I let out an involuntary yawn, right on cue.
‘Exactly,’ he says.
‘Go bet that Hermès belt on zero or green or whatever you call it,’ I say, nodding towards the roulette table. ‘That will cheer you up.’
‘God, even the roulette wheel seems slower than usual,’ Eli says. ‘Still, we’re here now, let’s give it a go.’
We’ve separated from my mum and dad – my mum’s suggestion, she said it was so that we ‘young ones’ could do what we wanted, but I think she was just worried that my dad would try to keep up with Eli and his gambling.
‘So, how many chips are you going to get?’ he asks me.
‘None,’ I tell him. ‘Obviously. You?’
‘Hmm, I don’t know, I’ll see how I feel when I get to the desk. I’ll try not to go too crazy,’ he says as he heads off to get his chips.
‘Well, hey, miss,’ I hear a strong, convincing Canadian accent say behind me.
‘Well, hello there, Mr Bublé,’ I reply. ‘How’s it going?’
‘It’s going good,’ Josh says, keeping up the accent. ‘I’m just about to do a set actually.’
‘Ahh, is that why you’re not letting the accent slip?’ I ask.
‘What accent?’ he asks with a faux-blank stare.
‘Nice,’ I reply. ‘So, what does a set in a casino go like?’
‘They give me a microphone and I just walk around the table singing the classics – Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin – you know the stuff.’
‘And does that, erm, liven things up at all?’ I ask. ‘Because right now…’
I pretend to fall asleep and make snoring noises.
‘These lot can get pretty wild, don’t let them fool you,’ he insists. ‘They’ll perk up when the music starts.’
‘Hey, Josh,’ Eli says as he butts between us.
‘Hey, Eli,’ he replies. ‘It’s Michael right now.’
‘That’s pretty weird,’ Eli says. ‘Where’s André?’
‘No band with me today,’ he replies. ‘Last night was a lot of fun – Rosie, you should have been there.’
‘Hmm, maybe next time,’ I say.
The three of us fall into a slightly awkward silence.
‘OK, well, I’d better go make a start,’ Josh says. ‘Can’t keep the fans waiting.’
‘It’s so bizarre,’ Eli starts once Josh has gone. ‘Hearing him flit between sounding like someone off Hollyoaks to actual Michael Bublé.’
‘Yeah, it’s completely weird. I can’t get my head around it.’ I say. Then I notice the tray of casino chips in his hands. ‘Go on, how much did you get?’
‘Not much, I promise,’ he insists. ‘I got you some too.’
‘Oh, no, Eli, honestly, you shouldn’t have, I’ll only lose them,’ I say.
‘Rosie, don’t worry so much, they’re not proper chips, they’re cheaper ones, they don’t really win you anything, they’re just for playing with, for fun.’
I glance down at my chips. Little blue plastic disks with a sliver cruise ship etched on them. Around the edges, they say ‘ship token’ on them. They look pretty real to me. I suppose it’s kind of cute of him, pretending they’re not real so that I don’t worry about using them. I guess I could play with a few, see what happens.
The ambient music switches from gentle background music to the blaring trumpet of the intro to ‘Have You Met Miss Jones’, before Josh starts circulating the room, singing along, doing a bit of that light Bublé dancing that’s not really dancing, mixed with a little serenading of whichever old dear he’s passing at the time. It’s amazing how the women on this ship look at him, it’s like everyone thinks he’s an absolute rock star. A god, walking amongst us mere mortals. Poseidon himself could rise up out of the water, climb aboard the ship and stroll the decks in all his buff, beardy glory, brandishing his trident, just generally being the god of the sea, and I honestly don’t think that anyone on board would notice, not if Josh was here in his suit crooning along to ‘I Get a Kick Out Of You’.
It must be so surreal for him, being treated like a celebrity on board but then stepping off the ship and going back to complete anonymity. I suppose that’s the best way to do it, isn’t it? To get the best of both worlds. I think he has the ratio right too, having a small group of people thinking you’re a big celebrity but then going back into the real world and no one caring who you are and just letting you live your life.
