“Gin rummy?”
Carter shook his head. “Oh boy. Okay. Your story is this: you're addicted to playing the slots. Easy enough and no skill involved.”
“And what about you?”
“I'll come up with something.”
I gave him a skeptical look. “And what do you know about gambling?”
“I've placed some bets in my day,” he said, with a slightly offended tone. “And I've won a little money.”
“But how much did you have to lose in order to win?”
He ignored my question, started the engine, and headed back toward my apartment. “I'll drop you off at your place. Then you can take your own car and I'll see you at the meeting. Don't be late.”
* * *
I feasted on leftover lasagna from the party the night before and booted up my laptop at the kitchen table. The official site for Gambler's Anonymous was jam-packed with information on the recovery program. Everyone from compulsive gamblers to the occasional gamer was invited to join. The main objective of the meetings was to encourage strength, hope, and camaraderie for those who wanted to leave their addiction behind.
Since my role was to portray a woman obsessed with the slot machines, I felt it was important to understand a gambling addiction. I learned that most addictions start as away to self-medicate an anxiety disorder or depression and can be triggered by personal loss, debt, or traumatic experiences in general.
Family history can also be a huge factor.
For someone who never suffered with addiction, it was hard for me to understand the allure of gambling – my addiction to chocolate and wine didn't count. I had gone to casinos before, but never had a problem giving up when I lost my first twenty bucks within the first ten minutes. My philosophy: I worked too hard for my money to blow it all.
At five-thirty, I decided it was time to head out.
* * *
There were over a dozen cars in the parking lot of St. Teresa's Church and Carter's Buick was among them.
It was turning into a crisp evening as the sun started to set. Having forgotten my jacket at home, I remembered the extra scarf I kept in my bag. I wrapped it around my neck and made my way to the church's entrance.
Inside, a sign directed me to a set of stairs that presumably led to the basement. As I descended the stairs, the smell of coffee guided me the rest of the way. I eventually found myself in a room crowded with people, drinking coffee and munching on snacks. The buffet table displayed an assortment of refreshments: coffee, water, soda, donuts, and bowls of chips. To the left of that, nearly two dozen chairs were arranged in a semi-circle.
Scanning the crowd, I noticed Carter, paper cup in hand, seemingly engrossed in a conversation with another guy who appeared to be in his thirties. Carter made eye contact with me briefly then focused his attention back on his new friend.
Of the twelve or thirteen attendees, only four were female, including myself. I figured the attractive one with the long, dark hair had to be Mindy Giovanni.
I helped myself to a cup of coffee, stood to the side, and waited to see if anyone would approach me. Within a minute a stocky man with no neck and extra chins sidled up to me and smiled. “You must be new. I've been attending these meetings on and off for years.” He extended his hand. “I'm Trevor.”
I shook his hand. “Hi, I'm Sarah.”
“Did you come with a friend?” he asked. “Maybe a sponsor?”
“I knew someone who used to attend. Did you know Glenn Fleming?”
Trevor's eyes widened. “That name sounds familiar.”
“He passed away recently.”
“Sorry to hear that,” he said. “What happened?”
“Shot during a robbery.”
He nodded. “Right, right. I remember him now. He was a nice guy, kind of quiet. He never got up to speak in front of the group so I didn't know much about him. Did they ever find the guy who shot him?”
“Nope. Not yet.”
Trevor eyed the coffee in my hand. “Well, I should grab a cup of joe before the meeting starts. Nice meeting you, Sarah.”
“By the way,” I said, before he could get away. “Do you know a guy named Duncan Schwartz? His nickname is Dunk?”
Trevor stiffened slightly. “Does he come to the meetings?”
“I don't think so. He was a friend of Glenn's.”
Trevor scratched his head, looked around, and leaned closer. “Is he the guy that owns the pizza place? He's a bookie, right?”
“Yes.” I tried to keep the excitement out of my voice. “The pizza place went out of business. Do you know where Duncan might be staying?”
