by Cybill Cain
CYBILL
CAIN
Poker Face
POKER FACE Copyright © 2017 by CYBILL CAIN
Cover art: CYBILL CAIN
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are a product of the storyteller’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblances to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions or locales is completely coincidental.
For my muse. It’s the things you say, and the things you don’t, but mostly it’s because I love you.
Table of Contents
1- The Offer
2- The Meaning of Life
3- The Hand of Fate
4- The Details
5- The Rendezvous
6-The Space Between
7- New You, Same Old Me
8-The Game Part 1
9-The Game Part 2
10- The Game Part 3
11- The Game Part 4
Epilogue
Want More Cybill Cain?
1- The Offer
Camille
“Thank you for calling the Roadside Inn. This is Camille, how may I assist you today?” If I said it one more time I was going to kill someone, probably myself.
I closed my eyes, and listened to Mrs. Roger Jackson, “That’s Rodger, with a D,” make reservations for a three night stay next month. “I want a non-smoking room, and when I say non-smoking I mean a room that has never been smoked in, not even once. Not some room that you half way cleaned, and spritzed with Febreeze to try and fool me.”
“Of course, Mrs. Jackson. Our entire second floor is non-smoking. I’ll make sure you get set up there.”
“What? The second floor? Don’t you know smoke rises? Are you stupid, girl? No, that just won’t do at all. I need to be in a room on the first floor, and I need it to be a non-smoking room.”
“I can make that request for you, Mrs. Jackson, but I should warn you that there are smoking rooms all around the room you will be assigned on the first floor.”
“No. No. That is unacceptable! My dogs can’t be around smoke.” I rolled my eyes, and tried to keep my tone even as I explained again that only the second floor was completely non-smoking. “Then I want a discount for my stay.” Which was what this was really all about.
I was supposed to haggle with her some more, but in the end I was also supposed to sell her a room. Carol, the owner and manager, gave us three percent of the total room rates we booked, and giving her a discounted rate would cut into my commission. However, as much as I needed the money, I didn’t need to talk to Mrs. ‘Rodger, with a D, Jackson’ for one second longer than I absolutely had to.
“To ensure your satisfaction I am authorized to offer you ten percent off your nightly rates with us, Mrs. Jackson.” She huffed and puffed a few more minutes, detailing her Pomeranian’s allergies to cigarette smoke, as if that justified her calling me stupid.
I made myself smile, and took down her information. I was nearly done when I felt a hand grab my ass. I used to yell when it happened. I used to be surprised, but Brian the second shift desk clerk had beaten those qualities out of me during the six months I had worked here.
He seemed to have a sixth sense about just how badly I needed this job, and it told him how far he could push me. Not a day went by without him brushing against me, letting me feel his erection. He disgusted me, utterly, and even though I was a twenty-three year old virgin, I knew enough to know that if all the other men disappeared tonight, and all the batteries I had stored up for Mr. Buzzy lost their juice, the human race would die out.
“Hey, Cami,” he whispered in my ear as he pressed his hips to mine, rubbing it out slowly, as if he needed to do that to get past me.” I ignored him, and finished up with Mrs. Jackson as I glanced at the clock. I had a thirty minute overlap with Brian the asshat while he counted his drawer for the night, and I filled him in on updates.
His touch made my skin crawl, but it was his use of the pet name my mother had given me that truly made me hate him. He didn’t know it was my pet name, just like he didn’t know that my mother was in a full time care facility for patients with Alzheimer’s. He didn’t know it was one of the last things I had from her, and that his use of it to sexually harass me was a painful sore spot for me.
Oh, I wanted to tell him off, just like I wanted to tell off Mrs. Rodger Jackson, but I had better poker face than that. They can’t hurt you if you don’t want them to. It was something my mother had told me growing up, and it was a lesson I had taken to heart, keeping my feelings under tight wraps at all times. If people find out they can get under your skin they only dig in deeper, and make themselves at home inside you. I’d be damned if I let Brian turn me into his dumping ground by letting him know how much he bothered me.
I’d thought once of telling Carol, but Brian was her golden child. She constantly bragged about what a great asset he was to the Roadside Inn, and I figured she would choose him over me if it came down to a choice. I knew he was a sleaze, but butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth whenever Carole was around.
“Anything going on I need to know about, Cami?” Brian had finished his drawer count and swapped out with me.
“No, it’s been quiet today.” No sooner had I spoke than the front desk phone rang. I looked at Brian to see if he was going to answer. He nodded toward the front door, and I glanced up to see a well-dressed handsome middle age man arriving. When Brian greeted him, I picked up the phone.
“Yeah, this is room 212. The toilet’s clogged.” Great. Just the finish I wanted for my day.
