Catch

by Michelle D. Argyle

  He didn’t answer. He seemed excruciatingly young at that moment.

  “If you return everything to me,” she said carefully, “I promise I’ll keep talking to you.”

  He let out a soft laugh. “So, you’re laying down the terms now, even though I’m the one who has what you want?”

  She supposed that was true. “You don’t want anything from me, then? I guess I’ll just get over my losses and move on. Keep it all, and if you want my wallet back, here you go.” She held it out to him, surprised at her response. It seemed the only way to try to read him at the moment.

  He looked down at the wallet and frowned. “I don’t want that. It’s yours.”

  “So is the rest of my stuff you stole.” It was frustrating how much she was starting to like him and hate him at the same time.

  “The game is still on,” he said as he watched her lower the wallet. “It’s your turn next.”

  Before she could answer, he turned and walked away. “I’m only here for three more days!” she yelled out as he disappeared into the crowd.

  Turning, she saw that her mother’s gondola was unloading at the dock. Perfect timing.

  *

  She waited the rest of the afternoon for another message from Ollie, but none came. After dinner, she and Julia put on their bikinis and went down to the hotel pool. Miranda found a lounge chair and slathered on some sunscreen.

  “That’s why you don’t tan,” Julia scoffed as she stretched out on her chair and opened her arms wide. “You gotta let it all soak in.”

  “And get a sunburn?” Miranda said as she slid on her sunglasses and leaned back. “I don’t think so. You don’t even need a suntan. You should at least protect yourself.”

  Julia sat up on her elbows and stared at Miranda. “You’re really into protecting me, aren’t you?”

  Miranda kept looking up at the palm trees and sky overhead. She didn’t want to think about how in a few weeks she’d be moving away for good. She would miss Julia so much, and it was true—she did want to protect her. Their parents generally seemed like they were more into letting their daughters figure stuff out on their own than trying to prevent them from doing anything stupid. Once Miranda had turned eighteen, they had told her she was old enough to do whatever she wanted, whether they liked it or not. But she had always felt that way. They rarely pushed anything on her unless it was deeply important to them, like taking those pictures. What if Julia really did screw up with Gavin? What if he broke her heart?

  “I worry about you, is all,” Miranda finally said. “Is it a crime to care about my little sister?”

  Julia shifted on her chair and adjusted her bikini top. “Fine, be protective.” She turned around and motioned for Miranda to rub the sunscreen on her back. It was clear how much sway Miranda held over Julia, even if Julia acted annoyed about it half the time.

  “So,” Miranda said, “can you keep a secret?”

  “Do I ever not keep your secrets?” Julia pointed out.

  “Okay, okay.” Miranda rubbed some lotion between her hands and started applying it to Julia’s shoulder blades. “So, while you were on your little gondola ride this afternoon, I met Ollie face-to-face. He gave me my wallet.”

  Julia spun around, leaving a long, white streak across her back. “Are you serious?”

  “Yeah, and, Julia … he’s … cute.”

  “Well, I saw that at the restaurant. What I could see of him, anyway.”

  “Yeah?”

  Julia bobbed her head up and down. “Oh, yeah, totally.”

  “But he’s a thief. What do you think about that?”

  Miranda was eager to hear Julia’s answer. She had to get a second opinion about this. Julia’s eyes clouded over for a moment.

  “He’s returning your stuff, isn’t he? Is he nice? What did he say to you?”

  Telling her the story, Miranda was careful to leave out the fact that she’d messaged with him the night before. That felt more private, for some reason. Finally, she let out a heavy sigh and pushed Julia around so she could finish her back. “This whole thing is crazy,” she muttered. “I hate every guy I’ve ever been with. I don’t want to be with one right now, so why can’t I stop thinking about him?”

  Julia giggled. “Because maybe he’s better than all the others.”

