Red Queen (4 page)

I suddenly leaned over and kissed him on the lips.

It took me maybe two seconds to realize what I had done.

Shit! Oh, shit!

Talk about sending wrong signals. His face broke into an expression of pure delight. But Debbie—who sat to his right—cast me a look so dirty I felt like our friendship wouldn't survive the blow. Plus Ted grabbed me after the kiss, probably hoping our brief oral contact was the beginning of something extraordinary.

“Have I ever told you how wonderful you are?” he said with feeling.

“Maybe once or twice,” I muttered, trying to extricate myself from his arms without being too obvious.

Alex was as drunk as I was. She studied her empty wine glass and waxed philosophical. “Why is it we always say such emotional crap at times like this? The truth is the feelings you two share are as obvious as a one-way street.”

“Huh?” Ted said, blinking. He'd had some of our wine.

“Don't be so cold,” I said quickly, diplomatically, still trying to slip from his bear hug. “Ted is a dear old friend.”

“Friends,” Alex said, practically spitting the word. “What good are friends? You can't f—”

“Why did you just kiss me?” Ted interrupted, his joy slowly fading.

“Because I care,” I said.

“And she's drunk,” Alex added.

“Is that true?” Ted asked, his expression darkening.

“Well,” I said.

“Ignore her,” Debbie said, reaching over and taking one of his hands, which gave me one less hand to escape from. “When Jessie gets drunk, she always acts like a whore. We were at this party once where she downed a six-pack and got up and started dancing on the tabletop. She stripped down to her panties.”

Ted released me all of a sudden. He practically shoved me away. He looked upset, confused. “What's going on here?” he mumbled.

“Knock it off, Debbie, would ya? You know damn well that was me,” Alex said. “And the panties didn't stay on.”

“I really am grateful for all you've done for us,” I told Ted.

“For us?” he snapped, beginning to sober up.

I searched inside for the perfect remark that would completely repair the damage I had caused. The only problem was I was working with an IQ of around fifty.

“For all of us,” I told Ted. “For me, for Alex, and especially for Debbie. You may not know this but Debbie has a major crush on you. She's had it for years but she's too much of a coward to tell you. So I'm telling you now.”

My words didn't go over as well as I hoped. Debbie threw down her napkin and got up and ran from the restaurant. Ted watched her go, then turned to me, probably hoping I would clarify my remark. The best I could do was belch, which sent Alex into an uncontrollable fit of laughter. Ted had finally had
enough. He shook his head and stood and handed me two tickets.

“I got you great seats,” he said in a bitter voice. “Enjoy the show.”

He left, chasing after Debbie, or so we assumed. The rest of our long table fell silent and stared at me, making me feel like a total ass. But Alex was quick to reassure me.

“Although your drunken stupor is obvious to all,” she told me, “your words were positively brilliant. Your remarks may even change the course of those two mediocre lives.”

“Don't call them mediocre,” I said.

“Their lives will be if they get married two years from now. All because of what you said here tonight.”

I sighed, and studied the tickets in my hand. “I just hope we're not sitting beside them during the show.”

“When does it start?” Alex asked.

My eyes slowly focused on the tiny print on the tickets.

I gasped. “In ten minutes!”

We paid our share of the bill, in theory, although we probably cheated our classmates since we were the only ones who had ordered wine. But we didn't have time to hang around and haggle over an exact figure.

We were lucky
O
took place in the Bellagio. A hotel employee was kind enough to lead us to the appropriate hall. He could tell we were stinking drunk. We kept giggling and bumping into each other.

I had read so much about the show, I worried my high expectations could never be met. But the truth was, it blew me away. The stage was supposed to have cost fifty million to build. The money had not been wasted. It kept changing shape. One minute it was filled with water, like a small lake, and the next it had shallow streams running down the center. Then all the water would disappear and it would be covered with gravel.

