Not in Time

by Shawna Seed

  “Nice,” Genevieve said. “Only taller?”

  “No,” D said. She tossed the dress on the bed. “And he’s from Akron frickin’ Ohio.”

  “Oof.”

  “Well, sometimes a girl has to make do,” D said. “Let’s get you into some cuter clothes and get some dinner, and then we’ll go find some fun.”

  She nodded toward Genevieve’s glass.

  “Drink up, Shriner.”

  As anticipated, D rejected most of the clothes Genevieve had packed. She eventually signed off on a pair of black pants (“your butt looks cute, at least”), a jade-green vintage silk shirt (“undo another button”) and, sighing, the ballet flats.

  Over dinner, they tackled Genevieve’s next career move.

  “It’s a do-it-yourself economy right now,” D said. “What if you set up as a consultant on this World War II art thing? Worst case, you wouldn’t have a gap on your résumé when people start hiring again. You’d look entrepreneurial!”

  “A consultant? I wouldn’t even know where to start,” Genevieve said.

  “Pick a company name, get some business cards, and then network, network, network,” D said. “Write yourself a press release announcing your business and send it to everyone in your contacts.”

  Genevieve groaned.

  “Or I’ll write your frickin’ press release and then you can go through and fix all the grammar mistakes,” D said. She took a healthy slug of her wine. “What should we call you? The Art Detective?”

  Genevieve shook her head furiously. “That sounds dumb. Maybe something with investigations?”

  “What do people call this World War II art thing? Isn’t there a name for it?”

  “You mean looted art?”

  D wrinkled her nose. “Looted sounds like people boosting flat screens after a disaster or something. That’s no good.”

  “Lost art, then,” Genevieve said.

  “Ooooh,” D said. “I’m liking that.”

  Genevieve pushed away her plate. “Lost Art Investigations?”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Genevieve didn’t want to play craps, but D insisted gambling alone was no fun and Genevieve’s company was worth the cost of staking her.

  They had been playing about 30 minutes, and miraculously Genevieve was up $14, when another player slid into the table’s only empty spot, right next to D.

  “Chippendales sold out tonight, too?” He leaned around D to smile at Genevieve.

  By means of exaggerated eye movements and furtive gestures, D established the identity of the man next to her. Then she turned on her Texas charm.

  “So you’re the coffee break I’ve heard so much about. I’m D,” she said, offering her hand. “And you know Gen. Pleased to meet you.”

  He shook hands with D, then reached across to Genevieve. “Jay,” he said. “Nice to see you again – Gen, is it?”

  D mouthed the words “no ring” to Genevieve. Then she squared her shoulders, and with a let-me-show-you-how-it’s-done look, turned her attention to Jay.

  “What brings you to Vegas, business or pleasure?” she asked him.

  “Client meeting,” he replied.

  He’d changed shirts and shaved since she’d seen him last, Genevieve noticed. The sleeves were rolled up again, baring tanned, muscular forearms.

  The dealer pushed chips toward him, and Jay stacked them in the tray in front of him. “How’s the table been?”

  “So-so, but I have a feeling things are about to heat up,” D drawled. Genevieve had been watching her work this routine since college, but it never ceased to fascinate her. D, who had three brothers, had an easy way with men that Genevieve could only envy, never emulate.

  “So, Jay, what kind of clients do you have?”

  “Satisfied ones, I hope,” Jay said. He straightened to his full height and studied D. “Now you, I’ll bet you’re in sales.” He smiled at Genevieve as he said it.

  D’s mouth opened wide. “How did you…” then she caught his smile. “Oh, Gen told you.” She punched Jay on the arm. “No fair.”

  Jay leaned around D to address Genevieve. “But you never said what you do.”

  Genevieve was at a loss. What to say? “Unemployed?” “Between projects?”

  D motioned Jay closer and lowered her voice. “Hip-hop mogul. But keep it quiet. Once people hear her name, they’ll start giving her demos and we’ll have to leave.”

  “It’s true,” Genevieve said solemnly. “Everybody thinks they’re the new Kanye.”

