Certified Male

by Kristin Hardy

  Except with every breath she took.

  The man ahead of her walked along slowly, bent over slightly. She started to skirt her way around him and head to the elevators, then she caught sight of his face. “Stewart?”

  “Gwennie?” He stared at her, incredulous.

  “You’re here.” She wrapped her arms around him, bags and all. When he grunted, she stepped back. “Is something wrong?”

  He winced. “I tripped on the trails while I was running this weekend and dinged up my ribs.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Sure. It’s nothing serious, just a few bruises. Takes a little while to get over. I’m just not as young as I used to be, you know.”

  It was true, she saw. The two years that he’d been gone from San Francisco had added a lot more gray to his hair and a network of lines to his face. A subtle tension hung around him, or maybe it was just the stiffness, she couldn’t tell. “Jeez, be more careful when you’re running. Being too healthy can kill you, you know.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” He studied her. “So, is this the new you?”

  She shrugged. “It’s the me for now.”

  “It suits you.” He hesitated. “I wish I could say that you look a hundred percent great, but you’re looking a little rough around the edges. This whole stamp thing getting to you?”

  She shrugged. “I’ve had better weeks. Where’s your stuff?”

  “I checked in already. Figured I’d come on up. So what’s the deal?”

  “The good news is that I think I know where the stamps are. The problem is getting into Jerry’s room when he’s not around. He’s up on the concierge level, so it’s a little tricky.”

  “I’d say the problem is getting in, period.”

  “Not exactly.” She held up the key.

  “How’d you get your hands on that?”

  “I have my ways. Now, the only place I can guarantee he’ll be will be the final round of the tournament tonight.”

  “You want me to search while you’re playing?”

  She shook her head. “I’m going to bail out of the tournament as early as I can without making it obvious. I’ll meet you up here. The passkey will get the elevator up to the concierge level and get us into the room.”

  “They won’t notice anything?”

  “I’m Jerry’s buddy. I was just upstairs partying with him after the last round. They won’t think a thing.”

  “Remind me never to get in your way,” he said admiringly.

  “Save it until we’ve got the stamps back. They’re showing the tournament on the closed-circuit TV system, so we can keep an eye on him at all times, make sure he’s at the table where he belongs.”

  “It could work.”

  She fought back nerves. “I’m pretty sure I know where the stamps are, but it’s not easy to get to. I’ll need your help.”

  “You’ve got it.”

  “Great.” She took a long breath. “Well, play starts in half an hour. I’m just going to drop this stuff in my room and I’ll be back down to meet you.”

  “I’ll be waiting.”

  21

  A WEEK BEFORE, GWEN HAD watched the tournament start with no expectation of success. Now she stood with Roxy in the players’ lounge waiting to be introduced as a finalist. Waiting to find out whether she was going to walk away with a hundred and fifty thousand dollars or two million. She should have been thrilled.

  She couldn’t muster up a modicum of excitement.

  Roxy gave her a narrow-eyed stare and took her by the arm. “Come on.”

  “What?”

  “In here.” She dragged Gwen into the ladies’ lounge. “Where’s your head?” she demanded. “You’re sitting down with the barracudas in about five minutes and you’ve got to be focused.”

  “I am focused,” Gwen protested feebly.

  “No, you’re not. You space out tonight, you’re letting him win. No matter what happened between you—and I’m not asking about it—you’ve got to get past it and play this round.”

  Roxy was right, Gwen realized, but not in the way she thought. Gwen had to get it together in order to exit the tournament without raising suspicion and get into Jerry’s room to find the stamps. The previous Saturday she had tried and failed. This time, she had to make it work. She had to get her mind off Del.

  She bent over and took several deep breaths and then stood quickly upright. “Okay,” she said. “Let’s do it.”

  “You’ve got every reason to be confident,” Roxy told her as they walked out the door. “You’re in the final round, so you’re in the money. No matter what happens, you’re pulling down some serious bucks. And we’re seated side by side, so we’re coming in with big advantages.”

