Free A Bookie's Odds by Ursula Renee

chair looked like they had been swiped from a classroom in the school across the street from the diner. The typewriter sitting on the stand was older than she was. And, she was certain, the white milk-glass hurricane lamp on the far right-hand corner of her desk previously sat on one of the end tables in her employer’s apartment. Yet Georgia appreciated the trouble the man had gone through to set up an office for her.
    “I wasn’t sure what you’d need.” The eldest son of Sophie Santiano pointed to the adding machine perched on top of a box of receipts in the far left corner of the desk. “Let me know if you don’t like something. I’ll replace it.”
    “Everything’s fine, Mr. Santiano,” Georgia said.
    He chuckled. “Every time you call me that, I’m reminded of the little girl who skipped around Marco’s garden with Celeste.”
    “Then what should I call you?”
    “How about Joey?”
    “That’s not professional.”
    “It’s more professional than ‘yo, old man.’ ”
    She had to admit calling him by his first name was certainly more professional and respectful than the greeting his son used.
    Joseph’s sigh and the pain in his eyes tore at her heart. His towering height and husky build reminded Georgia of an oversized teddy bear. But whoever heard of a sad teddy bear?
    “Joey it is,” she said.
    A smile slowly replaced the man’s frown. “Your father’s blessed to have a good girl like you. Would you like something to eat before you start?”
    “No, I’m fine.”
    “Then I’ll let you get to work.” He took a step out the door but paused to say, “Remember, don’t hesitate to let me know if you need something.”
    “I won’t.”
    Once the man turned the corner, Georgia silently clapped her hands and shimmied. The most she had hoped for when she graduated from college was her own desk in a room shared with three other people. But to have her own office?
    Granted, her office was located in an alcove in the rear of the diner’s storage room, and she did not have a door, but it was still her office.
    “Oh, I forgot.”
    Georgia stopped dancing and spun around. The blush warmed the tip of her ears. What must he think about her silliness?
    “I’m going to have a telephone installed in here later this week. For the time being, you can use the one out front, behind the counter, if you need to.”
    “Thank you.”
    Though his eyes twinkled with amusement at her antics, he did not admonish her for the unprofessional behavior. Joseph chuckled as he disappeared around the corner again.
    Deciding the celebration could wait until later, Georgia slipped her black purse into the desk. Because of the warm temperature, she had not worn a sweater over her short-sleeved, red-and-black-print dress. She wished she could have forgone the stockings, but it would have been too casual, even for the diner.
    Georgia sat down, moved the adding machine to the side, and pulled the box to the center of the desk. Numbers had always fascinated her, and math had been her favorite subject in school. By the time she reached high school, she had mastered several areas, including trigonometry and calculus. Therefore, it had come as no surprise to those close to her when she announced her decision to study accounting in college.
    Determined to make a good impression on the man who had helped her achieve her dream, Georgia ignored the big hand every time it passed by the twelve on the clock hanging over her desk. She worked through the morning until her neck was stiff from bending over the desk, her derriere was sore from sitting so long, and her morning coffee had settled in her bladder.
    Her stomach growled, demanding attention. She tightened the muscles, hoping it would quiet down until she finished typing the numbers on the adding machine. The aroma of callaloo and saltfish did not help.
    It took Georgia a minute before she remembered Joey did not serve West Indian cuisine in the diner. Since her imagination was not