by Suzie Nelson
My time with Jenny had given me an opportunity to see gambling from another perspective and I now realized that it was not a fair contest between the casinos and the gamblers at all. I also realized that the gambling houses were mostly run by bastards like Peter Parkin who wouldn’t think twice before taking an old lady’s last savings off her in return for a gambling experience where the dice were always loaded in the casino’s favor. I now totally understood Jenny’s anger towards these gambling houses and just wanted to get out of the whole business myself. There were many other business opportunities out there and if Vivienne wanted to be upset by the fact that I was not going to stay with the Golden Nugget for six months, then so be it.
Just when the pressure had become almost too much for me to bear as I sat there at the bar, there was a notification sound from my laptop and when I looked down I saw that a cool amount of $500 million had just been wire transferred to my account!
I almost thought for a moment that the loud cheers which suddenly erupted were for me and the wire transfer of money, but when I looked up I saw that it was all of the people standing around Jenny’s table who cheered so loudly as she obviously won a very large amount of money.
I made my way out of the casino as fast as I could and hoped that Jenny would manage to cash in her chips and make it outside before Peter Parkin’s men closed the casino doors at midnight like he’d promised they would.
“Are you still awake at this ungodly hour just to make another couple of dollars, Vivienne?” I joked as my grandmother picked up my midnight phone call.
“The work is not done until all of the money has made its way to our family’s coffers,” Vivienne replied with her own joke, “now tell me what the good news is?”
“How do you know it’s good news?” I asked.
“Because I know you, my boy, and I have heard that kind of excitement in your voice before.”
“Well, you are right!” I said, “I just sold my 60% shareholding in the Golden Nugget casino for $500 million. It’s more than four times the $120 million you originally paid for it!’
“Mmm that’s a profit of 300%...not half bad for a week’s work,” Vivienne replied.
“Much better than I could ever have done if I’d stuck around for 6 months trying to earn an extra dollar here and there!”
“Yes, but you haven’t honored the deal we had. You were supposed to stick around for 6 months to prove to me that you are able to keep the bloodhounds off your back in a cutthroat business like the Golden Nugget.”
“And since when is honor more important than a $380 million profit?” I asked.
“Good point, my boy, very good point,” Vivienne laughed, “I guess you have proven yourself in some kind of way and there will always be more opportunities to show me what you can do. Now be sure to come home and see you poor old grandmother before the grave swallows me up!”
“I will do that,” I said, “just make sure the house is spotless, I’m bringing a lady friend along with me.”
“Now you’re talking like a real Du Bois,” Vivienne said and I could tell she was as excited to meet Jenny as I was to take her home with me.
I ended the call and drove my Ferrari around the corner. There she stood waiting for me. Jenny Blake; the most incredible and unforgettable card counter the casinos in Las Vegas ever had the misfortune of hosting at their Blackjack tables.
I stopped right in front of the Golden Nugget and gave the casino a final glance before I watched with great satisfaction and excitement as Jenny Blake jumped into the passenger seat right next to me.
It had been the greatest risk I’d ever taken in my entire life, but Jenny and I had both turned out as winners in this incredible game of chance.
I’m almost certain that the good fortune will not always be in our favor but if I am sure only of one thing then that our love will win against any odds.
THE END
Indomitable
Chapter 1
Rosie was making dinner when the news came on. She had never really been one for the depressing, constant violence that news broadcasters couldn’t seem to get enough of – she certainly got enough of it in her day job as an anger management therapist. But, about a year ago, Angelo had, for some unknown reason, decided that the evening news was the most interesting thing he’d ever seen. And Rosie had never been able to say no to her son’s big brown eyes. So they’d struck a compromise: as long as it didn’t involve guns or nudity Angelo could watch the news. This meant that, for the most part, all he saw was the sports, weather, and local scandals, but the seven-year old didn’t seem to mind.
Usually, Angelo was happy enough to watch the news alone, occasionally adding his own (generally adorable) insight to the reports. Tonight, however, as Rosie was grating carrots into the salad, he began calling her name impatiently. “Mom! Mom! Look! It’s Lewis! It’s Lewis!” he shouted, pointing excitedly at the TV screen.
The name Lewis meant nothing to Rosie so she put down the grater and the carrot and came over to join her son. As soon as she saw what he was watching, however, she had to smother a disgusted sigh. It was a video clip of Lewis Maserati, a baseball star who was arguably even better known for his playboy antics and devil-may-care attitude than his, admittedly incredible, talent on the diamond. All the men she knew wanted to be him, and all the women she knew wanted to sleep with him, but, to be honest, Rosie couldn’t see the appeal of either prospect. As far as she was concerned, the man was an egotistical douche who thought his fame made him untouchable – not that she’d ever say that to Angelo, who had a poster of him above his bed.