On the flip side, there’s me, with things completely the wrong way round. It’s on this ship where I’m anonymous, where no one knows or cares who I am, and it’s in the real world where I’ve gone viral, where everyone and their social network of friends are laughing at me on YouTube. I wonder if things have died down yet? I mean, how funny can it be, watching someone get their heart broken on live TV? Like, I don’t know, maybe it’s funny once (it’s hard to say because it’s impossible for me to see the funny side yet), but it can’t have much re-watch value, can it? It’s more cringey that it is funny, right? Cringey must have a shelf life. Perhaps I’ll get off the ship and everyone will have forgotten about the girl who got dumped by the dinosaur nerd on a quiz show. Hopefully someone else will have done something funnier or dafter or stupider and they’ll be the new star of the show. Failing that, I don’t suppose it will take much more than ditching my blonde locks for a slightly darker hairdo for people to stop recognising me. I’m just hoping that the internet is so saturated with memes and people who have gone viral that these days, anyone who does fall victim won’t have to endure the embarrassment for too long. I hope, anyway.
‘So, roulette?’ Eli says.
‘Sure, why not?’ I reply.
We make our way over to the roulette table. There are a couple of men playing, but otherwise, it isn’t exactly alive with excitement. Hopefully Eli will change that.
‘So, can I teach you how to play?’ he asks me.
‘I really don’t need you to teach me,’ I insist. ‘I’ll just keep an eye on you, maybe be the person who blows on your dice like you see in the movies…’
‘If you think roulette involves dice, then you absolutely need me to teach you how to play,’ Eli replies.
‘You know what I mean,’ I say. ‘I know how to play, I think… you just put your chips down on whatever, the wheel spins, if the ball lands on where you put your chips, you win.’
‘I mean, that’s an oversimplification of a very beautiful game,’ he insists. ‘But, yes, I suppose you can get by on that knowledge.’
I watch as Eli places chips down on the green felt. Putting little stacks of them in different places – some on number 22, which I remember to this day is his lucky number, some on the edges around it, some on the corners…
Eli’s chips are all red and gold which makes me think that they must be worth much more than mine are. I’m not really sure how much mine are worth, this is the first time I’ve held a casino chip – then again, it’s the first time I’ve ever been in a casino.
‘It helps to spread it out a little,’ Eli says. ‘Don’t put everything on one thing.’
‘Don’t you mean: don’t put all my eggs in one basket?’ I tease, repeating exactly what he said earlier.
‘Well, yes,’ he says. ‘That’s solid advice in every situation.’
Hmm. I hate that he’s making this a teachable moment – and I hate even more that it’s a teachable moment that proves that he’s right. What’s so wrong with getting your hopes up? Why do I need to manage my expectations to the point where nothing is worth getting excited about? What people don’t seem to grasp about being an optimist is that you look on the bright side and hope for the best. You don’t worry about what you’ll do if things don’t work out. Sure you can plan for the worst and hope for the best, but the stakes are important too – surely a hardcore gambler like Eli should know that. If you have nothing to lose, then you might as well see what you can gain; whether it’s gambling with baby chips that won’t lose me any money if I don’t do well or travelling
halfway around the world to reconnect with an ex who might still have feelings for me – it’s worth a shot because there’s nothing to lose. In situations like this, I’d be crazy to not try?
Keen to prove a point, and feeling just a little bit rebellious, I take four of my chips and place them on red.
‘There isn’t much point doing that,’ Eli says.
‘Why not?’ I ask.
‘Well, it’s kind of boring,’ he says. ‘The odds of winning are pretty equal, you’ll either lose or just win what you put down, it’s not a very good strategy.’
‘Well, I have faith,’ I tell him. ‘So we’ll see.’
‘Nineteen, black,’ the croupier announces.
Son of a…!
‘See,’ Eli says.
I can’t help but pull a face at him.
‘Same again,’ Eli says about his chips.
‘Yeah, same for me,’ I say, placing another four chips down.
‘You’re not learning any lessons,’ Eli points out. ‘You’re setting yourself up for a fall if you don’t learn from your mistakes.’
‘OK, thanks,’ I say. ‘But I’m sticking with red.’
