“I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Cash bellowed after him, “It would make you feel better!”
Max bolted recklessly into the crowd, pushing several people away from their respective conversations and getting a few well-deserved insults as he forged onward muttering apologies.
A tray full of champagne swam past him and he plucked one away, sloshing some onto the arm of his suit coat. The rest he sloshed into his stomach. Someone bumped him from behind to help the process and he choked on his last swallow. Now his head was all loosey-goosey. His neck wasn’t working right and the room dimmed a little bit. Someone was moving the carpet underneath his feet, tugging on it. Made it hard to walk straight.
He should call Shannon to make sure she didn’t need anything.
Max stopped suddenly. The crowd swooned around him.
Call her to make sure she doesn’t need anything?
What was he thinking? He wasn’t her butler. He wasn’t anybody’s butler. He wasn’t even a butler.
The crowd of tuxedos and cowboy hats began to press in around him, filling the empty path where he’d been walking. A nearby cluster babbled and laughed. Max was absorbed into them. Funny innuendoes garbled in his ears. Someone asked, “What was it like when you went to Cabo?” Max saw another cocktail waitress, silver cowboy hat navigating the dark waters of the crowd like a battleship, and he swam after her. He followed her so closely he had to fight the urge to hang onto the back of her skirt so they wouldn’t get separated. He was desperate to get out of the ballroom. Not being much of a drinker, the champagne was fizzing his bloodstream. He suddenly loved this waitress. She reminded him a little of Shannon. With clothes on, of course. She smelled differently too. She wasn’t really like Shannon at all. Poor thing. He wanted to hug her and tell her that she was still pretty anyway. That made him laugh as he watched her shoulder blades move above the skimpy uniform top. He was drunk. Good. Maybe he would get some sleep now. First he had to call Antonio. He felt much better. Suddenly everything was fine. Champagne was fine. He now knew why everybody else drinking champagne seemed so fine. His new best friend led him over to a corner of the ballroom and a swinging door. He followed her into a pantry with stainless steel tables bolted to the walls, glass-fronted refrigerators, and plastic barrels full of spent champagne and beer bottles. There were other cocktail waitresses in here. One who had her foot on a chair, skirt hiked up, adjusted her pantyhose. Another chatted on a cell phone. One poured champagne into flutes arranged on a tray. The girl he had followed in put her empty flutes into a bin and yawned.
“Hi,” said Max, to all of them.
The pantyhose girl tugged down her skirt and stood up. The cell phone girl closed her phone and hid it behind her back. The champagne girl stopped pouring. The other girl turned around, empty tray poised on her fingertips. As one, all their smiles clicked on.
“Oh hi!” The champagne girl raised her eyebrows. “What can we do for you?”
Max spied a house phone on the wall next to the sink. “Can I use the phone?”
“Okay,” said the waitress, still smiling, but throwing in a nod. “You go back out the door and right around the corner. Follow the wall to the ballroom pre-function area. There’s a house phone right by the restrooms.”
Max pointed to the pantry phone. “Can’t I use that one? I just have to call the butler pantry.”
“Oh!” The girl with the empty tray nudged her friend with her elbow. “He’s a butler.”
The champagne girl said, “Ah-ha. You should have your nametag on, you know.”
Max inspected his tuxedo lapels. Where the hell was his nametag? “Sorry. I’m new.” Wait a minute. What the hell was he talking about? “Can I have a water?”
The waitress opened a refrigerator and removed a bottled water. “I’m Jennifer. This is Rachel. Susie. And that’s Shannon.”
“Huh?”
The cell phone girl waved. “Shannon. Like the actress. She’s here you know.”
Max gulped his water.
“She is so beautiful,” said Rachel. Or maybe it was Susie. “Hey! Have you seen her? She’s staying up in the villas, right?”
Max spilled some water on his shirt front. “Sorry. We’re not allowed to talk about it.”
Susie or Jennifer dabbed at the water with a napkin. “What’s your name?”
“Max.”
“Hi Max.”
“Hi.”
