Sandrine's Bet

Author's Note

This is the re-imagining of story called

Lucia Makes a Bet

by visioneer. It was posted here in March, 2012, although I found it on another site when he re-posted it there in November, 2013.

Visioneer's story is very well-written; has an interesting premise; and has great characters, plot, and dialogue. So there was certainly no need to play with a story so well-composed. But the premise was, as it were, right up my alley, and I had some ideas to take the characters and story in a different direction. I contacted Visioneer and he generously extended his permission for me to re-work the story. Visioneer's story was based on a character, Lucia, that was developed by another author here, Gimmie_Your_Load. A good deal of my re-imaging of the story involved significant changes to the main protagonist, Lucia. In fact, the Lucia character, for my purposes, needed to be so greatly changed that I re-named the character. But I contacted GYL anyway, and she also generously extended permission to work with a character at least very loosely based on hers.

I ended up posting the story at another site, although under my other pen name, B. E. Thalia, and I thought it should also be presented here.

I was attracted to Lucia Makes a Bet because I've written a series of similarly premised stories called

Taking Chances.

They are about people who for various reasons - sound or unsound, impulsive or considered - make a wager and how the result of that wager, win or lose, has consequences and impacts on their self-image, relationships, and other aspects of their real world lives. This re-imagining of

Lucia Makes a Bet

takes that story in the same direction as those of

Taking Chances.

If you enjoy this story then you will also very much enjoy

Lucia Makes a Bet,

visioneer's original version of this tale. And GYL has developed some excellent stories based on her Lucia character.

But, especially for authors, this might all be illustrative of how different authors can take essentially the same characters and plot and turn them into distinct stories with very different feels, character dynamics, and story lines.

The story is presented in six chapters.

Your comments and observations, both public and by message, are welcomed (which is the polite way of saying: Don't be a greedhead and merely suck in stories, but extend the small effort it takes to give back to the people who are providing you with free content).

*

All of this happened six months ago. I suppose to someone outside the experience looking in, as you are, the episode itself would be unforgettable and terribly erotic: so far outside what normally takes place at a social get-together that just the novelty of the situation would lend it the ability to enthrall and arouse. All I really care about is that at the end of it all Sandrine and I were together. For me that's the hottest part.

It was a brisk November Sunday in Calgary. In the States it was Thanksgiving weekend, but Canadian Thanksgiving was six weeks past. In Alberta 'brisk' is at the warm end of the scale for autumn or winter. For November brisk means 0F to 20F degrees. 'Cold' is below zero by not too much. The scale continues with 'frigid', 'arctic,' and 'Shit! My ears just snapped off!'

Sandrine and I were up from Dallas, in our second month of a half-year job in Calgary. We work for a company that does contract work in oil field consulting and support services. In consulting, especially in the oil patch, execs like us don't punch a clock. Our days are often long, but we typically have our weekends free. This Sunday we had an invitation from Keith, one of the platform drillers we saw from time to time. He'd invited us and his crew to his house to watch the hometown Calgary Flames play the Dallas Stars. My first thought had been: the Dallas

whats?

I'm getting ahead of myself, though.

* * * * *

The night before the get-together we were at a Calgary watering hole. The dinner we'd eaten downtown beforehand was fabulous, and we'd come here for what Keith told us was the best music and dancing in Calgary. Our group consisted of Sandrine and me, Keith and his long-time girlfriend Danielle, and one of the guys on Keith's crew, Reilly, and his squeeze, Larissa.

That professional hockey exists in Dallas was something of which I think I might have been dimly aware. Sandrine made sure I was informed.

"Of course, numb nuts," Sandrine said. We were sitting in a large booth, just the two of us. The other four were dancing. "They even won the Stanley Cup in '99."

That 'numb nuts' business was just Sandrine being Sandrine. She has a bit of a potty mouth and likes to throw around the sexually demeaning sobriquets with abandon. Sometimes I think I should try to give it back, but what you learn as a little kid stays with you, and one of the things I'd learned is that you don't hit girls or call them names. Really, she didn't mean anything by it. I'd been with the company for seven years, she for five, and she'd always been like that, even as a newbie.