“Sorry. My thing is online gambling so I never used a real bookie. But if you ask around here, someone might know. I'd stay away from him, though. I've heard he's bad news.”
My pulse quickened. “Why? Is he dangerous or something?”
Trevor laughed sharply. “If you're a gambler, all bookies are dangerous.”
“Oh, right. Of course.”
“Anyway, I'd better grab some coffee before the meeting starts.” Trevor patted my shoulder and high-tailed it to the buffet table.
As I sipped from my cup, I noticed the dark-haired woman who I assumed was Mindy give me an evil stare from across the room. I gave a friendly wave to her, but she didn't wave back. Her narrowed eyes and cocky stance put me on the defensive right away. She wore a knee-length skirt and a tight sweater that complimented her ample bosom. Tall and toned, she looked like a professional athlete.
I tensed up when I noticed her walking my way.
“Hello,” she said, her voice deep and raspy. “Never seen you here before.”
I held out my hand. “I'm Sarah.”
She looked me up and down disapprovingly while ignoring my friendly gesture. “I'm Mindy.”
I dropped my hand to my side. “It's my first time.”
She regarded me with slight flick of her hand. “Obviously.”
“I'm not really sure how it all works. I've never been to a support group before. I'm kinda nervous, actually.”
She snorted a contemptuous chuckle. “What's there to be nervous about? You think one of us is going to steal your purse or something?”
I was already sick of her attitude. I leaned in and lowered my voice to a whisper. “Excuse me, Mindy, but did I offend you in some way?”
Her eyes got big as she took a step back, eyelashes fluttering. Then a slow smile spread across her face. “Sorry. As you can tell I have trust issues.” She held out her hand. “Welcome to the group.”
I accepted her apology by shaking her hand. I noticed she had a firm grip and large hands.
“I see you've met Trevor,” she said. “Stay away from him.”
“Oh. Is he your boyfriend?”
“No,” she said. “But I can tell you he's not your type.”
“I'm not here looking for men,” I said. “I'm just looking for inspiration.”
She rolled her eyes. “Let me clue you in. People don't come here for inspiration. Free snacks. Decent coffee. Entertainment. That's why people show up. And it's cheaper than going to the movies.”
She seemed dead serious so I nodded appreciatively. “Okay,” I said. “Thanks for the valuable tips. Nice meeting you, Mindy.”
She leaned closer and winked. “Just so we understand each other, this is my turf.”
I smiled. “You don't have to worry about me.”
I sighed with relief as Mindy walked off and scanned the room again while sipping on lukewarm coffee. Carter was talking with one of the younger guys.
Before I had the chance to attempt another introduction, a man wearing a t-shirt that read, Gambling: the sure way of getting nothing for something, raised his hand in the air to get everyone's attention. “Good evening, friends. Let me introduce myself for the benefit of the new people. I'm Garret, the coordinator of the New Hampshire chapter of Gambler's Anonymous. I invite you all to take a seat. The meeting will begin in five minutes.”
Like a game of musical chairs, everyone flocked to find a seat. I picked one as far away from Mindy as possible.
Once everyone was settled, Garret stood up and smiled. He clapped his hands together once, the sound echoing off all the hard surfaces in the room. “Welcome, everyone. It's nice to see a few new faces tonight. I'd like to start the meeting with a couple of announcements. First, I'd like to thank Marsha Cranston for providing the beverages, Bill Washburn for bringing the snacks, and Pete Walsh for coming in early to set up the chairs.”
Enthusiastic applause rang out.
“Next, I'd like to let everyone know that starting on the first of June, we will have to move our meeting time to seven instead of six-thirty. I apologize for any inconvenience. Okay, let's get started. We'll begin the session as always with the gambler's six basic truths. Most of you know this by heart, so don't be shy. Let's begin.”
The crowd recited the code in monotone voices that sounded robotic and stiff. I bowed my head and listened.
“Gambling is a progressive illness. It always gets worse, but never better. It can only be arrested and may never be cured, regardless of the length of abstinence. It can only be arrested by total abstinence. It is a baffling, insidious, compulsive addiction. It can very easily lead to demoralization, insanity and death.”
