CASINO SHUFFLE

by Fields Jr. , J.

  Max interjected. “What’s the plan again? Something about a snake and a Norwegian wrestler?”

  “We’re going to give her what she wants.” Sonny patted the poker player on the back. “Welcome to the Native Sun Casino’s butler staff.”

  The elevator doors opened.

  Antonio stepped out and addressed Sonny. “Please call Chef Carlson and ask him to meet me in the suite in five minutes. Would you mind staying in case I need you?”

  “I already made the call home. Told her it was a crazy night.”

  “Send her my apologies and my love. Also send a town car with the cheesecake from the pantry. Ask Joe to take it over, he owes me a favor.” Antonio looked around for Max and saw him still standing in the elevator. “Max?”

  The elevator doors began to close. “I’m going back to my suite and locking the door.”

  Antonio pressed the call button and the doors closed briefly, then immediately reopened again. “We’ll discuss things on the way to the tournament.”

  Max jabbed at the button on the inside of the elevator.

  Antonio kept his own button firmly pressed. “Eventually the alarm will sound on the elevator and the fire department will be called.”

  Max sighed and stepped out of the elevator, running his hand through his hair. “I don’t have a good feeling about any of this.”

  Antonio guided him towards the concourse. “Being wanted by the actress who People magazine voted 7th most beautiful in the world could actually be considered good luck. Also you have fared remarkably well at our tournaments. Lastly, I haven’t seen Trixie in months.”

  “Well you can entertain her while I’m fluffing Shannon Moon’s pillows.”

  “You know Max,” said Antonio, steering him towards the ballroom. “There are thousands of men who would gladly change roles with you to get the opportunity to spend a weekend attending to Shannon Moon’s every whim.”

  “But I’m only lucky at cards.”

  “Maybe your luck is changing.” He turned Max around and did a final inspection of his tournament attire. “You realize that Miss Moon still has your hat? Well, you’ll have to make do without it.”

  “Maybe my luck is changing.”

  “Call me after the tournament.”

  “I thought you said tuxedos create moments of truth.”

  “I do recall.”

  “But Shannon Moon thinks I’m a butler and it’s all because of this tuxedo.”

  “That is correct.”

  “So where’s the truth in that?”

  Antonio straightened Max’s bowtie. “I have no doubt that we shall find out.”

  Antonio turned away but Max lurched forward and grabbed his sleeve. “Wait!”

  “Yes?”

  “She’s almost out of cigarettes. Remember? She said it right before she spilled the champagne on my pants.”

  Antonio rubbed a fingertip across his chin. “I don’t recall. I must have been distracted.”

  “Can you buy her some for me? Here, take my credit card. Oh! I know what you would do.”

  Antonio was taken aback. “What would I do?”

  “You’d buy her a cigarette case and put her cigarettes into it. That’s what you would do.”

  Antonio was more than amused. “I believe you’re right, Max. But keep your credit card. I’ll charge it back to your suite.”

  “Oh yeah. Good. Thanks for doing that for me.”

  “It is my pleasure.”

  “Can I call you Tony now?”

  “No.” Antonio turned on his heel and strode down the concourse.

  When Max saw the ballroom full of well-dressed cowboys he actually missed his hat. The dealers wore hats. The cocktails waitresses wore hats. Everybody had a hat, and everybody kept looking at the unoccupied space above his head and he imagined them wondering why he didn’t have a hat. It made not having a hat almost embarrassing. It was almost embarrassing enough to forget about his other problem. The problem where he was going to have act like Shannon Moon’s butler.

  His head was starting to hurt again.

  “Where’s your hat?” Greg Sheffield was the first person to say it out loud. As the Special Events host for the tournament, he had a quick eye for mismatched décor. He matched. He had a hat. “Didn’t Antonio get you a hat?” He was talking while physically pulling Max through the crowd of cowboys.

  “Where’s your goddam hat?” Cash was the second one to point out the hat deficiency. Even though Max hadn’t seen Cash since a month ago in Vegas, the burly, bald-headed poker player acted like it had only been a few minutes. Cash was stalking alongside him wearing a snakeskin cowboy hat, a cheekful of forty-eight-hour stubble and a scowl. He leaned forward so Greg Sheffield could get a good look at the scowl. “Why doesn’t he have to wear a hat?”