As they watched, Rosie felt more and more justified in her appraisal of the sports star. The video had been shot on someone’s phone, and it showed Lewis drunkenly heckling a lesbian couple in an upscale Manhattan bar, offering to show the women a “real” good time while grabbing his crotch. Finally, one of the women, a petite brunette, stood up and told him to get lost. She came up to his shoulder – and that was in three-inch heels. In response, the sports star made a grab for her breast and she hauled off and smacked him. Rosie cheered silently.
But, before he’d even fully recovered from the slap, Lewis had decked the woman, sending her sprawling backward, crashing into her chair and table and taking them with her as she fell. The woman’s date screamed, and the waiters, who up until that point had been trying to ignore the situation, finally came forward and restrained Lewis as he shouted abuse at the women. The date cradled the tiny brunette in her lap, crying, while another diner came over to offer her services as a doctor. As Lewis furiously fought the waiters, he caught sight of whoever was filming.
“Release that video and my lawyers will destroy you!” he screamed at the camera as the waiters hauled him away. Suddenly, the video came to an abrupt end.
The newscaster came back on screen, explaining that the video showed events from last night and that Maserati was now facing charges for battery, sexual assault, and perpetrating a hate crime.
“Good,” Rosie muttered to herself.
Angelo turned his cherubic face to hers. “But, Mommy,” he asked, puzzled, “why would Lewis hit that woman? She was really pretty.”
Rosie sighed. “It doesn’t matter how pretty someone is, Angelo. You should never hit anyone. But, sometimes, people get so angry that they can’t keep it inside anymore. And then they do something bad.”
Angelo frowned. “So Lewis was angry at that lady?”
“Not exactly, sweetie,” Rosie shook her head. “You know when you’re hungry and then sometimes you get angry and do or say things that you don’t mean to?”
Angelo nodded. He was known for hunger-related temper tantrums. “So Lewis was hungry?” he asked.
“Something like that,” said his mother, ruffling his blonde curls. “What about you? Are you hungry, blossom?”
“Not like that,” said Angelo. “But a little bit.”
“I hope so because dinner’s just about
ready. Will you help me set the table?”
Angelo beamed up at his mother. “Yeah!” he shouted and raced off towards the kitchen.
Rosie watched him go, her smile tinged with sadness. Reaching for the remote, she shut off the television and followed her son back to the kitchen.
Chapter 2
Someone was banging on his door.
“Fuck off!” Lewis groaned from bed.
The person might not have heard him or they might not have cared. Either way, the banging continued.
“Fuck OFF!” Lewis repeated, burying his head under the pillows.
“No, Lewis, I will not ‘fuck off’. Not this time, you complete fucking idiot.” His manager’s voice came thundering through the penthouse suite’s supposedly soundproof door.
Lewis groaned.
“Open the door, Lewis,” his manager commanded.
Sullenly, Lewis rolled out of bed and shuffled towards the door, stopping to grab a bottle of Gatorade from his fridge and admire himself in a mirror as he went. Goddamn, he was ripped, he thought to himself as he watched his reflection flex its powerful biceps. No wonder all the ladies are dying to get their hands on a piece of this ass. He winked at his reflection and took a swig of Gatorade.
His manager hadn’t stopped hammering on the door.
“What now, Ben?” he asked as he finally wrenched open his door.
“You fucked up, Lewis, that’s what now,” Ben Johnson replied, as he shoved his way past Lewis and into the apartment. “Or don’t you remember assaulting a 5’2” woman last night?”
“I did what?” Lewis repeated blankly.
“You punched a fucking pixie in the face, Lewis. And that was after you told her and her date that all they needed was to, and I quote, “take a ride on a real cock” as well as after you tried to grab her tit.”
“Uhhh,” Lewis blinked, his brow furrowed as he tried to remember the night before. “Wait, you mean I’m a homophobe when I’m drunk? I had no idea.”
“That is not the take away you should be getting from this, Lewis,” his manager replied sternly.
“Ah, come on, Ben,” Lewis rolled his eyes. “I was fucking hammered last night. Don’t remember a fucking thing. Besides, you know I don’t have a problem with the gays. I mean, you’re one for chrissake. And you know I love you, man.”
Ben raised an eyebrow. “It might help your case if you didn’t refer to us as ‘the gays.’ Just a thought. And I will not ‘come on’. You’re in serious trouble, Lewis. Gay rights activists are out for your blood. Not to mention the woman you punched is Carla fucking Rossetti.”
“Seriously? I tried to grope Carla Rossetti? Dude, she’s hot. I would totally nail her.”
“Yes, a fact that you made abundantly clear last night. She also happens to be a world-famous film star who’s armed to the hilt with heavy-weight lawyers that are going to rip you to shreds in court. For chrissake, Lewis, you’re being charged with battery, sexual assault, and perpetrating a hate crime!”
Lewis shrugged. “Yeah, whatever. When has an assault charge ever stuck, Ben? And everyone knows I’m not actually homophobic. Plus it’s not like I was going to rape her or something.”
Ben glowered at his hungover star player. “I’d suggest you not make jokes like that in public. And there’s video footage this time, Lewis. Someone filmed the whole thing on their phone. It makes things pretty black and white.”
