Nymphomation(4)

Eddie always bought her a bone every week, a bone of her own. Four weeks ago Celia’s bone had come up half-cast, winning her 100 punies, but Eddie had claimed it all for himself, the cheat, only to spend it on ultrabooze and metaburgers. But this was Celia’s very first bone, bought with her own money, so she was wishing harder than ever. Special wishing.

Never before had she begged enough to spare, but last Saturday just gone, the kindest woman in the whole world (or else the richest, or else the poorest) had thrown a whole glistening pair of punies into Celia’s hole. The woman had then tried to step inside the bookshop, but Celia had stopped her dead. A clutch to the ankle from deep within the earth.

Thank you, kind miss,’ said Celia to the deliverer. ‘What’s your name, please?’

‘My name?’ The deliverer looked puzzled.

‘Just for the records, you understand. I have to declare all my earnings. To the town hall, you understand?’

‘Daisy,’ replied the deliverer.

‘Daisy? Nice name. You buying some books today?’

‘Selling them.’

‘Wow! You’ve got employment! Daisy what?’

‘Love.’

‘Daisy Love. How embarrassing!’

‘Tell me about it.’

‘Your mum and dad were neo-hippies, right?’

‘Please. I have a job to do.’

‘Daisy Love, be proud. You have saved a beggar’s soul this Saturday’s morn.’

‘Just go spend it. On something wise, please.’ You bet your life! Celia spent one of the punies on a full English breakfast and banana milkquake at the local Whoomphy’s burger bar, and the other on a domino. Of course, Eddie Irwell still had to buy the bone for her, Celia being far too young to gamble. But surely this week was different…

‘Just make my numbers come up, sweet and lovely Cookie Luck!’ Celia was calling out to the dancing stars, her small voice lost amongst the screams and urges and the rabid desires of the begging crew. ‘Just deliver me away! Somewhere good, please. Somewhere ever so beautiful.’ As the blurbs flew in convoy round her head, twinkling like all the forever lost chances, all the forever yet-to-come chances.

Dancing, dancing, number fallout.

PLAY THE RULES

3a. The game is sacrosanct.

3b. AnnoDomino may not coerce any of the populace into playing the game.

3c. The populace may play, or not play, according to their wishes.

3d. 0.01% of the purchase price of every domino will go to charity. All parties will adhere to this ruling.





Play to win


And still the dance continued, playing the punters like a city of lovers. Daisy Love had her only bone tight in her fingers; Jaz had his five spicy chances arranged in a circle on Daisy’s Formica coffee table; both of them watching in awe, as the dots on their bones slowly settled down in tune with Cookie Luck’s body.

‘Play to win!’ shouted Tommy Tumbler from the TV screen.

‘Yes! Come on, my beauty!’ shouted Jaz to the faraway TV dancer. ‘Even a measly half-cast would do! Just don’t let the Joker Bone come calling!’

‘Cookie can’t hear you from here,’ said Daisy.

‘You want a slice of hot root?’ Jaz cut some shreds from a pungent garlic bulb.

‘Ultragarlic? No thanks. I’m clean.’

‘Clean as a blank bone, sure. Virgin-style.’

‘I’ve got my assignments to do. I need a clear head.’

Jaz Malik laughed and then swallowed two whole slices of the ultragarlic. His breath went sordid, his mind rainbow. Sunglassed eyes back to the dancing screen. ‘Come on and dance for me, you fucking bitch of all bones!’

Nine o’clock chimes, and at last…

‘Game on!’ chants Tommy Tumbler. ‘Play to win!’

‘Game fucking on!’ chants back Jaz.

And at a long last…



That’s the way! That’s the way!

That’s the way the cookie crumbles! —Blurbflies



Mister Million has deemed it so.

A five. A three. A five and a three. The stars of Lady Luck fall into the shape of a five-and-a-three bone: one dot on each nipple, another on her navel, two more on each of her kidneys; and, below the dividing-line belt of her domino costume, a single on her left hip, another on her crotch, a final on her right thigh. Eight pips of chaos, finally found on a field of sexy black. And all over the city, that exact moment of surrender, countless punters banged down their losing bones in frustration. And Daisy Love was just another loser, her single lonely domino coming up with only a measly two-and-a-four configuration. Jazir Malik, the same loser; his big fistful of chances delivering nothing but mismatches.

‘Fuck it!’ said Jaz.