Carlton gulped down his Manhattan in two swallows and ordered another. Danzetti was gone. The bastard!
Carlton began to relax. The sweat on his palms and in the pits under his arms began to dissipate. A second Manhattan helped considerably in the relaxation process. He decided that he should have a third, one for the road, as they say.
Yes, the ugly business was over. How had he allowed himself to get so absorbed in such a sordid world of thugs?
The answer, he thought, was easy. Gambling! He liked to gamble, and, who controlled gambling? Crooks, gangsters, thugs. He must have known this going in. He was not a naive bumpkin and an easy mark. Or, was he? Of course, he was not.
It had all started innocently enough. Yes, of course, he thought, 'innocently!' Hell, he had dropped twenty thousand dollars the first shot. That was not too damned innocent, thank you very much. But, then, he had come back, and, wow! Fairly big, he had won. For a while, he had won, a very short 'while.'
He sat on the bar stool, thinking. Who had introduced him to the first private game? Sheila’s friend, Joanna Snead? Well, more or less, she had set it up, through her boyfriend, Larry. They were all out for dinner in Scottsdale, some sort of Mensa group affair. Ha! That was rich! A Mensa group dinner led him into gambling. Well, extrapolation came easy these days. Actually, Larry had introduced him to Lupo. Lupo was an intriguing character and had invited him to a private game at someone's house in Carefree. Wonder of wonders! A damned gangster at a Mensa group dinner. So what! Really! Gangsters were everywhere, taking a piece of everybody's pie.
That's how it began. A fun adventure! Checking out the wild side of life! He had never done much gambling, just a bit in college. He had gotten caught up in the drama and excitement of it all. He had learned the nuances --- the bluffing, the dark glasses, the down-turned mouth feigning a bad hand, the quick darting eyes, the snide little smiles, the sweaty brows, the whole body language repertoire. He got to the point where he thought he was pretty damned good with the nuances.
That's when 'they' began taking him to hell in that proverbial hand basket. That's when 'they' got him hooked. He was playing in all the private games. They were all good poker games, no 'piss in the sink' or 'baseball' or any of the sissy juvenile games. They were good poker games with no wild cards: jacks or better; five-card stud; seven-card stud; progressive; low ball, straight draw, open on your guts, dealer's choice. All, a real gambler's poker options. He loved all the true 'no frill' poker games.
When he started losing, he did it in a very big way. No small stuff for Carlton Prince. Just the big ante stuff for him, all the way. And, Mr. Lupo? Good ole Mr. Lupo? Well, he was just, what? Mr. Lupo was just omnipresent, that's all. He was at all the private games, always there to give a marker, to help out. He was such a nice guy, a real gentleman He dressed elegantly and spoke the way he dressed. He was a man Carlton could trust. Lupo was a man to whom Carlton could show off a bit, show off his big stakes gambling style. Lupo was a man with whom Carlton could laugh and joke, share a drink, a real pal in the lurch, always there with the markers. A first class guy, Mr. Lupo!
In that old pig's eye!
Carlton decided on a fourth Manhattan. They were tasting really good, and he was feeling so much better. The nasty business was over. Over, and out. Finis. 'Taps' was playing. 'God Bless America' TV sign off music was playing. All over!
Well, it turned out that good old elegantly dressed trustworthy buddy-buddy Mr. Lupo was also omnipotent as well as omnipresent. When Carlton had gotten in so deep, too deep, his playing became too defensive. He lost big and he lost often. Someone told him, “scared money don't win,” and he had told that someone to go diddle himself. His money was not scared. He had plenty of money, an unlimited source. But Mr. Lupo lost his understanding and his patience. He called in all his markers too damned fast.
There was Mr. Danzetti suddenly showing up at the games, an aberration in the crowd, someone who could get your attention. Mr. Danzetti had that intimidating aura, the muscle. Oh, yes, he was a big time attention getter. He was a creep!
