by Kendric Neal
Neely had thought about losing $20,000 to regain some anonymity and loosen up the casino scrutiny, but by 4 a.m. found himself up a further $80K. His playing style had worked despite the different circumstances, as he found most of the other players paid him little mind and focused on the usual two or three high-profile players around the table. Neely's gains were systematic and slow, and as usual his highest gains after the first hand were from bluffs. His usual rule was to sit back after losing the second big bluff and he followed that rule tonight. Those two hands cost him $30K but they'd come too late to do much damage, he'd reaped quite a pile before the others caught on. He had the feeling, though, and it came with more than that, it came with dead certainty, that the dealer, the floor boss, the pit boss, the poker manager, the floor manager and his very own spotter all knew exactly what he was doing and how much he'd won doing it. He had the feeling his style of play had also been recorded and that the people he sat down with the next night would know his strategies before he even began to implement them. That changed things, and Neely felt a surge of adrenaline knowing it. The truth was, he was a little bored already. Winning steadily robbed him of the rollercoaster ride and that was, of course, part of the fun.
He sat back from the table, thanked everyone, and tipped the dealer again, who deposited Neely's plaques and put the credit back on his card. Neely strolled upstairs to his suite and sat in front of the big screen with a glass of 80-year-old single-malt to collect his thoughts. He was up $211,000 on the night, with his Jepp bonus he was back and more, he'd beaten the odds. He could put things right with Hope and stop living in fear, he could get the life back he'd tried so hard to throw away. Living in dread of everyone finding out he'd squandered the kids' college fund was burying him and he was finally acknowledging the weight of it. It was the biggest breach a man in his position could make. Cheat on your wife? Sure. Get herpes from an Indonesian whore? Happens all the time. Fraud? Sexual assault? Murder? All had been done, all had been lived through, but spend the kids' college money? Mortgage their Ivy League futures for the sins of the father? Unforgivable.
He laid back on the bed and thought of Hope, wishing she was with him, wishing she could share it. She'd hate Vegas, but goddamn she'd love the room. He turned on his phone; he'd turned it off during the flight and hadn't bothered to turn it back on again. Over a dozen text messages. He switched it back off again, he didn't want to think about her tonight. The card was still in his pocket. He turned it over, feeling its weight, flipping it over a knuckle like a playing card, considering its implications. He loved his wife, he also loved the confidence behind the simple card…what need did she have for a name or a picture? She knew anyone she handed the card to would remember her.
“Hello?”
“Hi. This is Neely Thomas. You gave me your card.”
“Yes.”
“I was at the Roulette table, you passed by me…”
“I remember you, Neely,” she laughed. “You're the only one I gave my card to.”
“Oh, well—” he said, a bit surprised.
“I'm glad you called.”
She threw him off his game. Her manner was so unrehearsed, so natural, he was suddenly cautious. “Yeah, I just finished playing.”
“How'd you do?”
“Pretty well, pretty well. Listen, I was just wondering if you might like to join me for a nightcap.”
“Sure,” she said.
“I've got a suite, there's some excellent stuff here. I'm having a single-malt Scotch so smooth it's making me want to grab a sword and kill English lords—”
She laughed and said, “Where?”
“5416.”
“I'll be right up.”
She rang off before he could say anything else. He hadn't even expected her to answer, it was so late. Her manner had surprised him, she didn't sound like a call girl, she sounded like a college intern, happy and eager and cheerful, her whole life ahead of her. Except she agreed to come, didn't she? Could that possibly have been true, that he was the only one she'd given her card to? He was someone who caught her eye, she liked the way he handled himself? Jesus. Stop. This was Vegas, after all. He wondered what her rates were and decided not to worry. Whatever she cost, it was worth it.
He popped the battery out of his phone. He'd heard it could be traced, even when off, and he didn't want Hope doing anything stupid. He'd worry about that later—he'd told her he needed time, well he did. He thought maybe it would have been better to fess up everything to her and hope she'd forgive him, but it was too late for any of that now. This wasn't a time to look back.
The knock came five minutes later. She looked even more stunning in the subdued light of the suite. Slate green eyes, wide open and excited…a wave of hair, matte black, that surprised him. Just a trick of the light? Flat matte black and somehow more alluring for it, framing the symmetry of her face. A squattish nose, unaltered and prettier for it. Simple earrings, small fingers, small hands, smooth skin. No piercings, no tattoos, no alterations, no improvements—that's fine, he thought…she didn't need them. Just natural beauty—easy, comfortable and undiminished.
She gave him a knockout smile and a “Hi!” and he wondered if Vegas had stopped opting for the femme-fatale of movies and books, and now featured girl-next-door loveliness, as Cara had had the same quality. They both seemed so nice, so safe, so clean, you could convince yourself you were with a girl who really loved you rather than one who might steal your wallet. Maybe it wasn't Vegas, maybe it was just the times. Vegas didn't guide, it only followed. It was here to give people what they already wanted; it read the secret desires of society and delivered them in unmarked packages.
“Hi there, yourself. What are you drinking?”
“Some of that scotch you were telling me about,” she said, “I wouldn't mind lopping off an English head or two.” She looked around. “Wow! Quite a place. You must be a favored guest.”
