Wedding Roulette

by Leandra Logan

Their meals arrived and they began to nibble.

  “Michael, women don’t like to be stared at while they’re eating!”

  “I know.” He looked remarkably unrepentant. “Just can’t help thinking you look so much better without heavy makeup.”

  “I didn’t even bring it along, so it isn’t an issue.”

  “The more I get to know you, the more baffled I am as to how you ever got involved with the ‘Simona Says’ column in the first place.” Was he imagining it, or did fear flash in her tempting sapphire eyes?

  “Rather reluctantly,” she said guardedly. “It was the aunts’ idea. A way to earn some income while I was still in college.”

  “You do seem to have a knack for promotion, what with your napkin sketch and all the points you covered at the workshop. Have you ever considered using it for good?”

  “I’m using it for good right now,” she said defensively. “Playing the best darn fiancée imaginable! Under the circumstances.”

  “I just want to sort things out, scope the middle ground we walk on.”

  “You are leading up to something. What is it?”

  “I want to discuss the letter, the one that got me running to your place.”

  She had the grace to redden. “That letter was written in a fit of panic. Looking back, I see it as nothing but a pack of nonsense to divert your attention, stop you from suing.”

  “I won’t have anyone criticizing the best letter a guy could ever receive,” he retorted gently. “It was charming, insightful, suggestive, and made the most generous offer imaginable.”

  “I would just like to forget that letter.”

  “Nope. Impossible.”

  “Okay, let’s get it over with. I know what it is. That ‘I’m too sexy,’ line was ridiculous—”

  “No, that was fine! I mean it was true. You were too sexy. Way too sexy. I couldn’t think straight at all. It’s part of the reason I was so flustered, unable to reason with you. No, it’s what you said about being finished with the Simona schmooze. Did you mean really that?”

  “Oh boy, did I ever!” She pulled back a little, as if weighing her words.

  “If there is anything I can do to help you redirect your life—”

  “I don’t want to discuss it right now,” she erupted. “Ask me anything else you want, about my feelings, my habits, my political beliefs. But let’s not touch on the column, not in the middle of…everything.”

  It was difficult to understand why she didn’t want to discuss the matter now. Still, there was no sense in spoiling everything over it. So he shrugged and bit into his hamburger.

  As they shared a hot fudge sundae for dessert, Michael brought up the safer subject of gambling. “Were you sincere about trying the blackjack tables?”

  “Blackjack’s just twenty-one, right? The object of the game being to get a hand adding up to twenty-one, or as close as possible without going over that amount.”

  “Yes. And to beat the dealer’s hand, of course.” He regarded her with amusement. “You play twenty-one?”

  “Very well.” Diving her spoon into a mountain of fudge sauce, she withdrew a huge scoop and drew it to her mouth. “Mmm, this is yummy.”

  “Ah, I can envision you now, at some after-hours joint back in the cities, playing a high-stakes game in that little red dress of yours.”

  She gawked at him. “You sure have a rich fantasy life, don’t you.”

  “Is my image that far off?”

  “Try in my college dorm, dressed in gym clothes, playing for some very low stakes.”

  “What were the stakes?”

  “Chits of a sort, small squares of paper. Each chit had a privilege written on it, like dibs on the television remote, private time in the bathroom, food tickets to the cafeteria.”

  “How’d you do?”

  “I never missed an episode of E.R., took long hot showers, and had as many Twinkies as I could handle.”

  “Wow.”

  “I have a photographic memory, you see, so if I concentrate, I can remember every card played.”

  “No kidding.”

  “Then it is a matter of figuring out what is left in the deck.”

  “Guess it is sort of a card counting system.”

  “Really? It has a special name?”

  “Yes.” Propping an elbow on the counter, he rested his chin in his hand and stared hard at her. She was the most exquisite creature on earth. Krista was lovely, brainy and confident. And she could count cards.

  He smiled dreamily. If this wasn’t love, it oughta be.

