“I thought your next collection was going to be Inuit meets Las Vegas?”
“OK, then, the one after that,” he says easily. “So where’s Suze?”
“Oh.” My mood instantly falls. “She’s with Alicia. Remember Alicia Bitch Long-legs? Well, she married this guy called Wilton Merrelle, and—”
“Becky, I know who Alicia Merrelle is,” Danny cuts me off. “She’s a pretty big deal. Her house is, like, all over Architectural Digest.”
“You don’t have to remind me,” I say dolefully. “Oh, Danny, it’s awful. She’s taken Suze away from me. The two of them spend the whole time together. Suze has totally lost her sense of humor, and it’s all because of Alicia—” I break off and rub my nose. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Well.” Danny thinks a moment, then shrugs philosophically. “People move on. Friendships end. If you love Suze, maybe you need to let her go.”
“Let her go?” I gaze at him, stricken. He wasn’t supposed to say that.
“People change, life changes….It’s the way of the world. Maybe it’s meant to be.”
I stare down at the tablecloth, my head a miserable whirl. It can’t be meant to be that I lose Suze to Alicia Bitch Long-legs. It can’t be.
“So how is she these days, Alicia?” says Danny. “Still the sweet thing she always was? Still trying to wreck people’s marriages?”
I feel a wash of relief. At least Danny knows what Alicia’s really like.
“She pretends to be a reformed character,” I say darkly. “But I don’t trust her. She’s up to something.”
“No way.” Danny perks up. “Like what?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “But she has to be. She always is. Keep your eye on her.”
“Got it.” He nods.
“Not that you’ll see her tonight.” I hunch my shoulders gloomily. “Here we are in Las Vegas. I’ve spoken to Tarquin and Dad and we know they’re safe. We should be celebrating. But Alicia and Suze are refusing to have any fun. They’re going to have an early night. Can you believe it?”
“Well, I’ll have fun.” Danny reaches over and clasps my hand with his warm, dry fingers. “Don’t look blue, Becky. What shall we do? Hit the casino?”
“I’m meeting Luke there in a little while,” I tell him. “Although I’m a bit…you know. Freaked out.”
“Why?”
Honestly, wasn’t he listening?
“Because!” I make agitated gestures with my hands. “Crystal meth!”
“You’re not taking that seriously?” Danny laughs. “Becky, gambling is fun.”
“You don’t understand! I’m the type of personality to get hooked! My whole life might spiral away in a toxic mix of addiction and dependence! You’ll try to help me, but you won’t be able to!”
I’ve seen true-life movies about drug addiction. I know how it goes. One minute you’re saying, I’ll just have one puff, and the next minute you’re in court with unwashed hair, fighting for custody of your children.
“Relax.” Danny gestures for the bill. “Let’s go and hit the tables. If you start to look anything like an addict, I’ll drag you away. Promise.”
“Even if I swear and spit at you and say I don’t care about my friends and family anymore?” I say fearfully.
“Especially then. C’mon, let’s go see if we can lose all Luke’s money. Joke!” he adds at my expression. “Joke.”
—
It only takes a few minutes to reach the casino, and as we enter, I take a deep breath. So this is it. Las Vegas proper. The beating heart of the city. I look around, almost dazzled by the neon and patterned carpet and shiny outfits. Everyone seems to be gleaming in some way or other, even if it’s just their diamond-encrusted watch glinting in the lights.
“Did you get any chips yet?” asks Danny, and I reach for my complimentary chips. Luke gave me his too, so I’ve got loads.
“I’ve got fifty dollars’ worth,” I say, totting them up.
“Fifty?” Danny stares at me. “You can barely get a bet on a table for that. You need three hundred, at least.”
“I’m not spending three hundred!” I say in horror. God, gambling’s expensive. I mean, you could get a really nice skirt for three hundred dollars.
“Well, I bought five hundred’s worth earlier,” says Danny, his eyes gleaming. “So I want to get going.”
“Five hundred?” I gape at him.
