by Pepper Frost
“I’m not sure I should. I mean, it’s a personnel matter. Shouldn’t I keep those things confidential? You’re a guest here, for heaven’s sake. See what I mean? I don’t even know what I’m doing.”
“Don’t I seem trustworthy to you?” Foxy beamed at her again, his snowy teeth illuminated by some magical internal moonlight, the tiny crinkles around his eyes seeming to say “trust me.”
Angela hesitated a minute. “Well—you might be able to help.”
She explained that Mrs. Glastonbury had requested—insisted, really—that the chef not prepare any more of the food for the event, since she assumed he caused Eddie’s reaction. Mrs. Glastonbury had even produced evidence—a half-empty bottle of peanut oil. But Angela admitted she wasn’t sure if it was even evidence at all.
“Lee is a piece of work!” Foxy said, leaning in to hear more.
“It’s not all her fault. Maybe I should have pushed back. It didn’t occur to me that the chef would quit over it. Really, I just didn’t think at all,” Angela cried, head in her hands. “Because who will prepare the fancy food you people expect, now that we have no chef?”
Foxy was stumped. What the heck did he know about high-brow catering? He was determined to help, though. He knew that if he came up with something, anything, she’d go for it—not just because he was overwhelming her with his potent charms (if he dared say so himself), but because she believed he had insider knowledge about what filthy rich people like.
“Please don’t worry, Angela. We’ll figure something out,” Foxy said. “How about this. Why not mix it up a little? Nobody likes fancy food all the time. There’s a place near here that’s famous for gourmet hamburgers. I went to a wedding once where the restaurant served their miniature burgers. They had the waiters bring them on silver trays with white gloves, as if they were caviar. Everyone loved it!”
“Do you think that would work?” Angela said.
“I don’t see why not. I could call them—drop the name of the bride and groom, see if they could do a rush job.”
“We’ll pay extra for the rush,” Angela said, perking up a little.
“Hey, how about this? We add a little music to the cocktail hour—to match the more casual vibe.”
“An ironic chic type of thing?”
“Haha, well if you have to give it a name,” Foxy said. “I’ve got a great playlist we can download. Maybe that tech guy of yours—Akeem, is that his name—can set it up to play in the ballroom?”
“Aseem? Yes, good idea. I’m sure he can help.”
Foxy thought he noticed a little pang of emotion flash on Angela’s face as she mentioned Aseem. Guilt?
“See? It’s all coming together,” said Foxy. “Let’s get started.”
Foxy called the gourmet burger joint. Given the ridiculously short notice, it took some persuading, but when he dropped the names of the bride and groom he knew—VIPs, it seemed—the restaurant said they’d make it work.
Then Angela came up with a clever idea of her own: she called her mom, Maria, for help with the third night’s dinner.
“It’s… it’s… well, it’s an emergency. And I promise, it won’t be too hard, Mamá. Chef Ming prepped everything for tonight, but we’ve found a restaurant to help cater tonight—so we’ll hold the prepped ingredients for tomorrow. All you’d need to do is cook, and put your toque de amor, Mamá—your touch of love. Muchas gracias, Mamá! Te quiero!”
“She said she’d do it,” Angela told Foxy, grinning from ear to ear. “I say a few words in Spanish and she’s powerless to refuse almost any request.”
“Like a superpower,” Foxy laughed.
“Oh it is,” Angela said. “Especially given how many talents she has that I can tap into. Of course, I am smart enough not to abuse it. My kindergarten-level Spanish also keeps me in line.”
Angela stood up and faced the door. “I’m so sorry, Foxy, but I’ve only got an hour to get ready for tonight. OK if I see you later?”
Foxy stood in front of her and looked into her eyes with his mesmerizing gaze. “You look so beautiful already. How long can it take to change into a dress?”
“Oh there’s more to it than that,” Angela laughed. Then she took a deep breath. “Foxy, I don’t know what I’d have done without you.” She beamed and threw her arms around his neck to give him an exuberant hug. But as she did, she felt cold, hard metal bump against her hip.
“Foxy… are you wearing a gun?” she said, stepping back.
