by Anne Connor
Self-preservation. In slow-motion the dealer places another card in front of us as the man’s jaw clenches. I sense his teeth coming down behind his cheek, the top and bottom rows grinding together.
“Twenty-one,” the dealer says, placing both of his palms face-up on the table.
The man pumps a fist into the air and freezes it there, taking his hand off my leg and grabbing his drink. He pours the dark amber liquid into his mouth as the dealer gives him his chips.
“I think it’s time to celebrate.” The man snakes his arm around my back until his hand comes around the other side, to my stomach. His fingers grasp at the waistband of my tight black leather pants and I squirm out of my seat.
I rationalize all of this to myself. At least he’s in a good mood.
The dealer looks away and he congratulates the man with a small, distant voice. He gathers the man’s chips without another word and divides them into similar denominations, exchanging them for chips of larger value.
The man slips a finger into the waistband of my pants again and pulls me to him while stacking his chips with the other hand. My hands land on his chest. He’s breathing calmly and easily. It’s simple enough for him to be here. It’s easy for him to do this. He’s done it before. I can see it in the noxious mix of nonchalant indifference and animal lust.
“Do you have a room here?” he asks. He must think I work here. He must think I’m a professional. It’s that assumption that might save me. If he thinks I work here, he won’t try anything too bad with me.
I need to make him think I know what the hell I’m doing.
“For five thousand, I might,” I breathe. I try to smile. I can’t tell if I’m succeeding. My brain signals the muscles in my lips to turn up into a coy smirk, the flirty smile of a woman who’s pretending she isn’t going to ask for money from a stranger for sex, but who knows the man she’s with knows what the deal is.
The man grabs his crotch as he licks his lips.
“You must be new. You never name your price first. But for you...I’ll give you the five thousand. That’s including the one thousand you’re giving me for the orgasm you’re going to have on my tongue.”
“Just give me a minute,” I say as disgust fills my chest, ”and then let’s meet back here.” He loosens his grip just enough to let me slip away. His hand catches my wrist as I turn away from him and I snap my head quickly to look at him. He winks as he lets me go.
He thinks I’m a pro, and I need to show that I know the lay of the land. I trace the steps I saw the cocktail waitress make, and snake around the edge of a row of slot machines. I pass a few young men sitting at a row of machine, looking bored and tired. I spot the door marked Employees Only and rush over to it.
I spin around and let my back hit the wall, and I slide down and let my ass hit the floor. I want to cry. I need to let go. But nothing will come. If I could just cry it out and let myself feel…
But I haven’t been able to cry. Not for the past month.
I take my compact out of my purse and check my reflection. Is that really me? It couldn’t be me. My face is slack and pale, but I mentally, I feel nothing. Physically, I want to hurl. I don’t even know where the bathroom is.
Snapping my compact shut, I slip it back into my purse and put the bag of cash down on the floor next to me. I look straight ahead at the people walking by. I can tell by how their feet hit the ground that they’re here because they want to be, not because of forces outside their control.
Putting my hand on the bag next to me, I close my eyes lightly. The lights flash behind my eyelids. They’re a harbinger of hope. I can do this. They speed up and I find myself in real time again for the first time in a month.
This is almost all over. I just have to get this over with.
I stand up and breath. This is for the money I need. Better people have done worse than this.
Sean
I didn’t let her see me track her movements.
I didn’t follow her. Too easy to be seen. I know what I look like and I know how she sees me. I’m tatted up and six-foot two, a lean two hundred pounds easily. Naturally. I don’t stand out in a crowd of men like me, of men in my crew, but I do stand out among the tourists and the limp-pricked frat boys lined up here to pay for a fuck with a woman named after an animal or mineral.
Kitty. Diamond.
When I saw her stride over to the escalator leading right into my turf, I took the underground route to the casino. Through hallways and narrow corridors underground I tracked her moves. I knew where she was going, as though by telepathy. The employees-only elevator spit me out in the members-only lounge, where I passed through the bright steel kitchen to the floor of the casino.
I know this place better than the back of my hand. I know it like my fingerprint. Fuck, this place is in my DNA, or maybe I’m in its. I helped built it from the ground up, when it was just a hollowed-out grave filled with ashes and dust, old, broken machines, broken lights and destroyed filament.
I kept my distance as I watched her come out of the light of day into the timeless space of the casino floor. If you pay attention, you can keep track of time by counting the shrieks of excitement you hear from the mouths of the winners and the scowls of disappointment you see on the faces of the losers.
That’s what I like about it here. You think there’s skill to how you come out, but it’s all just blind, dumb fucking luck and there’s nothing anyone can do to make it otherwise. When the house always wins, the playing field is level for everyone else. It’s probably the fairest place on the face of the earth
You can come out ahead in the short term, but the fix is in, and it’s not in your favor.
I cross my arms and lean against one of the big wooden columns lining a small, winding walkway along the perimeter of the table games. I don’t know what Cherry’s going to do. She doesn’t look like much of a gambler, unlike her old man. I can see in her eyes that she’s a careful girl. Maybe she’s a little bit neurotic. Her old man was neurotic too, but in a different way. He got the notion stuck in his head that he was special. That his number would come up eventually.