But you don't fire Sandrine. Unless you're blind. She's 29, raven-haired, and stunningly good looking in a vaguely Mediterranean way. Sandrine combines the sharper features of people on the northern side of the Mediterranean with the beautiful, darker coloring of those south of it. She's on the high end of five to six feet. I'd tell you she's thin, but she's too healthy for that. She has some meat on her, but it's all lean. I've occasionally wondered what she does for an exercise regimen. Whatever it is, it's working. Oh, and she's smart - in truth, naturally smarter than I am, and I consider myself no slouch - and knows the oil business from every angle there is to know it.

"Didn't you know that?" she asked. I just shrugged.

Dallas has the NFL Cowboys, a team that has been to the Super Bowl eight times and won five. The MLB Rangers have gone to the World Series in two of the last five years. The NBA Mavericks won it all in 2011. The Dallas Stars?

"How do you know about them?" I asked.

"Hockey's my thing. I grew up on the Michigan UP with four brothers, two older and two younger. Just seven years from oldest to youngest. It was learn how to skate and steal the puck off their stick or get lost in the shuffle. So I learned and found out I liked it."

Talk about revelations! I'd known her since she started, and in the last couple of years we'd begun to get closer in a platonic way, but she'd never shared anything like this. I liked the getting closer part, and I'd happily dispense with that platonic business. I'm usually confident with the fair sex, but Sandrine is one beautiful woman, and uncharacteristically I questioned whether I really had a shot. I could imagine her shooting me down as surely as the Red Baron with a bead on Snoopy. Yes, my degree of self-assurance was a parachute that would bring me safely back to earth. Maybe under it all I just wanted to maintain the illusion that Sandrine was attainable. If I made a move and she swatted me my mirage would evaporate leaving only dust and disappointment.

"Did you play organized hockey?"

"Yeah, there was a girl's league, and I played in high school and college. I've got my trophy shelf. These days it's in a women's league."

"You

play

hockey

now?

"

"Man, you're slow on the uptake, Michael. Yeah, there's a Dallas-Fort Worth women's league. I'm a right winger. It beats walkin' on a treadmill. Of course, I can't play on my team this year, but there's a women's league here and I've been thinking of seeing if I can find a place on a team. "

"So, you're a Stars fan?"

"Big time. It's the only show in town. I've got this Stars jersey autographed by everyone on this year's roster. I'll wear it tomorrow."

A song ended and the other four returned to the table. Danielle excused herself to the ladies room and Larissa said she'd tag along. When Danielle asked Sandrine if she wanted to make it a threesome she begged off.

After the girls were gone the band started into another song. Sandrine called across the table, "Keith, you wanna?" She made dancing motions in her seat.

Keith shrugged. "Sure."

They got up and joined a number of other couples on the dance floor.

Reilly and I started talking about nothing special, oil patch chit-chat. The Republican governor and legislature in Alaska had passed a new law that sharply cut oil taxes. They'd supposedly done it to get the oil companies to invest in Alaska oil fields and increase production. But the law set no requirements for new production for the cuts to kick in. The companies had to do nothing to get their two billion dollars a year in tax cuts. Nothing but a welfare handout. We shook our heads. Where do you find politicians that stupid? Of course, often stupidity is the least of it. The oil industry isn't above buying the politicians they need, usually Republicans and usually by the dozen.

While we talked, my attention occasionally settled on the band. Our conversation faltered and I guess Reilly's gaze drifted to Keith and Sandrine dancing.

"Sandrine and Keith got something going?" Reilly asked

"Not that I've heard of," I answered. Reilly tapped my arm and gestured toward the dance floor.

Sandrine and Keith were about in the middle of the space, gyrating to a fast song. Sandrine spent a lot of time with her knees deeply bent, her head at about the level of Keith's belt. She also tended to move in, dancing much closer to him than one usually does on a song like this, even when there is a relationship between the dance partners. When she wasn't near Keith's crotch or in his face she was facing away from him, bent at the waist, and shaking her ass, like an invitation for Keith to plow her field from behind.

"That can't be good," I said.

Reilly nodded.

Then Danielle and Larissa were back and sliding their bottoms onto the booth's benches.

"Did Keith go somewh....." Danielle began to ask as her gaze shifted around the room. "What the fuck!" she said as she saw Keith and Sandrine.

