Baby Needs a New Pair of Shoes by Lauren Baratz-Logsted Page B

champagne, coupled with seeing a real Yo-Yo Man, was going straight to my head.
    I decided to stop fantasizing and instead just watched him perform. While technically not as proficient as The Yo-Yo Man, he was still pretty darn good; certainly the crowd thought so.
    He was pretty darn good, at least, until he lost control of one of his twin yo-yos and the darn thing nailed me in the eye. Then, suddenly, he was Furthest Guy again.
    â€œShit!” He dropped his other yo-yo and rushed over, placed his hands gently on my shoulders. “Are you okay? Do you think you’re going to lose it?”
    I looked at Furthest Guy out of my one good eye. Despite that he’d just popped me one, he still looked really cute. Plus, he looked so concerned…
    â€œDon’t you think you’ve done quite enough?” It was The Voice again and now he was pushing Furthest Guy out of the way. “Here, let me look at that.”
    Billy Charisma placed his fingers gently but firmly under my chin, tilting my head slightly upward. In his other hand, he’d produced a pristine white silk handkerchief, as though he’d expected all kinds of carnage.
    â€œOh,” he said, full stop, surprised. “It’s not nearly as bad as I thought it would be. No doubt you’ll have a shiner by morning, but the skin isn’t cut at all and I don’t even see any broken blood vessels. If only this jerk had been more careful…” He gestured at Furthest Guy.
    â€œI’m sorry,” Furthest Guy said humbly. “I don’t know what happened. I keep practicing and practicing this Double Whammy trick and it goes well enough whenever I do it at home. But every time I try to perform it in public—”
    â€œMaybe you should only perform it at home alone then,” Billy Charisma said. There was a smile on his face, but his tone was all ice.
    â€œAre you okay?” Hillary said, busting through the crowd.
    â€œDon’t Heimlich me!” I shouted.
    â€œHuh?”
    â€œI think it’s time we all went home,” Stella said.
    â€œGood night, Baby,” Billy Charisma said softly, kissing me gently above my injury.
    I opened my mouth to thank him, but before I could even get the th out, Conchita and Rivera were hustling me toward the exit.
    We were nearly out the door when one of the others thought to ask—I’m pretty sure it was Hillary, but I was pretty out of it at that point—how I’d done at the tables.
    â€œFair,” I said. “I’ve got a little over five hundred dollars in my pocket.”
    â€œA little over…and you call that just fair? ” Hillary said, encouragingly. I was sure it was her that time. “I think that’s phenomenal!”
    â€œYou know,” said Elizabeth Hepburn, “back in my Louis B. Mayer days, there were whole weeks when I didn’t make that kind of money. You hear some of these young actresses now complain they’re only making fifteen million dollars a picture. Ha! I’d like to see them try to survive back when we had the studio system. Then let them talk to me about hardships.”
    â€œBut it’s not enough,” I answered Hillary. “It’s not even half of what I need for the Ghost.”
    â€œOh.” Hillary’s face fell on my account. Then she brightened. “I know—you just need a good, solid plan.”
    â€œYou’re right,” I said, suddenly brightening, as well. “I do need a plan. And I’ve got one.”
    â€œYou do? Already?”
    â€œYes. Next Saturday, I’m taking the bus to Atlantic City. I’ll use what I won tonight as my stake. Just think about it. Tonight, I managed to walk out with five times what I walked in with. If I can do the same next week, I’ll be able to buy Ghosts for both of us!”
    â€œAre you sure you don’t have a head injury?” Stella asked. “Because I’m doing the math here and,