Golden Bird

He begged and badgered until she finally relented and agreed to give him some money. Jack returned the phone to it's cradle with a smile on his lips. Yeah, this time, he could feel it, his luck was gonna turn. With Stella's stake, he would win back all the money he owed to that slimy bastard, Abdulah. After all, he was only into that prick for five grand. Shit, he'd been able to win that in a night before, he could do it again.

With that optimistic thought in mind, Jack rushed out of the casino and was soon speeding up the Garden State Parkway to get the money he had weaseled out of his estranged, but still loving, wife.

* * * Sara stood in front of the full length mirror, making a final appraisal of her appearance, when David knocked impatiently on the dressing room door. She smiled seductively at her reflection and went to the door.

"OK, I'm coming out now and I think you'll be pleased."

When she came into view, David forgot how long she had kept him waiting, for she was truly a vision. Her long blond hair was piled on the top of her head and fell in soft curls around her face. The dress was a bright royal blue that matched her eyes. It had a boned, strapless bodice and flared at the waist, in three tiers, to mid-calf, and on her feet were black spiked heeled shoes. A rhinestone choker adorned her long neck, and she wore its mate on her wrist.

"What do you think? Are the rhinestones too flashy? I bought earrings to match, but they were just too much, so I settled on my diamond studs. Do they look OK? ... Say something, please."

David slowly walked all around her, looking her up and down, delighting in making her self-conscious. It amazed him that she could be so unaware of her own beauty. She could wear anything and look great, but dressed like this, she was breath-taking. He stopped in front of her.

"You look so good that I think we better go down to dinner before I decide to throw you on that bed and destroy all your hard work."

"Don't you dare, you letch." replied Sara, pleased to have made such an impression. "You look pretty good yourself, you know."

"What, in this old thing?" he asked, referring to the black tuxedo he wore, but old or not, he looked quite handsome in it.

* * * Prince Abdulah Al-Amahl entered the lounge with a flourish, his entourage of bodyguards following closely behind. He wore the traditional white robes of his country which, though voluminous, could not hide the massive bulk of his squat body. As he moved from table to table accepting the flattery and attention given him by his patrons, he felt strong and powerful. It was the power he craved, the power he had been denied by an accident of birth; for Abdulah had had the misfortune of being born the second son, growing up with the knowledge that his older brother, and not he, would be the King of Faradahd.