by Liz Maverick
She picked her matching bet out of her chip stack and carefully placed it in the center of the table, keeping her facial expression entirely immobile. Texas Trouble snorted and called without hesitation.
Marianne looked at the chips, not at the man. If he were so confident, he should have raised. It wasn’t about the snorting and the waggling eyebrows and the rolling eyes. It was about how much money you committed to the pot and how good of a bluff you could pull off when you didn’t commit that much. She’d been watching him closely since the very first insult, and he wasn’t a good bluffer. He was just blustery across the board.
Amazingly, only four people folded, and the remaining five of them waited for the dealer to burn a card and show them the flop.
It came in 8/7/ace, all spades. That put her one card away from the nut flush. To be unbeatable, she’d need one more spade for herself plus no pairs to show on the board. Anyone holding an eight, a seven, or an ace was ahead of her game, but she was on the draw with reasonable odds.
She glanced up at the clock. They were down to twenty minutes. This would be one of the last hands. If she could get Texas Trouble to go all in. . . .
And though Marianne had warned herself time and time again about not playing hotheaded and letting her irritation with her competitors affect her game play, her desire for revenge sort of took over.
She shifted her weight in her chair. Texas Trouble was apparently watching her closely. “You don’t have it,” he said. He frowned and shook his head.
Marianne shrugged.
“You don’t have a thing,” he repeated, obviously trying to draw a clue from her by forcing her to answer.
She just tapped her fingers against the felt as if she couldn’t have been less concerned.
“All-in,” he finally blurted. Besides herself, two other players called. The dealer burned and turned: ace of hearts. Then burned and turned for the final community card: Yes! A spade! Marianne had her nut flush. This was going to be an excellent moment.
Texas Trouble was not taking his defeat well. He flipped his cards over to reveal a six and a nine that hadn’t panned out into the straight he’d been chasing. “You want to come to the prom with me and get a suite?” he drawled, referencing the fact that his cards combined to a 69.
Marianne had to work hard not to recoil in total disgust. She flipped over her jack and king, off-suit. “Jack/king, off,” she shot back at him, slurring her words so that it came out like the poker slang was meant to: jacking off.
A low “ooooh” came from the other men at the table.
The third player flipped over his cards. Queen/three, otherwise known as queen/trey or a queen with a tray. He’d been chasing a flush with the queen of spades paired with a limp diamond three. “These should have been your cards,” he said to Texas Trouble. “A gay waiter.”
Texas Trouble started to stand out of his chair. “You trying to start something?”
“Not that there’s anything wrong with that,” the guy said, holding up his hands and laughing.
The fourth guy flipped over his cards. “Jack/ace. You’re all a bunch of jackasses,” he muttered and stuck his face down in his drink.
Marianne looked up and smiled at Texas Trouble. “I guess I do have it,” she said.
While Texas Trouble was busy taking the news of his unceremonious rousting from the tournament rather badly, Marianne exhaled slowly, raked in her chips, and looked up at the clock.
The blinds had passed her by, now, and they weren’t necessarily going to come around in the time left, so there was no issue of sunk costs. Thinking of the online game that had landed her at the World Series and how her conservative (or, really, in all fairness, non-existent) play had worked to her advantage, she decided to take the conservative approach and only play the truly choice hands for a while.
No choice hands came her way, so she concentrated on watching the pros. So engrossed in listening to a couple of professionals discuss the play, it took someone shaking her shoulders to realize she was being addressed.
“Marianne.”
“Uh.”
“Marianne!”
Marianne looked up. Everyone at the tables was standing up now.
“Marianne!”
“Oh, my God. I’m still here.” Marianne took it all in and turned to find Bijoux standing up in the spectator section, waving her hands frantically.
“Can I come out there?” Bijoux shouted. Marianne shrugged. Bijoux shrugged and came out to her.
“You did it!”