  “He should have a hat,” confirmed Greg, who in turn informed Max once again. “You should have a hat.”

  “Hey Greg, don’t get crazy,” said Cash, clamping his hand onto Max’s shoulder. “Hey kid,” he said to him. “Where the hell’s your hat? You’re gonna make everybody crazy.”

  As the three charged through the crowd toward the tournament tables, tuxedoes stepped aside and cowboy hats turned and drifted away like ships to sea.

  To Max the whole thing looked like a Texan butler convention. He had a ridiculous urge to ask one of them to cover for him in the Sachem Suite.

  Cash stuck out his hand and jerked a hat off somebody’s head. “Now you gotta hat.” He popped the Stetson onto Max’s head where it echoed a hollow thump, tipped sideways, and then tumbled down his back. “Too small,” grunted Cash.

  Greg Sheffield said, “Good idea.” He snatched a passing hat and shoved it onto Max’s head. The heavy hat knocked into Max’s nose and bent his ears down.

  Max was blinded. He veered and stumbled into someone. The hat was lifted away and winged out over the crowd.

  “Odd shaped head,” said Cash, scanning the crowd. “Here we go.” He pulled a new hat from a blur of people and sat it on Max’s head. “Perfect fit. You don’t mind it being pink, right?”

  Greg, driving Max quickly forward, said, “Just give him your hat, Cash.”

  Cash reached up and tugged his rattlesnake cowboy hat lower over his eyes. “No can do.”

  “Your round is over and Max needs a hat.”

  “He’s gotta hat.”

  “It’s pink.”

  “Think of it as light red. Red is good luck, right Max?”

  “In China,” said Max.

  “So later we’ll go play Baccarat.”

  “It’s not right,” said Greg, glancing sideways at Max. “This is being televised live on TV. He’s going to look funny.”

  “You bad-mouthing my friend?” When Cash got upset all the skin on his face cracked. He gave Max a knee-wobbling shake. “You want a new hat kid? Huh?”

  They skidded to a stop at the velvet rope. Greg unclipped the rope from the brass stanchion and Cash pushed Max through to the other side.

  “You look great kid!”

  Greg ushered Max over to the table, whispering. “We couldn’t wait anymore so we folded your hands. Five minutes ago there was a showdown between Sadiya and a new player from Korea. Sadiya knocked him out with a flush draw on the river. Before that she pushed out Jackie French with pocket aces, which was after she caught a pair on the turn and knocked out Carl Royal, who then threw his chair into the crowd. He was taken away by security. One of the spectators was taken to the hospital to get stitches.” He pulled a chair away from the table. Mounted to the back of the chair was a miniature set of brass steer horns. “Welcome to the tournament,” he said, shoving the chair into the back of Max’s legs. Max fell into it. “Max Allen,” announced Greg to everyone at the table.

  On the table in front of Max was forty-seven thousand dollars worth of chips. With folds and bets on the blinds, he’d already lost three grand.

  The player sitting to the right of Max was wearing a black Stetson. “Welcome
to the slaughterhouse.”

  “Nice hat,” said a middle-aged Arabic woman to the dealer’s left. She was wearing pearl-framed sunglasses and a pink cowboy hat. “Did you wear the matching panties too? Because I did.”

  “We don’t want to hear about your panties, Sadiya,” said the man at the second chair, spitting his words out around an unlit cigar. “Unless you want to start playing strip poker instead.”

  “Then I would lose,” she said. “Or I would have to see your little penis.”

  Cigar winked at her. “Bet mine’s bigger than yours, lady.”

  Greg Sheffield leaned over the table and hissed, “Stop talking about your penises or we’ll have to pull back the microphones.”

  The last chair was occupied by a young man wearing a straw cowboy hat and mirrored shades, who was tapping the top of a short stack of chips with an unlit cigarette. “Let’s just play cards.”

  So they did.

  The dealer flipped Max a suited Queen Two of Hearts.

  “Fold,” said Max. His face felt warm and he wondered if they had some kind of special television lights trained on the table.

