Shopaholic to the Rescue (11 page)

“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 might 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.

“Perfect!” I say. “I knew it would suit you!”

“Well, thank you,” Luke says, beaming at his reflection. “I’m very touched.”

I take out my winnings and carefully count out the cash, as an assistant packages up the jacket in a lovely square box.

“And now,” says Luke, as we head out of the shop, “let me reciprocate, in the tiniest way. I meant to give you this earlier.” He hands me a printed-out email. “One of the teams in the London office is advising Mac, so they’ve offered all the staff a ninety percent discount voucher. For one glorious moment I thought she meant Apple Mac….” He gives a comical sigh. “But of course it’s makeup. So you can have mine.”

“Right. Thanks.” I skim the offer. “Wow. Ninety percent!”

“Where would they stock it?” He looks around. “Barneys? Shall we head there?”

“Actually…don’t worry,” I say after a pause. “Let’s not bother. It’ll be really boring for you.”

“You don’t want to go?” Luke seems surprised.

I’m studying the document, trying to work out my own reaction. The thought of choosing makeup for myself—even if it’s reduced—is giving me this weird, twisting feeling in my stomach.

Oh God, I don’t know
what’s
going on with me right now. I loved buying that jacket for Luke. And I loved buying the little jigsaw for Minnie. But somehow I can’t go and buy makeup for myself. It’s not…I feel so strange…I don’t…

I don’t deserve it.
The miserable thought flashes through my head, making me wince.

“No, thanks.” I force a cheery smile. “Let’s go up and relieve Mum and Janice from babysitting duty.”

“You don’t want to walk around anymore? Look at the lights?”

“No, thanks.”

All my elation from earlier has melted away. The moment that Luke suggested treating me, it’s as though a voice popped up inside my head to berate me. But it’s not the nice, even-tempered, Golden Peace voice telling me to “buy with meaning” and “do everything in moderation.” It’s a harsher voice, telling me I don’t deserve anything at all.

We walk together away from the Shoppes, toward the elevators, letting the clamor of people and music wash over us. Luke keeps darting me thoughtful little glances, and at last he says, “Becky, sweetheart, I think you need your mojo back.”

“What mojo?” I say defensively. “I haven’t lost any mojo.”

“I think you have. What’s up, darling?” He swivels me round and puts his hands on my shoulders.

“Well…you know.” There’s a lump in my throat. “Everything. It’s all my fault, this trip. I should have gone to see Brent sooner. I should have listened to Dad more. No wonder Suze—”

I break off, my eyes hot, and Luke sighs.

“Suze will come round.”

“But I was talking to Danny about it, and he said friendships end, and I should let Suze go.”

“No.” Luke shakes his head firmly. “No, no. He’s wrong. Some friendships end. You and Suze are
not
going to end.”

“I think we already have ended,” I say miserably.

“Don’t give up! Becky, you’ve never been one to give up! OK, you’ve been in a bad place and Suze has been in a bad place…but I know the pair of you and I know you’re in it for the long haul. You’ll be grandmothers together, exchanging tips on knitting baby booties. I can see you now.”