“You can’t leave us like this!” yelled Paul.
“I’m coming back. Relax. The powder only last for a few hours. I’ll get the camera crew, we’ll film maybe an hour of footage of you two getting it on with Simon and…”
“Of course. Why do you think I only spiked two of your drinks with the gender swap powder?”
Paul is an impulsive gambler who thinks he always knows the odds.
While drinking with his friends, they bump into an old acquaintance who tells them he’s making a fortune in the adult entertainment industry. They jump at the chance to be ‘actors’ in his next ‘movie, but when they meet at the hotel room, things don’t go as expected.
Paul thinks he always knows the odds, but what were the odds of Becoming Becky?
Sample (First 10%)
Just as Paul was beginning to think he was going to stay flat chested, two fleshy blobs erupted from his chest like a pair of air bags and bounced in front of him! Laughter burst out around the room. Paul gaped at the size of them. In a panic he tried to push his shirt back down but they were so large it wouldn’t budge! He wrapped his arms around the monstrous protrusions and the unmanageable flesh overflowed his arms.
“It’s not funny,” he moaned at his hysteric friends. Trevor’s breasts were no where near the size of his. It wasn’t fair.
The Fox was one of the lesser known bars in the city. Its raw brick walls were illuminated by an array of dimmed and bare filament bulbs hanging from the ceiling like baubles. It was a charming place, and normally a bit quieter than the other bars in the center, but on Friday nights it fills up just like any other. Paul had to raise his voice so his two friends could hear him.
“I’m telling you guys. It’s a sure thing!”
“You say that about every bet you make!” replied Trevor. “Admit it, man. You’re a gambler.”
“It’s not gambling if the result is inevitable. You don’t see me in the casinos putting my rent money on red. It’s about knowing the odds. The real odds. Knowing the factors that even the bookies don’t know about.”
“Then how did you lose all that money on the Yankees?”
“Ah, well yeah. I screwed up on that one. There were too many variables. Every one of the players affected the outcome of the game. But I’ve learned from that; no more betting on sport teams. This time it’s different. There’s just two guys I need to know about.”
“And they are?” Trevor asked.
“Rex Conway and Ted Broker.”
“Oh. So you’re an expert on boxing now?”
“I know more about certain things than most people. For example, I know Broker has a shoulder injury which no one else knows about.”
“Then how do you know?”
“Just research. First I checked out the Facebook page of his trainer, but he’s got it locked down. Nothing’s public. So next I started going through his friends list for any info and on the trainer’s brother’s wall he mentioned how one of the guy his brother’s training has sprained his shoulder.”
“Wait. So Broker’s trainer’s brother has mentioned that one of the guys he’s training has injured his shoulder? That could be anybody!”
“Oh, come on! A week before the big fight? He won’t be training anyone but Broker. Remember Ali vs Liston in ’64. Liston was the favorite to win, but quit during the 7th round because of a shoulder injury he had before the fight had even begun.”
Trevor sighed. “I don’t know, man. I’m not lending you money again if you lose. What do you think, Simon?”
“I heard boxing was all fake and that the boxers are just actors,” Simon replied.
“That’s wrestling, you doof!” Paul told him.
“Oh. Then I don’t know.”
“How much do you have on him anyway?” asked Trevor.
“Only a hundred,” Paul lied. He wasn’t going to tell them he had just put his rent money on it again.
“Not so bad. Well best of luck. Cheers.” They clinked glasses and finished their beers. “So, whose round is it?”
“Who are you looking at, Trev?” Paul asked.
“That guy over there. Is that?”
“Oh my god, it’s Tony!” exclaimed Paul.
“Check out that suit,” said Trevor.
They hadn’t seen Tony, or as he was known, Fat Tony, since high school.
“He’s lost weight,” said Paul.
Trevor went over to say hi and invited him over to their table. They chatted for a minute before Trevor returned.
“He’s coming over. I’ll be back in a sec. Pretty sure that girl sitting at the bar was giving me ‘the look’.”
Tony came over to the table.
“Hello, fellas. Long time no see,” Tony greeted them.
“Yeah. You’re looking well.”
“Ha. Yeah. Must have lost a few pounds since you last saw me. Hey, Simon. You ever get the job at NASA you wanted?”
Simon shook his head woefully. “No. They say they’re not planning on putting any more astronauts on the moon, but that they’d keep me in mind if that changes.”
“Aw. That’s a shame.”
“I work in the mail room at Stringfield Industries with Paul and Trevor.”
“Are Paul and Trevor in the mail room too?”
“No,” butt in Paul. “We’re in the media offices. You want a drink?”
“No thanks. I’m driving. Just came here for a bite to eat then going back to the hotel.”
Shouting came from the bar. They turned to look and saw Trevor running back to their table.
“We better go. Now!” he told them, frantically.
“What have you done this time?” groaned Paul.
“Well, that big fella over there isn’t happy about me talking to his girlfriend.”
They looked back and saw a 6ft juggernaut bearing down on their table. Trevor was already sprinting towards the door and the other three jumped up and chased behind him. They got around the corner and stopped to catch their breath.
“You fucking prick,” wheezed Paul. “They might not let us in next week.”
“The course of true love never runs smooth.”
“Didn’t you see she was already with a guy?”
“One can not love and be wise.”
“Enough with the quotes! One of these days you’re going to get your teeth knocked out.”
“Fortune favors the bold?”
— end of sample —
To continue reading, check out Becoming Becky on Amazon.