  Sadiya laughed. “You finally show up and you still fold. We could do that without you.”

  He folded the next hand too.

  Black Stetson asked, “You know how to play poker, right?”

  His armpits were actually dripping. They’d never done that before. What was this tuxedo made out of, asbestos?

  “Fold,” he said.

  “I haven’t shuffled yet, sir,” said the dealer.

  Straw Hat asked, “Can I have his cards, then?”

  Here’s what was going to happen. He’d go to light one of Shannon Moon’s cigarettes and catch her hair on fire. She would have to get skin grafts. Her career would be ruined. His picture would be on the cover of People as the Seventh Most Hated Man in America. Trixie would never want to see him again. He’d have to move overseas and become a fisherman in a village where nobody knew him. He would teach the locals how to play poker using clam shells and tree bark.

  “Pink cowboy,” said Sadiya, tapping a fingernail on the table. “You want to play cards with us?”

  Max blinked his cards into focus. They were still facedown on the table. Using two fingers he pushed them back to the dealer. “Fold.”

  “Good idea.” Sadiya plucked two ten thousand dollar chips from her stack and tossed them onto the table, splashing the pot. “Raise twenty.”

  “Are you okay, Mr. Allen?” It was the dealer talking to him.

  Greg Sheffield placed bottled water on the table. While leaning over him he quietly said, “Do not vomit on camera. Give me a signal first.”

  Max unscrewed the water and took a long drink.

  “Just give me his chips now,” said Sadiya, pulling down her sunglasses to look at him with dark brown eyes. “Then he can go lie down.”

  Over the murmurs of the crowd Cash’s voice boomed: “Max! Just play poker, kid!”

  That’s what he had to do. Play poker. It was the only thing he was lucky at. If he played poker and got his luck running then maybe all of this would work out. Antonio would fix it. He was probably up there right now, having a cup of tea, just putting the finishing touches on a brilliant plan that would solve everything. Shannon Moon would go back to her own world where celebrities are flat and live inside magazines and movie screens. Trixie would show-up tomorrow and have a fabulous birthday and tell him she loved him. Max pulled his shirtsleeve back and a silver six-shooter winked at him in the light.

  Antonio would save the day.

  He took another sip of water.

  “I’m fine,” he said finally. “Shuffle up and deal.”

  “Holy shit.” Straw Hat clapped his hands together. “Night of the living dead speaks!“

  Sadiya smiled and pushed her sunglasses back up over her eyes. “I have met you once before, pink cowboy. In Vegas, yes?”

  “Maybe,” said Max. “Did you leave with money?”

  “Yes.”

  “Wasn’t me,” he said, and instantly felt better.

  The dealer skated the cards across the table.

  Max peeled back the corners of his cards in front of the button camera inset into the table in front of him. Ace-King suited. He scanned his chip stacks. Down to thirty-three grand. He needed to make a move to switch channels in his brain from panic to poker.

  “Raise ten,” he said, pushing the chips to the pot.

  “Well good morning, Sunshine,” said Black Hat, tossing his cards to the dealer.

  Straw Hat checked.

  So did Sadiya.

  The dealer flopped Jack-5-Ace.

  Sadiya licked her lips. “All-in.”

  Max had an Ace in his hand and one on the flop. “Okay,” he said, pushing his chips across the table.

  “Okay?” Sadiya laughed. “This guy kills me.” She flipped her cards. King-Queen off suit. She was looking for a straight.

  Max flipped his hand.

  The dealer turned a three of hearts.

  Sadiya’s pink cowboy hat tipped forward. “Nine,” she said, calling out the card she needed to catch her straight.

  The dealer flipped the river. Queen diamond.

  Sadiya caught a second Queen, but Max’s pair of Aces beat her out.

  Sadiya aimed her sunglasses at him. “Those your lucky cufflinks, pink cowboy?”

  “They are now,” said Max.

  “I’m wearing my lucky nipple rings.”

  Max smiled. “I showed you mine…”

  “Maybe you and me play strip poker later. How big is your penis?”

  From the sidelines Greg Sheffield shouted, “Pull back the microphones!”