  “Your disguise is good,” Jay said. “I would have guessed something in the visual arts. A gallery, maybe.”

  Genevieve turned to stare at him, but suddenly there was a chorus of groans around the table, and dealers started raking in chips.

  “So, Jay,” D drawled. “Where you from?”

  “LA,” he said.

  “Really?” She raised an eyebrow at Genevieve. “Gen lives in LA.”

  “Yeah?” Jay asked, obviously intrigued.

  “New shooter comin’ out,” one of the dealers called, pushing the dice toward Genevieve.

  She looked at D, eyes wide. “Am I supposed to roll?”

  “You can pass,” Jay said. “Do whatever you want.”

  “But it’s good luck when a woman rolls,” D said. Then she addressed the table at large. “Fellas, it’s good luck when a woman rolls, right? Am I right?”

  The dealer wielding the stick nodded.

  Genevieve looked to D for reassurance, then shrugged. “What the heck.”

  Jay smiled at that and tossed a chip toward the center of the table, which a dealer caught. “Ten dollar yo,” he said.

  “Oh, I am liking that idea,” D said to him. “Betting big on our girl’s maiden voyage.” She tossed two chips on the table. “Five dollar yo and one for the boys.”

  “Do I need to do that?” Genevieve asked.

  “Nah, I’m making a bet for me and one for the dealers,” D said. “Now, pick two of the dice, and your new friend Jay and I would really appreciate an 11.”

  “Just pick them up,” said a dealer, “and toss them right down the center of the table, like a jet down the runway. Make sure you hit the wall at the other end.”

  Genevieve picked up the dice, closed her eyes, and tossed them. One showed five, the other six. Was that good or bad? Wait, wasn’t that 11?

  “Yo, yo, yo,” the dealer called.

  Jay clapped, and the dealers began paying off bets.

  “You hit yo!” D said. “You made everyone a winner, but especially me and Jay.” Out of the side of her mouth, she said, “You just made me 75 bucks and 150 for him.”

  Before Genevieve could respond, the dealer pushed the dice to her again. She flung them, then stood on her tiptoes to see the results – a three and a four.

  Jay began clapping again, and the dealers began payoffs.

  “I thought seven was bad,” Genevieve whispered to D.

  “Not in this case,” D said. “You’re doing great.”

  Jay threw another chip on the table. “Hard six and hard eight, two each, one for the boys.”

  He smiled at Genevieve. “Make me a winner again.”

  “Oh, you’re already a winner,” she said, not quite believing she was saying it. Genevieve was starting to see why Jay and D thought this game was so much fun.

  Her next roll produced two fours.

  “Eight, hard eight, the point is eight,” a dealer called. Another dropped a stack of chips in front of Jay.

  “You just made Jay a bunch of money,” D whispered. “Now it’s easy. Hit the eight.”

  “Eight,” Genevieve said. “Got it.”

  She threw the dice again. One rolled down the table and landed, showing five. The other, to her horror, bounced off Jay and back onto the table. It landed showing three.

  She began to stutter apologies, but applause around the table drowned her out.

  “Winner, winner, chicken dinner,” a player called from the other end of the table as
the payoffs began.

  “Hit me again if you want,” Jay said, tapping his palm against his chest.

  His smile was infectious. Genevieve couldn’t remember the last time she’d had so much fun.

  But the dealer made a grim face as he slid the dice toward her. “You need to hit the back wall,” he said.

  “Oh, leave her alone,” D chided him. “She’s doing great!”

  Just like that, Genevieve was nervous and self-conscious. On her next roll, she threw one die off the table. Then she did it again.

  “Down the middle of the table, like a jet down the runway,” the stickman reminded her.

  It seemed as though everyone at the table was staring at her, and Genevieve began to feel the familiar, creeping dread of embarrassment.

  On her next roll, one die hooked and flew off the table, whizzing past Jay’s head as he ducked.

  “Calm down and do it like you did that first time,” D coached quietly.

  A blotchy flush spread over Genevieve’s chest, up her neck and to her face.

