“Sounds like a good idea. Don’t you usually decorate?”
“I’ll get a little done this morning and finish later this weekend. I’d rather have a day with you at the casino.” MJ’s smile spread to take over her face.
“Great. Let’s try to beat the crowds.”
Once the kids were settled in the basement with a Harry Potter movie marathon, and she and Chris headed downtown, her happiness jolted her like twelve cups of coffee. Not even her heavy breakfast could hold her down. She had let herself get distracted by her enjoyment of the game itself. She’d lost sight of her goal—her husband—but no more.
They weren’t the only ones that thought playing poker on the day after Thanksgiving was a good idea. Most of the tables had waits. Only the higher stakes, no-limit tables had immediate seating, so that’s what they put their names down for.
MJ handed in her players card to the hostess when her name was called first.
“You can head to table ten,” the hostess said.
MJ gave Chris a quick kiss, then approached her table, already analyzing the players. Most were young men, with a handful of middle-aged men. Still several feet from her seat, she turned to see Chris sit at his table . . . next to a blonde head . . . next to Tammie. God, that woman was everywhere! A steady buzz filled her mind, blocking out the rational voices. She wanted to yank Chris away from her and drag him to safety. But then she would have to explain herself. And how do you explain crazy? It would probably lead to an argument about how she didn’t trust him, but it wasn’t him she didn’t trust. It was that woman.
MJ needed to pull it together. She was about to sit down with more money than she had ever played with before at a higher-stakes table than she had ever played at before. She turned her back on Chris and tried to forget about Her.
She’d try something new today. She pulled her hair out of the clip holding it up and slid on her new glasses. They were thick framed and lent her an air of sexy librarian. She pulled off her black cardigan to reveal a low-cut, black sequined T-shirt. As she pulled her arm out of the sleeve, her wedding ring caught a loose thread. She untangled it, careful not to pull the thread further. Her simple wedding band held a small diamond, nothing fancy or flashy. On a reckless impulse, she slid her large teal octopus ring off her right hand and put it on her left ring finger, easily hiding the small circle.
Giving her hair a shake, MJ stood taller and closed the last few feet to her table, pausing before she sat to give every player a chance to look up and take her in. More than a few eyes skated over her left hand. MJ’s lips curled into a smile; her edginess faded a bit. This is what she needed.
“Gentlemen.”
She slid into her seat and smoothed her shirt down, then unracked her chips, taking her time so she could make eye contact with a few of the men, giving them names as she went: Junior, Nose Hair, Shaggy. She folded her first few hands, barely looking at her cards, watching the other players with wide eyes and a vapid smile. The older man on her left, Pops, seemed amused when she peeked at her hand and folded for the fourth time.
“You play at the big-boy table often?”
MJ turned to him. He was maybe ten years older than she was, handsome, with salt-and-pepper hair. He smelled nice and had straight white teeth. She caught his eyes flitting toward her hands. The ring check.
“Oh, darling, don’t you worry about me.” She patted his arm.
He smiled.
“Something tells me I need to worry about my chip stack.”
“No. Now, him.” MJ pointed at the young man across the table with mirrored sunglasses and baseball cap—Sparky. “He should worry about me.”
Pops raised his eyebrows. “He’s been trying to push around the table for an hour and doing pretty well.”
“Well, our young man hasn’t been pushed around by me.”
Pops looked at her again, closer this time, his eyes grazing her low V-neck. Under normal circumstances, MJ would scold him for his wandering gaze, but instead she sat up straighter, rolling her shoulders back and meeting his eyes.
A new hand had started and MJ peeked at her cards. Finally! A hand she could work with. She licked her lips and let the real play begin. Maintaining a new persona and the higher-stakes game kept her focused on the present. Chris and Tammie faded into nothing. All that mattered was the next hand, the next bet. Could she bluff a few more chips from the table?
Each time she won a pot, a new thrill ran through her. Sometimes she bluffed, sometimes she had a great hand. When she lost, she replayed the action in her head to figure out what she had missed. Completely in the zone, she felt invincible.