“I’ll be right there.” I grabbed the plunger from the utility closet behind the front desk, and headed out to solve the issue, praying it wouldn’t be too bad.
***
Forty-five minutes later, fifteen minutes after my shift had actually ended, I was on my way back to the front desk covered in spatter that I didn’t dare look at, or think about, when the man who had been checking in stopped me in the hall. “Pardon me,” he looked at my name tag, “Camille. Could I speak with you for a moment?” Inside I cringed, while outside I made myself smile.
“Yes, sir. How may I assist you?” He smiled at me, and something about it made me think that I was standing in front of the Devil himself.
“I hope you will forgive my forwardness, but I took the liberty of inquiring about you at the front desk after you had left. Brian tells me that you are single?”
What the ever loving fuck is this? I backed up a step clutching the dirty plunger, ready to smack him right in his fancy face with it if he tried to touch me, all the while keeping my face pleasant and my smile intact. He raised his hands in surrender, and did not come closer.
“My name is Thomas Meenan. I am an organizer of special events for The Chimera Club.”
“Never heard of it.” He glanced around the dingy hallway, his lip curling in a mild display of disgust before reaching into his jacket pocket.
“I’d be surprised if you had, Camille.” He pulled out a business card, and held it out for me. “I could offer you a chance to make a great deal of money, if you’re interested.” I eyed him and the card suspiciously.
“Doing what exactly?” He shrugged, offering me a charming grin.
“It depends. Each event is unique and s
pecial, but nothing you did not agree to do.”
“I don’t think I’m interested, Mr. Meenan.” I took a step to go around him.
“Please, take my card. If some trouble should befall you, or you have some financial need, feel free to reach out to me. I’m certain I would be able to help you.” I took his card, and shoved it in my pocket without glancing at it. Accepting it seemed the most expedient way to end this meeting. When the secure door to the employee section of the motel swung shut behind me I fell back against it, not sure why my heart was racing. Something about Thomas Meenan had scared the bejesus out of me.
***
“Mama, it’s me, Cami.” I would have never said it out loud, but I hated visiting Mama. Everything that she had been was slipping away from her, and that was bad, but every visit I made to her in this state was making her slip away from me, too. It got harder and harder to remember her the way she was when my memories of her were slowly being replaced by the stranger that wore her face. She looked at me, following the sound of my voice, and I saw recognition in her green eyes that matched mine.
“Cami!” she cried, holding her arms out to me. The knot in my stomach eased up a little, disappearing all together when I felt her hug me close. I held on for dear life. She was all I had left of who I used to be, when I dreamed of being an architect.
All of that had fallen away when I got a call at school from the policeman who had found her wandering in the park in nothing but her nightgown. A short trip to the hospital later, and my life ended with her diagnosis of early onset Alzheimer’s. She was only forty-five. She was supposed to have years ahead of her. She was supposed to be there to see me graduate college, get married and have kids.
I’d spent my life working for that dream, my nose buried in books, blowing off socializing for education, to better myself, to be something that she could be proud of. “Get that degree, Cami,” she told me again and again. “Don’t let yourself ever be stuck, and don’t depend on anyone but yourself to get you what you want and need.”
As I had gotten older I thought her attitudes stemmed from my father dumping her when she told him she was pregnant. I’d never met him. She’d never even told me his name, and I had never asked. It had always been just me and her against the world.
Still, as I watched the people around me get derailed with relationships and sex, I came to see the wisdom in her words. I had worked hard every day to keep myself on track until I had to leave it all behind to make sure she was taken care of, the same way she had taken care of me.
“Sit down here and tell me about your day. How was school? How are your grades? Are you keeping up?” I made a show of putting my purse on the chair to buy a few seconds. I couldn’t let her see the pain on my face, first from the lies I had told her about still being in school, and second how much I hated that I wasn’t. I quickly changed the subject.
“It’s the same old, same old stuff. Tell me about you, Mama. How was your day?” She leaned in closer to me and whispered.
“The nurses here keep giving me the wrong medication.” I took her hand.
“What makes you think that, Mama?”
“I read the labels.” She looked around me to the door as if she was expecting someone to come barging in and interrupt us at any moment. “They were for Annalise Jones, not me. That’s not who I am! They’re trying to poison me!” The knot in my stomach came back twisting my guts until I wanted to throw up.
“Mama, Annalise Jones is your name, and I’m Cami Jones, your daughter.” She tried to pull her hand away from me. I reluctantly let her go.
“My Cami is a little girl, you’re a grown woman!” She looked around her room frantically, trying to stand up. “I need to get home to her. She’s all alone now that school is out. I can’t stay here! I have to go!” She screamed the last, bringing the attention of the floor attendant. She came in and took control of my mother, physically manhandling her back to bed before pressing the button beside it.
