Capturing the Muse

Luck be a Penny - Part 1

RAYNE MCKAY rushed down the stairs, gripping the cool metal rail for support. She hurried, as best she could in a pair of stiletto heels, trying to reach the train before it pulled out of the station. She didn't want to be any later than she was already.

She was careful to shove people out of the way as nicely as she could, but as Rayne neared the platform, the train doors closed. A moment later, it was heading through the tunnel, disappearing out of sight. Rayne took a moment to catch her breath, uttering a few obscenities. There was no point in running anymore.

"Can you spare some change, ma'am?"

Looking to the ground, towards the voice she'd heard, Rayne saw a man. It wasn't an odd sight—not at the train station. There were always people lounging around, cups, signs or open guitar cases, hoping for coins, or better yet, a few crisp bills to land inside.

The odd thing about the homeless man was how Rayne's heart lurched, feeling sorry for him. Normally, she was the kind of person that would have walked on by, to the far end of the track, just to avoid him. Rayne hated that about herself. But she had been brought up with the belief that people could always find work, that being homeless was a choice. Of course, now she knew better, but Rayne couldn't help that they somehow made her more uncomfortable in her own skin than usual.

Rayne hadn't bothered to bring a purse with her. She hated them. She'd shoved her license and credit card into the back pocket of her jeans and her cell phone in the front as she rushed out the door that morning. But she found herself reaching into her pockets, anyway. Her hand plunged into each pocket, the ones in her pants, and next, the ones in her tweed coat, until she felt something.

When her hand pulled free and Rayne opened her palm, to her disappointment, there were a few crumpled gum wrappers, a used toothpick—gross, she thought with a blush—and one shiny penny.

"I'm sorry. This-this is all I have." She held out the copper coin, instantly wishing it could be more.

The man took the offering, closing his fingers around the coin. "It is what it is," he said. Then he took the coin, rested it on his thumb and flipped it in the air, catching it. "But you should keep it. A penny for your thoughts, and may it bring you good luck."

Rayne laughed, shaking her head. "Believe it or not, I'm not thinking anything. And I think life has given me all the luck it can. Please. Keep it. I insist."

An earnest smile spread over the man's face. "I think you're wrong. On both accounts. But I'll keep the penny."

With a nod and a warm smile of her own, Rayne turned to leave, just as another train pulled into the station. She found herself in the flow of passengers as they filed in. Rayne slumped into a seat by the window and gazed out, looking for the homeless man. When she searched the space, at the base of the stairs, against the wall, it was empty. He was gone. She didn't give the ordeal any more thought other than silently hoping the man would find some luck of his own, and a moment later, forgetting him completely.

When Rayne finally made it to the office of her literary agent, Lacy Brown, she was more than half an hour late. She opened the door slowly and walked in. There were piles of papers on the desk, on the floor, and overflowing the trash can. It was a wonder how such a disorganized person was so organized in matters of acquiring authors, and selling their works. She was one of the best. Rayne was thankful every day that Lacy had seen something within her early works and was confident in her skills as an up and coming author. That was six years ago, and five books later. But lately, Rayne was in a slump. In fact, the meeting she was late for was to discuss just that, she knew it.

"Come in, come in. I haven't got all day." Lacy waved her hand with a smile. She was short—five foot nothing—and the desk and papers overwhelmed her small stature. But her brown eyes and hair were warm and welcoming, which was a good facade for her. She was quite possibly the loudest, most obnoxious agent in the business, speaking open-heartedly, with little censor.