Then her Zen mood exploded into shards at the sound of Tammie’s piercing giggle. It carried across half the room and stabbed right through her spine, tensing all her muscles at once like an electric jolt. Her laugh was a wireless taser. Rational thought became impossible. She needed to get away from that sound before it zapped her again. She needed this hand to end, a hand that a few seconds ago she was convinced she could win. She folded, leaving half her chips in the pot, basically giving them to Sparky—but she couldn’t stay there. She collected the rest of her chips and her cardigan and scurried to the cage to cash herself out.
As she waited for her cash, she found Chris’s tousled hair. He hadn’t noticed her movement; instead, he laughed with his table, with Her. Maybe her marriage wasn’t fixable—he hadn’t laughed that freely for her in . . . she couldn’t remember how long. This wasn’t the life she wanted, standing alone, listening to her husband laugh with another woman.
But what did she want? MJ looked at the money in her hand. Even though her play tonight ended poorly—thanks, Tammie—her bankroll was still significantly bigger, five hundred dollars bigger, to be exact. MJ read the sign for the upcoming tournament again. She should give it a try. She had the money, the kids were in support. It was six weeks away and selling out fast. She stepped up to the counter, excitement taking over—this was what she wanted.
“Hi, MJ, what can I help you with?” the host said.
“I’d like to sign up for the tournament.”
Chapter Nine
The words “When did you start talking to Tammie?” flew out of MJ’s mouth in a reckless tumble, so fast that she had no hope of stopping them. Now they were out, hanging between her and Chris. She already lay in bed. Chris had just come upstairs after spending an hour responding to e-mails that had come in while they were at the casino. He was digging in the basket of clean laundry and stood once he found the T-shirt he was looking for.
She had held in all her thoughts and insecurities during the long walk from the poker room to their car, during the twenty-minute ride home, and during the short walk into the house. But it hovered over her like a dark cloud, pressing down on her, making her feel smaller. Making her feel needy.
More than anything, MJ hated to feel needy.
“I thought you were going to sleep.” Chris stood still, trying to find her eyes in their dark bedroom. He gave up and went into their walk-in closet to change clothes and set out his suit and tie for the next workday, even though it was Saturday. Habits were habits, and Chris didn’t like to change them.
“I am.” MJ spoke a little louder so he could hear her. “And you didn’t answer the question.”
Chris walked back into the room, now wearing his pajamas. A part of MJ wanted to drop this conversation and pull him close, maybe nuzzle the spot where his ear met his neck, help them both forget she had even asked that question.
Moonlight shone through the window, illuminating his face enough that she could see his frown. He didn’t want to have this conversation either.
“I’ve bumped into Tammie a few times. We’ve been catching up. You know we were friends in college.”
“ ‘Were’ being the operative word.” The words came out harder than MJ had intended. Chris tensed.
“Is there something you want to say to me?”
MJ swallowed, hoping the right words woul
d come out to explain her reaction.
“You know how I feel about her. I don’t understand why you need to associate with her.”
“Am I supposed to ignore her when I see her at the coffee shop? We’re not in college anymore.” Chris paused as if he was going to say more, then closed his mouth.
“And the poker room.”
“Is that why you’ve been playing so much poker?” Chris slipped under his side of the covers. “You’re spying on me?”
“I’m just trying to understand what you’re thinking.”
“I’m thinking this conversation is ridiculous. We’re adults. If we’re talking about trying to understand what each other is thinking, I’d like to know why I have to scrounge through baskets of laundry to find clean socks.”
“I’m not a maid.”
“Anyone who walked in our house would know that’s true.”
MJ bit her lip and her eyes started to sting and water. That was the thing about arguing while married—the arsenal was unlimited. If an argument wasn’t going the way you wanted, just reach in and grab a missile. Or if you really want to stop it, use precision warfare. Chris had pulled out their own personal Manhattan Project of spousal argument grenades.
“I guess we’re done here. Sorry I tried to have a conversation about something that was bothering me.”
Chris scowled and turned over. MJ looked at his back. Despite the hurt from his cutting comments, her hand twitched to rub his broad shoulders, ruffle his hair, and dispel the tension. Instead she rolled over to the very edge of the bed and squeezed her eyes shut.
