James Kelman - Mo said she was quirky

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 dealt, 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.