  *

  That night in bed, Miranda turned on her side and kept her phone in her hand. She didn’t want to miss any messages. She thought about her friends back home. None of them would understand this. They were all so levelheaded, telling her that she should probably stop trying to find someone to be with. “You have college to worry about. You don’t want complications,” they told her over and over. And they were right.

  Eventually, she drifted off to sleep, only to wake up to the vibrations of an incoming message. She almost shot up out of bed, but calmed herself. She was only doing this to get the photos. Nothing was going to happen with this guy. She looked at his message.

  Fortuna.

  Oh, yes, it was her turn to find him. Annoyed, she looked at the clock. It was midnight. Was he serious? She opened the browser on her phone and typed in fortuna las vegas. The very first hit stated: Coffee in Las Vegas|Fortuna Las Vegas|LVH.

  LVH was the Las Vegas Hilton. Pulling up her message app, she typed, So you’re here at the Hilton?

  Yeah. Come downstairs.

  She looked up at her family. All of them were completely out since it had been such a busy day. She typed, To do what?

  Silly. The game continues. I’ll give you another item from your purse.

  Will it be the pictures?

  No.

  Ugh, he was stubborn.

  Fine. I suppose I could use some coffee.

  See you in a few.

  She couldn’t believe what she was doing, but what the hell? One more thing from her purse would be nice.

  Slipping out of bed, she pulled a small T-shirt over her camisole and decided her sweats would have to be fine for this meeting. She wasn’t here to impress him. She’d be surprised if he was still in a suit, though. Pulling her hair up into a messy bun, she tiptoed over to the hotel desk and pulled out a notebook and pen. She wrote a note that she had gone downstairs because she couldn’t sleep, and left it on her pillow in case anybody woke up and wondered where she’d gone.

  The elevator was empty and smelled like cigarette smoke. She leaned against the wall and stared groggily at the floor numbers as they decreased. Finally, she was at the lobby and the doors slid open. Bright, gaudy light met her, and she blinked as she stepped out. She was surprised how busy the place was at midnight. Even at that hour, people were still swarming the casinos. As she neared the café, she scanned the tables for any sign of Ollie. It was a small café, open twenty-four hours. The tables were dark wood and tall, like stools. Several couples were scattered around. A group of young guys sat around a table drinking wine, but none of them looked like Ollie. Where was he?

  Then he raised his hand and waved to her. He was in a back corner, wearing a charcoal Las Vegas 51s baseball cap and a black polo shirt. He grinned as she approached him. Wow, he sure was happy to see her.

  “Hey, thanks for coming,” he said as she sat on a chair across from him. A yawn built up in her throat. She tried to suppress it, but failed.

  “I’m sorry,” she said when she finished. “I was … um, yeah … asleep.”

  He leaned forward. “Sorry about that, but you said you were only here for three more days, so I’ve got to make use of the time we’ve got. Right?”

  She shook her head, trying to wake up. “I still don’t understand what you—”

  “Let me buy you a coffee. Are you hungry? Want a pastry too?”

  Her eyes widened. He was going to buy her stuff? She considered demanding he hand over the purse item so she could go back upstairs and sleep, but she knew she’d regret it. She wanted to talk to him and find out as much as she could.

  “Um, sure,” she answered. “Anything Danish is fine. No
thing with nuts. Regular coffee.”

  “Okay, I’ll be right back. Oh, and this is yours.” He reached down to a leather briefcase at the foot of his chair and pulled out her mother’s camera. After setting it in front of her, he left to go order. She picked it up, surprised. The camera was probably the most valuable item in her purse, worth a few thousand dollars. She had already figured he wasn’t after money since he wore nice clothes. So why did he steal?

  As she waited, she scrolled through the photos on the camera. Seeing her and Julia together made her smile. They had done a good job of capturing the same feel as in their grandmother’s photos. Maybe she was more grateful to have the camera back than the photos. Maybe these pictures were just as valuable.

  “Here you go,” Ollie said as he placed a coffee cup and plate in front of her. He had chosen a big, round Danish with some sort of fruit in the middle. Her stomach growled, and she laughed.