Marianne’s cracked, parched lips didn’t want to answer properly. “I think I’m delirious.” She staggered forward, zombielike. “I don’t think the human organism is designed for this. It’s not natural. This is much, much more taxing than it looks.”
“I should say so. You look like you’ve been hit by a bus.” “What happened?”
“What happened? What happened? You made the cut! You survived the first day. TJ Cloutier and the Magician might have gone down, but you’re still standing.”
“I made the cut?”
“You made the cut.”
“I made the cut?”
“Yeah.”
Marianne’s jaw dropped open. Then she started laughing. She jumped into Bijoux’s arms, squealing. “I made the cut! Whooooo-hoooo!”
A flash blinded her. It was Peter taking a picture. He took a few more pictures of the scene and then came up to them. “Congratulations!” He stuck his voice recorder in her face and asked, mock-tabloid style, “So how do you feel?”
Her answer was a scream at the top of her lungs as she spotted Donny coming toward her through the crowd. “Donny! Oh, my God! I can’t believe you came! What about your job?”
“Vacation time.” He grabbed her, lifting her up and turning her in a circle. Marianne’s heart nearly leaped out of her chest, as it always did in these pure moments with him. The ones when they weren’t fighting, weren’t analyzing, and had basically forgotten everything else except that they were happy to see each other.
Donny put her down and Peter stuck out his hand. The two men greeted each other in a reasonable semblance of meaning it.
“Hey,” Donny said. “How ya doing?”
“Hey,” Peter said. “Great. How you doing?”
“Great.” Donny took the opportunity to snake his arm around Marianne’s shoulders in a claim-staking sort of way, pulling her in close.
Marianne and Bijoux looked at each other. “Uh, so let’s eat,” Bijoux said. “I bet you’re starving.”
“Totally. I need some serious protein. I need a steak. A large steak. Fighting food. I don’t care what those pansies back in L.A. think.”
“Why don’t we try the hotel restaurant? It’s supposed to be great, and it’s easy.”
“I just want room service,” Marianne said. Bijoux’s face fell. “I’m sorry, but I don’t want to go out. I’m just really tired.”
“How about you and I go?” Peter said. Bijoux’s face lit right back up. She looked at Marianne and Donny. “Are you sure you don’t want to come?”
In unison they answered, “We’re sure.”
Marianne was relieved to see them go. Donny was easy. She could just be her lazy ass self around him and he’d understand. She looked over at him as they walked to the elevator banks. “You should go with them if you want to. This is Vegas, after all. You’re not supposed to stay in your hotel room in Vegas.”
“Eh. I can do Vegas any time. Chilling out sounds good to me. We’ll go out tomorrow for a little celebration after you make it through Day 2.”
“That’s not exactly a given.”
“Think positive. The longer you stay in the game, the more bragging rights I have.”
Marianne laughed as the elevator doors opened and they headed for the room. She keyed them in and dumped her stuff on the bed. “Would you order room service while I grab a quick shower?”
“Will do.”
Marianne stripped off and just left Bijoux’s cl
othes lying on the floor as she rinsed off. Donny didn’t even have to ask exactly what to order. She sighed and raised her face to the spray. Why couldn’t they make this last when they were actually trying as boyfriend/girlfriend? Why did semantics make such a difference in practice? Maybe they were so used to failing, it was becoming a self-fulfilling prophecy.
She turned off the water and toweled off, removing all her makeup. With her towel wrapped around her, she came out of the bathroom and pulled her pajamas from the drawer, then walked back into the bathroom to change.
“I’ve seen you naked before,” Donny yelled.
“It’s the principle of the thing,” she yelled back.
“Well, it’s stupid!”
Marianne laughed softly. She came out of the bedroom and flopped backwards on the bed.
Staring up at the ceiling, she said, “I guess I’ll just share a bed with Bijoux.”
“Don’t be daft.”
“What?”
“That’s really not necessary. You’re in competition. Your sleep is important.”