“You could say that.” He was going to go easy with her. Despite the youthful feeling and the bright-eyed wonder, he knew she must be a frequent visitor to suites even nicer than this. “I don't even know your name.”
“Rowdy.”
“Rowdy? Really?”
“Yeah. Texas girl, grew up on a ranch. Dad and his family own a rodeo. My sister's name is Ruckus.”
“Rowdy and Ruckus. That's hysterical.” Neely handed her her drink and they clinked glasses as he wondered what line of work Ruckus had gone into. “Let's go out on the balcony.”
It was bigger than the back deck of his house and had an awe-inspiring view of the Strip. “This is really nice, Neely.”
“Yes, it is.” She hadn't asked about his name as most people did. That meant she'd seen it in type before he'd told her. Somehow that gave him peace of mind. As long as he was sure of what she was, he could enjoy this more. If she was really the sweet and innocent girl who was just hoping to meet a nice guy, well, that could ruin everything. She was a pro, though, she knew all about him, his marital status, his credit score, what college he went to, where he lived. She knew how much he'd won, where he'd won it, how he'd won it—she wouldn't be operating out of this hotel if they didn't get a cut, and if they got a cut this was a partnership. She didn't want any psychos, any drama, any drunks, and they didn't want any murderers flaying their girls in their luxury suites, ruining the sheets. This was all professional fantasy for sale, only he'd stepped up to a higher plane and the fantasy was, oh, so much smoother. He could enjoy this as long as he kept his head, as long as he didn't start to believe, that was the danger wasn't it? On this level, fantasy was so good you could get yourself in trouble. He needed to drink enough to let go, but not enough he'd lose track. He could see why celebrities lost their shit and imploded. This kind of thing was gambling with your mind.
She sipped, smiling, as he drained half his scotch. He set her drink down on the table and kissed her. She kissed him back like she meant it. She did mean it. She did like him, he was sure of it. He slid his hand under h
er dress and spread his fingers over her bare stomach—she laughed, pulling away. She took his hand, stood up and led him to the bedroom. She walked backward, pulling him along, and he noticed she didn't bump into one thing.
He'd gotten it perfect, the amount he drank. He'd floated through it, every touch of her body sending a surge of relief, joy and pleasure through him. He felt himself uncoiling, the anguish of the losing streak finally fading, the horror of the accident, the dread of the old woman—all of it receding under the gentle touch of an unashamed girl—he felt it wash him down, ease his pain, restore his humanness. She gave herself to him, fully, shyly and tenderly—it was so good it couldn't be made up, her feelings were real and she kissed him like she loved him. They stared into each other's eyes and kissed again. They touched each other's faces, caressed each other, stopped and started, and made love, caring for each other's pleasure more than their own. They both needed it, they felt it form a barrier to the worries of the outside world, taking them away from the money, the work, the rules, the restrictions, the laws and requirements that carved its boundaries… They drifted in the clouds together as he drank in the bright and subtle curves of her warm body—skin so young it sheened in the moonlight—her face full of surprise and wonder as though he were showing her new things.
CHAPTER 12
The drums beat a rhythm as trees fell silently around him, a path appearing. Old Ones dressed as animals pushed him back, keeping him in Its shadow. He looked up, craning his neck to see the top towering above him. It cracked and began to sway in silence as its shadow grew. The Old Ones he knew, he recognized their faces. The old B&W's on the casino walls…the tribal elders who remembered how it was, how it would be again.
Before it struck he felt air. His feet panicked and kicked out, but there was nothing there. It took his hand. A grinning skeleton, showing him the way, dark tunnels diving deeper into the darkness. He pulled and ran, the one light he saw, the only hope…the Old Woman. Her eyes spinning Roulette wheels, her serpent tongue licking him, leaving acid burns that sizzled his skin. She spat her teeth out, dice tumbling into his mouth, choking him, her face contorted into a leer. She slashed with Freddie Kreuger talons, eyes shining in the darkness as his blood ran across green felt, the boy's Jeep sliding on it, spinning, the tree ramming through the windshield, shards of glass tumbling across the playing surface…Neely in the place of the boy now, the log penetrating the glass, aiming for his head…
He gasped and started, realizing he'd pulled the sheet tight around his head and could no longer get air. Her warm face greeted him, smiling without conscience or guilt—the domain of the young. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Strange dream.”
“That's what I thought. I was about to wake you.”
He took a deep breath and glanced at what she'd been looking at on her phone—a photo of a horse. “My competition?” he asked.
“How'd you guess?” she laughed. He laid back and looked up, watching them both in the mirrored canopy. “Mustangs.”
“I don't know much about the 4-legged kind.”
“They're wild. The BLM collects them from federal lands.”
“They're rescues?”
“Yeah. They keep them in holding facilities until someone adopts them.”
“That would be you.”
She grinned. “That would be me. What can I say, I'm a sucker for a handsome face.”
“How many do you have?”
She smiled shyly. “Seven.”
“Seven!? You're kidding me.”
“No. I hate to see them cooped up. We have pastureland they can roam.”
“What are their names?”