“Okay, so we’ll buy the phone and I’ll autograph something for the owner and they’ll faint with excitement and no one’ll ever be the wiser.”
“Great plan,” his manager replied dryly. “If only the footage hadn’t been playing on repeat all over the national news for the past, oh, twelve hours or so.”
Lewis blinked. “Christ, what time is it?” he asked.
“Focus, Lewis!” Ben shouted. “This is serious!”
“Aw, calm down, man. It’ll be fine.”
Ben pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. “Maybe the fact that Nike called and threatened to pull their sponsorship will finally make you realize how serious this is.”
“Nike’s gonna pull the money? They can’t do that!” Lewis whined.
“Yes, they can, you dumbass. You signed a good behavior clause.”
“Oh right,” Lewis thought back. “But they’re never actually enforced that before. My bad boy attitude is part of my charm, Ben. That’s why they pay me the big bucks.” Lewis gave Ben a dazzling smile.
Ben was unmoved. “Yeah, and they’ll take those big bucks right back if you don’t agree to see a therapist, donate $50,000 to an LGBT youth charity of Rossetti’s choice, and offer her a public apology.”
“Whaaaaaat?” Lewis rolled his eyes. “That’s ridiculous. I’m not seeing some dumb therapist.”
“Lewis,” Ben took another deep breath, “if you don’t do as they say, not only will you probably go to jail, but you will most definitely lose your career.”
Lewis scoffed. “Don’t exaggerate, Ben.”
“I’m not! Did I forget to mention that the League also called? I did, didn’t I? Well, they did. And they said that, if you don’t comply, you will be banned from playing professionally ever again. That’s it. Buh-bye. No more baseball.”
“Are you serious?” Lewis gaped.
“God, finally,” Ben groaned. “Yes, Lewis. I am completely serious.”
“But that’s not fair!” Lewis whined.
“Yes, frankly, it is. You’re a grown-ass man. It’s time you started behaving like one. You assaulted a completely innocent woman in a five-star Manhattan restaurant. You can’t go around doing shit like that and expect to get away with it forever. You’re not a goddamn African dictator, Lewis.”
Lewis threw his open bottle of Gatorade across the room, splattering the hardwood floor with neon blue puddles. “Fuck that!” he spat.
“They’re waiting for your answer, Lewis.” Ben watched the Gatorade seep into the cracks between the floorboards and shook his head.
“Ugh, fine! Whatever! Therapy then,” Lewis crossed his arms angrily.
“And an apology and a donation.”
“I said whatever!”
“Excellent. I’ll bring the cheque and the apology speech by tonight. Right now it’s 4:13pm, by the way.”
“Christ,” Lewis swore.
“And I’ll book you an appointment for first thing tomorrow, so absolutely no fucking drinking tonight. Is that clear, Lewis?”
“Whatever,” Lewis sulked. “Fine.”
“Good,” Ben nodded, satisfied with their meeting. “Glad we had this little talk. Always a pleasure.”
Lewis grunted.
“Same to you,” Ben replied. “I’ll see you tonight, Lewis.”
Lewis didn’t reply, just flopped down onto the leather sofa and turned on Netflix.
With a sigh, Ben left him to it.
As soon as he heard the door shut behind Ben, Lewis turned off the TV and went in search of his phone. He found it stuffed into an Armani loafer Ben had made him buy for some charity gala last year. What the phone was doing in the loafer was beyond Lewis. Just as mysterious was how the loafer had ended up on Lewis’ kitchen counter. But then again, he’d punched Carla Rossetti in the face last night, so clearly anything was possible.
“I mean, how did I even manage to hit her?” he asked himself as he scrolled through his contacts. “She’s fucking tiny. Did I, like, get down on my knees to punch her or something? Like, fucking midget tiny, man.”
Finally, he found the person he was looking for. She was listed as “Nipple-rings(Abbie?)” in his phonebook. He pressed ‘call’ and listened to the phone ring on the other end.
“Lewis?” Maybe Abbie asked incredulously.
“Hey, girl,” Lewis replied, turning on all his charm. “Whatcha up to?”
“Have you, like, not seen the news today, Lewis?”
He chuckled. “That’s exactly why I
’m calling, baby. I’m looking for something to brighten up my day and you seemed like the perfect fit, if you know what I mean,” he joked, mentally high-fiving himself for the dirty pun.
There was a pause on the end of the line. “You assaulted Carla Rossetti last night, Lewis. You know I’m bi, right? That kind of homophobic shit doesn’t fly with me. Find yourself another booty call, asshole.” Without another word, Maybe Abbie (though possibly Anastasia, now that he thought about it) hung up.
“Bitch,” Lewis muttered, deleting her from his contact list.
It took him three more tries before he found someone (a woman he couldn’t remember but who was listed as “Crazytight(Ruby??)” in his phone) who would sleep with him, which was four more tries than it usually took him to get laid.