Double Blind (43 page)

Sam looked up and smiled weakly. “I’m fine,” he said. “You really don’t have to check up on me, even if Randy told you to.”

“How’s Mitch doing?” Ethan asked, leaning against the doorframe.

Sam shrugged. “He says it’s fine. He’s picking up the load in LA now and is going to try and get as far across California as he can before he pulls in for the night. He’ll text me before bed, so I’ll know he’s okay.” But it was clear, too, that these hours were going to be long and hard for Sam.

And it hit Ethan, as he watched him, that he had the perfect solution for them both.

“Actually,” he said carefully, “I was wondering if you could help me. Though I’ll have to do some explaining first.”

Sam looked up at him, still suspicious but curious now too. “What is it?”

Ethan nodded at the other side of the bed. “Mind if I sit?” Sam nodded, and he sat down. Then Ethan told him about the casino, about the money, about Sarah Reynolds, and even about the mob. He told Sam about his research and his burning need to know who Crabtree really was, even though Randy had told him not to try and find out.

When he finished, Sam stared at him for a minute, then said simply, “Wow.”

Ethan let out a frustrated sigh. “Yes.”

“So what are you going to do?” Sam asked. “How are you going to bring it back?”

“I don’t know,” Ethan confessed. “But I do know it’s going to take more than Billy’s ridiculous ‘Gay Nite’.” Sam looked at him oddly, so Ethan explained that too. Sam laughed.

“Actually,” Sam said, once he recovered, “it’s not an
awful
idea. I mean, it’d be nice to be able to hang all over Mitch without having to deliberately ignore someone giving you a dirty look. The thing is, you have to be careful not to ghettoize us, either. You could get around it by not making it gay exclusive—hire drag queens, and drag kings, and showgirls, and everything. Make it a bonanza. Give it a racy name so you get everyone’s attention but make it about including everyone. Or better yet, make it a theme. Costume party. Let people dress up. That always goes over well.”

Ethan frowned at him. “Okay, but what theme?”

“Something good. Something that gays will know is code that it’s accepting, but doesn’t scare everybody off. Something showy. Something Vegas.” He stared up at the ceiling again, his fingers tapping in time to the music that was still playing, something with a techno beat—Kylie again, crooning, singing that the love gave her everything, gave her wings. And Sam turned to Ethan, grinning in triumph.

“Butterfly,” he said, at the same time as Kylie sang the same thing.

Ethan gave him a highly suspicious look. “Butterfly what?”

Sam sat up, very excited now. “That’s your theme. ‘Butterfly’. Don’t call it gay night. Call it ‘Butterfly’. Or ‘Butterfly Night’. Get dancers. Get
gay
dancers, and lesbian dancers, and straight dancers. Get glitz and glamour. Theme the place. Have some sort of contest or award or something, and have a big, big show.”

“A tournament,” Ethan said, getting into this now. “A poker tournament. And a slot tournament.”

“Big winnings, everywhere,” Sam added, riding along with him now. “And great food.”

“
Cheap
food,” Ethan finished. “In price but not quality. Glitz and glamour and everything Vegas is, but have it be cheap. They pay to dress up, and they come to gamble, but they pay hardly anything. Just like the old days.” He frowned. “But how do we get them in here? And how do we get them to come back, so it’s sustained?”

“Spread it out,” Sam said. “Have it take place over several days, ending in a big event.
Lots
of shows.
Lots
of tournaments. You need a headliner too.” He sighed. “I wish you
could
get Kylie.”

“We could try,” Ethan said. “Can’t hurt to try.”

“I’d probably pass out and die,” Sam said, but he looked very caught up in the fantasy. “But—oh, hey, that could be it! Impersonators
and
regular acts. Get everything in here. And—okay, I don’t know how good of an idea this is, but what if you said some of the events are for charity? I know that doesn’t bring in money, but if it’s about how the place
looks
—”

“Yes!” Ethan was getting really excited now. “Yes, exactly! Because if it looks like we can give money away, we must not need it! And Billy gave me enough money to make the place look completely solvent—
yes!
” He laughed, then grabbed Sam by the shoulders and kissed him hard on the mouth.

Then he stopped, realizing how that seemed, after the night before.

Sam was aware of it, too, and blushed. “I should—I should probably tell you. I don’t… I only do that when Mitch is with me. He says he doesn’t care, but—well, I do.”

“Sorry,” Ethan said quickly. “I suspected that. I didn’t mean anything by it, I was just excited.” Then he blushed a little too. “I haven’t done anything like that before, if it helps. I wasn’t exactly sure I could face you all at the breakfast table.”

Sam grinned, still shyly though. “Well, you’re pretty good at it. If
that
helps.”

“It does.” Ethan smiled. Then he sat back, looking around. “Well. It seems we have a plan. Now how do we get it started?”

Sam considered this. “What about this Sarah person?”