  “Which are?”

  “Hooters. Show me a man who can think straight when staring one pair of breasts in the eye, let alone two.” She grinned. “Not even professional gamblers are that good. The money gets serious for the top seven finishers, so all we need to do is jettison a couple of these jokers and we’re in there.”

  “After which, of course, it’s every woman for herself.”

  “Of course.”

  “Don’t expect your secret weapons to dazzle me,” Gwen warned her, feeling her fog of depression lift a bit.

  “I knew you wouldn’t be so easy,” Roxy sighed. “Oops, they’re starting.”

  The room had undergone another transformation. Gone was the bustle, the explosion of tables everywhere you looked. Now only a single spotlit green oval sat before the bleachers in the darkened room, a strip of white illumination circling its base. Blue drapes around the walls dotted with pin lights added drama. Behind the table, on the dealer’s side, a large projection screen showed an image of the empty table, the green baize with the brown leather padded rim. It looked innocuous, but over the next few hours it would be the site of something extraordinary, a pile of two million in bricks of hundred-dollar bills.

  Seat by seat, the MC began introducing the players. Before, the tournament had been something of a cattle call, populated by hordes of nameless, faceless competitors. As the field had narrowed, the reporters had clustered around the well-known players and the crowd had begun following favorites, cheering them on by name. Now the MC was working the room, hyping the crowd more with each introduction.

  Gwen watched Del walk to his seat to the accompaniment of whoops from some of the women in the audience. In a way she ought to have thanked him. If she hadn’t been so numb, Gwen would have been nervous. Instead her emotions felt so deadened, it was hard to worry about anything too much, except maybe getting into Jerry’s room.

  The only thing left that mattered.

  “In seat number six, placing seventh in last year’s World Series of Poker and the winner of last year’s Tournament of Champions, Roxanne Steele.”

  “Oops, that’s me.” Roxy gave Gwen a quick hug and broke away to sashay through the gauntlet of flashbulbs, waving her arms, the shiny tournament bracelet on her wrist winking.

  Gwen swallowed and took a breath. “In position seven, competing in her first tournament, San Franciscan Nina Chatham.”

  Gwen walked across to the table, staring at Del. It felt as if someone were sitting on her chest, making it hard to breathe. Del sat there, his sunglasses reflecting her form as she approached. In a way it paralleled their relationship, neither one of them able to get past the wall between them. Whether that wall was mirrored sunglasses or the persona of Nina or something else, it was there. Maybe she never had gotten any deeper than the surface with him. Maybe she never had gotten through to what was behind.

  Tucking her skirt under, Gwen sat. Look away, she told herself, but she couldn’t. Was it the distortion of the lenses or did her cheeks really look that drawn, did her eyes really look so smudged with exhaustion? How was it that Del seemed just the same when her entire life had changed in a day?

  The pain suddenly sliced through her and Gwen took a ragged breath.

  Someone grabbed
her hand and squeezed. It was Roxy. “Look at me,” she commanded.

  Gwen tore her gaze from Del and turned to stare into Roxy’s gray eyes.

  “Don’t lose it, hon,” Roxy whispered. “Hold on. Remember, walking away with the most chips is the best revenge.”

  The dealer shuffled and the dance began.

  DEL STARED AT THE TABLE, trying to concentrate on the play and failing miserably. He should have been focusing on the nearby faces, some of whom were new to him. He should have been following their choices, logging them mentally so that when a crucial hand arose, he’d know how to handle it.

  Instead behind his sunglasses he watched Gwen. He could see that the night had been no easier on her than it had been on him, but it was scant comfort. He’d never meant to hurt her. What he’d wanted was trust, honesty. What he’d looked for was some assurance that his feelings were valid, that the person he’d realized he’d fallen in love with was real.