“I’ll make ten times that much, you wait and see. I’m feeling lucky tonight.” He blows on his hands. “Lucky fingers.” His glee is infectious, and as we turn to survey the room, chips in our hands, I can’t help feeling thrilled. And terrified. Both.
I’ve never been anywhere like this. Even the air is infected with gambling. You can practically sense it in people’s breath as you walk past the tables, a kind of heightened, tense feeling, like when you’re in the queue outside a sample sale. All around I can hear roars and exclamations from tables as customers win or lose, mixed with the clicking of chips and the clinking of cocktail glasses on trays held by skimpily dressed waitresses. And all the time, the continual background bleeping of the machines.
“What shall we play?” I demand. “Roulette?”
“Blackjack,” says Danny firmly, and ushers me toward a big table.
It all looks so grown-up and serious and real. As we slide into a pair of empty seats at the table, no one even looks up to say hello. It’s a bit like sitting at a bar, except the bar is covered in fabric, and instead of handing out drinks, the croupier is dealing out cards. There are two elderly men at the table and a girl in a tuxedo and a sparkly trilby, who looks very bad-tempered.
“I don’t know how to play!” I whisper in a panic to Danny.
At least…I sort of know how to play. It’s the same as twist, isn’t it? I play twist with Mum and Dad every year at Christmas. But are there special rules in Las Vegas?
“Easy,” Danny says. “Put down some chips. Twenty dollars.” He takes the chips from my hand and places them firmly in a circle on the table. The croupier is a Japanese-looking girl and she barely acknowledges my chips, just waits till everyone has bet, then deals out the cards.
I’ve got a six of hearts and a six of spades.
“Twist,” I say loudly, and everyone stares at me.
“You don’t say ‘Twist,’ ” says Danny, glancing at my cards. “You want to split.”
I don’t know what that is, but I’ll trust Danny.
“OK,” I say boldly. “Split.”
“Don’t say ‘Split,’ ” mutters Danny. “Put your extra chips here”—he points at the table—“and make a ‘V’ with your fingers.”
“OK.” I follow his guidance, feeling suddenly very cool and professional. The dealer separates my two cards and deals again.
“Oh, I see!” I exclaim as she gives me an eight of clubs and a ten of hearts. “I have two piles now! I’m bound to win!”
I look around the table, watching as everyone plays. This is actually quite fun.
“Becky, you’re up,” murmurs Danny. “Everyone’s waiting.”
“Oh, right.” I peer at my cards. One pile totals fourteen and the other totals sixteen. What should I do? Twist or stick? Er…My mind flips backward and forward, undecided.
“Becky?”
“Yes, give me a second….” God, this game is hard. I mean, it’s really hard. How do I decide? I close my eyes and try to channel the betting gods. But they’re clearly on a tea break.
“Becky?” prompts Danny again.
Everyone at the table is frowning at me. Honestly. Don’t they realize how difficult this is?
“Ummm.” I massage my brow. “I’m not sure. I just need to think….”
“Ma’am?” Now the croupier is looking impatient. “Ma’am, you need to play.”
Argh. Gambling is so stressy! It’s like trying to decide whether to buy a marked-down coat in the Selfridges sale, when there might be a better one at Liberty, but if you leave this one, it m
ight get snapped up by someone else….
“What shall I do?” I appeal around the table. “How do you all stay so calm?”
“Ma’am, it’s gambling. You just make a choice.”
“OK, twist,” I say at last. “Hit. Whatever. On both of them. Ooh, shall I double down?” I turn to Danny. I don’t know what double down is, but I’ve heard it in films, so it must be a thing.
“No,” he says firmly.
The croupier deals a nine and a ten, finishes the round, and scoops my chips toward her.
“What?” I say in bewilderment. “What just happened?”
“You went bust,” says Danny.
“But…is that it? Doesn’t she even say anything?”
“No. She just takes your money. And mine too. Bummer.”
I stare at the silent croupier, feeling a bit affronted. There should be more ceremony to gambling, I decide. Like when you buy something expensive and they hand it to you in a nice bag and say, Good choice!