MJ spent the next week cleaning, hoping that would appease Chris’s disgruntlement. They hadn’t spoken much since their blowout. Instead, they moved around each other like two magnets repelling each other. Just as they would get close, an invisible force would push them apart. One of them needed to flip so they could come together.
MJ was hoping she could get him to flip. Maybe if he didn’t have to search for matching socks in overflowing baskets, they could have a conversation about Tammie. She even had dinner waiting in the Crock-Pot for the family. For the first time in a few months, the house was organized and she felt on top of everything. She had certainly earned her time at the felt that afternoon.
With her recent routine of cleaning then cards, she’d been spending a lot of nights in the poker room, so much so that the attendants and dealers knew her by name. She currently sat with Joe, a lovely man who grew up in northern Wisconsin not far from her hometown but had moved to Milwaukee to work in a brewery. He’d been downsized in the nineties and learned to deal at the casino when it started expanding. He’d worked there over twenty years and had two high schoolers.
While Joe flicked cards to each player, his eyes darted to MJ’s neck as her left hand rose to brush the blue and green stone necklace. MJ was trying on her sexier persona again, this time in a black sweater and chunky jewelry to draw attention to her neckline. As she peeked at her cards, a new person sat to her left. MJ’s nostrils flared. Tammie. She folded her cards and waited for the next hand to start.
“Hey, MJ. I was wondering if we’d ever play together.” Her voice was sweet and slightly lower than she remembered, but still MJ clenched her teeth.
“Tammie.” Somehow she spoke without unclenching her jaw. “Today’s the lucky day, I guess.”
“I like your ring.” Tammie pointed at her octopus, the one covering her wedding ring. MJ and Tammie hadn’t spoken in more than twenty-five years, their last conversation hadn’t been cordial, and now she was full of compliments?
“I call it Mari.”
“I get it.” Tammie unpacked her chips, lining them up in even stacks. “It’s part of your poker strategy to be someone else.”
Joe shuffled and dealt the next hand, an eyebrow raised at the two women. If Tammie kept yammering like this, she’d have to put in her earbuds.
“Hm?”
“Like how the guys use hoodies and sunglasses so people have a harder time reading the real them. You’re wearing sexier clothes and that big ring.”
MJ narrowed her eyes as she peeked at her cards. Pocket pair. Eights. She bet.
“Yes, I’m in disguise. You aren’t supposed to recognize me.”
Tammie giggled, zapping MJ’s nerves, and called MJ’s bet.
“I’ve never understood the need to be someone else when I play. I guess I’m just honest that way,” Tammie said. MJ nearly choked on her annoyance. She’d never disliked anyone before, not like this. She wanted to pluck her bleached-blonde hair out like dead grass.
The flop came and MJ bet again. Tammie called. It’s like she knew her very existence put MJ on edge. There was no way Tammie was winning this hand. The turn came, giving MJ three eights. She bet big, doubling the size of the pot. The table quieted. Tammie called. MJ looked at the showing cards and swore. There were so many hands that could beat her trip eights. She had let Tammie get under her skin and throw off her game. She knew before Tammie even flipped her cards that she was beat. Dammit—a straight! How could she even think about playing in the tournament if she couldn’t keep her shit together in the face of an annoying player?
“Nice hand.” MJ tossed her cards facedown, not showing what she had. She didn’t want Tammie to know how stupidly she had played. Tonight’s lesson was apparently a reminder to ignore emotion and keep her focus on the game. MJ did a quick count of her stack of chips and Tammie’s, who had her beat by at least three to one. She wasn’t leaving this table until that ratio reversed itself.
“So Tammie,” she said. “What got you hooked on the felt?”
“It’s a great way to meet men, don’t you think?” Her eyes flashed down to MJ’s ring finger.
“Why would I need to meet a new man when I have one at home?”
“Is he?”
MJ barely stopped herself from sucking in a breath and giving her the reaction she was clearly seeking. Now she was just goading—easy enough to ignore.