All of a sudden Carlton had begun borrowing large sums of money from Grandmother Wimsley. Then, the awful thing happened. He saw the ease with which he could set up at work a bogus account, then, two bogus accounts, even, more bogus accounts. From these accounts he could siphon off some needed dollars. At first he was so nervous, setting up that first bogus account. He must have been nuts, diseased, doing something like that! Then, it got easier to do. He had himself covered. He could correct any problem situation that might come up. Sure, Grandmother Wimsley could be getting a bit suspicious, but she would not let him flounder. If it got too tough she would bail him out.
He would not let it come to that. He could find the control button before things went too far. He knew what he was doing. He had borrowed money from grandmother for his 'look good' investments, and, well, investments went south sometimes.
Now he was clear. Lupo's markers had all been made good. He was free of Lupo and Danzetti. He could begin to focus on those bogus accounts and get them off the books.
Carlton was only peripherally aware of the people around him in the crowded bar area, only remotely connected to the tinkle of glasses, the noise from the cash registers, the laughter and singing from the piano bar. The bartender had broken into his thoughts for a drink order, but he had lost track of time.
The fourth Manhattan relaxed him so much that he began to have flashbacks from his past. He thought of Jason, brother good, true, a brother he should acknowledge more than he did. For some reason, he recalled the camp out days with Jason and his grandparents. They had enjoyed those times so thoroughly, romping, playing among the cacti, scrub brush, sand, and pebbles. They were closer then. A melancholic smile came to his lips in the remembering.
The death of his parents had crippled him emotionally in ways he could not fully grasp, but his grandparents had helped him immeasurably through that rough passage. He knew that. But what had happened to him and Jason? Their relationship? It was some slight, perhaps erroneously perceived by Carlton, some conjured up favoritism shown to Jason by his grandparents, something vague and illusive. It was not fair to think in these terms of his brother and his grandparents. They were fair to him, more than fair, all of them. It was he, Carlton, who, for some inscrutable reason, had drifted away, had gotten off the family path.
Maybe it was simply that he could not, would not, face the truth about himself. No matter the jealousy, favoritism, whatever his perceptions, it had always been easier for him to rebel, to play the role of the aggrieved. Perhaps it was his way to subliminally belittle the talents and the achievements of a younger brother. A sibling rivalry had somehow formed, and it was easier for Carlton to mock and cajole than to join in a friendly sibling competition; it was easier to try and take away from, to discount, Jason's accomplishments; it was easier for Carlton to cause problems and to get in Jason's way.
Did he love his brother? Yes, he loved him. That made him, what? Hell, he was just who he was. Carlton’s acknowledgment of this sibling paradox both amused and unsettled him. The four Manhattans were making him too soppy.
Carlton had to get away from this kind of thinking. It was easier to think about Jenny Mason. Now, there was a lovely lady. Too lovely for Jason! Not really, but it was easier to think so. Too much of a woman for Jason! Probably not, but it was easier to think so. In any event, Jason already had a love affair going with his 'Apple Brown Betty.' Jason did not have the time for a pretty lady like Jenny Mason. Maybe, just maybe, Carlton should help his good brother out, sort of keep it in the family. Maybe a little of that sibling competition was in order.
'Apple Brown Betty.' What a stupid name for a real estate development project! It was just the kind of name Jason would come up with.
His brother, Jason, was a righteous man, moral, upstanding, so pure. Jason was so all together, so typically all American in every way. Jason was Grandmother Wimsley's shining star, her polished medallion of
perfection.
But, there Carlton goes again, he thought. Grandmother Wimsley had helped him a lot, maybe under false pretenses, his false pretenses, but she had helped him nonetheless. And, maybe grandmother Wimsley even loved him in her own way. Of course, she loved him! He had to stop with the crap! But, at least, he was right about Jason being her favorite. She could not hide that sparkle in her eyes when Jason was around. Grandfather Wimsley was more even in distributing his attention. That is, the attention he had time to give. Again, he was not being fair.
Oh, well, Grandfather Wimsley was gone. All was as it was. There was nothing Carlton could really do to change it all. Oh, really! How about the attitude, pal? No, it was too much fun this way, he thought.