“You can use our phone. Since you’re one of us.”
“Okay. Thanks. I appreciate it.”
“You smell like champagne. You should have that jacket cleaned.”
Suddenly his jacket was yanked off his arms. “Let me work on it while you’re on the phone,” said one of them. Another said, “Cool cufflinks! Pow, pow!”
The waitresses huddled around his jacket with napkins while one of them ran water in the sink and another rifled through her purse.
Max stared at the phone for a moment. It had a lot of buttons. He took a few deep breaths.
“Dial zero for in the in-house operator. She’ll put you through.”
“Thanks,” he said.
“I’m going to spritz this with vanilla. Do you like vanilla?”
Max concentrated on the buttons. Found zero. A voice said into his ear, “This is your Native Sun Casino operator. How may I direct your call on this lucky day?”
“The butler pantry?”
“Of course. Is there anything else I can do for you sir?”
“No.”
“Please hold while I transfer your call. Have a wonderful time in the Sun.”
“Thanks,” he said, but the call was already ringing through. It was picked up promptly.
A voice he didn’t recognize: “Good evening, this is the Rick. How may I assist you?”
“Rick?”
“Hello. May I ask who’s calling?”
“Rick who?”
“Hello Mr. Rickoo. How may I help you?”
“What? No. Is this the butler pantry?”
“Yes, Mr. Rickoo. This is Rick, the evening butler.”
“Oh. Okay.” He’d never known there was a butler named Rick. “Is Antonio there?”
“No, I’m sorry, but I would be more than happy to help you Mr. Rickoo.”
“Stop calling me that.”
“Sorry, sir.”
“Is Antonio in the Sachem Suite, maybe?”
“No, sir.”
“Have I gotten any calls from the Sachem Suite?”
There was a brief pause. “To whom am I speaking, again?’
“Max.”
“Max Rickoo?”
“Stop that. That isn’t my name. You said that was my name.”
Another pause. “Perhaps you should tell me your full name, sir.”
“Max Allen. I’m looking for Antonio.”
“Max Allen from the corner suite? My sincere apologies, Mr. Allen. Antonio isn’t here at the moment, but I can reach him on his cell phone if you’d like me to have him call you.”
“Uhm. Okay.”
“Should I have him call you in the ballroom pantry?”
“Oh, I guess not.”
“Do you have a cell phone where he can reach you?”
“It’s in my room.”
“May I deliver a message for you, Mr. Allen?”
How much did Rick know about the butler mix-up with Shannon? It didn’t sound like he knew anything about it, or at least, he wasn’t letting on. Probably Antonio was keeping it confidential.
“No, thanks, Rick. I’ll call him back later.”
“Very good, sir. Is there anything else I can do for you this evening?”
“Nope.”
“Let me know if you need anything further.”
“Can I ask you a question about the Sachem Suite?”
Pause. “Do you have an acquaintance staying in that suite this evening?”
“Antonio introduced us. As a favor.”
“Ah. Of course. What is your question,
sir?”
“Have you gotten any calls or requests from that room tonight?”
“The gentleman in the suite left some time ago to a private gambling room. There was a large group of teenage individuals awaiting his arrival.”
“Anything from Shannon?”
“No, sir.”
“She didn’t call for me?”
“Uhm. No, sir.” There was a thoughtful pause. “Would you like me to deliver a message to the female occupant of the suite, on your behalf?”
“No!” Max glanced over his shoulder. All the waitresses were staring at him. He turned back towards the wall. “No thanks.”
“Very well, sir. Call me again if you require anything further.”
“Will do.” Max hung up the phone and turned around.
They were holding up his suit jacket. Cell phone girl, who he was pretty sure was named Shannon and he hadn’t imagined it, said, “Smells better now. You’re new huh?”
“Very.” He said, slipping his arms into the sleeves.
She patted his shoulders while another buttoned his jacket. “Have you seen Brandon?”
“Who?”
