The Lemonade Kid

Beautiful women intrigue me, which should be no surprise to the average male. Men should be fascinated by women and listen to what they say, even when they might disagree with their feminine observations.

Lynnette was a lovely island girl I met while working as editor of a newspaper in the Eastern Caribbean. She was Rastifarian, had a younger brother Steve who had a job parking cars at the Jack Tar Village Resort which operated a casino next to the beach, and she braided the hair of tourists who visited St. Kitts, the island where she and her family lived.

I met Lynette and her family when I drove to Keys Village where they lived. There was a bar, the Newfoundland, that was just a shack next to the ocean where the local islanders and tourists could buy drinks, Ting and jerk chicken.

There was nothing fancy about the Newfoundland. Smokey, the owner, would simply push your drink through a hole in the wall and collect the money. If you needed to use a restroom, no problem, Mon. A coconut palm tree or bush was always available nearby. And if you craved more privacy, the ocean was only a couple hundred yards away. Just watch out for sharks or barracuda.

One day Lynette called me at the newspaper. She was thrilled beyond belief.

'I just bought a car,' she said excitedy. 'My brother Steve found it for me. I am so happy!'

Lynette was 28 and had no idea how to drive. She took the old Ford Taurus to the beach and drove it through the sand. Although she often got bogged down, her friends were always available to help her rescue the Taurus from the deep white sand. She became a passable driver and even sweet-talked a friend at the police station into selling her a driver's license for $50.

A month after she bought the car, she called me again. She was unhappy.

'The car is a lemon,' she said with a touch of bitterness. 'It uses too much oil and I have trouble starting it.'

I shrugged. Lynette, I said, when you have a lemon, make lemonade. That is one of life's lessons and one everyone must learn early if we are to meet the demands of this world.

Gamblers understand about lemons and lemonade. When I lived in St. Kitts, I spent a lot of time at the casino looking for a poker game. There were few poker games available in St. Kitts and its sister island Nevis, just three miles distance by ferry boat or private plane.

When there wasn't a poker game, I would wager on the horses. Sometimes Lynette or her pretty younger sister, Natasha, would accompany me to the casino. We watched the live horse races on television monitors. I showed them how to read the Daily Racing Form, what to watch for like good workouts or a significant drop in the odds, and a few other things I had picked up in my travels.

A horse named Olliman caught my eye. The horse had worked out four days before the race and ran three furlongs in 34.4 breezing. I thought that was an excellent workout and bet $20 on the horse to win.

Lynette frowned. 'Why do you bet him to win?' she said. 'Don't they pay you if the horse runs second or third?'

They certainly do, I told Lynette. But if a horse places or shows, you don't make nearly as much money as if the animal wins.

Natasha was sipping lemonade and barged into the conversation. 'But if you bet the horse to win and it comes in second, you lose,' she said, wagging her finger. 'If you lose, you have an excuse not to buy us hot spicy jerk chicken at Freddie's. And you know how Mama loves Freddie's chicken.'

I waved her off. I know what I am doing, I said, turning my attention to the race. Olliman went off at 9/2 odds and finished second, paying $4.20.

'See,' said Lynnette, smiling. 'You are just like me. I bought a lemon and you are the Lemonade Kid.'

Author: Geno Lawrenzi Jr.

(Geno Lawrenzi Jr. is an international journalist, magazine author and ghostwriter. If you have a unique gambling story to share with him, you may qualify for a cash award. Send your story with all the details to glawrenzi@gmail.com ).