In fact, I reckon shops beat casinos full stop. You spend the same amount of money, but in shops you get stuff. I mean, look, I’ve sat on a stool for about five seconds and I’ve spent forty dollars, and I’ve got nothing.
“I’ll have a pause,” I say, sliding down off my stool. “Let’s get a drink.” I check my phone and see a new text. Luke’s on his way.
“Sure,” agrees Danny. “So, are you addicted to gambling yet, Becky?”
“I don’t think so,” I say, prodding my feelings. “Maybe I’m not a natural gambler after all.”
“You lost,” says Danny wisely. “Wait till you start to win. That’s when you can’t stop. Oh, hey, Luke.”
I look up to see Luke striding toward us through the casino, his dark hair glossy under the lights and a confident set to his chin.
“Danny!” He claps Danny on the back. “Have you thawed out yet?”
“Don’t joke.” Danny shudders. “It’s still too raw to talk about.”
Luke meets my eye, and I shoot him a tiny grin. The thing about Danny is he takes himself very seriously. But he’s so sweet, you just kind of go with it.
“So, Becky, have you made our fortune yet?” asks Luke.
“No, I’ve lost,” I say. “I think gambling’s rubbish.”
“You haven’t gotten started yet!” says Danny. “Let’s hit another table.”
“Maybe,” I say, but don’t move. I’m still not convinced by this whole gambling lark. If you lose, then that’s crap, obviously. And if you win, then that’s great, but you might get addicted.
“Don’t you want to, Becky?” Luke looks at me curiously.
“Kind of. Except…what if I do start winning and get hooked?”
“You’ll be fine,” says Luke reassuringly. “Just decide on a strategy before you begin and stick to it.”
“What kind of strategy?”
“Like: I’ll gamble for this long, then stop. I’ll spend this much, then walk away. Or simply ‘quit while you’re ahead.’ What you should never do is throw good money after bad. If you lose, you lose. Don’t try to bet yourself back into winning.”
I’m silent for a moment, processing all this. “Right. OK.” I look up at last. “I have a strategy.”
“Great! So what do you want to play?”
“Not blackjack,” I say firmly. “It’s a stupid game. Let’s play roulette.”
We head to an empty roulette table and sit down on the high chairs. The croupier, a bald guy in his thirties, at once says, “Good evening, and welcome to my table!” with a twinkly smile, and I already like him better than that last croupier. She was a total misery. No wonder I lost.
“Hi!” I smile back and put a single chip on red, while Luke and Danny opt for black. I watch, mesmerized, as the roulette wheel spins round. Come on, red…come on, red….
The ball clatters into a pocket, and I blink at it in astonishment. I won! I actually won!
“That’s my first ever win in Las Vegas!” I tell the croupier, who laughs.
“Maybe you’re on a lucky streak.”
“Maybe!” I put my chips on red again and focus on the table. It’s quite a sight, the spinning wheel. It’s almost hypnotic. We’re all staring at it, unable to draw our eyes away, until it finally slows and the ball falls into a pocket….
Yes! I won again!
—
OK. Roulette is the most excellent game in the world. I don’t know why we ever wasted our time on that stupid blackjack. It’s half an hour later and I’ve won so many times, I feel like the gambling goddess. Luke and Danny have both kept just about even, but I’ve accumulated a massive great pile of chips, and I’m still going strong.
“I’m brilliant at this game!” I can’t help gloating as I win yet another stack of chips. I take a swig of margarita and survey the table, pondering my next move.
“You’re lucky,” Luke corrects me.
“Luck…talent…same thing…”
I take all my chips, concentrate for a moment, then put them on black. Luke slides some chips onto odd and we all watch, rapt, as the wheel spins round.
“Black!” I whoop as the ball clatters onto ten. “I won again!”
Next I put my chips on black and then red, then red again. And somehow I keep on winning! A group of guys on a stag night come over, and the croupier tells them I’m on a winning streak, and they all start chanting, “Beck-ee! Beck-ee!” every time I win. I can’t believe I’m doing so well. I’m charmed!