The performers were close to superhuman. They could bend and twist their bodies into positions that would have challenged Gumby. Several times Alex and I gasped and grabbed hands. One of the leads did high-wire stunts a hundred feet above the stage and then dived into a square pond less than three feet across. What nerve! The exotic colors, the brilliant lighting, the hypnotic music, the songs, the dancing—I felt like I'd been transported into another dimension.

For a time I forgot about Jimmy and the others. It was a relief, in a way, we didn't see another person from our school.

Alex and I were sober by the time the show finished, but neither of us had any desire to return to our suite. Alex wanted to gamble. She was keen to play twenty-one, blackjack. But I was worried we'd lose too much money and suffer for it the rest of the weekend. I pointed to the small signs on the sides of the tables.

“Look, the minimum bet's twenty bucks! We can't afford that!”

“The Bellagio's for high rollers,” Alex said. “Come on, we'll find a place with a five-buck minimum.”

“Where?”

Alex nodded toward the hotel exit. “Let's hit the Strip, there's a hundred hotels out there. We'll find what we're looking for.”

Alex strode toward the door. I had to struggle to keep up. “Why blackjack? We'll get creamed without Ted's help. Why don't we play the slots?”

“Blackjack's the best game to meet guys,” Alex said, pulling a small plastic card from her purse. “You get to sit at a table and talk to the other players. It's the only game where you really get to know them. Plus I got this cheat card—it tells you exactly when to hit and when to stand. It was designed by a computer, it gives you the best possible odds. We won't lose too much.”

“I don't want to lose anything. I want to win. We need Ted.”

Alex put an arm around me. “Sorry, sister, but that kiss you planted on his lips has made him radioactive for the rest of the summer. At least when it comes to you.”

“I was drunk. He'll forgive me.”

“The only way he'll forgive you is if he ends up having sex with Debbie, and I don't think they've made a cheat card that could compute such lousy odds.”

“I don't know. He ran after her pretty fast.”

“Whatever. The point is, we don't need Ted. There will be plenty of cute guys at the tables to help us play.”

I studied Alex. “Are you planning on having a one-night stand?”

“You say that like I'm some kind of slut.”

“Well, it would be a pretty slutty thing to do.”

“This is Vegas! People come here for three reasons: to drink, to gamble, and to get laid. Those are the only reasons this place exists.”

I sighed. “All right. But if I give him a thumbs-down, you can't bring him back to our room.”

Alex took my hand and pulled me out the door. “Jessie, you can be sure whoever has the good luck to end up with me is going to have his own luxurious suite.”

“You'd sleep with a guy just because he has money?”

“Money and a dick.”

“Whore.”

“There are no whores in this town. Only givers and takers.”

Outside was the real Las Vegas. The sun had set and the town glowed with a million electric rainbows. Not to mention the fantastic fountains in front of the Bellagio. We stared at them, mesmerized, as we crossed the long entrance. The entire Strip looked surreal. Paris was across the street, New York was to our right. There was a pyramid and a castle down the road. I loved how so many of the hotels had adopted exotic themes. The sidewalks were jammed, with most of the people laughing and carrying on. The smell of booze was all-pervasive.

The night air was hotter than at home, in the high nineties.
I knew it would take all night for the temperature to drop another ten degrees. Then the sun would rise and another scorcher would begin. As we walked, our thirst quickly returned. We had barely reached the Tropicana when Alex pulled me inside.

“This is an old hotel but it has class,” she said. “Plus they have low minimums. We should be able to find a five-buck table.”

“How about a dollar table?”

“Sure. Hop on down to Mississippi and catch a steamboat on the river.”

It being a Friday night, the place was jammed. We didn't have our choice of blackjack tables. Indeed, it took a long wait before we found a table that could seat us both. Fortunately, they barely looked at our IDs.

We ordered drinks before trading our cash for chips: four large Cuba libres—the name translates as “free Cuba,” in English—Coke, rum, and lime. The table drinks were supposed to be watered down but these babies packed a punch. I had barely finished my first when I began having trouble counting to twenty-one.