Crap! thought Foxy. I didn’t see that hug coming. Man, I am off my game today. It’s like I’m starring in an episode of amateur hour.
“You can’t be too careful in my position,” Foxy said, placing his hands on Angela’s elbows and looking into her eyes. “A close friend of mine was carjacked—the thieves got away with his Ferrari and about a thousand bucks. With all the cash we had to bring here, I just thought… I’m so sorry if I scared you, Angela. Don’t worry, it’s licensed, and it’s got a safety.”
“Sure, it’s OK,” said Angela. But looking at her, Foxy wondered if the spell he’d been casting was coming undone.
Chapter 14
Mrs. Glastonbury was evidently not pleased. She’d cornered Angela near the ballroom doors to deliver a sotto voce tirade. In the center of the room, servers circled with elegant trays of sliders and crystal parfait glasses filled with adult milkshakes. The guests were gobbling them up with delight.
“Hamburgers? You’re serving hamburgers, Angela?”
Good grief! Angela thought. Getting any sort of dinner together on such short notice was a magic trick. The guests were having a fabulous time. With the heavy drapes closed, the room was darker than the night before—but no worries about trespassers getting a peek at their party. And Foxy’s music—a blend of pop favorites and carols—contributed to a happy vibe in the room.
“Technically, they’re not hamburgers, Mrs. Glastonbury,” Angela said sweetly. “They’re sliders.”
“I expected something upscale.”
“But they are upscale—very upscale. They’re Wagyu beef. I can assure you they’re quite delicious—but you don’t have to take my word for it. Why don’t you try one? I could make a plate for you.”
The client looked as if she’d rather die. “No, thank you.”
Bea and Pat stood a few feet from Angela’s semi-public reprimand, Pat guarding the ballroom’s center door. Bea elbowed her in the ribs.
“I guess it only makes sense she won’t eat a hamburger, since she’s such a cow!” Bea snickered. “The milkshakes supplied by her relatives must be off-limits, too.”
Angela shot Bea a glare. Bea cackled louder. Angela sighed and gave up. Catering to Lee Glastonbury’s insatiable demands was getting more than a little old.
“Mrs. Glastonbury, this was a quick solution for tonight. You realize we no longer have a chef. The good news is that tomorrow we’ll prepare a delicious dinner from the ingredients you supplied. Tonight’s caterer was recommended by one of your players, Mr. Foxworth. Was I wrong to think he’d be a good judge of what his fellow players might like?”
“Angela, may I speak with you?” said Bea. “Lee, you don’t mind if I steal her away for a moment, do you?”
Lee glared at Bea and walked to the other side of the ballroom where Walter and Harry were standing, enjoying their shakes.
“Bea, I’m pretty sure she heard that ‘cow’ comment,” Angela giggled. “I shouldn’t laugh, but, honestly, I’m over some of her pickiness.”
“About time! I wanted to tell you good job on getting the dinner together.”
“I couldn’t have done it without Foxy.”
“That’s nice. Still not sure I trust him. He’s after something from you.”
“You don’t trust anyone,” Angela said reflexively, even though Foxy’s gun—and what it might mean he was up to—popped into her head. “Don’t worry, I’m keeping my eyes open.”
“By the way, you look beautiful. I don’t think Foxy and I are the only
ones noticing.” Bea tilted her head toward Aseem, who was standing near the control room, eyes glued in Angela’s direction.
“You’re imagining things again, Bea.” But as she said it, Angela checked that the hem of her sweetly sexy gold dress was straight, and touched the back of her updo to make sure all was still in place. She looked over at her old friend and smiled, then moved next to Lee for her announcement.
“Uh-huh,” laughed Bea.
Lee tapped on a glass with a knife. “It’s time to begin our second poker tournament. Aseem, could you please turn the music off?” Aseem switched off the music and restored the crackling Yule log video to the ballroom’s big monitor.
Billy Ray Bandy was by the bar. He’d grabbed the bottle of Heavenly Mash from the bartender’s hand and was topping off his half-empty shake with whiskey, splashing some over the side of the glass. “Any reason we can’t have music while we play, Lee?” Foxy raised his milkshake as if toasting in Billy Ray’s direction.