She grinned, happy he'd taken an interest, and pulled them up on her phone. “That's Margot, Elias, Barré, Arbogast, Javi, Costas, Drax and Ianthe.”
“That's eight.”
“Got my eye on Drax. He goes to auction next month.”
“You're addicted.”
“I know!”
“Which one is he?”
She pulled up Drax's photo to show him on the BLM site. “What a beautiful boy…” Neely said. The page also had his stats as well as dietary preferences and Neely had to laugh. “It even says what his favorite snack is.”
“Dried apples.”
“It's like Match.com,” he said.
“I know,” she said with a grin.
“What do you do, swipe them?”
“I did. We've been chatting ever since. I sent him my picture.”
He laughed. “Meet for coffee first. Somewhere public. He's a wild one after all.”
“Okay, dad.” She giggled as she took back her phone. He wondered how many other women were working tricks for hay and vet bills, and realized in all likelihood she wasn't the first.
“You must have a big heart.”
“Huge.”
With her body pressed up against his, he put his head to her chest and listened to it. “Maybe the next one you can't resist, you can call him Neely.”
“I'll save that for the most handsome.”
Breakfast came before he could order it; they sat outside in terry robes and ate pastry and fruit while she laughed and told him stories of the ranch and her horse adventures. He didn't want it to end and thought of skipping the gambling and just staying with her until the money ran out.
His tux came, however, and he looked at it as though it was something he didn't recognize. She laughed and begged him to put it on for her. It fit perfectly and he looked dashing—he knew because she told him so. She kissed him and wrapped her naked body around him.
When she came out of the bathroom again, she was fully dressed. He was at a loss for words—he wasn't ready to come out of the dream yet. His cool was ruffled and he let her kiss and caress him while he tried to catch up to what was happening. He thought of begging her to stay, taking off her clothes again and forgetting the evening's plans, but he stopped himself from saying it. She gave him a lingering kiss and pressed another card into his hand, this one with her name on it. She didn't want to leave so she left quickly—
He was standing alone in his room, his breath coming hard, his heart hammering in his chest. He'd pressed two $5000 plaques into her hand and she hadn't looked down, too intent on a final tongue-dance…too busy wanting to say something, to tell him how much she could love him if he'd let her, how good a wife she'd be, how she wanted nothing from him but his heart, that night and forever, on their ranch out West, their wild Mustangs roaming free, the animals they'd saved together, telling each other their love would last longer than the land's.
CHAPTER 13
He was on another hunt today, this was to be the true test and he wanted nothing to get in the way. He would spend the whole night in the Emerald Room and Rowdy had helped pave the way. She had done something liquor hadn't, gambling hadn't, his lucky streak hadn't—she'd given him promise that all this wasn't for nothing. That he could be the man he'd wanted, the man he'd been trying to be his whole life. A mid-life crisis wasn't really about facing death, loss of youth, or accumulated disappointments, it was about legacy. What had he done? What had he built? How had he helped or improved the world? Was anyone's life better for having known him? Who was going to care when he died? Somehow, Regional Account Manager for Donaldson/Danning TeG wasn't enough. Last night—hitting that jackpot, making love to Rowdy—that promised there was more. That said he wasn't done yet. There was still hope.
The Emerald Room reinforced it.
The Emerald Room made him feel as if gambling was sophistication in its highest form, as if humans were born to nothing greater, more beautiful or more sublime. Neely drank it all in and knew no matter what the outcome of the night's adventure, it was going to be fantastic, incredible…unbelievable…it was going to be a night he would never forget, and how many nights could he say that about? The Emerald Room was going to be a difficult room to leave.
He checked in at the dining room first, only six tables and each set as though for a visiting h
ead of state. On second thought, he decided one session at Roulette first would get the evening started and he wanted to test the no-limits policy. He put $77,000 on Even and the croupier didn't bat an eye. It was probably bad form in the Emerald Room to bat an eye, or in fact, to bat anything. The wheel spun and Neely watched, not caring a whit where it came down. Odd. A year and a half of college gone. Oh well. Time for that steak.
The menu listed only five items, his filet was one, and it didn't offer an enticing description like most menus did, it stated what was offered as simply as possible. Quality was enough, he thought, it didn't need description. The meat was perfect, the preparation perfect, every bite perfect. It was important, though, not to take too much pleasure in it. After all, people who belonged here expected a perfect steak, they didn't sit back and act like this was something extraordinary. He took as much time as he dared, noting there'd been no prices marked on the menu and when he was finished, no bill arrived. He didn't know if it was put on his account, tacked onto his room charges, or complimentary indeed, but he liked to think he now moved in a world where no one, not even the waiters, wished to be bothered with money. He felt free to behave like a gentleman and expect the same of others, as man was born to far better things than spending his life protecting his pockets from the ugly roaming hands of strangers.
The tables were busy but not crowded. It was just what he wanted to see. Activity without the bustle and the room was beautifully quiet. He guessed there were sound-suppressing features in the rich carpeting and wall coverings, and of course there were no loud slots here with the sounds of clanging metal. It was peaceful and refined, a room designed to let you lose your inheritance quietly and with dignity.