  “It’s nothing, really,” she claimed with a wave.

  “Nothing? Your memory is a gambler’s dream.” He glanced down, vaguely aware that she was finishing the sundae herself. “So you’ve never played twenty-one for money, in a casino setting?”

  “Nope.” With a clatter her spoon fell to her plate. “Strange as it may seem, I spend a lot of my time working, just like you. So, do you have one of these systems to help you win?”

  “I count cards, too. Or try to with my limited brain power. My system is a well-known one. It’s a matter of assigning certain values to each specific card.” He watched her forehead crunch. “I think you’re better off not knowing anything about it, and going with your own instincts. That is, if you would like to give the tables a try.”

  She leaned close to whisper, “I have fifty bucks on me.” Then she clicked her tongue and winked at him.

  He smiled. If this wasn’t a glimpse of heaven, it oughta be.

  There were several casinos to choose from. Michael settled on the Golden Horseshoe on 4th Street. It was an older building with low ceilings, narrow aisles and drink bargains. The gamblers fell into two outstanding categories: the older tourists and the blue-collar locals.

  Even if the stray conventioneer did happen to wander downtown, the odds of him choosing this place for adventure were poor, as no guidebook had been especially kind in its assessment.

  For the first time since their arrival they were free to relax in a casino. They stood just inside the large rambling space, bathed in a dull yellow glow. There was no mistaking Krista’s excitement. Somehow, the celebrated columnist was more than pleased with this cheap, no-frills adventure. Though his memory wasn’t photographic, he could remember well enough that he hadn’t a single date in the past five years who would have been satisfied with tonight’s itinerary, who would have brought her own gambling cache.

  “The first trick to being a skilled player is to blend in with the other players,” he cautioned.

  “I don’t think I can age thirty years,” she teased. “But our casual clothing gives us a low profile.”

  “What I mean is, you look too excited,” he clarified.

  She gazed into the commotion. “Maybe because I am excited.”

  “Excited people have a greater chance of being watched. That will make your winning appear more of a spectacle and increase the odds that we may get booted out.”

  “They can kick us out for winning?”

  “They sure can.” To his chagrin, she appeared even more excited.

  “Sorry,” she mumbled under his frown. “I just feel so naughty.”

  “Hold that feeling for later.”

  She glowed all the more.

  Willing himself to remain calm, he went on in a steady tone. “Other things to keep in mind. Don’t move your lips while you count. Don’t vary the size of your wager. Don’t move your head to follow the cards as they’re being dealt. Lastly, don’t chat too much with me or anyone else.”

  “Can I smile?”

  “Only a little bit. Make it an in-between smile, serenelike.”

  “Gotcha.”

  Michael sighed indulgently. She looked about as collected as a kid on Christmas Eve.

  He led the way through a room crammed with machines and tables. Stopping at a cashier’s cage, he produced some bills to buy two cups of nickels.

  “What are you doing, Michael?”

  “We’l
l kill some time at the slots first. It’ll give you a chance to dim a few hundred watts and perhaps enhance your tourist-without-a-photographic-memory image.”

  They played the machines for nearly an hour, during which time they discussed a variety of topics, including some things that would happen at the table. “Most players use chips. What you do is put the cash you want to convert to chips above the better’s box. The dealer will give you your chips and push the cash through a slot cut into the table. If he offers you the deck to cut, don’t get fancy. Take off a top portion and lay it beside the remaining half. Let’s watch a few hands at the tables, then make our move.”

  Moving casually, they observed a few of the half-circle tables covered in green felt. Michael remarked on the shoe holding the cards, the betting area and the Minimum Bet signs posted at each table. “Notice how betters scrape the table with their cards if they want a hit.”

  “Even we did that,” Krista said with a laugh.

  “Do you notice how players, when satisfied with their hands, slip them under their chips? It’s bad form to ever touch your bet.”