“And you think I’ll sleep better with you in my bed?”
He grinned. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Marianne rolled her eyes. “So you’re going to sleep with Bijoux?”
“Do you have a problem with that?” he said casually.
“No, I just . . . Yes. That’s ridiculous. I mean, come on.”
He blinked innocently at her. “Bit of a dilemma, eh?”
“Why don’t you go share Peter’s room?”
Donny’s face darkened. “I don’t even know the guy. He’s Bijoux’s friend. Why doesn’t Bijoux go sleep with him?”
“Because Bijoux’s supposed to be rooming with me.”
He threw up his arms. “Well, I guess I’ll just sleep in the bed that’s not taken at any given moment. Course, if you want to crawl in with me, I won’t say no.”
Marianne huffed. “I don’t know how you get away with everything you get away with.”
“Personal charm,” he said, getting up to answer the door. The room service guy wheeled in a cart and began offloading plates onto the desk.
Marianne made herself comfortable on top of the bed and grabbed the remote, turning the TV on to ESPN; Donny handed one of the plates over and arranged the silverware and drinks on the bedside table, then settled in cross-legged next to her.
Announcer: “It’s been a bloodbath for former champions on day one; four have been knocked out, but we still have some big names as we move into day two of competition. Phil Ivey, Annie Duke, Phil Hellmuth . . . the young guns are still in the game. Join us for the big action tomorrow and watch the temperature rise.”
“Machine Gun Marianne,” Donny said with a grin. “That’s my girl.”
Marianne grinned back and stuck a huge forkful of steak and potatoes in her mouth.
Bijoux and Peter found a spot at the bar more easily than she’d expected. Perhaps everyone else had gone upstairs to pass out, or was seeking refuge from the tournament at other casino bars. It was fine with her. If they weren’t going to make a night of it, then they might as well go some place where they could actually hear each other talk.
The honeyed glow of the lights against the wood of the bar made for a surprisingly intimate setting. Not that this was a date or anything.
After ordering a couple of drinks and settling in, Peter asked, “So what’s up with him?”
“Donny?” Bijoux just shrugged. She didn’t much feel like talking about Marianne and Donny.
“He’s the ex?” Peter asked. An obvious statement, of course, and one obviously designed to elicit information that wasn’t forthcoming.
“In his defense, he’s not really just an ex. He’s one of our oldest friends.”
“But he is Marianne’s ex.”
“Yes, he is. But try to think of him as an . . . an . . . an overly concerned brotherlike figure.”
“Right.” He chuckled, but as Bijoux watched his face she thought she detected a faint whiff of jealousy. Bijoux did her best to hide her disappointment that he cared so very much about what Donny was or wasn’t to Marianne.
“You like her.”
“What is this, high school?”
Bijoux shrugged. “Just a simple observation.” Maybe she was just projecting.
“Of course I like her. She’s talented, she’s hot, she’s smart, she’s . . .”
Maybe she wasn’t just projecting.
Peter stopped flattering Marianne and focused in on Bijoux to the point that it made her nervous.
“Let’s talk about you,” he said.
“Why?”
“Because it’s interesting. What’s your story, Bijoux?”
“You know what I’m up to. I’m a gold digger,” she said glumly. “But I’m starting to reconsider my position.” She looked around at the people posing and posturing in the bar alongside her, surprised to find Peter staring intently at her when she glanced back. “What?”
“You’re pretty honest.”
She shrugged. “I don’t know.”
The server came with the drinks. Bijoux sat back and let Peter open a tab. “You know, Marianne and I are very different,” Bijoux blurted out. “Marianne’s a doer, you see. And there’s much more to her than meets the eye.”
Peter cocked his head.
“People always think I’m the wacky sidekick, but that’s not how it is.”
Peter stared at her as if he were seeing her for the first time. “No, it’s not, is it?”