The deal came around again. Focus on the cards. Do not get distracted. MJ folded and Tammie called. Good, now she could watch her. Tammie kept a slight smile on her face as she played, like she had a secret she wanted to share but couldn’t. Her forehead was smooth, probably the result of Botox. She didn’t seem to have any exceptional blinks or twitches. If it weren’t for the calm rise and fall of her ridiculously perky boobs, she could have been a figure in Madame Tussauds museum. She didn’t lick her lips or pick her nails. She was still . . . too still. That was it! MJ cracked a smile. Tammie’s incredible stillness was her tell. Now she just had to find out if it meant a good hand or a bluff.
MJ let a few hands go by without playing, keeping her attention on Tammie. At last she knew. When Tammie had a good hand, a hand she felt could win, she went still. Gotcha. On the next good hand, MJ bet and Tammie called, wiggling just slightly in her seat and fiddling with her cards. After the flop, MJ checked, Tammie did the same; a few more players stuck around, but no one raised. The turn didn’t help, but MJ bet, Tammie called, and the rest fell off. It was just them. Based on the cards displayed, there were only a few really good hands and MJ knew Miss Wiggly next to her didn’t have any of them. Joe dealt the river; it didn’t help either. MJ tapped her wrist and bet big, keeping her hands clasped in front of her. Tammie looked at her as she toyed with her cards.
“What do you have?” Tammie murmured, playing with a stack of chips.
MJ stayed still, reciting the lyrics to “All That Jazz” in her head to keep her mind focused on something else. Let Tammie sort it out on her own. MJ almost got to the end of the song as Tammie chewed her lip, counted out chips, and peeked at her cards one more time. With a breathy “damn,” she tossed her cards into the middle of the table.
“Did you have me beat?” she asked.
MJ pulled in the stack of chips the dealer was shoveling her way, leaving a nice tip for him.
“Oh, I never give anything away for free. I suggest you try it.”
Tammie�
��s eyes narrowed. “What are you suggesting?”
“Only giving some helpful advice.”
“Me-yow,” Shaggy said from the other side of the table. MJ and Tammie both turned toward the young man.
“Can we step away from the table and talk?” Tammie said. MJ nodded and followed Tammie to a quiet corner of the room.
“You know, when I saw you here, I got excited, like maybe we could be friends because we shared an interest in poker. Let bygones be bygones. I thought you might be less judgey than the rest of our fun-filled community of hypocrites. But you’re just like the rest of them. All you see is a nice pair of boobs and a pretty face, and you feel threatened.”
“Should I feel threatened? Because based on the last few hands, I have control of the situation.”
Tammie huffed. “You’re pretty good at reading people, but you’re really blind when you want to be.”
“Then what are we talking about?”
“Does your husband know you hide your wedding band when you play?”
MJ stared at her.
“I didn’t think so,” she said. “Take a good look at your own life before you start slinging mud at mine. At least I’m not trying to be someone I’m not.”
Tammie walked away, leaving MJ to gape at her. Heat radiated from her face as she realized the table was staring at her, waiting for her to return. She shook her head no when Joe asked if she wanted to be dealt in. Checking her watch, she saw it was only five o’clock. If she hurried, she could be home in time to eat dinner with the kids. And maybe find out more about where Chris might be. MJ had thought he was the one who needed to flip over, but thanks to Tammie’s prodding, she felt the magnetic pull toward home, her family, and her marriage.
Chapter Ten
MJ massacred romaine for dinner, hacking it into jagged pieces, while Kate and Tommy did homework at the dining room table and classical music played in the background. She chewed her lip while she chopped. During the car ride home, her eagerness to be with her family was replaced by insecurity. Why had Tammie acted like she knew something about her husband? Paranoia welled. She checked the clock for the third time in ten minutes. Chris wouldn’t be home from his meeting for an hour yet. She went to the computer, her hands hovering over the keys, an invisible line holding her back from immediate action. She shouldn’t look. She should just ask. But Tammie’s words tickled in the back of her mind. She had to know, so she mentally erased that invisible line and logged onto his computer to open his calendar. In a few days he had a 10:00 a.m. appointment labeled “Meeting with T.” T didn’t sound like a company. It sounded like tight-jeans-clad, expensive-sunglasses-wearing, big-haired college archenemy.
Luck, Love & Lemon Pie Page 9