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Ready for Dinner?

Story ID:10270
Written by:Michael Timothy Smith (bio, link, contact, other stories)
Story type:Fiction
Location:Caldwell Idaho USA
Year:2015
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I entered in the Writer's Weekly 24-Hour Short Story contest this weekend.

Here is the topic and word count I had to work with:
TODAY'S TOPIC!

~~~~~

A blizzard raged outside, battering the cozy ski lodge.
Merry skiers drank hot chocolate and hot toddies, excited
about the fresh white powder they'd be conquering tomorrow.
Smiling, she took another sip, her eyes briefly wandering
from the man sitting before her, to a different gentleman
across the room. He was sitting alone, and staring at...

~~~~~

WORD COUNT: Stories for today's topic must not exceed 950
words.

Here's my entry:

Ready for Dinner

Monica and Rick, dressed in snobbery, entered the club house. It was crowded.
No one skied on this night. She looked out the window, where normally, she’d be able to
see skiers sliding down the slopes.
Not this night.
The windows rattled in the wind. Large flakes of snow stuck to the glass, melted
and slid to the bottom, where they gathered in clusters. Outside, it was dark. The lights on
the slopes were off, as the blizzard continued into its second night.
The hostess seated them in a corner table.
Monica scanned the dining room of the private club. Rick noticed. “Things have
changed.” he commented. “Look at these people. They dress like it’s a nightclub. What
happened to class?”
“Maybe we need a new place, Rick.”
A waiter, dressed in a tuxedo, took their drink orders. Monica ordered a martini,
Rick, a scotch. He felt the need for something strong.
The waiter nodded without speaking. At least he had manners. Around them were
the new rich: loud, rude and full of themselves. The old rich died off, their mansions sold
and torn down. The properties were subdivided. Cheap million-dollar mini mansions replaced the old.
Their drinks arrived. Monica noticed a man across the room. He wore slacks and a
bright Hawaiian, polyester shirt. Where did he think he was? She took a sip of her
martini and noticed he kept staring at Rick. “Hun?”
Rick looked up from the menu, “Yes?”
“Look at the guy in the loud shirt. He keeps staring at you.”
“Where?”
“To your right. No! Don’t be obvious.”
Rick casually looked to his right. His face paled.
“What’s wrong, Rick?”
“Nothing.”
She noticed the menu in his hand shaking. “Rick?”
“What? Stop nagging me, Monica.”
“Rick, what is wrong?”
“I’ve changed my mind. Let’s order room service and enjoy the evening alone. I
don’t like this crowd.”
“Rick?”
“Let’s go.” He stood. Monica finished her drink in a hurry and followed her
husband.
In their suite, Monica turned on him. “What the hell was that? What is wrong with
you?”
Rick combed his fingers through his hair, paced the suite and said, “Monica,
before we were a couple, I had a client. He was a notorious mobster. I was roped into his
web of lies and began working for him. It didn’t turn out well.”
“What are you talking about, Rick? What mobster? You’re confusing me.”
“Vincent Amato.”
“The Vinnie? The Beast?”
Rick hung his head. “Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this before, Rick?”
“It was in the past. It didn’t matter …until now.”
Monica’s perfect rich world was turned upside down. “What happened?” she
asked.
“Moni, he reeled me in. It started with a simple accounting job. Later, he had me
fixing his books. He paid me well, but the feds caught up with us. I was the weakest
link.”
Rick walked as he talked, “The feds came down on me. In return for testifying, I
walked. Vinnie went to jail for life.” He paused and turned to Monica, “That man in the
dining room is Vinnie’s son …Little Vinnie.”
“I might die tonight, Moni. These guys don’t forget.”
“Rick?” It was time for Monica’s face to pale.
“Is that all you have to say, Rick?”
Don’t you get it? That guy is a mobster. Vinnie’s son would like nothing better
than to take me out. These people hold a grudge until they even the score. I’m the score.”
“Rick?”
“What? Monica, is that all you have to say? Rick? Rick? Rick? Can you at least
say something that is helpful?” He kept pacing. Outside, the wind howled and ice pellets
battered their windows.
There was a knock at the door. “Room service!” a male voice called out.
Rick and Monica looked at each other. “We didn’t order yet.” Rick said.
Monica grabbed her purse. “What do you need that for?” Rick asked.
“Just in case.” Monica replied.
“We didn’t order. There’s no need to pay, besides, it will be charged to our room.”
“Just answer the door, Rick.”
Rick gave her a quizzical look. “Fine! It’s only my life on the line.”
Rick opened the door. Little Vinnie stood in the hall. He had a gun. “Payback
time, Rick.”
A gun went off. Rick flinched, Little Vinnie fell to the floor. Rick turned to see
his wife with a pistol in her hand. “Where did you get that?”
“I may be rich,” she said. ”I am not stupid.” She raised an eyebrow. “Ready for
dinner?”

Michael T. Smith