“It’s always Marianne at the center, true. But I don’t mind. I don’t. She just has more natural charisma than I do. But the people at the center have got to have someone around them for it to really be the center.” Bijoux considered the bar mix, but decided to pass to avoid pretzel breath. “I guess she’s the center of the universe and the wacky sidekick. I wonder where that leaves me?”
Peter laughed. “You’ve got a good heart, Bijoux.”
“Don’t tell anyone. I’ve got reputation as a mercenary to protect.”
“I don’t really think it’s money you’re looking for.”
Being with Peter was making her nervous. She felt so self-conscious, so fluttery. Breaking eye contact, she begged a cigarette off the guy sitting next to her at the bar just to give herself something to do.
“Bijoux.”
She froze in midair, the cigarette still unlit in her mouth, the match flame flickering. Peter leaned over and blew out the flame. They just looked at each other for a moment. Bijoux could count on one hand the number of really deep moments she’d had in her life with men, and so this one didn’t escape her notice at all.
He reached out slowly, took the cigarette out of her mouth, and crushed it in the ashtray. “You don’t want that,” he said quietly. Their eyes froze, and to Bijoux’s horror she felt a bolt of whatever Marianne must have felt when she looked in Peter’s eyes. Thank God he was just an underpaid journalist with no prospects of ever becoming extremely wealthy, because there was no way Bijoux was ever going head-to-head with Marianne for a man. “What do you want, Peter?”
He looked a little surprised but didn’t shoot back a pat answer or get around the question with some witty phrase meant to conceal or disguise.
“And don’t give me the man answer.”
He laughed. “What’s the man answer?”
“The kind of answer that doesn’t involve any analysis. Give me the answer you’d give me if you’d thought about the question for quite a while.”
He took a long sip and then set the drink down on the drink protector, taking the time to realign the condensation ring. “I can tell you what I don’t want. I don’t ever want to feel stagnant.”
Bijoux smiled at the don’t of it.
“It’s one of the reasons I like the idea of being a journalist. Never the same story. Always someone new to meet, somewhere new to go, something new to experience. I want to feel as though there’s always the possibility of something complet
ely different around the corner.” He smiled. “There’s your non–man answer.”
“Thanks,” she said quietly. You picked the right girl. Marianne’s the spontaneous one. The one up for adventure. The one who will always seem fresh and exciting and new. “Why do I get the feeling that there’s going to be an incendiary L.A. Times article about girls gone wild playing poker in Vegas, accompanied by crazy pictures of Marianne and I.”
“I’ll let you see the pictures first,” he said with a wink.
Bijoux stared at him for a moment in disbelief and then burst out laughing. “You shit disturber!” she yelled out, and began pummeling him in the arm.
Suddenly nervous, she stopped pummeling him. He caught her by the arm and she was sure, absolutely sure he was going to try to kiss her, which she wasn’t sure how she would handle, but maybe he wasn’t about to kiss her and it was all in her imagination and . . . and—he didn’t.
Might as well eat the bar mix, then. Pretzel breath obviously wasn’t going to be an issue tonight.
chapter thirteen
Taking her seat and arranging her things yet again, Marianne noticed that she’d gotten stuck immediately to the left of the button and would be the opening small blind for the day.
She looked up at the leader board, noting that her chip count still didn’t compare to the amounts accumulated by the top players. In spite of her couple of big wins the prior day, she was going to have to play hard and smart to catch up.
She wasn’t so low that she’d need to start stressing immediately and get involved in a bunch of major confrontations unless she really, really wanted to. But she also needed to be careful that she didn’t play too conservatively and lose by virtue of a slow chip bleed to extinction. The chip leaders at the table would try to push her around, and the trick was to avoid their maneuvers. Because all they were thinking was that eight million dollars got closer every day.
Find the zone, Marianne. Find the zone.
The first hand of the day came around, and a kind of electricity sizzled in the air. Everyone was trying to find the zone. Everyone was digging in to make it to the next day.