The song ended a few seconds later and Keith and Sandrine excused themselves past other dancers on their way back to our booth. Sandrine had a hand on Keith's shoulder, and they were laughing about something.

Before they reached the booth Danielle was on her feet with her coat in hand.

"We're leaving," Danielle said to Keith.

"Kind of early. Don't you think?" Keith said.

"I said, 'we're leaving,'" Danielle said, and this time Keith got the idea there was something up.

I thought it strange that Sandrine piped up then. Danielle hadn't said anything to her, nor had she enunciated what the issue was, but Sandrine said, "We were just dancing," and she said it with more aggression than defensiveness in her voice.

"You just shut the fuck up," Danielle said to Sandrine without turning toward her, trying not to engage. "Keith, I said we're going." Danielle started toward the exit.

Keith shrugged, found his coat, drained his beer, and went after Danielle.

"Gonna be some car ride home, eh?" Reilly observed.

* * * * *

"So, what was that about last night?" I asked Sandrine. I'd picked her up at her place, and we were on the way to Keith's on Sunday afternoon for the game.

"What was what about?" Sandrine said with an exaggerated innocence that said she knew exactly what 'what' was. "Oh, sure. Hey, he's not a half bad looking guy. Remember that job in Wyoming we worked for a few months a couple summers ago? I got into something there with a guy from one of the rigs. Man, did he ever know how to drill."

"Danielle?"

"Yeah? Danielle?"

"That's not being a very good neighbor to the South, Sandrine. Coming up here and deciding you're going to be a home wrecker."

"Who says I want wreck any homes? I just want to get to know the guy. I think he's someone I could get into something with. Maybe. If Danielle can't hold onto him then tough titties for her. You know, douchebag?"

"Hey, Sandrine, this isn't just about you. Come on, you're no dumb-dumb. You know horning in on some established relationship could make the next four months really uncomfortable."

She was silent for a while.

"Yeah, I know that," she finally said. "Maybe it was just the tequila dancing. I got pretty buzzed last night."

"Okay, well, you're a big girl. I can't tell you what to do or not do. But you should probably steer clear of Danielle today. Maybe you should consider not going. I can take you back home and give Keith your regrets."

"And miss the Stars beat up on the Flames. Or watch by myself? No way. I want to be there to rub it in when the puck starts hitting the back of the Flames' net. If Danielle wants to get into something she'll get as good as she gives."

I couldn't do any more than throw my hands up in the air, figuratively anyway: I was driving.

* * * * *

Keith answered the door and stood back to let us pass. Sandrine entered first. I wordlessly pointed at Sandrine and raised my eyebrows - 'Is this going to be cool?' Keith made a dismissive gesture with a hand and shook his head - 'Not to worry.'

We put our outdoor gear in a spare bedroom with all the other coats. It looked like everyone was already accounted for. Keith had a team of ten and they were all ranged around the living room on a couch, some upholstered chairs, a few kitchen chairs, on the floor. There were two love seats, both empty. One was ninety degrees to the couch, and I assumed reserved for Keith and Danielle. The other was behind the couch and had different upholstery, likely an addition from another room. It was also unoccupied. Beers bottles, including already a number of empties, and snacks were on the coffee table and end tables.

Sandrine's entry into the room was accompanied by razzing and decidedly impolite references to the Dallas Stars: a reaction to the team jersey she proudly modelled. The primary color of the jersey was some sort of green. Whether it was aqua, aquamarine, turquoise, blue-green I could only guess. Sandrine informed me later when I asked that it was 'victory green,' the team's official term for the color, whatever the hell 'victory green' is. One thing was for certain: whatever type of green it was it stood out starkly in a sea of red. Nine of the Calgary residents present were wearing Flames home jerseys.

After the novelty of the jersey became moot, the crew watched the pre-game show and talked loudly about a whole range of topics. Sandrine and I were a little lost. Even Sandrine didn't know much about the Flames' roster, most of the oil field talk was related directly to what the guys in the room were doing on their platform, and I didn't have an opinion as to whether or not Stephen Harper was a jack-off. I don't think Sandrine had one either. I estimated there were twenty or thirty minutes until the kickoff, or whatever it is they have in hockey.

