by Julie Dill
“Hi there, beautiful.” More melting. More melting. More melting.
“Good to see you.” I say as I receive the kiss.
I laugh to myself when I realize that less than twenty-four hours ago I was sitting in class learning to conjugate verbs and ask for directions in Spanish. Now I’m standing in Nate’s apartment ready for a road trip. Muy bueno.
I look around his apartment. Nothing fancy, but there’s a huge flat screen TV with a football game on. He’s such a manly man. He takes one last look at the score before he turns it off, then grabs his duffle bag and says, “Let’s do it.”
I feel like a five-year-old when I set my canvas bag next to his luggage-like duffel in the backseat. A small piece of luggage gets added to my mental to buy list, and I kick myself for not buying that nice one at the Goodwill last time I was there. But who knew I’d have a need for a piece of luggage? Ha!
I think of Dad and my plan as Nate opens the passenger door for me. I slide in and tell myself DO NOT FORGET TO CALL DAD. Do. Not. Forget.
It’s a perfect, and I do mean perfect, fall day. The sun is shining, there’s no wind, and the leaves are at their beautiful peak. He plugs his phone into the console, and his music begins to play. The Beatles’ “Something” sets the mood, and I’m already wishing this trip was going to be longer than a weekend.
I dodge some bullets on the way there by answering questions like: How was work this week? And give appropriate answers such as, “Oh, you know, work is work, I suppose.”
There’s a magnetic force in the car that makes me sit closer to the console than my door. I am over-the-top excited to be spending time with him. I like him more and more each minute. He makes me smile and laugh all the way to Tulsa.
You can see the casino from the interstate, and he points to show me.
“That’s where we’re going.”
“Wow, that’s cool.” I say. Colorful lights flash, even in the daytime, and you can tell that the place is hoppin’ by looking at the parking lot.
Nate takes the exit, and I try to contain my excitement. I pray since this is a “sister” casino that they won’t be checking IDs at the door either. That would take this fairytale to a screeching halt in no time.
Nate pulls into valet parking, and he knows the guy that comes to park our car.
“Hey there, Brother Nate.” They fist pump and slap each other on the back.
“Hey Eddie, long time no see.” Nate says.
Eddie opens the back door to help us with our bags. “You need some help getting this up to your room? Is this it?”
“Nah, we got it.” Nate grabs my bag and hands it to me. I put the strap on my shoulder then I hide it behind my back so no one can see. Nate hands the guy some cash. The guy looks me up and down and gives Nate the nod and a wink.
We walk in through a grandiose entrance, and I immediately notice that this one smells much better than the one back home. Nate says, “Give me just a minute, and I’ll get us checked in.”
“Sure,” I reply.
I stand in the elevated lobby and look down onto the casino floor. I see no one checking IDs, and there’s no security or anyone official-looking at the entrance down by the stairs. I roll my shoulders back and take a couple of deep breaths.
You are eighteen.
There’s a cool vibe in this place. Good music, lots of people, and it seems to be more of a social gathering compared to our casino.
“Here ya go.” Nate walks up holding a little envelope. He opens it up and says, “Room 314.”
“Oh, thanks.” I take the plastic card. It takes me a minute to figure out the card is a room key.
“Did you remember to bring your Player’s Club Card? Because it works here, too.”
I stammer.
“Oh, no, I didn’t even think about that.” Because I don’t have one.
“No problem, we can go get you another one after we put our bags up.” He starts walking to the elevators.
I panic.
I can’t do that.
A Player’s Club Card is for people of age with identification like a driver’s license.
No.
No, no, no.
Nate punches our floor number in the elevator, and I start chewing my thumb.
He reaches to take my bag for me and I say, “That’s okay, I got it.”
When we get to the room, Nate slides his key in a slit, and a green light flashes for us to enter. I’ve never seen anything like this in my life. Wow. Just wow. We walk into the room and it’s perfectly tidy. A cozy loveseat sits in the corner, along with a desk and a floor lamp. The comforter on the bed looks like it’s been starched and pressed. There’s a welcome basket on the desk wrapped in cellophane and topped with a shimmery bow. The small card reads “Nate and Chandra.” My eyes widen when I see my name. Well, fake name.
“Wow, this is really nice.” I say.
Nate says that his Tulsalites treat him good.
I’m dying to open up the gift basket, but Nate acts like it’s no big thing, so I try to refrain from acting like a kid on Christmas morning. He sits on the bed and says, “Let me check the score to this game just real quick,” as he turns on the TV.
Not knowing what to do, I go in the restroom and tuck my bag into the corner. I walk back out then Nate pats the bed and signals for me to come sit next to him. I’m nervous.
I sit beside him.
He pulls me closer and laughs.
“I don’t bite.” He leans in and kisses my neck. “Well, unless you want me to.”
I feel goosebumps rise from my skin. Sweet Jesus, he is hot.
After a couple minutes of closeness, he pulls back and says, “You’re gonna get me all hot and bothered before dinner. We have reservations in about ten minutes.”
I jump up, half relieved, half disappointed.
“Oh, I need to change real quick then.”
