The Polish Gambler & The Serbian Beauty

"Where you talking about?"

PP plops down on the top shelf of Utopia. Interrupting Sandy and a Fluffy Blond Woman. Sandy'd been saying how she never goes there. Of course, PP has to know where it is that she never goes. Maybe she's been?

Nah, that's not her motivation. She just wants the story.

"Cache Creek," Fluffy Blond eyes PP suspiciously.
"Tanya, Penelope. Penelope, Tanya," Sandy introduces before rolling over onto her other side.
"Please to see you," Tanya says, though still with reservation. Then shrugging, continues on.
“You should see Those Chinese. Oh. They are smokers!” Tanya laughs, shaking her fluffy head at Sandy.
“And the way they hold their cigarettes," Sandy smirks.
Tanya stares at Sandy for a moment, shifts her towel up to cover her ample bosom peaking out, before frowning. “I don’t understand.”
Sandy holds up her third and fourth finger, (Can you tell PP teaches piano?) pins them together, pretends like she’s smoking.

Tanya continues to frown. “And the gambling! They love to do the gambling. For me. I don’t care for it. But it is my friends. They like it. Why one friend, he is retired and he is always gambling and I tell him, no I can’t go with you, I have to work, but he doesn’t understand. He wants me to come with him. But I only go sometimes. Not all the time. I have to see the sunlight.”

“Gamblers are Vampires!” PP blurts out. Wondering if Tanya's friend is Chinese too, or is it just racist stereotypes running rampant at 10 pm at the Oakland YMCA Sauna?
Figures that Vampire stereotypes would be less disturbing. Or not....

Tanya turns and stares at her, for a long moment, before nodding, “Yes. That is right. Vampires. But not me. I like to go to the sunshine and stay outside. Not inside in the gambling.”

PP eyes her. She sure looks like a Vampire. Pale. Shiny. Eyes wide and dark. Piercing. Of course, she must drink blood with That Accent.

Though with the blond hair, maybe not.

"I must go now," Tanya announces, rising, still holding the towel up, but it's no use. There's no contest between her bosom and the skimpy cloth. PP watches as she exits the sauna, then smiles, turns to Sandy, "Where's she from? Transylvania?"

Sandy chuckles, "No, Poland. But you're close. One of those Eastern Block countries.” She pauses for a moment, wistful. "I have visited Eastern Europe."

This doesn't surprise PP at all. Sandy seems to be a woman of some sort of Independent Means. Usually such means includes travel.
"Where to?" PP asks.
"Serbia?" PP wouldn't have guessed this. Who goes to Serbia? Of course, Sandy intuits her surprise.
"Yes, well....My half sister, we share the same mother, and her brother’s cousin married a Serbian Beauty and we were all invited to the Wedding. And let me tell you, it was something.”

“I bet.”

“Yes. And so while we were there we toured around Serbia and saw the sights. Then we went on to Athens. I had to see Athens. My sweetie is Greek. And so he had family that had a sweet little hotel right downtown across from the Acropolis. We’d sit out on the porch and sip our coffee and gaze at those ruins and it was so….”

PP nods, remembering her own trip to Athens. How much she hated that City. But she does remember the enchantment of the Acropolis. Lit up like a magic castle, golden and orange and shadowy as she and O stood on the rooftop of their hotel and listened to a Crazy Greek play some ukulele-like instrument.

It was another world.

Like Cache Creek. Or Poland. Or Transylvania.

Or Utopia....


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