  Instead she’d thrown up a wall before him, a wall between them. And maybe that was for the best. Maybe they didn’t have a future together. If so, better to know it now.

  “Your bet, sir?” Not only the dealer but the entire table was looking at him, Del realized. Quickly he assessed and saw that nearly everyone at the table had folded save him and Gwen. She’d just raised and sat staring at him, eyes defiant, challenging him to take her on.

  He took a quick glance at his pocket cards. Ace and king of hearts. There was a determined set to her shoulders that told him she had something. Queens? Jacks? He raised. It was worth it to him to hold on and find out.

  Gwen called to stay with him and the flop brought a jack of diamonds and a ten and a two of hearts. There were hearts everywhere, it seemed, he thought as he raised. So why did his own chest feel so hollow?

  Gwen called and they both nodded to the dealer.

  The turn brought a four of spades. Call a spade a spade, Del, old boy, and admit that you’re not going to walk away from this one without leaving a piece of yourself behind. Whether he’d intended to or not, he’d screwed up by telling Jessup about the story. He’d broken Gwen’s confidence. Even if they managed to get past that, the fundamental problem of who she was and who she was pretending to be remained. He’d fallen for a pretty face and deception once already in his life. He couldn’t do it again.

  Gwen curved her fingers around her stacks of chips. For a few seconds she didn’t move, as though she were steeling her nerve. She stared at the table and then raised her head and stared directly at Del. She moistened her lips. “All in,” she whispered.

  All in was a challenge, it was a confrontation. So why did it feel like a reproach? The seconds ticked by. He could see the pulse beating in her neck; he couldn’t tell if her reaction was fear or excitement. Stop making it personal and start playing the game.

  He called her.

  All in meant showing everything. Gwen turned up her hole cards to reveal a jack and a seven. He turned up his king ace. The silence was deafening. The lights felt hot. He stifled the impulse to take Gwen’s hand. For an instant he had the ridiculous thought that whatever they had to face, they could face together. And he knew he was wrong, because they were facing it apart.

  The dealer laid the river card on the baize facedown and set his fingertips on it. The seconds crawled by. Then he turned it over.

  And a cheer erupted from his supporters in the stands. Jack of hearts. His heart was on the table, Del thought aridly. He’d won the pot, his flush beating Gwen’s three of a kind. He should have been overjoyed.

  He wasn’t.

  GWEN SWALLOWED. EVEN THOUGH her goal had been to knock herself out of the tournament to go search Jerry’s room, it had taken so much to push all of her chips forward. Watching Del rake them in was easy. He’d taken her heart already. What was a few hundred thousand in chips? He’d won the hand just as he’d won whatever had passed between them. And now her part in the game was over, just as her part in his life.

  The humming silence within her matched the silence around the table. She rose, gave Roxy a hug and walked away.

  And at the edge of the crowd she saw Stewart.

  JERRY’S ROOM LOOKED THE worse for wear when they walked in, with clothing strewn around and empty bottles set out. As soon as they closed the door, Gwen crossed to the television and turned it on to the poker game, muting the sound.

  And, of course, the camera was focused on Del’s face as he stared down at the table. Was it her imagination or was there regret in the set of his mouth? Foolish, she chided herself, seeing what she wanted to see. It wasn’t there. He was perfectly happy with the way things had worked out between them. There was no point in thinking differently.

  Just as there was no point repeating her search. She knew where the envelope was. The challenge was to get it. “Over here,” she told Stewart and walked into the minibar area. The refrigerator was just as difficult to get to as it had been before. With his thicker hands, Stewart had less luck than she had had.

  Her hand on the refrigerator, Gwen looked around vainly for something long and skinny to use to draw the envelope out with. Why hadn’t she come prepared?

  “Let’s just pull it out of there,” Stewart said, edging past her.

  He managed to get his fingers on the top and bottom of the refrigerator to pull it out enough that Gwen could get her hand underneath. So close, so close. “Can you pull it out a little more?” she asked.