I go into the bathroom and start to freshen up from the car ride. The black dress I borrowed from Cass is perfect. Despite the awkward distance between us, and the million questions I had to answer (and lie about), it was all worth it. It’s the right combination of classy and sexy, and when I slip it on I don’t feel seventeen. I put on some strappy heels, and I totally feel like a grown up. I spray body spray onto my neck, touch up my makeup, and let down my hair.
When I walk out of the bathroom, Nate whistles at me, and I love this. I love everything about it. He goes in the restroom for a quick change himself, and when he walks out I almost die. He’s gorgeous. A dress shirt, slacks, and cologne. Really good smelling cologne.
“You’re a hottie, Nate Bradley.” We kiss again.
When we get back on the elevator, Nate pushes the floor button, fourteen, and we ride all the way up to the top of the building. When the door opens, it looks like we’ve been transported someplace far, far away from the casino.
It’s totally fancy.
A live pianist plays in the entryway, and a hostess stands at an illuminated stand. My first thought is, thank God I borrowed the dress from Cass. It would have been so embarrassing to walk into this place in boots and jeans.
Nate reaches for my hand, and we walk in.
The hostess looks up.
“Hi, Mr. Bradley.”
I giggle.
“Hey, Felicia.”
She reaches for two menus that look like expensive binders, and says, “Right this way.”
We enter the dining room, and I feel like Cinderella. You can see the Tulsa skyline through the big windows, and the sunset is beautiful. I can’t believe this is real. The sound of plates and silverware, piano and laughter, fill the room—stuff I’ve only seen on TV.
I look at beautiful people everywhere. Delicious smells, bottles of wine, and candlelit tables create the most romantic mood ever. The waitress pulls out our chairs,
and we’re seated at a table near the windows. It’s the most incredible feeling to be here with Nate.
Nate looks at the wine list and asks if I have a preference.
“You pick,” I say since I have no idea how to even pronounce half the wine selections on the list.
The server comes to our table and serves us a bottle of champagne, “Compliments of Rick.”
I don’t know who Rick is, but this makes Nate smile. “Well, you tell Rick thank you, and I’ll be finding him before the night’s over.” The waitress pops the cork and pours us each a glass. Fizzy bubbles almost overflow the glass but recede in perfect timing. It’s obvious this isn’t the first glass of champagne our waitress has poured. She tells us about the night’s special features— both land and sea—and then leaves the table for us to look over the menu.
Nate raises his glass.
“Here’s to the most beautiful woman in the room.”
I feel myself blush. I raise my glass and clink his.
“And to the hottest guy in the room, for sure.”
I hear my phone buzz in my purse. I set my glass down, unzip my purse, and take a glance without actually pulling out my phone.
It’s DAD. Shit, DAD!
I silence my phone then excuse myself to the ladies’ room. I bend down and check for feet in stalls and see that the coast is clear.
I call Dad back, and he picks up on the first ring. “Where you at, honey?”
“Hey, Dad. I’m at Cassidy’s. We’ve just been catching up on some homework.”
Dad takes a minute to respond.
“At Cassidy’s, huh?”
“Yep . . . we’ll probably start a movie after we finish studying so I’m just going to crash here tonight.”
Dad sits on the line. This makes me nervous.
A lady walks in the bathroom and goes straight to a stall.
Finally he says, “Well okay, hon. You girls have a good night. Guess I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Alright, Dad. See you tomorrow.”
I give myself a few minutes for my heart to get back to a normal pace then walk back to the table.
“Everything okay?” Nate asks as he pours himself a second glass of champagne.
“Yeah, it’s fine. Just a friend from work calling to get a password.”
“Oh. Now you know I have a no-work policy on getaway weekends.” He says and raises his glass once more. “Here’s to no work and all play.”
“I’ll toast to that.” Clink.
I’m tipsy by the time we finish dinner. Some other guy Nate knows sent over a second bottle of champagne, and the next thing I know we’ve got two empty bottles sitting on our table.
He signs the bill. “Let’s go have some fun, shall we?” He stands and reaches for my hand. I stand and realize, whoa, maybe a bit more than tipsy.
We’re alone in the elevator on the way down, and Nate seizes the moment. He slides his hand behind my neck and kisses me until the elevator comes to a stop. Champagne plus kissing equals have I died and gone to heaven?
The lights have been dimmed in the casino, and there’s a definite party-like atmosphere. It’s a mecca for entertainment. Right off the main floor there’s a club, and we walk in to take a look around. Nate doesn’t know the worker, and the guy lets us know that if we want to reserve a booth tonight “It’ll be $200.” I turn my head the other direction in case the guy sees my face and gets suspicious about my age.
Nate raises his voice so the guy can hear him over the music.
“We’re just taking a look around. Probably won’t stay.” The guy nods his head, and Nate leads me through the crowd to the circle bar that sits in the corner. There’s no way I can drink anything else right now. I need to be in control. It takes a few minutes for the bartender to make his way down to us, and Nate takes it upon himself to order me a margarita.