‘Twenty-three, black,’ the croupier says.
Eli knows better than to say ‘I told you so’.
As he collects his winnings, I look down at my chips. I have just eight left now.
As Eli shifts his around the board a little, Josh slinks up alongside us. He’s just finished a song, so he chats to us, but it’s all part of the act. He keeps his accent at all times and talks to us with the microphone, so that everyone can hear what we’re saying.
‘Any big wins over here, guys?’ he asks us.
‘I’m doing great, thanks,’ Eli tells him. ‘I can’t say the same for my friend.’
‘I’m doing just fine,’ I insist. ‘In fact…’
I take my last eight chips and place them on red.
‘Rosie… doubling down, seriously?’ Eli asks.
‘What? It’s been black twice, surely it has to be red this time?’
‘That’s not how roulette works,’ he insists.
‘Whoa, look at you two, bickering like an old married couple,’ Josh says.
Gosh, he doesn’t know the half of it. From me making him sleep on the sofa to being annoyed when he gets in late drunk, we’re every inch an old married couple, just without the sex. Then again, if everything you see on TV is accurate, that’s very much the defining characteristics of an old married couple.
‘Well then, ladies and gents, let’s see how Rosie does, shall we… she’s bet everything she’s got on red and…’
I shoot Josh a look. I really don’t need an audience for this – in fact, I can now safely say that I don’t need an audience for anything. Been there, done that.
‘Thirty-three, black,’ the croupier announces softly. I think even he is starting to feel bad for me now and he probably sees people lose at this all day, every day.
‘Oh, unlucky. Better luck next time,’ Josh says, ever the professional. He swiftly moves on though, which I appreciate. I think he can tell that I’m not enjoying the attention. Eli absolutely is though.
‘See, I told you so,’ he points out unhelpfully.
‘OK, OK. I’m going to leave you to it, go and see what my mum and dad are up to,’ I tell him. ‘Try not to ruin yourself.’
‘I’m not making any promises,’ he says, focusing on his chip placement.
As I take a step back from the table, I notice that I’ve dropped one of my chips. It’s my last one, I’m tempted to keep it as a souvenir, and also as a reminder that a) gambling is stupid and b) I didn’t quite lose all of my chips… I quit while I was ahead, and I am technically ahead, because Eli paid for these.
As I walk around the room, I search for my parents. I can hear Josh singing ‘Luck be a Lady’. She might be a lady but she’s a different kind of lady to the one I am. I just don’t seem to get much good luck and while I might be offsetting that fact with my optimistic nature, it’s actually starting to get to me now, just a little.
I spot my mum and dad in the distance, feeding chips into a slot machine. I’m about to head in their direction when I notice a slot machine on its own, away from all the others. A massive version of the blue chip in my hand sits on top of it – identical in every way, apart from its size. I look at my chip. My one, sad, sorry little chip. Do I keep it forever, cash it in or throw caution to the wind and put it into the slot machine and see what happens?
A wise man once said that we make our own luck – Billy Zane, Titanic. I mean, it sounds right, right? But then again he is the movie’s main antagonist if you don’t count the iceberg (and why on earth would you count the iceberg?!). I really, really need to stop living my cruise life in accordance with things I saw and learned whilst watching Titanic in a cocktail-induced blur as I packed my bags.
If a real man – or woman, in my case – makes his or her own luck, then I can just decide to be lucky, right? I can stop worrying about it, feed my last chip to this bloody machine and be over it already. There’s no good luck or bad luck, these things run on algorithms, don’t they? It’s predetermined if I’m going to win or lose.
I sigh. I have no idea what I’m talking about. Even I’ve stopped listening to myself babble in my head. I’m just going to do it and see what happens.
I pop the chip in and pull the lever. I don’t really understand what’s going on, but the three dials behind the glass spin, stopping one at a time to reveal a picture that also means nothing to me.
The first one is a cruise ship, just like the one on the chip I just said goodbye to. So is the second. So is the third. I only have a second or two to ponder what this means before the machine comes to life. Alarms start ringing, lights start flashing. I’m beginning to wonder if I’ve broken it before I see a light flashing on the large, plastic chip that sits on top of it. It’s flashing £1,000 in lots of little, bright white lights.