That made her laugh. “There’s only one silly.” She shimmied her shoulders. Her breasts jiggled in their restraints. “You sexy bitch, you wanna ditch, yo man for me…”
For a second Max hadn’t realized she was singing a song. His neck grew hot again.
One of the waitresses, who he hadn’t noticed had stepped into the ballroom, came back through the door with a tray of empty champagne flutes. “Hey Max, one of the poker players is outside the door asking for you.”
Cash had doubled-back. “Is there a back way out?”
They all stared at him, confused. “Are you off duty?”
“Oh.” He was a butler. Right. “No, not yet. Okay. Thanks.”
On his way out one of them patted him on the back. “Welcome to the team. See ya around.”
Another shouted, “If you get Brandon’s autograph let us know!”
In the ballroom the noise of talk and laughter filled his ears. The crowd undulated back and forth. He looked around for Cash. At least Cash could find a way out of here. Someone tapped him on the shoulder and he turned. She was wearing wraparound sunglasses, a white cowboy hat and a thigh-length leather coat. Her legs were bare and she was wearing a pair of white slippers. They looked like the slippers he’d given Shannon Moon. And the legs looked like the legs he’d seen on Shannon Moon. And that hat looked like the ten-gallon hat he’d left with Shannon Moon.
“Thank God,” said the lady, in a voice that sounded just like Shannon Moon’s. She pushed into him, her hands running up the lapels of his jacket. “I thought I’d never find you.”
Max rubbed his eyes. This wasn’t champagne. This was real.
Then tears began running out from underneath Shannon’s sunglasses and before he could stop himself, he wrapped her in his arms.
Chapter Nineteen
“Get me out of here, Max,” she pleaded.
He looked around helplessly and tried to find a break in the tuxedos. It felt like everyone must be looking at them from underneath their hats. He half expected a flock of photographers to zoom over the crowd at them, swinging from stuntman wires, cameras blazing.
Shannon sniffled from somewhere far below.
What would Antonio do? He must be an expert at VIP emergency evacuations. Max tried arching his eyebrow like Antonio did when he was thinking, but both of his eyebrows jumped at once and bumped into each other like they were confused.
“We’re going,” he said firmly. Visualize, vocalize and energize. That’s what his therapist used to tell him. First see the solution…damn. He was going in the wrong order by vocalizing first.
“Max,” she said.
He knew that Shannon being recognized would be horrible. She was crying, in the arms of a poker player, wearing not much of anything, really. Luckily the room was full of women like that, hanging off the shoulders of the other male poker players, except for the crying part. He had a horrible feeling she’d been attacked somehow. Maybe a crazy photographer. Hadn’t Antonio mentioned something about that? Somehow the crowd had pooled around them and they were encircled. Max reached down and adjusted her hat to block her face, tilting it to the side a bit. He caught a glimpse of her wet cheek pressed against his tuxedo shirt and felt a strange surge of feeling well up inside him. He held her closer, having to protect her now. “We’re going this way. Walk like we’re cuddling, maybe a little drunk. Don’t look up, just follow my footsteps. It’ll work because I’m a little drunk.”
“Okay,” she said.
He maneuvered them through a double-wall of partiers with a combination of forceful pressure and indifference. He found the back wall of the ballroom and kept his shoulder to it as he ushered her, closely, along the thin path between crowd and outer wall. Her leg brushed up against his, and twice he felt her slipper slide across the top of his foot. They performed this awkward tango until he found the pantry door again.
Inside there was only one cocktail waitress left, apparently finishing her cell phone conversation. She looked over her shoulder and saw Max enter with Shannon in his arms. Her expression was a combination of helpfulness and suspicion.
“What’s wrong –who’s that?”
Max walked past her to the back door of the pantry. “A player, she’s not feeling well.”
“Want me to call the EMTs?”
“No,” said Max, pushing through the back door and urging Shannon through with a hand on her back. “They’re meeting us back here. Just don’t let anybody come this way for a little while, okay?”
She nodded. “Got it,” then went back to her call. “Nothing, just a butler. Some player got drunk or something.”