“In the past, we’ve kept our games quiet to allow better concentration. There’s a lot of money at stake. But if no one objects, we could play the music at a soft volume.”
“Don’t turn off that Yule log, though,” Billy Ray said. “Can’t have too much holiday cheer. Speaking of which, what do you think of my belt buckle, Sexy?”
He’d opened his jacket and was leering in Angela’s direction, tilting his crotch forward to display a large metal Western belt buckle with a green and red painting of mistletoe on it. Underneath the design, “KISS ME UNDER THE MISTLETOE” was printed in huge letters.
Standing right at his side, Connie had a close-up view of her boorish husband’s performance. Her face looked hot with humiliation.
“Check it out—it’s got mistletoe painted right on it. Get it? Festive, huh?”
Angela felt like she wanted to vomit at the implications. Though she’d asked for none of Billy Ray’s crude attention, she felt guilty for what Connie must be feeling. She noticed the twins putting their arms around their dates protectively. Foxy moved to her side to do the same to her, but Angela deftly dodged him and stepped forward. Aseem looked at her, distressed. She collected herself and mouthed “it’s OK” in his direction.
“Mrs. Glastonbury, please continue—are we ready to begin? Aseem, let’s leave the music off for now. Why don’t you head outside for a sweep of the grounds? Pat just got back. You take this turn. I’ll take over after you. Mrs. Glastonbury—over to you.”
Mrs. Glastonbury seemed relieved for the assist, and she looked at Angela with approval for the first time in two days.
“Yes, let’s get started, shall we?” Mrs. Glastonbury said. “Ready, Perry?”
Perry nodded.
“Does anyone need a reminder of our rules?” The room was silent. “Good, then Perry, please shuffle up and deal.”
The players looked for the seat cards with their names on them and arranged themselves at the tournament table. Bea plopped down in seat seven, with Foxy on her left in seat eight and James in seat six. Billy Ray was at the opposite end of the oblong table, standing unsteadily beside seat two.
“It’s lucky that you and that belt buckle of yours are way down the other end, Billy Ray,” cackled Bea. “I doubt I’d be able to control myself! I’m a strict observer of mistletoe etiquette.
“Good luck, boys. Thought I should warn you, I’m gonna try harder tonight! I’ve been reading poker books all afternoon. I’m ready to try out everything I’ve learned.”
“Don’t forget, to win, you’ve got to play well and run well,” said Foxy. “Run well as in get a little luck on your side. You feel lucky, Bea?”
“Pretty lucky. Maybe not as lucky as you, Foxtrot.”
“They say it’s better to be lucky than good,” said James, exchanging smirky grins with Frank and Harry. They were settling into their seats, along with Walter, Rex, and Max.
“Amen to that,” said Bea.
“If it wasn’t for bad luck,” Billy Ray said, careening into his seat, “I’d have no luck at all.”
“I don’t think that’s true, Billy Ray,” snorted Bea. “You’ve made it this far.”
§
Within a few hours, Foxy, the twins, Harry, and James were out of the tournament. Foxy and the twins were waiting for another player or two to bust out, so they could restart the cash game at the second table.
Billy Ray, Walter, Frank, and Bea were still in the tourney. Connie sat behind Billy Ray’s seat, looking forlorn. Bijou was sitting on her lap. Billy Ray was running low on chips again. As he had the first night, he was making wild calls and depending on luck to stay in the game. He’d just won another hand, surviving an all-in against Bea.
“See? Seems to me your luck’s not so bad,” Bea said.
“You’re right,” Billy Ray slurred. He was even drunker than the night before. “Tonight’s my turn to win.”
“Ten minute break, everyone,” Perry announced, resetting the clock.
“Billy Ray honey, I know it’s not that late, but I’m tired. I’ll drop Bijou off with Angela, then go to bed.”
“Oh sure,” Billy Ray erupted at his wife. “Why is it whenever I got a chance at winnin’, you don’t wanna be here?”
Angela moved to Connie’s side and took her arm, leading her towards the door. “Billy Ray, the rest of us will watch carefully and tell Connie every detail tomorrow. Shall we, Connie? I’ll walk you back to your suite and get Bijou’s bowl.”
