Card Sharks (8 page)

Bijoux scanned her cards and dropped them limply on the table. “Math. Marianne, you are going to be so good at this.”

Marianne smiled back at her. “Keep going.”

“Okay . . . so the dealer deals the fourth community card down on the table. It's called ‘the turn,' or ‘Fourth Street.' You all look at your best cards, and then if you're still in, you play in the third betting round. Then it's the same thing with ‘the river,' the fifth—and final—community card also known as ‘Fifth Street.' You look at your combined stuff, your best five, and you bet or you muck.” He shrugged. “That's really it. Do you wanna play some hands?”

At the same time Marianne uttered, “Yes,” and Bijoux uttered, “No.” The girls looked at each other and Bijoux sighed and surrendered. “I'll do it,” she whispered, “But only because it will give us added poker cred when we finally play with the big boys.”

They played for a while, Marianne getting more and more into the game itself, Bijoux getting more and more restless beside her.

Finally, they took a breather and things seemed to break up a bit. Marianne tossed her cards in the center of the table and let Bijoux pull her to the side. “Bijoux,” Marianne said in a voice full of wonder. “This is going to be the most fun I've ever had trying to get a date.”

A worried expression came over Bijoux's face. “Well, don't forget to focus on the task at hand. I mean, if you take all the money, I don't think the men will want to go out with us.”

The smile on Marianne's face widened.

“Oh, no. Marianne, be good. Keep the focus where it needs to be.”

“I thought the whole point was money. You only wanted to play to find a rich guy with money. If we can make the money ourselves, what do we need the guys for?”

“Well, I can think of at least one other good reason to have a guy around.”

Bijoux folded her arms over her chest and tapped her foot on the ground. “You're forgetting something very important.”

“What's that?”

“We're doing this to meet men, not to win money.”

“I don't want to lose my money.”

“Well, you can hardly believe that I do. You need to think of it as an investment in the future.”

“If you win money, you won't have to marry rich.”

“Don't look so pleased with yourself,” Bijoux said, choking on laughter. “I don't want to think about how much poker I'd have to play—and win—in order to bypass the whole multimillionaire-husband thing. It would not be a pretty sight. You'd probably find me in a polyester leisure suit with a walker in an Indian casino off a desolate highway in Arizona trying to persuade the floor guy to give me a coupon so I could eat lunch.”

Marianne let herself fall back against the wall. “That is quite possibly the most depressing thing I've heard out of your mouth in a very long time. I see this is serious. I don't want to be responsible for what you just described. Let's go meet some men.” She turned to the gamer boys. “Gentlemen, it's been an honor and a pleasure. Thank you so much for taking the time to teach us.”

The kids all looked a little crestfallen as the girls stood up and collected their things.

“You're not coming back, are you?” the host kid asked.

Marianne looked at Bijoux, then back at the boys. “Um, no. But thank you so much for everything.”

“Can we take your picture?” he asked. The others perked up immediately, hopeful expressions plastered across their faces. Bijoux winced. But fair was fair as far as Marianne was concerned. She still felt a little guilty about her initial impulse to make these guys pay for the sins of boys in her own junior high days. And the change she'd just won off them rattling in her pocket proved they
had
paid, somewhat. They handed Marianne and Bijoux each one end of their gaming club banner, and the guys all filled in between them.

After the photo-op, the host kid pulled a small notepad from his pocket and wrote something down with a pencil. It looked sort of warm and moist from having been stuffed in the bottom of his pocket for so long. Marianne and Bijoux looked at the scrap, and Marianne gingerly took it between her fingers.

“That's my cell phone number. In case you change your mind.”

Bijoux's eyebrow arched. Marianne elbowed her to keep her quiet. “Thanks.”

“Are you sure you don't want to stay and meet my parents? They'll be home soon.”

“Oh, no thanks. But thanks.”

There was an awkward pause as Marianne and Bijoux both started for the door.

“Um, Marianne?”

She looked over her shoulder, desperately trying to keep a straight face.

“You guys are really hot.” The rest of the boys nodded solemnly.

“Thanks.” She stuck her hand out, and he came over and shook it. Bijoux followed suit.

And with that, the girls headed for the car.

“It's only nine,” Marianne said. “We should have known that a six o'clock poker game was suspicious.”

Bijoux giggled. “They probably have to go to bed early so they'll be rested for their soccer games.” She got in the car and buckled in. “Hey. You're not mad at me, are you? If I'd known—”

Marianne was just sitting in the driver's seat with the keys in her hand.

“No, it's not that. I was just thinking about those guys. High school's a horrible, horrible place for guys like that. This was probably the highlight of their year.”

“Probably,” Bijoux said with a sigh.

“It's just that those boys . . . it's before they really know how to be . . .”

“Bastards.”

“Yeah. It's before all the baggage and the game playing and the commitment issues. They think we're goddesses. And they seem so damn innocent.”

Bijoux laughed. “They'll get over it. The next thing we know they'll be passing that picture around school and calling us hookers.”

“Point,” Marianne said, wrinkling her nose. She held up the
scrubby piece of paper, stuck it in her pocket with a shrug, and then keyed the ignition.

“So what's the take?” Bijoux asked.

“Fourteen twenty-five. It's not much, but I didn't want to completely fleece the poor fellows.”

Bijoux stared at her. “The total pot was twenty dollars. That
is
fleecing the poor fellows.”

Marianne shrugged. “Is not. I can't help it if I'm a natural. I could have easily won that five seventy-five. I exercised restraint. And anyway, here's hoping the next one provides better spoils.”