I knew what happened next. “You should go, Miss Jones,” the nurse told me as she struggled to strap mama down until they could arrive with a sedative. I wanted to stay. I wanted to be strong for mama, and for myself, but when she started screaming as though we were killing her I ran from the room as fast as I could. I ran until I was in the parking lot. I didn’t break until I closed the door and put on my seat belt. Then I cried. I cried like my heart was breaking.
2-The Meaning of Life
Brandon
What they don’t tell you about having everything and anything at your fingertips is that with nothing to work for, to wish for, and to hope for the meaning of life gets lost. Not that I think anyone in my family ever knew what it was in the first place.
I have vague memories of my parents who died when I was seven. My mother is a blurry figure draped in shiny baubles that smelled of some exotic flowers I’ve never been able to name. My father was a loud booming voice that sent me skittering to the nearest corner before he ever arrived in a room. He was tall, loud and dark. She was shiny, sweet and light, and they both died in plane crash. Not that they were the kind of folks to let a thing like that slow them down.
When I was still in utero they had planned out my life down to the last boarding school and Ivy League college. I had benchmarks instead of parents. Over the years I had come to think that if they had survived I still would have had benchmarks instead of parents, probably seeing them only when a benchmark was missed. He would boom, she would shimmer and I would skitter away, lost in the scent of flowers and insecurity.
Still, I’m sure it makes me an ass when I feel like I missed out on something. I had everything, but the deeper truth is that I had nothing. I had nannies who cared for me because they were paid to, schools that raised me because of potential endowments from my estate, and women who fucked me because of what I could give them.
If just once one of them had opened her heart for me the way she opened her legs I would have tried to love her. Love is the one thing that can’t be bought, even a dick head like me knows that. So, when they asked for diamonds, sports cars and trips to exotic locals, I knew that what they wanted wasn’t what mattered to me.
There’s only so much of that you can take before you get beaten down. Sure, you can party your way through despair, for a while, but eventually you learn that the empty you feel inside can’t be filled by Cristal and caviar. Eventually you learn that having a woman in your bed might stop the ache in your balls, but it does nothing for the ache in your heart.
I’d be thirty in a week, and I needed something to make me feel alive. I needed to change the game. There were many things I could have done, but Thomas Meenan came along at just the right moment, and made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.
***
“The stakes are simple,” Meenan had said, sitting across the table from me at the trendiest restaurant in High Point, North Carolina. I was in town for business, and he’d followed me here to discuss what he called the opportunity of a life time.
“I’d hardly call signing over everything I own simple, Thomas.”
“Your reputation at cards precedes you, Brandon. There would be little risk for you, should you decide to enter the competition.” Flattery would get him nowhere, but I was sure he already knew that. “You would be competing against three other men much like yourself in wealth and means, who would also be putting up everything they own for the competition.”
“High stakes poker, no matter how high the stakes, is still just poker.” He smirked at me, and I knew that despite his gentlemanly façade he found me contemptible. I’d been reading people long enough to connect the dots. He looked like money, but he came from none. He was self-styled rich man who wore the right clothes, and spoke with the right fancy words because impressions counted with him, and he needed to always be making one. Those who come from money care nothing of what others think.
“Ah, but we have a twist to this game that will make it not only unique, but also quite memorable.” His se
lf-satisfied smirk pissed me off while he paused to draw out the moment. I raised an eyebrow and waited. “You’ll have a partner.”
“There are no partners in poker. You must be thinking of bridge.” I was amused to see his face flush, and hoped I could provoke him to drop his well-mannered act and take a swing at me. I was disappointed when he didn’t.
“No, poker, Brandon. This is a game dependent on the skill of bluffing, and reading the faces of your opponents.” I twirled my finger, encouraging him to get the fuck on with it. He pulled at his cuffed sleeves, settling himself more comfortably in his expensive suit, almost like he was deliberately trying my patience. “Each of the players will have a partner, a female partner who will assist you in creating a distraction for the other three players, but who will also be trying to distract you as well.” I was almost intrigued.
“I’ve seen dancing ladies all over the world strip off their baubles and beads for me. I seriously doubt I would be distracted enough to lose my entire fortune for a stripper.”
“Not a stripper Brandon, you’ll be inside her from the moment the game starts.” Both of eyebrows went up this time. “She will join you, sit on your lap and take you inside her while you play.” I sat up, leaning closer to him as the images his words had caused burned through my mind.
“And all the players will be in the same predicament?”
“Oh, yes, and there are rules. Your partner has to keep you at the edge of orgasm, but if you come you lose the hand.” I laughed.
“So, I’m supposed to sit there all night with blue balls while she rides me, and you rip me off?” My crass language made him cringe. I liked it.