  “Guess I didn’t know I was hungry.”

  “Me too,” he replied, sitting in his chair. He put a pastry of his own on the table then leaned back and looked at her. She took a sip of coffee, unsure of what he wanted from her now.

  “So, is your name really Ollie?” she asked.

  He picked up his pastry and took a big bite. A few flakes fluttered to the table. “Getting right to the nitty-gritty, I see,” he said after swallowing.

  “Well, I … I need to know more about you before this … relationship … goes any further.”

  “Further?” A smile played on his lips.

  She waved her hand, annoyed at her difficulty in expressing herself. “I’m confused about everything, okay? Can you answer my question, please?”

  A sly smile lifted his lips. “Why don’t we play another game right here at this table? I’ll answer whatever questions you want—within reason—as long as you win.”

  Miranda wanted to laugh, but at the same time her stomach flipped upside-down. Discovering more about Ollie was a proposition she couldn’t turn down. “What’s the game?” she asked.

  “Well,” he said, drawing out the word as long as possible before taking another bite of his pastry and chewing slowly as he looked up at the ceiling. Miranda bristled a little at his stalling. Maybe she shouldn’t try to force information out of him, but why else would he have kept this hide-and-seek game going?

  “Thought of something?” she nudged.

  He swallowed. “Yes, I have. I’ll need to get something, so is it all right if I leave for a few minutes?”

  “Um, sure.”

  “Great, I’ll be right back.”

  She watched as he left the café and disappeared around a corner. By the time he came back, she had finished her coffee and most of her pastry. He noticed her empty cup and went to order her another one.

  “Wow, thanks,” she said as he set it down in front of her.

  “No problem. Can’t have you falling asleep in the middle of our game … although that might be to my advantage.”

  She laughed as he sat down across from her. “So?” she said. “Where’s this game we’re going to play?”

  “Right here.” He pulled a brand new deck of cards from his back pocket. He ripped off the shrink-wrap and broke the seal on the box, sliding out the fresh cards. Each card had “Las Vegas Hilton” printed on the back. He started shuffling the cards so fast she could hardly keep track of what he was doing.

  “You play a lot?” she asked, truly curious.

  The sly smile ghosted across his lips again. “No questions from here on out—unless you win a round.”

  “Of what?”

  “War.”

  She almost choked on her coffee. “War? That could take forever before I even get to ask you a question. We’ll be here all night.”

  He glanced at her coffee and laughed. “Is that a problem?”

  It wasn’t a problem, necessarily. But how was she going to find out much of anything? That was if she won a round, which could take hours or minutes. It was all luck.

  When she looked up at Ollie’s expression, she realized he was studying her. “I’m kidding,” he said, easing her tension. “Mostly.”

  “Oh?”

  “You don’t have to win a whole game to ask me a question—just when we hit a war round. Whoever has the highest card on the fourth card gets to ask a question.”

  She nodded, happy that she’d have more chances this way. The she froze. “Wait, you get to ask questions too?”

  “Well, yeah.” He finished shuffling the cards and started dealing them into two piles. “Doesn’t seem fair if I don’t, right?” he asked as her pile grew with every other card he set down.

  “I guess. Just, you know, like you said … within reason.” There was no way she was going to start spouting off her whole life history or anything, especially if it came to past boyfriends.

  Ollie finished dealing the cards and Miranda straightened her pile into a neat stack in front of her. She pushed aside her coffee and leaned forward, eager to start. Why was spending time with Ollie so much fun? Whatever the answer was, it wasn’t something she wanted to dwell on for too long. Soon, she was so into the game she couldn’t think of anything but the cards and the first question she would ask if she won. It was a game of chance. She had to win at least a few times.

  “Yes!” she said, fist-pumping the air as she turned over her fourth card and beat Ollie with a queen over a ten of spades.

  His smile faltered for a moment. “Congrats,” he said as she gathered up the cards and added them to the bottom of her pile. “Lay it on me.”