  “Can I just stop?” she asked D.

  “No, Gen, you have to keep going until you roll seven. It’s OK. You’ll be fine.”

  Genevieve rolled the dice, taking care to keep the trajectory low. They died in the middle of the table. The dealers exchanged glances. “No roll,” one of them pronounced.

  “I don’t know what I’m doing,” Genevieve said.

  “No shit,” she heard someone mutter from the other end of the table.

  Jay glared down the table, then turned to her. “You’ll never see any of these people again. Who cares what they think? You’re doing great.”

  Feeling slightly encouraged, Genevieve rolled again, landing the dice close enough to the wall to satisfy the dealers. One showed three. The other, four.

  “Seven out, seven out,” a dealer called, raking players’ chips off the table.

  Genevieve was never so relieved to lose so many people so much money.

  “Good roll,” Jay said. Genevieve assumed he was being sarcastic, but his smile said otherwise.

  The dice came to D next. She rolled for 15 minutes or so, earning minor payouts but nothing big. When she hit seven, she said, “I need to powder my nose anyway.”

  She signaled to a dealer, who spread a small towel over her chips. Then she took Genevieve’s arm and pulled her toward Jay. “Scoot this way so you can keep a better eye on my chips while I’m gone.”

  “You keep her from running wild,” D said to Jay. Then she winked at Genevieve and sauntered away.

  Jay draped his tall frame over the table, edging closer to Genevieve. “How long have you two been friends?”

  Again Genevieve caught the scent she’d noticed at the coffee shop. She resisted the urge to bury her head in his sleeve and inhale, but only just.

  A dealer pushed the dice toward him. Genevieve had noticed that many of the players studied the dice before rolling. Not Jay. He grabbed them and threw them expertly down the table, almost casually.

  People around the table clapped, and the dealers began a round of payoffs.

  “We were roommates in college and then a few years after,” Genevieve said.

  Jay dropped a stack of chips on the table and reeled off how he wanted them placed. Genevieve didn’t catch all of it. She was playing only the pass line, which D had explained was the easiest and lowest-risk approach.

  “And you have a history of running wild when she’s not around?”

  Their eyes met. Genevieve tried frantically to think of a witty comeback, but her mind was blank.

  A slight tilt of Jay’s head told Genevieve that she’d held the eye contact too long.

  “You need to pick up your payoff,” Jay said, a smile spreading over his face.

  “What?”

  Jay tapped the back of her hand with his index finger. “You need...”

  Genevieve didn’t hear the rest.

  Her peripheral vision began to fade, and the table in front of her seemed to spin. The green felt, white lines and brightly colored chips began to blur at the edges, becoming indistinct bits of color, like pigment on a painter’s palette. She gripped the table as the casino’s light seemed to grow brighter. She tipped her head back and squinted against the white light. She thought, for a moment, that she glimpsed blue sky.

  “Hey, you OK there?”

  And just like that, it was over. She turned to Jay, who was staring at her.

  “I’m fine,” Genevieve said. “Just had a little...”

  A little what? What had just happened to her?

  Jay smiled. “Little too much to drink, maybe? Easy to get dehydrated here.”

  Genevieve shook her head. “Just one drink before dinner, and I didn’t finish it.”

  Jay signaled a cocktail waitress. “Can we get water, please?”

  She handed him a bottle of water, and he dropped a couple chips on her tray, then gave the water to Genevieve. “Do you need to sit?”

  Genevieve opened the water and took a sip. “I’m fine.”

  The game had not paused. A dealer pushed the dice toward Jay. He threw them down the table, taking his eyes off Genevieve only briefly.

  “Seven, seven out,” one of the dealers called.

  Jay barely seemed to notice. “You want to call your friend?”

  “I left my phone upstairs,” Genevieve said. “I’m sure she’ll be back soon.”

  Genevieve wasn’t sure this was true, not at all. D might have struck up a conversation with someone from her convention – or a total stranger – and lost track of time. It had happened before.

  Jay wasn’t convinced, either, apparently. He stepped back from the table and pulled his phone from his pocket. “What’s her number?”