“Thanks,” I say when he hands me the tall glass. I take a sip and WOW is it a strong one. He makes small talk with a few people he knows, two really cute girls and a guy from the city. I sip on my margarita as they talk about football scores and who’s going to make it to the championship this year. The girls check me out head to toe, and it makes me uneasy. One gives me a super fake smile then turns to watch the crowd on the dance floor. A new song comes on, and it must be her jam because she squeals and grabs her friend’s arm to go to the dance floor. Nate doesn’t let go of my hand the entire time, and I really like this. Really, really like this.
We walk out of the club and reenter the casino. There’s not an unoccupied slot machine in sight, and some of them ring to signal a win. Ding, ding, ding, ding!
Nate says, “Let’s make our way to the poker room.”
I lick a little salt from the rim of my glass. “Lead the way.”
We work our way through the crowd. We pass a sports bar with huge TV’s, and Nate stops to check the scores. I wonder if he has money on the game, but I make no mention of it.
Beautiful, modern chandeliers hang over a circular bar, and bodies crowd around waiting for a cocktail or cold beer. We walk for fifteen minutes, and I realize we’re still not to the end. Finally, we reach a wing attached to yet another restaurant, and we walk through an elegant hallway and come to a set of masculine, ornate doors.
“You wanna play?” Nate asks. “I need to go back in the office. Shouldn’t take more than about an hour.”
My face feels numb from the drinks, but I’m relaxed and ready to play.
“Sure.”
He opens the door for me, and we walk in to the boys’ club of all boys’ clubs. Heads turn to look at me—is it the dress? So I grab Nate’s hand. He knows just about every worker in the room, and despite the long waiting list, I get a table in about two minutes flat. I get dirty looks from a few old codgers standing along the wall. One guy looks at his watch.
Nate walks to the cashier and buys me a tray of chips. He sets them in front of me, squeezes the nape of my neck. “Good luck.”
I scooch my chair closer to the table and remove my chips from the tray. Everyone at the table stares at me, something that usually makes me nervous; however, when you’re champagne-numb and your date’s Nate Bradley, confidence seems to abound. The ante gets to me quickly. I toss in six bucks before even looking at my hold-cards. I pull up the corners of my cards and try not to react to my killer down-cards. Two aces.
I look behind me and realize that Nate has seen a friend. They chat for a while then he comes back to my table to let me know he’ll be back in a few. “No problem,” I say and watch him walk out of the poker room. I get fuzzy all over again thinking about being here with him.
I’m hot on the table. I take down the first two pots, and this causes a couple of guys to mutter obscenities under their breath. I like it.
For almost an hour they try to bully me with high bets, which definitely works in my favor. There’s a guy across the table that looks to be in his sixties—but trying to be in his twenties—and he’s all but declared war. He’s wearing a snug Abercrombie t-shirt and is likely some hair club’s number one customer. Every time I bet he jumps in and raises, raises, raises. So far, it hasn’t worked out for him at all. This has pissed him off to the point that he is throwing his cards after he loses. Wah, wah, wah, big baby. Any time a male’s ego shows up on the poker table it’s a good thing. My stack is huge.
Could life get better?!
The cocktail waitress comes around to take orders, and the guys at my table put her to work. The last one to order, a bearded guy in a flannel, requests a pear cider beer (would have never guessed that one) then the waitress looks at me like it’s my turn. “Can I get you something, sweetie?”
I look down at my cards.
“Uh, sure.”
“What’ll it be?” She waits with her pad and pen.
“I’ll take a . . .” I can’t get it o
ut. “I’ll take a beer.”
She squint her eyes and smiles—sweet, in a fake way. “What kinda beer?”
I’m trying to focus on my hand and sound mature at the same time. “I’ll take one of those pear beers too.”
The bearded guy approves and talks about how good they are—says his buddies give him a hard time because they’re girlie drinks but he doesn’t care.
The cocktail waitress disappears.
We play a couple of more hands. I take down a decent one. Mid-life Crisis Guy’s not happy, to say the least. He’s 1. mad I’m taking his money and 2. mad about time and the natural aging process.
The waitress returns and leans in to deliver each drink, and everyone politely tips her with poker chips. She gets around to me and before she leans in, Mid-life Crisis Guy mumbles loud enough for me to hear.
“I’d check her ID if I were you.”
I freeze.
He says it louder a second time.
“Check her ID. I don’t even think she’s old enough to be in here.” He leans back in his chair and takes a sip of his cocktail.
I take a drink of my beer before I set it on the table. The cocktail waitress gets distracted from a guy at another table hollering an order then looks back at our table. I look at my cards and act like I didn’t hear a word he just said.
He’s planted the seed, and I feel the other players begin to look at me.
Shit.
“Check her damn ID!” He says again.
The cocktail waitress rolls her eyes but appeases him. “Do you have it on you?” she asks. “Louie wants to make sure you’re legal when he tries to pursue you later tonight.”
This makes the other guys at the table laugh. Louie’s PISSED.
I start digging through my purse and my animal instincts begin to take over. Fight or flight? Fight or flight?
I turn back around to face her.
“I think my boyfriend has it. Nate Bradley?”
Name-dropping doesn’t work. She tells me to go get it and she’ll be back in a few minutes to check it.
I discretely take the large denomination chips from my stack and slip them into my purse.