from the effort.

“Ladies and gentlemen, and you too Bob.” The words came out slowly and with a slur.

“I just want yall to know that this here is a good young lady.. a good young lady that was nice enuff to give a brotha a ride when non yall stepped up to the plate. Ain’t nothing goin on, we just frens, that’s all.”

Maggie jumped up and pulled me down.

“Yeah, right, that’s what he thinks,”, she yelled before pulling me to her and covering my mouth with a deep kiss.

The bar clapped and cheered as with got to our feet and headed to the parking lot.

The fresh air sobered us up and I took the keys from Maggie and asked directions to her place.

“No, I’m going with you. To your place.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”, I replied

“Yes, it’s a good idea. Now drive.”

I headed back to the strip and pulled off on Flamingo Road. Two blocks later I pulled into an apartment complex and led her to my second story, efficiency apartment. I had only been there for two weeks and thankfully, the place was clean and odor free. I pulled two Budweiser’s from the mini- fridge and we sat together on the bed. We were clawing each other’s clothes off before our beers were finished and made love throughout the night before crashing at dawn. Maggie woke me up at 1pm and after a quick shower, I took her to her place to shower. We spent the rest of the day and early evening together before returning to the efficiency for a repeat of the night before. We talked about our past and how we came to be in Las Vegas and the next day, before going to work, I checked out of the efficiency and moved in with her.

Magdalene Felicita Torrez was born July 5, 1958, in Roswell, New Mexico. She endured growing up in the state’s program for neglected and abused because of her mother’s alcohol abuse. She finally was placed with her older sisters and younger brother in a loving ranch home that always had ten or fifteen foster children in addition to their own brood. She stayed at the ranch until starting school, when she moved back to her mom’s house in Roswell. She began hanging out with an older crowd and moved out of her mother’s home to be with an older man who got her pregnant and left her when the baby died of crib death eight months later. She stayed with an older sister in Denver, Colorado for a year before taking off to Las Vegas with a couple of strangers. She managed to find work at a motel and then was recruited by an agency that arranged marriages for men seeking citizenship in the United States. She was paid ten thousand dollars for her marriage to her son’s birth dad. It was supposed to be a platonic relationship, but alcohol and loneliness led to the pregnancy and the dad left for Lebanon shortly thereafter. A second arranged marriage paid her five thousand up front, and she was due to get the second payment any day. He was from Cambodia and this time; it had been strictly business. Our decision to move in together came from our loneliness, but neither of us desired to be tied up in a long-term relationship. I was still married to Cheryl, which I didn’t disclose, and Maggie wanted to concentrate on raising her son. Someone helping with the rent and other expenses would make that happen sooner, and then we could get on with our lives.

The next day we returned to work but made it a point to arrive and check in separately. I had barely clocked in when Nola burst through the door. One glance told me that she already knew what happened.

“Hello, Mr. Broomfield.”

“What’s with the formalities?”, I asked “What’s with the formalities? What’s with the formalities?”, she mimicked.

“I told you I liked you and I thought you liked me too.”, she was beginning to tear up.

“It’s not like I knew when your husband was going to show up”, I said.

“Fuck you!”, Nola left, slamming thew door behind her.

Well, that went smoothly, what the hell did I get myself into this time. I liked Nola and lusted after her in a big way, but something about Maggie attracted me, and I had no idea why that was. The answer was soon to come.

To be continued…………….

Barron Broomfield