  She took a deep breath, knowing she had to make these questions count. “I know this is probably a stupid question,” she said, looking into his eyes, “but what is your real name?”

  His eyes sparkled. “Well, that’s easy. It’s Oliver, but I hate it, so don’t use it.”

  “Why?”

  Grinning, he raised a hand. “You got your answer, so now we move on.”

  “Oh, fine.”

  They continued to play. Her heart beat faster with every turn of a card. No matches. No matches. No matches. She tapped her foot and held her breath. No matches. No matches. Finally, a pair of kings.

  “War!” she yelled a little too loudly. The café was nearly empty now, and it almost seemed like they should be whispering.

  Ollie set down three cards on top of his king. She followed suit and then turned over her fourth card, a six of hearts. Ollie flipped over a four of spades and groaned.

  “I always get lucky at this game,” he sighed. “I think I’ve met my match.”

  She glanced at his small stack of cards. She had at least two-thirds of the entire deck now, since she seemed to be putting down the highest cards eighty percent of the time.

  “You get what you get,” she said with a shrug, and gathered up her winning cards. She rubbed her hands together. “So … why did you steal my purse?”

  His expression changed from irritation to a flash of panic and then resolve. He took a bite of pastry, chewing slower than normal. Was he going to lie to her? She hated liars. All the guys she had been with were liars. She knew the telltale signs, at least—if he looked up or down, if he cleared his throat, if his voice seemed off. But so far he was looking her straight in the eyes. No throat clearing. He swallowed.

  “It’s because of my father,” he said, still looking straight at her. “See, he’s the head of a big corporation.”

  She nodded, but felt stupid. She didn’t understand at all. “What big corporation?”

  She expected him to call her out for asking an extra question, but he didn’t. He frowned. “The corporation over the Bellagio, the MGM Grand, The Mirage, Excalibur, New York-New York, Circus Circus … I can keep going if you want. It’s not just casinos in Vegas.”

  “Oh.” She ran her finger along the edge of the table. “So, you’re totally rich.”

  “No, my father is totally rich, and he’s pretty much married to his job and wants me to fill his shoes.”

&nbs
p; She looked up, a question on her lips before she swallowed it back down. He still hadn’t answered the original question, so she waited.

  “I want to fill his shoes one day, don’t get me wrong,” he continued, “but it frustrates the hell out of me because he’s so …” He leaned back in his chair and clenched his jaw. “He’s so controlling. I’m twenty, right?”

  She nodded, as if she’d known this all along.

  “Well, he thinks that’s old enough for me to start working under him full time. For a few years now I’ve been working for him as an intern. He thinks I don’t have another life, that I’m in some big hurry to grow up and be just like him.”

  Tilting her head, she tried not to laugh. “Another life? You mean, like a life of crime?”

  He snorted and folded his arms. “You sneak those in there, don’t you?”

  “Oh, sorry.” She put her fingers to her lips. “Habit.”

  “I suppose I can give you a freebie answer. Contrary to what you may believe, I haven’t stolen a lot of purses. Three … four, counting yours.”

  She folded her arms, copying his stance. “My original question still remains—why did you do it?”

  Letting out a big sigh, he leaned forward and started pushing the flaky crumbs across the table. Again, she noticed the scars along his knuckles. They were only on his right hand. She almost felt bad for making him spill so much. He hadn’t even had a chance to ask her a question yet.

  “About three months ago,” he said slowly as he stared down at his lap, “I had a fight with my father about what I want to do with my life. I told him I want to be part of the company, but that I can’t pour myself into it one hundred percent yet. The man doesn’t get it. He doesn’t understand that I want to do other things like maybe go to college or travel for a while … or, you know, find people I want to be with.” His eyes flicked up to hers, and she froze in place. “See, it’s all or nothing for him. He’s a machine, and he wants me to be a machine too. Ever since my mother died, he’s been that way. I don’t blame him, but that doesn’t mean I have to be that way too.”