Garret cleared his throat and smiled broadly. “Who would like to be the first to stand up and say something?”
One of the men wearing a business suit slowly got to his feet. “Hello, everyone. My name is Chris. This is my third meeting, and I'm happy to say I've gone three weeks without gambling. I'm grateful for the support and encouragement. And … well, it's been rough, but I think I'm in a good place right now. After my wife left me I thought I could control my addiction, but I realized I couldn't do it alone. So, thanks.”
More applause. After a few long seconds, the youngest woman in the group stood up. She took a deep breath, let it out, and started to cry. “Sorry,” she said, wiping her eyes. “This is the first time I've had the courage to speak. I'm Brittany. It's important for me to tell you that it's been a whole year since I placed my last bet. Best of all, I've been able to pay my sister back every penny of the money I borrowed last year. She actually said she was proud of me. My own sister, the one who can do no wrong, is proud of me.”
The woman went on and on about her life for another few minutes and finally took her seat. More applause.
Next, a man of about thirty got to his feet. He crossed his arms over his chest and scowled. “Anyway, most of you know my name since I've been coming here for months. I'm Tyler. Since last week's meeting, I've gambled five times. Lost my whole paycheck.” He shuffled his feet and plunged his hands into his jean pockets. “Now my girlfriend is leaving me. She's sick of everything. Maybe she's right. Maybe I can't quit. Maybe I'll never quit.” He let out a grunt of disgust. “It's pathetic. I can't even go a whole hour without thinking about it. I've maxed out my credit cards, even borrowed money from my folks. Maybe the best thing for me would be to go to jail. It's probably the only way I'll be able to quit. I keep hoping to find some willpower ... anyway, thanks for listening.” He took his seat and bowed his head in shame. A round of applause.
The man in the t-shirt stood up and offered a sad smile for old Tyler. “No matter how many times we backslide, we have to keep remembering that each day is a new day. And every new day brings hope. Tyler, thank you for sharing. The fact that you're here tonight is a positive step, so don't lose sight of that. Would anyone else like to share?”
No one seemed to be in a hurry to stand up. Finally, I saw Carter raise his hand. I stared in wonder and confusion, not quite sure what he was up to.
“Yes?” Garret nodded to Carter. “Please stand up and introduce yourself, sir.”
I felt a tightening in my stomach as Carter got to his feet and looked around the room, his gaze settling on me for a brief moment. He took a deep breath and smiled. “I'm Carter. I've never been to a support meeting before. To be honest, I've never bet a single dollar on card games, the race track, or even those online gambling sites.” Everyone looked at him as if hanging on his every word. “Truth is,” Carter continued. “I'm a compulsive lottery ticket buyer. I probably spend four or five hundred dollars a week on lottery tickets, sometimes more. I win a little money every now and then, but not nearly enough to support my habit. Anyway, I'm holding out for the big win. I figure those lucky numbers have to hit at some point. My friends think I'm nuts, but I can't help myself. I guess I want to stop because it's ruining my life. I want to be free from this … problem. I know the odds of me winning the lottery are slim to none, but somewhere in my brain it makes sense. After all, if I win the jackpot, my friends won't think I'm crazy anymore.”
When Carter sat down everyone clapped, including myself, although I was clapping for the performance more than anything else. The two people sitting next to him patted his back, offering sincere consolations.
If Carter was expecting me to get up and spout some form of fiction for the sake of our case, he'd be waiting all night. I was keeping my butt in my seat. Sure, I was all in favor of going undercover now and again, but shining a spotlight on myself was another thing entirely.
Thankfully, someone else stood up and told a tale about how gambling ruined his life.
A few more people got up to speak, and by the time the meeting ended I needed a drink. Something stronger than coffee. My heart ached for these people.
The crowd dispersed. Some lingered to grab a few more treats from the buffet table or to refill their coffee cups. Looking around for Carter, I noticed Mindy had cozied up to him for a chat. I figured she'd get to him eventually.
