"You really know -- knew -- John Travolta?" Spanky looked at me doubtfully.
"Well, he did say that stuff." I shuffled the deck of cards in my hand.
"Uh-huh. But did he say it to you
? I mean, can -- could -- you text him? Were you Facebook friends? Did he read your blog
My relationship with Travolta was my business. Fine, I'd been quoting him from interviews I saw on Inside the Actor's Studio, but I went past the point of no return on that lie shortly after I met Spanky and Tim. And I was still accurate -- Travolta said that stuff -- but I highly doubted either of those guys ever watched that show. And seriously, who the hell lies about knowing John Travolta?
I shrugged and started dealing, ending the conversation, or so I hoped.
"Fine," he said. He moved some cards around his hand, then moved them back. "I call, and," he added, while pushing a red chip onto the pile, "match you a scouting mission."
Fuck. Scouting missions sucked, and I had two pair, eights high. But if I folded I'd have second evening shift for three days. How good were two pairs with eights high? Three of a kind would beat it, and another two pair with --
"We should go grab some of those ladyboys in the pastry shop up the street" he added nonchalantly.
I sighed and threw down my cards. "I fold." I glared at him without much effect. In fact, he looked quite earnest. "What the hell are you talking about?"