  After careful consideration Michael suggested they hit a blackjack game in the rear that boasted three players and a friendly young male dealer.

  She detained him with a hand on the arm, tipping her face to his. “Quick! Any changes necessary? How do I look now?”

  “Too sexy, too sexy,” he teased gruffly, leading her through the throng.

  The dealer’s name tag read Bert. He exchanged their money for chips, then asked for bets. Michael put down five dollars and Krista followed his lead. Bert then placed the deck in front of Krista to allow her to cut it. Michael felt a flick of annoyance as he sensed that Bert was admiring her. But was he really? Michael thought all men in the city were admiring her.

  Closing his eyes, Michael willed himself to concentrate on the game. Could he manage it? Krista was at her most attractive in her plain pedestrian clothing, her complexion free of paste and powders.

  Away from the convention’s pressures, all he could think of was making love to her.

  Bert dealt them two cards facedown in rapid succession, dealing himself one card down, the second up. Players studied their cards, and Bert’s one visible card. Bert then went around the table to see if anyone wanted a hit. Krista and another man slipped their cards under their chips to signal that they were each set to stand on the hand they had.

  Michael and the two women took cards.

  Krista won the hand with two kings, for a total of twenty points.

  Michael had the feeling Bert was finished flirting with his woman.

  It was after midnight when they emerged from the casino. “So what now?” Krista asked. “Anything you want, my treat.”

  “That does seem a square deal, as you have all my money—and everyone else’s—in your purse.”

  She grinned. “You aren’t the sore loser type, are you?”

  “I don’t know for sure. I hardly ever lose.”

  “I’ll split the thousand with you. After all, you gave me plenty of pointers—”

  “No, no, that’s all right.”

  She delved into her purse discreetly, pulling out a ready fifty. “I insist you take your stake back.”

  “No—”

  “Yes,” she said adamantly, pressing it into his palm. “I know very well you emptied your wallet in there, and I want to go dancing.”

  “You do?”

  “We did all that practicing and have hardly used a step.”

  Michael took her to a lounge he knew down the street. It was a cramped smoky place that smelled of beer and bodies. The waitresses were full-busted with arms strong enough to carry trays of drinks above their heads. Little was left to the imagination as they were dressed in plunging T-shirts and short shorts. Michael would have anticipated that a sultry lady columnist who dated nearly every night had seen her share of such places back in the Twin Cities, but Krista appeared a trifle awed by the surroundings.

  “What do you order to drink in a place like this, Michael?”

  “I order beer out of the bottle,” he replied quickly. Discovering a small table near the stage, he captured her hand and plowed through patrons and servers.

  Calling the front section of the lounge a stage was using the term loosely. It was a narrow platform raised about six inches, and boasted a piano and a microphone on a stand. A dance floor fronted the platform. A bored young man with a ponytail sat at the piano and a woman of about twenty-two dressed in a glittery gold-colored dress belted out an energetic song.

  A waitress approached to take their orders. Krista pulled her chair closer to Michael’s and leaned in to him to speak above the din, telling him she’d have whatever he was having. He ordered two bottles of beer. The waitress departed and Krista continued to lean in close.

  “Wanna dance?” he asked her.

  “Eventually. Let’s just sit here for a little bit. I need to chill out.”

  “I bet you do.” He smiled. “Hey, that is probably my first successful bet of the night.”

  “Oh, you.” She swatted his arm. “Surely a successful guy like you doesn’t really mind losing to a lady once in a while.”

  “After sitting here, thinking about it, I’m amazed at how okay it is.”

  “That’s because we’re a team. When one of us wins, so does the other.”

  They sat through the remainder of the set and the duo’s break, leaning against each other, drinking beer.

  “You know,” she marveled, thumping another empty bottle on the table, “I like this beer. Are all brands this good?”

  “You’ve never had a beer?”

  “No.” Her eyes grew huge and she put a finger to her lips. “Don’t tell anybody. I’m supposed to be the reckless kind.”

