MILDRED & MABEL: ON THE MAKE (#fridayflash)

Press play for some mood music

Mildred and Mabel were cousins. And boy, they were on the make.

You see, they were Coney Island girls and, as such, knew a thing or two about a thing or two. Mildred was older by three months and held the demeanor of a busted suitcase -- and she was considered the nicer one. Her welder father taught her everything she needed know about life: Never trust a scab; people always say how they feel when they're drunk; and most important, go with your gut. It's your best friend.

As for Mabel? What she lacked in backbone, she made up for in curves. Everyone knew that her bed kept her as a busy as a one-legged tapdancer and for a small moment, she thought she'd be good at it professionally. But that was only a pipe-dream. Once her Teamster uncles and cousins found out she was trickin', there wouldn't be enough plaster for all the broken legs. Christmas would be canceled.

And still, they were both on the make. Today was different, though. Instead of hearing that monstrous Cyclone barrel against the sea breeze in Coney, they opted for the sweet smell of salt-water taffy in Atlantic City. And that was sort of the problem.

It was too wholesome. They were used to those horny stumble-bums on their home turf. Not here. The men of respect round these parts knew how to treat their ladies. What a bummer.

Mabel kept fidgeting on her beach towel.

"What with all the ants in your pants?" Mildred barked.

Mabel looked around, squinting. "Where's all the guys?"

Mildred popped her gum and shrugged her shoulders.

Mabel kept looking around and noticed sawmill called The Swamp Fox on the side of the Steel Pier. It was a dime grind palace where, if they played their cards right, could be swimming in giggle juice and johns.

"Lookie..." Mabel told Mildred. "Must be some action there, right?"

"You cruising with your lights on dim?"

"Whaddya mean?" Mabel asked.

"We can't go in there," Mildred answered. "That's where Uncle Jonesy holds his weekend poker game. You know that. ...Besides, I already checked it out."

Mabel stood up and shook the sand off her bikini and said, "Well, this is for shit..."

Mildred watched her cousin trot up towards the boardwalk. "Where you going!?"

"Where the men are!" Mabel darted back.

Prepping their gams, they stood along the outhouse near the beach. They were going to get their hambone boiled if it killed them. But first, they'd have to be date bait.

As they watched two prospects stroll up to snake the weasel, Mildred elbowed Mabel and said, "Shut up and smile..."

MUSIC: Muggsy Spanier - Caravan 1954. It can be downloaded HERE.

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