But she seems more rational and practical. I can see it in how her eyes shift across the floor. She’s calculating her odds and determining exactly what her next move should be.
In this town, that makes her a rebel.
Poor girl. She better come up with something, or else things could get ugly with the boss.
I’ve witnessed first-hand what he does, and it isn’t pretty.
My phone buzzes and I pull it out. I don’t have a shift tonight, but I know the boss is going to want to know where his money is. It’s him, asking just that. I let him know I have it locked down, and I put my phone away to watch Cherry.
She locks her gaze on a dumb fucker that I recognize. He’s a regular here, and even though he has more money than God, he’s also lost more money than God.
Thank fuck for him. He’s the kind of customer we need to make things look legitimate.
Not that many people really gives a fuck.
She sits down next to him with her bag. Good girl. It’s an easy enough game, and over the course of a few hands, if she bets heavy, she might just be able to make some scratch to pay the boss what he wants.
He doesn’t give two shits if it’s actually twenty percent. He just wants to keep people on edge, put them on notice. Fuck with them. Let them know he doesn’t fuck around, and keep them in fear of him.
She doesn’t open her bag. She’s observing. But then the man next to her starts touching her. It makes me feel sick. He puts his arm around her shoulder, and he spreads her legs apart with his knee. I want to charge over to him and tell him to keep his fucking hands off of her. But she owes this money, and it’s none of my business how she chooses to make it.
He wins his hand and he celebrates like a goon who’s never seen good fortune before. But I know it’s not his first time at this very table, and with this very dealer. Fuck, I’ve dealt for h
im before and he acts like a little shit every time, whether he wins or loses.
I’ve even seen him leave with girls before - lots of girls, some one at a time on different nights, and sometimes with more than one. He likes to pay for pussy. He could probably get it without paying. He isn’t bad looking, and I know a woman or two who would suck him off for free, and with the amount of money he has, he should be able to attract women that way too.
I guess his kink is paying for it. Or maybe he just doesn’t like to get involved with them. Because paying for sex is the best way to make sure there are no repeats unless you’re the one who wants it. The girl isn’t going to come back unless and until you’re willing to pay again.
Cherry smiles up at him and her fake smirk sends a spear right through my heart. It gets worse when I see her turn around and the smile fade, replaced by a stone expression. It isn’t fear. It isn’t sadness. It’s worse. She feels nothing.
She makes her way past a row of machines and collapses onto the floor against the wall near one of the waitress lounges. At the same time, I see the prick who’s going to give her the money she owes my boss in exchange for her body.
Instinct kicks in. I feel a basic and overwhelming desire - no, a fucking need to protect her.
I start walking toward him, quickly dividing the space between us. I trail him as he makes his way to the VIP lounge, to the men's room in the back. He pushes the door open and I slow down, following behind him quietly.
Passing through the sitting area inside the men’s room, filled with mirrors and discreet baskets of mints and condoms, I turn down the wide hall off to the side, to the rows of urinals separated by locking stalls. There’s a few guys taking a leak inside the stalls. I can see their feet under the doors. I see my target’s back disappear into one of the stalls and I push forward, slipping inside after him.
“Jesus, man. This one’s occupied. What the fuck?” He shrugs his big shoulders and knocks my ass back into the door, but I brace myself against the wall with one hand.
God, what the fuck am I doing.
“Shut the fuck up and leave the girl alone.” I growl my words in a whisper as I slam my hands on the walls on either side of us. I control my breathing and take deep breaths in and out. Beneath the smell of salt and deep mens European cologne is the stench of piss.
“Why don’t you go fuck off, buddy.” He isn’t intimidated by me. He probably had his own men trailing me as I followed him in here. They’re probably right outside the stall, waiting for me. But he doesn’t know who I am. He wouldn’t. I haven’t let him see my face.
“Leave the girl.” I slam my hand against the wall again.
“Give me some fucking room, asshole,” he booms, not turning around. He unzips his pants and scrubs a hand against his dome. “You think you saw her ass first so you have a fucking claim to her? Fuck off. I’m paying for that pussy tonight, and when I’m done with it you can have your fun. And I hope you can fucking taste my cock inside her ass.”
Heat rises through my chest and I spin him around as he zips up, grabbing him by the chest, balling the fabric of his shirt up in my two fists. I just pray she hasn’t agreed to anything yet.
“You’ll stay the fuck away from her if you have a brain in that thick skull of yours.”
I clear him by a few inches, but he’s all brawn. That doesn’t stop the look of terror in his eyes.
I’m not a good man. I’ve seen that look before. It comes as you’re about to do the right thing by the boss, by the life you’re in, but as you’re about to sin. Before you’re about to chip away little by little at your soul.
“I’m sorry, Sean. You should have just said something. I didn’t you know it was you.” He puts his hands in the air. He’s begging for mercy.
“You should have listened to me.”
“I’ll leave the girl alone. She’s all yours. Fuck, man.”