  “Can’t. The cord’s too short.”

  She edged her hand in just a bit farther, gritting her teeth against the discomfort. Almost there, she thought, brushing it with her fingertips. Almost… “I’ve got it,” she cried out jubilantly and slid the envelope out.

  It was stiffened with cardboard, still warm from its contact with the refrigerator. Finally, at last, it was in her hands. Now all she had to do was look. It was like taking the first peek at her pocket cards. She pulled up the flap of the envelope. And disappointment filled her, dry and bitter like ashes in her mouth.

  The envelope was empty.

  Stewart read it all in her face. “Gone?”

  She nodded numbly, trying to comprehend the enormity of the disaster. “Gone.”

  “He couldn’t possibly have sold them.”

  “It doesn’t matter. They’re not here.”

  “We need to search the rest of the place.” There was a note of desperation in his voice.

  “I’ve looked everywhere else.”

  “But that was almost a week ago, right? He could have moved them.” Stewart went to the bedroom.

  Gwen started to follow and froze. “Stewart.” She gestured to the television. It was panning over the whole final table.

  And Jerry was nowhere to be seen.

  Stewart cursed. “How long’s he been out?”

  “I don’t know,” she snapped. “I wasn’t watching. Come on, get the refrigerator back in place, quick. We can go down the stairs to the next floor, take the elevator from there.”

  “All right. I—”

  Before he could finish, there was a click at the door. It opened to reveal Jerry.

  “What the—” He stepped through the door. “What the hell are you doing in my room?” he demanded, taking two swift steps inside.

  Gwen opened her mouth, trying wildly to think of an explanation that would work. “It’s not how it looks. I—”

  “You’ve been a bad boy, Jerry.”

  The words came from behind her. Gwen whipped around to see Stewart staring ahead of her, staring at Jerry.

  And in Stewart’s hand, a gun.

  22

  DEL SAT AT THE TABLE, splitting a stack of chips with one hand and riffling them together as if they were playing cards. Outside he appeared calm. Inside his thoughts were buzzing.

  Both Gwen and Jerry were out, within maybe twenty minutes of one another. Both of them had been high in the chip count. Both of them had gone out on a limb with only so-so cards—Gwen on a jack seven, Jerry on a jack two.

  H
e didn’t like it. He didn’t like it a bit.

  Her plan had been to bail out of the tournament and use the time to finish her search of Jerry’s room. If she’d gone through with it, she’d be in Jerry’s room right now. Del tensed. As soon as Jerry had cashed out, he’d left the table. For where? Maybe the bar, maybe a strip club.

  Or maybe his room.

  She’d told him it wasn’t his problem. She’d told him she didn’t want him involved. He should just sit here then and let her deal with it, right?

  Bullshit.

  Del looked around trying to spot someone from security. He needed to dig up Ahmanson and he needed him now. The last thing he needed to do was sit here flipping chips in a card game.

  “Your bet, sir,” the dealer said.

  Just do it, Del told himself. So he’d played his way to number six. He was an amateur. He’d probably be out legitimately any hand anyway. It wouldn’t hurt. Not much.

  He pushed his chips forward. “All in.”

  “STEWART, WHAT IN GOD’S NAME are you doing?”

  “Please, Gwen, no more interference,” Stewart replied in a strained voice.

  She stepped toward him. “But, Stewart…”

  Stewart moved the gun slightly in her direction, freezing her. “I mean it, Gwen. Please.”

  Jerry’s face clouded. “Gwen? I thought your name was Nina,” he said.

  “Come now, Jerry,” Stewart said mockingly. “Surely you ought to have recognized Gwen Chastain, even if she does look a little different these days. Gwen’s been very helpful in all this. She was the one who tracked you down. Stealing the Ben Franklins was an idiotic, greedy thing to do.”

  Jerry glowered at them both.