Jenny Mason, however, was another matter. She was a lovely lady. He thought back to the night of Grandmother Wimsley's dinner. Had Jenny given him the eye once or twice? He could not be sure. Perhaps she was just being friendly and sociable. Then, again, one could never tell. After all, sibling rivalry, competition, all that good stuff, was likely very important in families.
It was 9:00 PM when he left his bar stool and went to the bank of phones in the walled space outside the rest rooms. He found Jenny Mason's phone number in the directory and dialed it. Leaning unsteadily against the wall he let her phone ring seven or eight times. No answer. Back at the bar, he ordered another Manhattan.
Jenny was probably out with Jason. She had not answered last night either. She must go out a lot, he thought. Why the hell not! She was beautiful and no doubt in high demand, no doubt had many suitors. He would like to be her suitor. There was, beyond her physical appeal, something else that was drawing Carlton to her. He could not say exactly what it was, but he felt it strongly. He definitely wanted to know her better.
Perhaps tomorrow he would accidentally run into her at lunch time. He would just leave his office earlier than usual, hang around her office building for a while, see where she went to dine. She did not strike him as a brown bagger. She would be the 'eat out' type.
He sat through another Manhattan. Strange, he thought, he had never sat at a bar this long. But he had needed to unwind, particularly after his meeting with the goon, Danzetti. He chuckled to himself. He had done a damned good job of unwinding. He was so relaxed and pleasantly buzzed that he began to get antsy. All the thinking! Too much! He needed some radical change of pace.
He checked his watch, debated, decided not to call Jenny Mason again. She was likely not home in any event. He thought about her, about how she had conveyed warmth, a certain animal magnetism, So lovely, she was, and so desirable. He could see her face in his mind's eye and he unconsciously moved his tongue over his lips.
His mind, all of a sudden, did an abrupt turn, and he thought of Sheila. Damn, he was supposed to have seen her tonight for dinner at her place. The Danzetti business had thrown him off track.
Sheila? She was okay, good to him, likely in love with him. She was pretty and sexy, but not in the same league as Jenny Mason. When they had first met, he had thought that she would come to mean more in his life. But they had run their course. He had tired of her, of the sameness in her routines, her placid life style. He knew that she wanted him, long term commitment and all. She had even begun, ever so manipulatively, to throw out her thinly veiled feelers. There were a few times when, in his anger, he had perhaps overreacted. But, dammit, he did not like being manipulated.
Women! They could be so subtle. They could even be recklessly bold at times. He had never met a woman who could hold his attention for very long. Actually, Sheila had done pretty well in holding his attention, and, truth be known, he probably felt more for her than he was admitting to himself.
Okay, time out! Enough! He couldn't start giving too much to the enemy.
Jenny Mason, now! She was a keeper, a definite possibility. Maybe, just, maybe …
He checked his watch again. 10:00 PM. He loosened the knot on his tie. He began to notice all the activity around him. Voila! Where had he been with all the thinking? The place was jumping with beautiful people. He was truly surprised that he for so long was not aware of his surroundings.
A familiar feeling awakened within him He fought the feeling for about ten minutes. He asked for his tab, got it, paid it, and went again to the bank of telephones.
He dialed a familiar number. A familiar voice answered. Then, Carlton Prince asked a familiar question.
“Where's the game tonight?”
Chapter Eleven
Myrena Wimsley was surprised when Sheila Broward had called and asked if she could stop by for a visit. Sheila had never called before and Myrena was sure the reason for Sheila’s visit was to discuss Carlton. What else could it be? Myrena and Sheila shared no social calendar, although Myrena had invited Sheila to call and visit. The fact that Sheila was now doing just that came as a surprise.
Myrena asked Rosemary to prepare a finger sandwich tray and some lemonade. Now, at 11:35 AM, Myrena and Sheila sat in the day room, the finger sandwiches so far untouched. The sunlight was heavy in the room, but the specially treated windows kept the temperature steady. It was a 'happy' room with gay colors and furnishings. It was supposed to be a 'happy room,' but Myrena somehow suspected by Sheila’s tentative and timid behavior that the atmosphere was soon to change. They sipped the lemonade, discussed the weather and flower gardens for the first few moments.
