Baby Needs a New Pair of Shoes by Lauren Baratz-Logsted

smart.”
    â€œShe’s right, boss,” Conchita said. She was suddenly there, too. “You’re just a very smart entrepreneur. No exploitation going on here.”
    Stella stared at them both closely, as if trying to judge if they were each pulling a leg. She must have been satisfied with what she saw, for she turned to me next.
    â€œIf I’m not going to give you a raise—and I’m not, because you know times are tough and the economy is rocky—then where are you ever going to get the money for those Choos?”
    â€œYou know Choos?” I was surprised.
    â€œOf course I know Choos.” Stella fluffed her hair. “I’m an all-American entrepreneur, aren’t I?”
    The way I figured it, Conchita and Rivera were stroking her ego enough. Certainly, I didn’t need to do that, so instead I merely told them of my plan, the one Hillary and I had devised the night before.
    â€œI’m going to Foxwoods Casino,” I said, “this Saturday night.”
    Conchita’s eyes grew big. “You mean the one run by the Mashantucket Pequots?”
    â€œIs there any other?” I replied.
    â€œYou’re just going with your roommate?” Stella asked now.
    â€œThat’s what I had planned on,” I said.
    â€œWhat are you planning on wearing?” Conchita demanded.
    â€œI hadn’t thought about it.” I shrugged.
    â€œHadn’t thought about it?” Rivera whacked me in the head, lightly, but it was still a whack. “What the hell’s the matter with you?”
    â€œI don’t know,” I said. “I figured I’d just wear some shorts, maybe a T-shirt. It’s been so hot lately.”
    â€œWhat the hell’s the matter with you?” she snapped, raising her hand.
    â€œDon’t hit me again!” I said, moving my arms up to protect the coconut, meaning my head.
    â€œShe’s right,” Conchita said, hitting me from the other side. “You can’t go to a place like Foxwoods Casino, especially not on a Saturday night, looking like you’re just going off to McDonald’s for a Big Mac.”
    â€œIf you want to be a winner, you need to dress like one,” Rivera said.
    â€œSaturday morning, we’re taking you to the Nail Euphorium,” Conchita said.
    â€œHow do you know about the Nail Euphorium?” I asked. It was the place Hillary always went to.
    â€œWho do you think we are—” Conchita hands-on-hipsed me “— you? ”
    Hey, I resented that. Every time someone said that to me, I resented it.
    Then they all started talking about me, as if I wasn’t even there, so much talk that the sounds started swirling together until it all sounded like, “Delilah, Delilah, Delilah.” That’s what it all sounded like, exactly…
    â€œNever bet more than you can afford to lose,” Black Jack had told me.
    â€œAlways start with a stake you can afford,” Black Jack had told me.
    â€œSet a goal on how much you want to win,” Black Jack had told me, “and if you reach it, walk away.”
    â€œWhen you start to lose, walk away,” Black Jack had told me. “If you lose your whole stake, definitely walk away.”
    Then he’d handed me a hundred-dollar bill.
    â€œWhat’s this?” I’d asked.
    â€œIt’s your stake,” he’d said. “Whatever you do, don’t lose it.”
    Then I distinctly heard Stella say, “Of course I’m going to go, too.” Her words when they came were spoken in a huff. “You don’t think I’m going to be the only one left behind, do you?”
    â€œI don’t know, boss.” Rivera shrugged, awkward. “It would just be way too weird—you know?—partying with the boss.”
    â€œWait a second,” I said. “No one ever said anything about partying. And, anyway, what are you all talking about? You’re not all coming