Total pages in book: 31
Estimated words: 28750 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 144(@200wpm)___ 115(@250wpm)___ 96(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 28750 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 144(@200wpm)___ 115(@250wpm)___ 96(@300wpm)
Dipsy’s cheeks flush. “That’s good to hear. Happy holidays. Nice to meet you and Gavin.”
“You, too,” he says, pulling down the top of his sweater this time to reveal the narrow snout of a baby alligator and two glassy, pale green eyes. “Say thank you to the nice lady, Gavin. You can lick some more whiskey off Daddy’s finger when our fresh drink comes.” He glances up as he strokes the alligator’s nose. “He’s teething. My mama always said nothing better for a teething baby than a little whiskey.”
Dipsy makes a non-committal sound and hands me my crutches as I stand. We wave goodbye and start toward the bar on the other side of the room.
Dipsy keeps her peace until we’re out of Alligator Man’s earshot, then hisses, “We have to say something right? Surely, the lounge staff don’t realize there’s a drunk alligator under his sweater.”
“We don’t know that he’s drunk,” I say. “I’m not sure how alligator’s metabolize alcohol.”
She narrows her eyes up at me, making me laugh.
“I think it’s fine,” I say. “He seems to be keeping Gavin under wraps. And if it really is an emotional support animal, I’m sure he has paperwork for it. It’s probably legal and at this point doesn’t seem to be hurting anyone.”
She slides up to the last two empty seats at the far end of the bar, pulling out one high stool for me before hopping up into the one beside it. “You’re a better person than I am. I’m all for emotional support, but not when it comes from a reptile capable of biting my arm off. If I sat down on a plane next to a guy with a full-grown alligator in the seat beside him, I’d be lobbying hard for a move to first class and a suit of armor.”
“Agreed,” I say, leaning my crutches against the bar and taking the empty seat. “If Sheila were here, I’d be more concerned. Tensions are running high enough without throwing a mama alligator into the mix.”
“Yeah,” Dipsy agrees. “It’s chaotic.”
She casts a glance around the crowded bar and the dining area beyond, where more kids are running wild, screaming with excitement, or wailing with despair over being denied another ice cream cone, while several businessmen in suits hold loud meetings via zoom, oblivious to the people trying to hold normal conversations around them. There’s also a group of drunk frat boys shooting tequila by the fireplace, getting dangerously close to the flames, and a family of three who’s taken over a table for eight, earning themselves glares from all the unseated people juggling their appetizer plates as they lean against the wall.
And all around them, are overworked staff, doing their best to combat the mess without a word of thanks from seventy percent of the guests.
Dipsy turns back to me, whispering, “Are rich people always this savage? Or is this a crowded lounge on Christmas Eve thing? This is my first time in a lounge.”
I sigh. “This is pretty bad, but no, it’s not a Christmas Eve thing. As far as I can tell, rich people are as savage as the rest of the population, they’re just better dressed and have fancier watches. Not that I spend much time with them. My best friends are all electricians and drywall guys.”
She smiles. “I like that about you. You haven’t let the fame and money go to your head.”
“Same to you.”
She frowns. “What?”
“The fame,” I say, nodding back toward Alligator Man. “I bet you get recognized all the time.”
“Oh no, not really.” She laughs. “Well, I mean, I do, but it’s not a big deal. Most people just like the fact that I make them laugh or feel better about being a klutz. I’m not really famous, and I’m certainly not rich. Local news pays just enough to keep a girl reporter above the poverty line and living with her parents.”
“I think you’re selling yourself short,” I say. “I know you want to get your hands dirty with some hard-hitting news, but there’s something to be said for bringing people joy and escape. You make people happy, and you should be paid adequate compensation for that. You should ask for a raise.”
She snort-laughs, as if the very idea is absurd. “Oh, I couldn’t.”
“Why not? Why should the people who bring us the sad, violent stories make a better living than you do?”
She blinks, as if she’s never considered that before. “I don’t know. But they do. That’s the way it’s always been and things in the news world are slow to change. Besides, I do like the option to go deep sometimes. I love making people smile, but it feels good to help out in a crisis, too. Like when all the go-to local reporters were trapped in their homes during the flood over Thanksgiving, and I got to be out in the field on a serious story for once. That was such a rush.”