The minimum was five bucks, the maximum ten thousand. Alex and I each bought a hundred bucks' worth of five-dollar chips and prayed we didn't lose it all in the first twenty minutes, which I had done before. I was not a total novice—I had played the game before in Las Vegas with my mom and knew the basic rules. Of course, when I had played with her, I'd had to dress up and wear plenty of makeup so I looked older.

To start, we relied on Alex's card. The hardest thing for me was when to split and when to double down. The card made it simple. It had three color-coded columns. If the dealer is showing this, and you have that, then do this . . .

We were at the table maybe half an hour, and I was down fifty bucks and Alex was ahead a hundred, when a guy showed up. He caught my eye instantly. It wasn't just because he was handsome. Las Vegas had no shortage of beautiful men.

Nor was it the fact that he set down a fat roll of hundreds and asked for thirty thousand in chips. Again, the town was loaded with high rollers. It was more his calm expression, his quiet confidence, that drew me in. As he casually stacked his chips and lit a cigarette, he looked neither happy nor sad. He was just there to win.

A man a few seats over—he was a truck driver out of Chicago, and he had hit on me and Alex the second we had sat down—called to the new guy. “Hey, dude, can't you read? This is a no-smoking table.”

The guy stared at him with large, steady eyes. They were blue, but so close to black they looked as if they had never seen the sun. “No,” he said, and blew smoke in the man's face.

Trucky got annoyed. “No what?”

“I can't read.”

“Listen, put out the cigarette or find another table.”

“Go find your own table.”

Trucky stood. “Looking for a fight, bud?”

The guy smiled easily, still calm and cool. He was six-two, muscular, probably in his mid-twenties. He could have been a cop, someone who worked in a dangerous field. He had that kind of vibe. Although he looked at ease, I had the feeling Las Vegas was not home. He had closely cropped blond hair and a slight accent I couldn't place.

Facing the dealer, I was on the far left. Alex was to my right and the new guy was next, followed by Trucky and a young Japanese couple who could not stop staring at the newcomer's mountain of chips.

I hoped the threat didn't scare him off. I doubted it would. From the moment I saw him, I felt I knew him, like he was a piece of my past I could no longer remember clearly. I wanted him to stay.

“Not afraid of one,” he told Trucky.

Trucky went to snap at him, then suddenly seemed allergic to our newcomer's stare. He lowered his head and spoke in a meek tone. “I don't smoke. I shouldn't have to inhale your crap.”

Alex spoke. “You heard the guy, he can't read. It's not his fault.”

The guy turned and smiled at her. “Thank you.” He offered his hand. “I'm Russ.”

“Alex.” She shook his hand and added hastily, “This is my friend Jessie.”

“Jessica.” His eyes lingered on my face, long enough to where I ended up blushing. There was power in his gaze. “Love that name.”

“Bets down,” the dealer snapped. He was frail, three times our age, and already showing signs of the disease that would probably kill him. His face was not merely pale but pasty. He could have washed it with bacteria-friendly soap. The few gray hairs he had left looked like they were glued on. I had tried joking with him earlier but he only responded to tips. He was a smoker, though; it was obvious he liked when Russ exhaled in his direction.

We laid down our bets. Twenty bucks for the truck driver. Five for me. Twenty for Alex, who was feeling bold with her extra hundred in her pocket. Russ put down a grand, which caused the Japanese couple to gasp. They talked excitedly in their native tongue before they each put down twenty. The dealer dealt us our cards.

“Damn,” I swore when I saw mine. A powerful ten, followed by a feeble six. Sixteen, worst hand in the book, especially against a dealer who was showing a ten. The computer card said I had to hit, but it also said I was probably already going to lose. Trucky was in the same boat as me. I could tell from his disgusted expression he was going to stand.

The Japanese couple each had nineteen, which meant, of course, they were going to hold tight. Alex had eleven—the perfect hand to double down on. Russ also had eleven. I assumed he would play the odds and double his bet.

Nevertheless, I watched him closely. There were two reasons why he might choose to ignore the odds: the size of his bet
and the dealer's powerful ten. Myself, I would have simply hit. But I suspected Russ had more guts than I did. And money.