Just before exiting Max grabbed a handful of cocktail napkins off the countertop. In the outer hall he paused, almost wrapping his arms back around Shannon. When he seemed unsure what to do, she walked to him, bumping flat against his chest and sighing. He put his arm across her back, handed her the napkins.
“Thanks,” she said. “Where are we?”
“Employee hallway.” He glanced around and saw a bulletin board, a lot of closed doors with security glass, some directional signage and a poster about benefits enrollment on a door marked Satellite Benefits Office. “It’s where we sign up for benefits,” he said. “Satellite office.”
“Can we go in there and sit down?”
Max stepped over to the door and tugged the handles. “Locked. Come on, one of these doors has to be open.”
They turned a corner and found a hallway packed with rolling cages full of beer, wine and champagne, each of them chained and padlocked. There was a heavy smell of liquor, and some areas of the tiled floor were sticky. Just past the cages he saw a janitor’s utility cart outside an open office. On the side of the plastic cart the words INTERIOR SERVICES were stenciled.
“Wait right here.” Max turned and looked at Shannon. She gave him a weak smile. He gently tugged the front of the hat down a bit more before going into the open office. Desk, flat panel computer monitor and keyboard, ergonomic office chair, filing cabinet, a large photograph of the ballroom at maximum capacity, a sea of heads and upraised glasses beneath a digital caption reading New Year’s Eve 2007.
There was an inner doorway to the right, and this is where the cleaning attendant emerged, dressed in a yellow zippered shirt, black pants, a bushy moustache and a startled expression. He exclaimed, “Oh!”
“Sorry,” said Max. “Didn’t mean to surprise you.”
“S’okay,” said the man. His nametag read JULIO.
“Can I use this office for a minute? She’s not feeling well,” said Max, gesturing to Shannon in the doorway.
“Jess,” said Julio, nodding. He eyeballed the tuxedo. “You working here?”
“Jess – I mean yes. I’m a butler.”
“S’okay,” he said, and then looked at Shannon. “She puking?”
“No. Ju
st a little…upset.”
“Ah.” He slid past Shannon and rattled some things around in his cart before pushing it away.
Shannon walked in and shut the door behind her. “Thanks, Max.”
Max pulled the chair away from the desk. “Can I get you something?”
She sat down and dabbed her cheeks with one of the cocktail napkins. “I’m fine.” She chuckled. “What am I saying? I’m a wreck.” She lifted up her sunglasses and wiped the napkin across her eyes.
Max looked around on the desk for tissues. There was a stapler, a cup of pens, a framed award certificate and a picture of Greg Sheffield holding the award certificate as he stood next to a man in a very expensive suit. Oh damn it. Of all the offices to be open. He walked over to the door and pressed the button lock. “So nobody barges in,” he said. “You can take off the sunglasses and hat. If you want to.”
“Thank you, you’re sweet,” said Shannon. She smoothed the ends of the leather jacket over her bare thighs. “Under here I’m an even bigger wreck.”
She had beautiful knees, he noticed. Not bumpy knees like everybody else’s knees. Perfectly smooth, just like her thighs. Just like all of her.
What the hell was he thinking?
He quickly dropped his eyes to the floor but saw that she was sliding her feet in and out of the white slippers. She had really great ankles.
Shannon sighed. “I hope you won’t get in trouble with your boss. Not Antonio, I know he’d be fine. But whoever you work for down here.”
Max glanced at the picture of Greg Sheffield. “Oh, I’m off the clock. The tournament’s over.”
“You probably want to go home.”
“I practically live here.”
She took another deep breath. “Working two jobs must be hard.”
“It must be.” He saw her expression and quickly added, “…if you don’t like them. I like my jobs. Both of them.”
“You’re a good man. Probably want to have the best for Trixie.”
“We don’t live together anymore.”
Her sunglasses angled towards him. “Divorce?”
He nodded, and then shrugged. “Casinos and marriages don’t mix.”
“But you still see her?”
“Trixie? Our relationship is better now after the divorce. We’re very close.”
CASINO SHUFFLE Page 13