  Chapter Eleven

  “The flower arrangements should be set in opaque vases,” suggest Antonio. “If it were only the white roses I think seeing the stems would be appropriate, but the added lavender may make the bowl look somewhat messy.”

  Shannon touched her fingertips to her lips. She was wearing a Dolce & Gabbana embroidered flower skirt, white peasant blouse, sandals and a diamond ankle bracelet. “Maybe you’re right.” She turned to the director of room service and said, “Do you have opaque vases this big?”

  “Yes,” said Roman. “Of course we do.” He turned and directed one of his attendants to get them.

  The attendant, a young female, stopped chewing her gum long enough to ask, “Where are they?”

  Roman stared at her a moment before answering, “Ask somebody.”

  Antonio followed the attendant out into the living room area. “Excuse me, but I don’t believe we’ve met. What’s your name?”

  The girl turned around and popped a bubble. “Stacey.”

  “Stacey, spit out your gum.” Antonio held a square of tissue in his outstretched hand.

  Stacey looked down at it cautiously. “Huh?”

  “We do not allow gum in the Villas, or in fact, anywhere in the casino. You may have noticed that it isn’t sold in any of the retail outlets for the express purpose of reducing the hazard of gum being dropped, spit or stuck onto our beautiful and expensive interior architecture, finishings or furnishings. I know that many departments tend to overlook this policy, but as a young lady who specializes in flower arrangements, I would think that you would know that potted plants are considered trash receptacles to gum aficionados the world over, second only to the undersides of dining room tables. Now if you please, Stacey, spit out the gum.”

  The stunned young woman slowly leaned over and let the gum fall from her lips into the proffered tissue, and both disappeared promptly into Antonio’s pocket.

  “Now then,” he said. “Bring us five opaque vases. You will find white ones in the lounge by high limit slots. They are not currently in use as there is a particular high roller in attendance this weekend who is allergic to flowers of all variations. Ask the host on duty at the podium to loan us the vases. Give him my name. We have ten minutes before Brandon arrives and you should be back in enough time to fi
nish the arrangements as I show him the suite.”

  Stacey’s eyes lit up. “Absolutely!” She bopped out the door, ponytail swaying between her shoulder blades.

  Shannon came up beside Antonio and punched him lightly in the arm. “Liar. You know Brandon won’t be here for at least twenty minutes.”

  “Yes, but Stacey will back in less than ten. I’ve found that when reason doesn’t motivate people to action, deception will suffice in a pinch. Pardon me while I check on dinner preparations?”

  Chef Carl was conducting the placements at the dining table. Crystal flutes, China, and polished silver were accented by white rose petals. The salad was being tossed in a chilled bowl, the herbs for the dressing were being mixed by one of Chef’s assistants using a mortar and pestle, and the air was spiced with dill and mustard seed. Antonio stepped into the adjoining kitchen and spied on the preparations of the baked salmon fillet in cucumber cream sauce, rice and dilled zucchini.

  Chef Carlson followed him in. “When is dinner served?”

  “Fifteen minutes. Possibly twenty. You’re aware of the nut allergy?”

  “It’s too bad; I have a wonderful pecan honey glaze.” He addressed his culinary team. “I don’t want the salmon going dry. Run back and put two more fillets on.” Looking at Antonio he said, “You haven’t eaten since breakfast.” Not waiting for a reply he told the departing sous chef, “Make it three. One goes to Mr. Cruz’s office.”

  “Thank you but I’m not convinced I’ll have time to eat it.”

  “Make time. Don’t waste my food.”

  Antonio bowed. “As you wish, Chef.

  “Nice bowtie today. What color is that – egg yolk?”

  “Champagne.”

  “Goes nicely with salmon.”

  Antonio quickly complimented everyone and returned to the dining room to find Shannon admiring the two-foot ice sculpture of Pegasus in the center of the table draped in crushed velvet. The crystal chandelier was dimmed, and on opposite sides of the room stood twin antique hutches shimmering with the light of four dozen battery-powered votive candles. It was a clear evening outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the quilted treetops little more than rumpled darkness far below, the ripe moon as enticing and bright as a slice of fresh fruit.