I ambled back to the refreshments table and looked over the selection. One of the members approached me and smiled. Sporting a plaid jacket, white slacks, and polished white leather shoes, he reminded me of a lounge singer from the seventies. His grayish-red hair was thin, styled in a comb-over. He had to be at least sixty years old. “Evening, Miss. I don't think I've seen you at this meeting before. I'd have remembered you.”
“My first time,” I said.
“My name is Rudy.” He extended his hand and I shook it. He smelled like a mixture of mothballs and Old Spice.
“I'm Sarah.”
He wiggled his bushy eyebrows and smiled. “I'm heading out for a drink. Join me?”
“Um, sorry, I have a boyfriend.”
“I figured you did. Only reason I'm asking is because a bunch of us from the meeting are getting together for drinks over at Carmine's down the street. We can walk there and meet up with the others, if you like. We're really a fun bunch when you get to know us.”
I made a gesture of looking at my watch, stalling while I thought it over. I caught a glimpse of Carter, still chattering with Mindy, so I had to make a quick decision. Maybe Rudy had information about Glenn, or Duncan Schwartz, which was the whole point of attending the meeting to begin with. “I guess one drink wouldn't hurt.”
He made a sweeping gesture to the door, grinning ear to ear. “Fantastic. Shall we?”
Once outside I noticed the temperature had dropped at least ten degrees and it was dark. I tucked my arms across my chest and rubbed my shoulders as we walked.
“Didn't you bring a coat?” Rudy asked.
“I'm fine.”
“Nonsense.” He removed his jacket in one quick movement and held it out to me.
“Thanks anyway, but it's actually quite refreshing out here.”
Rudy chuckled. “Women these days. You're all too independent for your own good.”
We continued down the sidewalk toward the bar and I clutched my pocketbook close to my side, finding some comfort in the knowledge that my pepper spray was handy – just in case Rudy had other activities in mind.
We arrived at Carmine's within a few minutes. Once inside the darkly lit bar, Rudy led us to a table near the back. I recognized the group of three from the meeting.
Once seated, Rudy offered to bu
y me a glass of red wine. The others at the table introduced themselves – Dave, Arthur, and Kate.
Kate was the first to speak. “Since you never got up to speak at the meeting, I'm sure we're all wondering what your story is?”
I had prepared for the inevitable question, so I didn't hesitate to reply. “I'm addicted to slot machines.”
The others nodded with sympathy. Kate patted my hand. “The meetings will help you, but don't expect a quick fix. You'll have weak moments, so it's important not to get discouraged.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I had a friend who attended these meetings several months ago. Do any of you remember Glenn Fleming?”
Kate looked at the others and all eyes turned down. “Yes, we heard about Glenn,” Kate said, her tone sullen. “He was a nice man. Have they found the guy who shot him?”
“No. It's been real hard on his wife Elizabeth. She's desperate for answers, but the police have no leads.”
Everyone stared at me. Rudy was the first to speak. “Did Glenn have a bookie?”
I shrugged. “No one seems to know. Have any of you heard of a Duncan Schwartz?”
Kate nodded. “Sure, I know him. That guy's a weasel. Don't ever get involved with him.”
I felt a surge of excitement. “He used to own Mama Mia’s Pizzeria, but they closed down. Duncan's wife said he skipped town. Any idea where I could find him?”
Kate leaned in closer, admonishing me with her eyes. “Dear, stay away from him. I've heard rumors about his operation. Bad stuff.”
“Yeah, it's true,” Arthur said. “I heard he almost killed someone with a pizza cutter.”
I didn't want to appear over-eager, so I decided to drop the issue and drink my wine. At least now I knew that Duncan Schwartz had a reputation for violence.
I checked my phone. No texts from Carter. I stood up from the table. “I should probably head home. Gotta work early.”
Rudy got to his feet. “Allow me to walk you to your car.”
“You haven't even finished your drink.”
He set his glass on the table. “I've had enough.”
“I'll be fine. Thank you, though.”
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