I didn't see Danielle anywhere, but didn't want to ask Keith about her. Maybe she'd decided to be out.

About ten minutes later I heard the garage door opener start and shortly after there were sounds of someone coming in through the door from the garage. It was certainly Danielle, and I could hear her hanging up whatever her outwear was, likely coat, knitted hat, and mittens or gloves.

I supposed she'd busied herself with something in the kitchen, since I didn't see her and the only access to the rest of the house was through the living room or the adjacent dining room.

Sandrine had been gone to the bathroom, and when she came back she headed straight for the kitchen. I'd not thought about it, but if I had I might have tried to catch her on the way and inform her that Danielle was on the premises. On the other hand, though, I'm two years older than her, but I'm not her father, brother, husband, lover, or even a boyfriend, although, as I mentioned, I've had yearnings along the lines of that last status. Anyway, her personal life was her own to run.

Within thirty seconds of Sandrine walking through the kitchen door, raised voices sounded from that location. Keith and I exchanged a look. Then we were both on our feet and headed in same direction to intervene before any blood was shed. There's a lot of sharp stuff in most kitchens.

Danielle and Sandrine were nose to nose in front of the refrigerator. Keith's partner was a couple or three inches shorter than Sandrine. I estimated five-six or so. She had more apparent curves than Sandrine, more hour-glassy where Sandrine had less bust to waist to hips variation. Danielle's boobs were certainly much larger than Sandrine's. She had a head of long, blonde hair that in length and style reminded me of Jennifer Aniston's shape and cut, where Sandrine wore a much shorter bob hair style: bangs to her eyebrows and the rest a bowl of hair that ended at her neck, all of it curving in, leaving the front parts to make two raven parentheses: the sides to the three-sided frame around her face.

My first instinct was to try to begin defusing the encounter with humor.

"Ladies, ladies," I said, "let's not get in a snit already about who's going to win the hockey game." I wasn't surprised when it went nowhere.

"This isn't about the game, dumb ass," said Danielle. "This bitch was fuck-dancing with Keith last night. Shit! You saw more of it than I did."

Sandrine fired right back. "Hey, we were just dancing and having a little fun. Everybody flirts a little bit."

From Sandrine's tone I could tell she perhaps had at the back of her mind our conversation in the car on the way here. She was remembering that a thing with Keith was not the smartest move and so was willing to chalk it all up to harmless and chaste trifling. And if Danielle hadn't been so insecure and had been able to let it go we might all have had a much less interesting afternoon and evening.

"Flirting my ass!" Danielle returned. "When you didn't have your face in his crotch you were bent over ready to take his dick up your ass. Just how desperate are you, anyway? You looked fucking pathetic! You don't really think you could get his dick to pay attention, do you? Give it a try after you grow some tits."

Keith and I exchanged a glance, and Keith shrugged. Clearly, we both knew any words on our part would be both useless and unwelcome. We tacitly were agreeing to let them shout at each other until they ran out of steam and to only step in if it came to blows.

A moment ago Sandrine had been ready to be conciliatory, to agree to disagree. I'm sure an apology would not have been forthcoming, but they could have both backed away without losing face. Now, though, Danielle had called into question Sandrine's bona fides as a sexual creature. She'd mocked Sandrine as undesirable and unalluring. Sandrine had looked merely annoyed. Now an expression of outrage and fury came across her face. I already knew she had a Mediterranean temper to go with the looks. If she were a cartoon character her eyes would have bugged out and daggers would have leapt from them.

"You just stepped over the line, douchebag cunt," Sandrine said with a calm in her voice that belied the look on her face, only emphasizing the last word. "You know what? He had a bulge in his jeans that would've taken out a wall if it got out." Now she was rolling, and her voice was taking on the anger that showed on her face.

"You just get the fuck out of my house," Danielle ordered.

"I don't answer to you. You just live here. It's Keith's house and he's standing right there. If he kicks me out I go, but no chank like you is gonna make me move."

"Keith..." Danielle began.

"Oh, boo-hoo. Run to daddy, bitch. What did I hear? You two have been going out for six years? Six years? If he hasn't popped the question by now, honey, it ain't ever gonna happen. Which makes you nothing more than his shag hag. Maybe it's time for Keith to trade up."