When an uncomfortable pause came, Sheila began.
“Myrena, you must know that I feel very close to you and I suspect you realize that Carlton and I have reached a crossroad in our relationship.” Sheila began to choke up, paused, sighed, swallowed hard, and nodded slightly with a weak grin.
Myrena placed her hand on Sheila’s arm. “It's all right, my dear, just take your time.”
“Oh, Myrena, it's just so hard. I've just been kidding myself for several months now that Carlton and I are going in the same direction. But we're not, and I ...” A word caught in her throat, and she again swallowed hard. “I won't be seeing Carlton again, Myrena, and it breaks my heart. I love him so much and I had such high hopes for us: marriage, perhaps, children, at least, a long union together. But it is never going to happen. I know that now. Perhaps you've known it all along, longer than I have known, but I'm sort of retarded when it comes to men, I guess, when it comes to matters of the heart.”
Myrena smiled sadly and again touched Sheila’s arm. “It's difficult to ever fully understand Carlton, my dear.”
“Yes, he is hard to read. Yet, there have been times when he has been almost loving and caring. And the other times, he has been so transparent in his indifference. Unfortunately, the indifference is the dominant attitude. It is so sad, Myrena, but I know we are finished. I've been a convenience for Carlton, I'm afraid, but now it's time that I override all my hopeful negations to the contrary and recognize that we are truly over.”
“I'm so sorry, Sheila dear. I wish that there was some way to change my grandson. You are a dear woman and you are really so good for him. But it would be foolish of me not to acknowledge and understand what you are saying. Carlton is such an intelligent boy.” She paused. “I still think of my grandsons as boys. Carlton is very smart in his business but so immature at times in his private life. I love him, too, of course, but I know what you say is true. What can I do, Sheila?”
“Oh, there is nothing I ask of you, Myrena, but I feel close to you and wanted to share something with you that might be painful. I've vacillated on whether or not to tell you and I've procrastinated long enough. I'm hurt, Myrena, truly hurt, and it could sound vindictive what I tell you. Maybe I shouldn't even tell you, but, then, you should know. I'm just so confused.” Sheila seemed utterly befuddled.
“Please, dear, compose yourself, and go on. You need to tell me. Don't worry, I will not think your purpose in sharing is vindication.” Myrena's eyes were now keenly focused on Sheila.
Again, Sheila swallowed hard and sighed. “He's in some kind of trouble, Myrena, financial trouble, I'm su
re … something to do with gambling. He is gambling and I'm afraid that he's losing some considerable sums of money.”
Myrena felt a sense of urgency. “How do you come by this information, Sheila? Is there a chance you can be mistaken?”
“Unfortunately, no. My best friend told me, and I believe her. Some time back, my friend's fiancé introduced Carlton to a man who is some sort of gambling guru, very likely a gangster. Anyway, Carlton began going to some very big private poker games. He had always liked gambling. We went to Las Vegas several times and it was nearly impossible to get him out of the casinos to see a show. He liked betting on the tables and even extended his bets to football and basketball games,” another long sigh, “and these private poker games have essentially all but ended our time together. He doesn't know it and he thinks he hides it well, but he is showing signs of depression.”
“My lord!” Myrena softly moaned. “Is he still going to these private poker games?”
“Yes, he is, as recently as last night. My friend called me this morning. Myrena, I should not tell you this but I'm going to. I even loaned him ten thousand dollars early on in the games. Now, that's a small sum to Carlton. I know he's a vice president and controller of a big company and he's compensated well. And, pardon me, but I also know that he comes from a wealthy family.”
“Yes, we've done well financially in our lives. No need to apologize. Did you get your money back?”
“No, and I don't really expect to get it back. I've done well, too, Myrena, and the money is not the important issue here. The ten thousand dollars had just come in on one of my investments. Carlton just happened to be there when it came in. He had just lost a hefty sum, and my ten grand check was just a quick fix. It represented, I'm sure, just a small fraction of what he's lost. But I'm not worried about the money. My finances are fine. It's Carlton I'm concerned about. Unfortunately, I still love him.”
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