‘Oh my goodness, we have a winner,’ I hear fake Bublé announce to everyone.
I spin round, only to see him walking up to me. That’s the problem, with him being amped up, it’s hard to avoid someone when you can hear them from every speaker in the room, it makes it impossible to work out what direction they’re coming from.
‘Congratulations, Rosie Jones, you’ve won the big prize of £1,000,’ he announces.
As everyone in the room cheers excitedly, I feel my cheeks blushing at their support. It’s nice to be embarrassed by attention, rather than because I did something stupid, but it makes me blush nonetheless.
I can’t believe I’ve won even more money. Can’t I just make a career doing this? It sounds better than ever working again. Then again, I definitely spent much more than £1,000 to get here. At least it will offset the cost of that a little.
As Josh gets back to his song, my parents and Eli rush towards me from different directions.
‘Oh my gosh, Rosie, you won,’ my mum says excitedly.
‘Ah, don’t get too excited,’ Eli says. ‘It’s just ship credit.’
‘What?’ I ask him.
‘You’ve won £1,000 of ship credit.’
‘What does that mean?’ I ask him.
‘It means you can only spend it on the ship,’ he points out.
Wow, he really did buy me chips that weren’t worth much. If I’d known that, I wouldn’t have agonised so much over what to do with my last one.
‘Yeah, but we’re all-inclusive,’ I remind him.
‘Oh, yeah… Erm…’
‘You can spend it in the gift shop,’ a casino employee tells me, handing me a voucher for £1,000. ‘You take this to the front desk and they’ll credit your account with it. Congratulations.’
‘The gift shop? That’s lame.’ Eli says with a snort. ‘Anyway, I need to get back to my table.’
‘Well, I think it’s wonderful,’ my mum says.
‘Me too,’ my dad adds. ‘There’s some right fancy stuff in that gift shop.�
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‘Well how about I take the two of you there and you can pick out whatever you want?’ I suggest.
Well, they’re clearly buzzing about it, and I doubt there’s going to be anything in there that I want.
‘Oh, Rosie, that would be amazing,’ my mum practically sings.
‘Yes,’ my dad says as he clears his throat. He sounds like he’s getting a bit emotional. ‘This really is a wonderful, wonderful holiday.’
‘And, see, you’re not always unlucky,’ my mum reminds me.
Oh, yeah, I’m not always unlucky… Sometimes I win things – there’s just always seems to be a downside. Other than using it to make my mum and dad happy in the gift shop, what the hell am I going to do with £1,000 credit on a cruise that I’ve paid to be all-inclusive on? I suppose I’ll have to wait and see what they have in the gift shop, they might sell things like perfume or maybe even duty-free booze.
I hear frantic cheering coming from the roulette table, where I see Eli kissing the elderly lady next to him on the cheek victoriously. That, right there, is good luck. Not the elderly lady who got the kiss on the cheek (although she does look absolutely delighted with it). Eli could fall into a pile of manure and come out smelling like Creed Aventus – although that might be because he uses it so liberally.
Lord knows how much money he’s just won and then there’s me, rolling in it, but only if it is in the gift shop.
18
Eli, super smug from winning big in the casino, has taken me for lunch.
Except he hasn’t taken me for lunch, because it’s all-inclusive. And he hasn’t taken just me for lunch, he’s invited André along too.
He’s absolutely right about him, André does seem like a really lovely man, but it’s so strange for me, seeing my ex cracking on with a man right in front of my face. I’m so happy for him, don’t get me wrong, it’s just not something you ever expect to see, is it?
Still, at least I can’t measure myself against him. If this were the Olympics, we wouldn’t be judged in the same categories, would we? That’s what I’m telling myself anyway because, if women and men can be judged against each other equally, then André is better than me in pretty much all ways. He’s younger, better looking, doing what appears to be his dream job, and now he’s on a date (that I feel so much like I’m crashing) with a dreamboat like Eli.
My Great Ex-Scape Page 11