  “I can’t believe no man has ever ordered you a beer.”

  “Guess I must look like a wine girl, because people always send over a wine.”

  “You must hang around some fairly nice places.”

  “Ah, but never had better company than I do tonight.”

  The duo returned to the stage then.

  “Ready to dance now?”

  She was.

  To their delight the first song of the set proved to be a nice ballad. The singer had a soft husky voice that did better justice to a slow song than to the faster songs of the last set.

  Michael had Krista locked snug in the crook of his arm as he guided her slowly about the floor among several other couples. Resting his face against her raven hair, he could still discern her fragrance despite the veil of smoke they’d been swimming in for hours. He’d come to recognize her scent, to take it for granted. Oh, how he’d love to take it for granted for a long while to come.

  She tipped her head to catch his eye. “What are you thinking about?”

  “Only that I can’t imagine this convention without you.”

  “Well, it’s been an exciting ride, sizing up the players, second-guessing their motives. I’m hooked on the intrigue.”

  “To no surprise, as you’ve caused a part of it yourself!”

  “I only mean the best for you.”

  “I know that, honey.” He squeezed her closer and twirled her around. “It amazes me how close we’ve become in such a short time, and on so many levels. This has never happened to me before.”

  “Probably because you’re too careful in general,” she suggested.

  “That’s probably true.” He gazed down at her reverently. “Sometimes I feel you know me as well as I know myself.”

  She hesitated. “That may be because we have a lot in common—deep inside.”

  “Never would have guessed we’d be able to communicate so well, considering our different careers, personalities….”

  “It’s that chemistry thing I was talking about earlier. You know.”

  “I know.” Dipping his head, he sought her lips with his. They continued to move automatically as they kissed. This was the first time Michael had used his t
ongue to explore the sensitive areas of her mouth. She closed her eyes and moaned softly. Loosening her body in his embrace she allowed him to make all the moves. Encouraged, he lowered his hand from her spine to her bottom, squeezing it gently.

  “You are an angel. Or are you a witch?” he breathed in her ear.

  She opened her eyes, which were now blue slits of fire. “Depends what time it is.”

  “I think it’s time to go home.”

  The taxi ride back to the Strip and the Imperial Majestic and the trip through the lobby up the elevator were nothing but a blur, an inconvenience, a means to an end.

  They were peeling at one another’s clothes the moment they were safely behind the door of their suite.

  “Your place or mine?” Michael asked.

  “Mine.” She placed a hand on his chest as he advanced. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

  He held up his discarded pants. “I have a condom in my wallet.”

  “I know. I saw it. But you still have to go after the chocolate, the two pieces of Godiva the maid leaves under our pillows every night.”

  He was set off-kilter. “I’ve never found any chocolate under my pillow.”

  “That’s because I’ve been taking them.”

  He gave her scantily clad bottom a tap. “That’s stealing.”

  “All’s fair with Godiva. Now scoot.”

  When Michael entered her bedroom a few minutes later, Krista was pulling down the covers. Cast in the dim glow of the bedside lamp, she was a model of an exquisitely built angel—long, lean and perfectly shaped. Also completely naked, save for the ball of chocolate between her lips.

  With shaky fingers he tore at the foil condom packet to give himself a head start. Then, quickly advancing, he tossed the packet and the chocolates on the nightstand, grasped her by the waist, lifted her off her feet so they were at eye level and nipped the candy from her mouth.

  “Hey, give that back!” Wrapping her arms around his shoulders and her thighs around his middle, Krista tore her mouth into his, sliding her tongue between his lips as if on an invasive mission for chocolate.

  But her invasion was far more compelling than a hunt for candy.

  Michael was suddenly consumed by waves of fire, the heat source the very place Krista’s moist opening branded into his belly. He burned in sweet agony, in desperate need as she rubbed against him wantonly. Never in his life had he been so anxious to consume a woman. To own her devotion.