“When it comes to both men
and
money,” Bijoux said, leaning her seat back as Marianne hit the accelerator and peeled back down the canyon road.

Bijoux breathed a sigh of relief the moment the door opened on the second party and the girls stepped inside the enormous home. It wasn't necessarily more swanky than the last one, but it had a carefully cultivated sleekness emanating from the white and steel interior design. In short, it breathed money and there were actual full-grown men inside.

There didn't seem to be a designated host and nobody greeted them as they weaved through what was a fairly good sized crowd. It was a beautiful people party and Bijoux tensed a little at the knowledge that she would be judged as harshly—if not more harshly—by others as she would of them. “I need a drink.”

Marianne nodded toward a staircase leading downstairs in the direction of blaring hip-hop music and the girls descended down white carpeted steps into a huge underground den.

“Bingo,” Marianne muttered.

“You want one?” Bijoux asked.

Marianne was already busy doing the classic L.A. party neck craning thing which involved keeping a minimum of attention on
the not famous person you were talking to while trying to spot a theoretically more interesting famous person to talk to instead.

Bijoux just turned and headed for the martini bar. It was well done, set up with a full array of retro cocktail shakers, napkins, hors d'oeuvres plates, and carefully arranged bowls of cherries, olives, and lemon and lime slices.

She ordered up and allowed herself to relax just a tiny bit, in spite of the anxiety she felt over not knowing a soul at the party save for Marianne. Martinis. Swanky digs. And gorgeous people. A bartender looking very Frank Sinatra in a white tuxedo jacket speared a pair of olives with a Las Vegas–logo cocktail stirrer, accessorized the martini he'd just made and pushed it gently toward her.

Maybe this whole poker construct wasn't such a stupid idea after all.

Her phone rang. “Excuse me. Hello?”

“It's me.”

Bijoux swung around. Surrounded by men, Marianne stood at the other end of the room with the phone up to her ear, her hand strategically placed around the mouthpiece area to make it private.

“There's something strange about this party,” Marianne said.

Bijoux gulped her martini. “Perhaps it's the fact that we're complete strangers.”

“I'm bored. How long were you thinking of staying?”

Bijoux glanced back at the bartender and wondered if he was really just the hired help or if maybe he was a trust-fund-wielding host. “Until the game's over?”

“Where is the game?”

“Where's the poker game?” Bijoux asked the bartender over her shoulder.

“They should be starting soon. He says they'll set up a big table down here . . . oh, here they come.”

“Okay,” Marianne said. “I guess I can wait.”

Bijoux hung up and turned back to the bartender. “Are you actually a bartender?” she asked. “Or do you have a trust fund?”

He handed her a cocktail napkin imprinted with a cheerful
Badda-bing!
in red script and said, “I'm really a bartender. No trust fund. And speaking of money, if you're planning to play poker, just don't let these guys fleece you.” His glance flicked downward. “Or drool on you.” Bijoux watched the players begin to assemble.

Bijoux laughed. “It doesn't matter if we lose; we're chalking this one up to learning. As for the drool, that I'll watch out for.”

The music stopped abruptly and the poker game was quickly set up in a flurry of activity. Bijoux watched the players begin to assemble.

This group of men looked vaguely “Hollywood industry,” although there was perhaps something a little . . . off about the men here. Maybe it was that they were all wearing the ubiquitous ‘very expensive watch,' trousers, and hundred dollar designer T-shirts in a variety of colors ranging from gray to darker gray to black.

Bijoux went down the hallway in search of the bathroom, and it wasn't hard to find, seeing as how it was the size of her apartment. She took her place in front of the mirror alongside five other blondes, and like them, pretended to attend to makeup that needed no attending.

The five girls disappeared back to the party in a flurry of giggling and while it was just Bijoux and should have been completely quiet, the unmistakable sounds of some sort of rigorously come-by ecstasy were emanating from behind the door where the actual toilet was.

Bijoux's fingers clenched around her mascara wand as the cringeworthy sound effects climaxed in a flourish of “Oh, yes's” and a loud slam.

It went completely silent, then. Bijoux tried to stuff all her makeup into her bag and escape, but she was too late. “I'll be out in a sec,” came a girlish voice. The door opened and a man appeared, disheveled as one might expect. Bijoux smiled without actually looking at him and finished packing up.

The guy washed his hands, slicked his hair, and adjusted his collar. He looked in the eyes of Bijoux's reflection in the mirror and asked, “Are you only girl on girl?”

Bijoux stared at him. “No! What?”

“Does your Web site take PayPal?”

She just wheeled around and burst out of the bathroom, muttering, “Gross, gross, gross,” walking straight up to Marianne who was coming her way.

“Bij, are you okay?”

“I don't think so. Do I look like a porn star to you?”

“No, of course not. These girls all have veneers and fake breasts. You're at least 85 percent natural.”

Bijoux exhaled a sigh of relief.

“Do you see anyone interesting you want to meet?”

“No! Oh . . . gross. No!”

“What? I could do the wingman thing and get a conversation going . . . do you feel sick? Do you want me to get you something to eat?”

Bijoux gave her a look. “I don't care how much money they have; I'm completely grossed out. I can't even begin to think about touching, drinking, or eating anything, and believe me I'm not just talking about the party.”

Marianne looked around in confusion. “It's just an industry party, Bij.”

“It's not the kind of industry I'm used to!” She put her hand up to her face and pinched at the spot between her eyes. “You know what? I'm done with this. This is amateur stuff. I'll go with you to Vegas where the big money is, but I'm officially
sticking this home poker party business in the column marked, ‘Tried Everything.' ”