  Genevieve recited D’s number.

  “Hey, this is Jay at the craps table,” he said when D picked up. “Your friend isn’t feeling well. You might want to head back this way.”

  D arrived a few minutes later, striding across the crowded casino like Moses through the Red Sea.

  Jay stopped playing when his roll ended, and Genevieve had, too. She sipped her water and tried to avoid looking at him. Whatever had troubled her had passed. She felt perfectly normal. Completely embarrassed, but normal.

  “What’s up?” D asked, bending down to look Genevieve in the eye.

  “She did this weird whole-body shudder,” Jay said, “and then she rolled her head back and stared at the ceiling. She seemed kind of, I don’t know, gone.”

  “I’m fine now,” Genevieve said. She didn’t want to make a big deal of the incident in front of Jay. Not that it mattered – his interest seemed to be waning.

  “You want to go?” D asked.

  Genevieve nodded. D put her chips on the table and signaled for Genevieve to do the same, suddenly all business. “Color in,” she said.

  The dealers stacked and counted the chips, then handed back the winnings in larger denominations.

  Genevieve caught Jay’s eye one last time as she and D left. “Nice meeting you,” she said.

  “Hope you feel better,” he said. Then he placed a bet and went back to the game.

  “So what was that?” D asked as they threaded their way to the elevators. “Panic attack?”

  “It didn’t feel like one. It was really weird,” Genevieve said, pausing to take a drink of water.

  D eyed the bottle suspiciously. “Where did that come from?”

  “This?” Genevieve held the bottle aloft. “One of the waitresses brought it.”

  “Did you put it down uncapped? Did anyone touch it?”

  “Jay handed it to me, but...”

  D snatched the bottle away as Genevieve watched, astonished. “Haven’t you heard of the date-rape drug? A guy can put it in your drink, and the next thing you know...” D rolled her head back and let her mouth hang open.

  “If he was trying to drug me, why would he call you?” Genevieve said. “Anyway, he flagged the waitress down after the thing happened.
”

  They reached the elevators; D stabbed the “up” button with her thumb, taking care to spare her French manicure.

  “Well, that’s a good point, actually,” D said, handing the water back. “Let’s rethink. Have you started any new medicines, even something over the counter?”

  “Just the one sleeping pill the other night,” Genevieve said.

  The elevator doors opened and they boarded.

  “You might should avoid that,” D said. “Anything else strange happen lately?”

  “Other than the whole getting-laid-off-and-having-panic-attacks thing?”

  D looked her up and down in the bright light of the elevator. “You seem a little flushed but otherwise you look OK,” she said. “Tell me what happened after I left.”

  “Jay moved over closer, and we were talking, and everything was fine, except I had that thing where he would say something funny and I couldn’t think of a comeback,” Genevieve said. “And then he touched my hand, and, remember that time in college I had the allergic reaction and you had to take me to the health center?”

  “You’re saying it was like a bad case of hives?” The elevator opened, and D held the door for Genevieve.

  “No,” Genevieve said, keeping pace with D down the hall. “But they gave me an IV of something in the ER then and I felt it sort of swoosh through my veins. This was like that. I felt something swoosh through me, and the table went blurry, and then I looked up because there was this really bright light, and I thought I saw blue sky and...”

  Genevieve took in D’s expression and paused. “What?”

  “Did a frickin’ angel choir appear and go ‘laaaaaa?’ ”

  “What do you mean?”

  “All this because that guy touched your hand?” D shook her head. “Pitiful, Gen. That’s just pitiful.”

  Genevieve followed D into the room and sat on the bed. “Well, I don’t really think that’s it,” she said. “Maybe I’m just tired. I guess I ruined your evening. Sorry.”

  D remained standing. “About my evening...”

  “Oooooh, did you run into Fake Jake from Akron?”

  “He wants me to meet him for Pai Gow poker,” D said. “I told him I had to check up on my friend and then I’d text him. I’ll just tell him you’re not feeling well and see if we can switch it to coffee tomorrow.”