I loosen my grasp and push his back into the wall. My knuckles are bone-white, and I was gripping him so hard that my fingernails nearly pierced through the flesh in my palms.
“You’re going to go over to her and tell her you’ve had a fucking change of heart. And then you’ll disappear.”
I slam my hand into the wall next to him and shoulder out of the stall. I couldn’t let her do this, and trying to reason with her wouldn’t have worked. She has no fucking reason to trust me.
Cherry
The table is empty when I return to it, so I take the opportunity to sit down and have a few moments to myself. I cross my legs at the ankles, a reminder of how the man who wants to buy me touched me. I can still feel his knee between my thighs, his hand on my leg, on my waist.
I expect to see him coming back for me at any moment. I expect to see him striding over with a smile on his face and a hardon in his pants. I wonder if he’s off touching himself somewhere.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see the suggestion of a person. An outline, a blur, and I can sense who it is, even though I can’t make out any of his features.
The man who bought me is coming to cash in.
“I’m sorry.” He comes up behind me and puts his hands on the back of my chair, then removes them like he’s touched a hot stove. I keep my eyes trained down at my lap, with my bag of money in front of me, visible to both of us.
Turning to him, one of the corners of my mouth turns up into a half-smile. I can only force myself into that half-smile. I need him to believe I know what the hell I’m doing. Make him think there’s someone who owns me, who will protect me. Someone a few feet behind me at all times, watching, not intervening unless necessary.
I need to create the illusion that I belong here if I want to make it out in one piece.
“Are you ready for me?” I spin my chair around and cross a leg toward him. I remember the first time I met my ex. We were sitting just like this at a sticky bar. My fists stuck to the bar and my feet stuck to the floor. I hitched one knee over the other, and minutes later, I struggled to get out of there, but he helped me as my head became woozy as my feet hit the floor.
But when I brush my ankle against his knee, he demurs and steps away. He lowers his voice, checking over both shoulders.
“I thought I would do you the courtesy of telling you I can’t go through with this,” he says. His voice does not sound how it did before. Gone is the machismo, the bravado, the tone that said I think with my dick and get what I want.
I sit there, looking up at him, slack-jawed. I pull my leg away from him and slide it back next to the other, clenching my knees together.
“I thought we could have a nice time together.” I try persuading him, but I do a shit job. I can’t even persuade myself.
He steps backward and nearly crashes into two couples in shorts and t-shirts. He apologizes to them and lurches toward the exit.
Somewhere deep inside my chest, I feel my heart flush with relief. But then it’s quickly replaced by a churning regret.
I clutch my purse and the cash to my chest and seek out my next target. But I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. Somehow, a sick twist of luck dropped that man into my lap. But now that same luck has taken him away from me.
I didn’t do much to protest. I could have done more. I don’t know why he left. Maybe he has a wife. Maybe he had a change of heart. Maybe he found an actual pro who would do him for cheaper.
I venture away from the table. I won’t have to sleep with that man, but now I’m left with one less option. Would it be degrading to go back to him? Reduce my price? How much am I willing to devalue myself to put this fucked up shit in my past - if I try, I don’t know if I’ll be able to forget.
Putting something in your past means forgetting it. I don’t know if I could forget selling myself. Putting a price on my body...and not just that, on my mind. It’s not something I want to do. I’m okay with it in theory. But it’s not for me. And that means that I’m not just selling my body, I’m selling out my principles, too.
I cross the room. I have nothing left
to lose. I don’t know what the man my father owes will do to me if I can’t pay.
I feel him. He’s around me, in front of me, behind me. His eyes are piercing the back of my throat. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the dim outline of him, and time slows down again as I calculate my odds. I search my mind for what to do.
Someone nearby cheers as lights start going off, somewhere above her: a red, white and blue burst of color, like on the Fourth of July.
I turn my head slowly so I’m facing him. He looks pissed. And I resolve that if he doesn’t want to give me the time he’s promised me, I can give him something else in place of the money.
I can give him me, because it’s all I have left.
Sean
I got a call from the boss. He’s demanding the money owed to him that’s out on the floor be brought to him.
That means it’s time to collect. Some of the dealers owe from the week. There’s an official rule in the employee handbook that says none of the employees of the casino are supposed to gamble in-house, but that doesn’t stop them from gambling off the books. My younger brother, Ace, is one of the best bookies on the strip. They call him Ace because he’s better than number one. He’s a fucking chameleon, too. He’s an account manager for one of the big insurance firms out here. While the desert sun is drying out your swimming pool, he’s performing the bullshit underwriting to determine what your house is worth. In case you were wondering, it isn’t worth shit, according to him.
I make my way to all of the tellers and dealers out on the floor and collect what’s due. Not only do these losers gamble at the house, they play with money that isn’t theirs. They don’t know to not shit where you eat.
While I make my rounds, I keep an eye on Cherry. Her number will be up, and I’m going to have to collect from her tomorrow morning.
But fuck, when I see her ass in those leather pants, I can’t help but think about what I’d do to her body. Her pussy was made for fucking, her lips made for taking my cock.
