Wednesday, July 20, 2005 | ||
Bad Links? | Unlikely home to Southern women
By RONDA RICH Southern women can pop up in the darnedest places. Like Palm Springs, Calif., a highfaluting desert town known as home to stars like Frank Sinatra and Bob Hope. Who would have thought of magnolia blossoms falling that far from the tree? I met these women through an incredible coincidence. A call came into my office from a gentle woman with a soft drawl named Janice Gibson who explained that her book club in Palm Springs had just read my book on Southern women. We had a big celebration and wed like to send you the photos. We were all just cute as could be in our dresses and big hats. Palm Springs? I listened to the message again. Yep. Palm Springs. I called her up. Youre not going to believe this, I said after introductions. (This is where the incredible coincidence comes in.) But Im going to be in Palm Springs next weekend. Would you like for me to come over and meet your book club? She was speechless. Then she was thrilled. Absolutely! Thats how I came to be plunked down in an elegant and trendy Palm Springs restaurant amidst a bevy of lovely, wide-brimmed-hat-wearing women, some Southern and some merely infatuated with Southern womanhood. The centerpiece was a massive arrangement of magnolias with place cards decorated with three-dimensional magnolias. I sensed a strong sisterhood among the 10 women so I asked how Janice, who is from Augusta, Ga., met the others. Poised perfectly ladylike on the edge of her seat with hands folded in her lap, she looked demurely at the others and winked conspiratorially. She doesnt know what we do for a living yet. I havent told her. The ladies gasped then giggled. Uh, oh! one said. I hope she wont be offended, another commented. Since I was once a sports writer and after that, worked on the NASCAR circuit for years, I couldnt think, off-hand, of anything that would offend me. I glanced around at the pristine loveliness of the group. They didnt look like call girls and I couldnt imagine that they were strippers. Drug dealers, I decided, wouldnt be up to admitting that vocation. I was stumped. Puzzled, I shook my head. What? I dont have a clue. Were blackjack dealers! exclaimed Janice, the epitome of Southern gentility. I blinked. I didnt see that one coming. You have casinos in Palm Springs? They nodded in unison. Are they on Indian reservations? They nodded again. Then, we all began to laugh. I learned a lot about blackjack dealers that day. First, its a good living to be made (the women are all married to men who are in the business, too) because salaries are supplemented by tips. Who knew? Thats why you want them to win big, Janet said. The more they win, the more theyll tip. I had more questions. Whats the biggest mistake that players make? No one leaves in time, pointed out Karen. They play until they start losing. Do yall win when you play blackjack? Karen laughed. Seldom. Its not a game of skill. Its luck. I play a game like that, too. Its called romance. And, Ive noticed that I dont leave in time, either. I play until I start losing. The Palm Springs girls and I had a lot in common. Whats the secret to getting big tips? Flirting, Julie replied. They were talking my language. I lighted up. Flirting? I asked with a big smile. Chuckles spread around the table. You would make a fortune as a blackjack dealer! Weve already decided that. Youve got the smile and the eyes to do it. Hmmm. Me as a blackjack dealer. Interesting thought. I wonder what my Baptist mama would think about that.
|
|
Copyright 2004-Fayette Publishing, Inc. |