And you know what? Danny was right. Gambling is totally different when you’re winning. I’m in the zone. The rest of life has disappeared. All I can see is the roulette wheel, blurring as it spins around and then settling down…and I’ve won again.
One of the stag guys, called Mike, taps me on the shoulder. “What’s your method?”
“I don’t know,” I say modestly. “I just concentrate, you know. I kind of channel the color.”
“You a regular?” asks someone else.
“I’ve never gambled before in my life,” I say, heady with the attention. “But maybe I should!”
“You should, like, move to Las Vegas.”
“I know!” I turn to Luke. “We should totally move here!”
I pick up all my chips, hesitate a moment, then plonk them all on number seven.
“Really?” says Luke, raising his eyebrows.
“Really,” I say, and take another swig of margarita. “Let’s just say I feel a vibe about it. Number seven.” I address the whole group. “That’s my number. Seven.”
A couple of the stag guys begin to chant, “Se-ven, se-ven!” Some of them quickly put their chips on seven too. As the wheel spins, we’re all gazing at it like possessed people.
“Seven!” The table erupts as the ball clatters into the seven slot. I won! Even the croupier leans over to high-five me.
“The girl’s on fire!” exclaims Mike.
“Which number next, Becky?” demands another of the stag guys.
“Tell us, Becky!”
“Becky!”
“What do we bet, Becky?”
Everyone’s waiting for me to bet again. But I’m not looking at the wheel anymore. I’m looking at my chips and doing a quick sum. Two hundred…four hundred…plus another…Yes! I can’t resist a tiny fist pump.
“What?” demands one of the stag guys eagerly. “What you got for us, Becky?”
I turn to the croupier with a triumphant smile. “I’m cashing in, please.”
“Cashing in?” Mike’s jaw drops. “What?”
“I’ve done enough gambling.”
“No, no, no!” Mike is practically gibbering in dismay. “You’re on a roll. You play! Play on!”
“But I’ve made eight hundred dollars,” I tell him.
“That’s great! Keep going, girl! Put your chips down!”
“No, you don’t understand,” I say patiently. “Eight hundred dollars gets me this gorgeous jacket for Luke.”
“What jacket?” Luke looks puzzled.
“I saw it in Armani, when I was going round the Shoppes. It’s gray cashmere. Let’s go and look at it.” I squeeze his arm. “It’ll so suit you.”
“A jacket?” Mike looks uncomprehending. “Honey, are you insane? You’ve got the magic touch! You can’t leave the table now!”
“Yes, I can. That was my strategy.”
“Your strategy?”
“Luke said, have a strategy. So I decided my strategy was: Win enough money to buy the Armani jacket. And I have.” I beam triumphantly. “So I’m stopping.”
“But…but…” Mike seems almost speechless. “You can’t stop! You’re on a winning streak.”
“But I might not win anymore,” I point out. “I might lose.”
“You won’t lose! She’s winning, right?” He looks around at his friends for support.
“Becky for the win!” chimes in one of them.
“But I might start losing,” I explain carefully. “And then I won’t be able to afford the jacket.”
Don’t they understand anything?
“Becky, don’t go.” Mike drunkenly puts an arm round my shoulders. “We’re having a blast, aren’t we?”
“Oh, it’s been fab,” I say at once. “You’ve been great company. And I do enjoy gambling, kind of…but I’ll enjoy buying Luke this jacket more. Sorry,” I add politely to the croupier. “I don’t mean to be rude. You’ve got a lovely roulette table.” I hear Luke give a sudden snort of laughter. “What?” I demand. “What’s funny?”
“Nothing, my love,” he says, picking up my hand and kissing it. “Except I wouldn’t worry about your descent into gambling-addiction hell just yet.”
—
The jacket looks amazing on Luke. I knew it would. It’s very close cut and slimming and brings out the chocolaty highlights in his hair. I can see all the assistants watching in admiration as he comes out of the changing room and looks at himself in the big mirror. I’m only sorry Danny isn’t here to admire him too, but he’s still gambling with the stag night guys.
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