Ethan nodded. “Sounds like a good place to start to me.” He scratched the cats under the chin, then rose. “Want to come with me to the casino, Sam?”

“Can I drive?” Sam asked, then cringed. “Oh God, I just sounded like a teenager. Sorry.”

Ethan grinned. “It’s okay. If you really want to gross yourself out, you’re technically young enough to be my son.” Sam made a strangled sound, thinking, Ethan was sure, of the many sexual positions they’d shared the night before, and Ethan laughed again before pulling him off the bed. “Come on, Sam. Let’s go play. And yes, you can drive.”

Crabtree’s
secretary sent them to the Duffy Talent Agency off Sahara Avenue, which was, amazingly, still open. They were greeted by a warm, friendly-looking woman who came up to them as they walked in. “Hello, she said, “How may I help you?”

“Yes—” Ethan looked down at her name badge and faltered as he saw the word C-A-R-Y-L-E spelled out. “Yes—Karl, I was wondering—”

“
Carol
,” the woman corrected, but sweetly, still smiling. “It’s an alternate spelling.”

Ethan blinked, then nodded. “Absolutely. Caryle, we were wondering if you could help us plan an event for Herod’s Casino. Do you have a few minutes to discuss it, or should we come back at another time?”

Caryle did have time, and she settled them in her office, where she made them tea and gave them cookies while they talked. Ethan told her the goal for the casino’s sale and the plan for the “Butterfly” event, which Sam helped explain. Ethan waited for her to tell him it was a terrible idea. But she didn’t. She said it sounded brilliant, and she couldn’t wait to get started on it.

“I need to be honest with you,” Ethan said. “My budget is abysmal. I haven’t even started considering what repairs and upgrades need to be done.”

“To be honest with
you
,” she said, “I could use the work and the publicity of this kind of thing.” Caryle sighed. “I came out here from Kansas City just before Lehman Brothers went down. I’ve been hanging on, but it just keeps getting worse.” She tapped her finger against her desk. “You know, I have a friend who might be able to help you with putting a good face on the casino for a budget. Do you want me to give you his card?”

“Please,” Ethan said.

Caryle searched in her drawer while she went on. “What you want for this, Mr. Ellison, is mystique. Where you don’t want to scrimp is in advertising, and you want to start as soon as possible. Get yourself a logo: something sort of like
Cirque du Soleil
, but something that says fun and club and sexy—and androgynous—and gets your theme in there. Someone in a butterfly costume, maybe. I’ll send some things over to your office tomorrow, how about that? I’ll have a list for possible acts sent over for you, too, and times available. Ignore the rates—we’ll work them out. How does that sound?”

“It sounds excellent,” Ethan agreed.

They shook hands, exchanged numbers, and then Sam was driving them back down the street again.

“Where to now?” Sam asked. “Home?”

Ethan tapped his fingers against his leg for a minute, then shook his head. “No. Back to the casino.” Then he paused. “No. Wait—the house, but then the casino. I want to change my clothes first.”

Sam glanced at his khaki pants and button-down shirt. “You look fine.”

“I don’t want to look fine, Sam. I want to bluff,” Ethan replied.

Sam grinned. “Gotcha.” Then he looked down at himself. “I suppose I should change, too, huh?”

“Whatever you like,” Ethan said.

Sam did change, but just into a button-down blue shirt and dark jeans. He fussed with his hair a bit, too, brushed his teeth, then declared himself ready.

“Whoa,” he said, when he saw Ethan.

Ethan was wearing all black. Black suit, black shirt, even a black tie and black shoes. The only hint of color was in his watch, which was polished silver and slipped out occasionally from his cuff when he lifted his arm. It was a very nice suit, well cut, and he knew he looked very good in it. As Sam stared at him, Ethan smiled and held out his arm.

“Ready to go?”

Ethan drove this time, but he parked a little ways away so they walked up the street, gathering attention, not climbing out of a Mazda and coming around from the back. He nodded at the doorman and smiled at the floor manager as he went in. Then he stood in the entrance with Sam and looked, really looked at the casino. He saw the beauty of it beneath the neglect. But he saw, too, how few people were there.

“If you get a lot of decorations, wings and things,” Sam said, his eyes sweeping over the arched ceiling and peeling paint, “that might help.”

“The trouble is,” Ethan said, “whoever buys this really won’t make an offer without a proper inspection. And they aren’t going to buy it just because we have a great party.”

“You said Crabtree had a buyer in mind,” Sam reminded him.

“That doesn’t mean there actually is one,” Ethan replied.

Sam looked around for a while, still scanning. But Ethan was looking at Billy’s craps table, remembering.

“Come on, Sam,” he said, and took his hand.

He went upstairs to Sarah’s office, but of course she was gone for the day. He poked around in closets, even ended up down in the basement, but he didn’t find anything.

“What are we looking for?” Sam asked, after half an hour of searching.