Billy Ray grumbled a little to himself, then made his way to the bar to refresh his drink.
Bea hopped down from her chair and moved next to Frank. “Buy you a drink?” Frank nodded. They walked together to the bar on the far side of the ballroom.
“Frank, seems only right I should inform you, I think I spotted your tell—actually, Walter seems to have spotted it first. It seems he can tell when you’re about to give up. When it’s a big pot and you move your hand back towards you and put a chip on the front right corner of it, he comes right after you, and you fold every time. It’s like he’s spotted a weakness or something.”
“Thank you, I guess,” stammered Frank.
“I thought you’d want to know. Walter’s been getting your number—especially since the stakes have gone up.”
“Well, thanks for the drink—better hit the bathroom before we start back up again.” Frank strode out through the ballroom doors to the head.
Bea walked back to the empty tournament table, grinning. Perry was standing nearby. “Well isn’t that interesting,” she whispered, tilting her head towards the door. “There goes Walter, hustling out behind Frank—right after I hinted to Frank that I’m on to their racket.”
“What did you tell him?” said Perry.
“Just that I noticed when he places his hole cards a certain way, Walter bets him off the hand. I didn’t tell him I thought it was collusion, of course. I said I thought he was telegraphing weakness, and Walter was catching on.”
“Maybe he realized you were on to them. He also might have believed you were sincere. Most people hustle off to the bathroom during breaks, right?”
“I think he knows I know. And I didn’t even tell him I noticed his ‘stroke my sideburns’ signal.”
“One more thing. You looked comfortable at the table a few times tonight. Don’t forget your dumb old lady routine.”
“Shoot, I sometimes forget when I get tired. Thanks for the reminder. I hope they didn’t notice,” said Bea, moving back from the table. “I wonder if they’re planning to mess with the stacks. Let’s move away to give them an opportunity. Take a quick look and remember how much they’ve got in front of them.”
Bea and Perry walked casually towards the patio exit, keeping their backs to the tournament, but sneaking the occasional furtive glance. Bea glimpsed Frank walking by Walter’s seat, his jacket pocket seeming to brush against the edge of the table. A couple extra of the highest denomination pink chips had been dropped behind Walter’s stacks, where they were slightly hidde
n.
“Bingo!” she whispered to Perry.
“Aseem tested the video to be sure it would work tonight. I’ll watch it to get the proof once everyone clears out.”
“Player all in,” said the dealer. Bea was out of the tournament, leaving Walter, Billy Ray, and Frank competing for that game’s $100,000 prize. “Flip your cards, please. Let’s see ’em.”
The two players turned over their hands. Billy Ray’s luck had run dry for the night. Walter busted him out with a pair of tens versus Billy Ray’s weak suited cards. Walter extended his hand for a sportsmanlike shake. Billy Ray batted it away.
“Screw you,” he slurred. “Screw all of you.” He pushed himself away from the tournament table, stumbling and almost falling down. Angela looked relieved when Foxy leapt from his seat at the side game and rushed over to help, grabbing Billy Ray by the arm.
“Get off me, Foxy!” Billy Ray shouted, spittle flying. “I can see through your act. Bet you thought your chances would be better tonight, huh?”
“Hey, we both wanted to win, Billy Ray, but that’s poker,” Foxy said evenly. “Tomorrow’s another night. Do you need help back to your suite?” Aseem and Pat rushed over to Billy Ray’s other side to lend a hand.
“Let go of me!” Billy Ray said, cursing. He shook off all three of them, pulled his chair out from the poker table, and wobbled himself into it. “I ain’t done talking to you, Foxy. I saw you paying off the chef. A little something for poisoning Eddie, huh? Pretty desperate way to improve your chances.”
“What?” sputtered Foxy. “I didn’t pay the chef at all—much less for poisoning Eddie. That’s just the booze talking, Billy Ray.”
“I saw you! From my window. In the parking lot—you pulled something out of your wallet and handed it to the chef. Smooth. Looks like getting rid of Eddie wasn’t enough to improve your luck. You gonna kill me next? You’ve only got one more chance to win. I hope I’m still alive tomorrow to see it.”