“Well, you aren’t our target demographic, but I hope you enjoy them.”
“I think the idea of being strong and independent and not needing a man to define your life is a great message,” he says. “I knew a lot of girls growing up who could have used your advice.”
“We do what we can,” I say as I look out the window at the passing scenery.
“So, where does that leave you on the relationship front?”
This is a bold move, considering it’s a first date, but I’m inclined to approve of his forthrightness. “Well, I suppose you would define me as currently out in the world. I’m not dating anyone exclusively, but I am dating and interested in new people. If someone comes along with whom I am compatible, and it organically develops into something serious, I’m not a commitment-phobe, and I will take steps to explore that potential with someone. But I’m not really looking for that sort of relationship; I’ll just be open to it if it happens to arrive.”
“Good to know.”
I can’t read him at all. He doesn’t seem angry or disappointed like some guys. “How about you?”
Connor pauses. “I suppose I am most focused on my work these days. It has been a long time since my last serious relationship, and like yourself, I haven’t been terribly inclined to pursue another commitment, but I’m not averse to the idea either.”
“Sounds like you and I are very much on the same page,” I say and decide a change of subject is in order. “So, where are you taking me?”
“You really want to know?”
“Please.”
“Hammond.”
“Hammond? As in, Indiana?”
“Yep.”
“And what, if I may be so bold, is in Hammond, Indiana?”
“Riverboat.”
“Gambling?”
“Is that okay? I just thought it might be fun. Bad idea?”
“No, great idea. Very great. It’s just, well . . .”
“What?”
“I don’t know how to gamble. I’ve never done it before. Is it hard?”
“Of course not. You stick with me. I’ll teach you all the tricks.”
And bless him, he did just that. After a quiet drive, which flew by in light conversation about work and family and friends, we boarded the floating casino, and I began to feel the buzz that everyone always talks about. We started at the blackjack tables, where he handed me a stack of chips and gave me the simplest of instruction. You always assume that the dealer has a ten under the card they show. If your hand can’t beat your assumption of their hand, you take a hit until seventeen. If you can beat it, you stay. Apparently, I learned this lesson reasonably well, because after a while, I have a pretty big stack of chips in front of me, and a small crowd has gathered. Connor’s luck has been up and down; he’s probably about even from when we first sat down, but he seems to be taking personal pride in how well I am doing.
“Okay, then. Feeling ready for another challenge?” he asks.
“Sure!” I love the giddy feeling I have, like I’m getting away with something.
He turns to the dealer. “Color us up, please.” The dealer leans over and counts up my pile of chips, over $700. He hands me several black chips, a couple of green, and a couple of red. “Give him the red ones,” Connor whispers in my ear, “as a tip.”
I smile at the dealer and push the two red chips toward him. “Thank you very much!”
He smiles at me. “Thank you, ma’am.” Then he knocks the chips loudly on a small metal box next to him and drops the chips inside.
Connor receives his chips, just slightly over the $200 he started with. I hand him two of my black chips.
“What’s this for?”
“That’s the money you gave me to start with. I thought I should give it back.” He looks puzzled.
“I didn’t mean . . .” he says. “I wanted you to play, you know, it isn’t about the money.”
“I know, but it is actual money, and now I’ve won a bunch to keep playing with, so I thought you should get your stake back.”
“Tell you what, you keep it for now. We’ll settle up at the end of the night.”
“Okay. Where are we going now?”
“You hungry?”
“Actually, not really. It’s weird, I should be, but I’m not.” I should be starving. But I’m so excited about the evening that I just don’t feel like eating. Plus I did go pretty heavy on the hors d’oeuvres at cocktail hour. “But if you’re hungry . . .”
“Nope, the adrenaline gets me, too. Makes my stomach shut itself off for a bit.”
“We’ve invented a new diet!” I say. “Trade your food addiction for a gambling addiction, and you’ll be skinny!”
“But broke.” He laughs.
“Only if you lose.”
“Which, eventually, you will. But hopefully not tonight. And besides, skinny never really appealed to me.”
Which is exactly the thing a curvier gal like myself wants and needs to hear, especially early on in a new relationship. I get a teeny shiver up my spine the way he says it, not with pointed eye contact or anything lascivious, just a simple statement of fact. Skinny never appealed to him. He just went up fifteen points on the yummy scale.
He scans the casino while I silently preen. “Wanna try your hand at shooting craps?”
I’ve always loved the idea of craps. It seems like the sexiest of the games. Very Rat Pack, which I’m a sucker for. I have long fancied myself the gamine companion of a Frank Sinatra type, the kind of guy who would call me “doll,” and have me kiss his dice for luck, and buy me diamonds and furs just for the hell of it. You know, minus the mob ties and the alcoholism and smacking around.
“Absolutely,” I say.
We wind our way through the crowd and get to a craps table. We settle in at one end, and Connor asks the croupier to exchange our chips for smaller denominations. Actually, what he says is, “Can we get color?” which makes no sense to me until the guy hands us our chips. I must look confused, because Connor says, “Color up means take the chips and give the smallest number of chips in return, and get color means to break a larger chip down into smaller ones.”
“Thanks. I don’t seem to know any of the lingo!”
“Stick with me, doll. I’ve got your back.” Oh. My. Goodness. I’m suddenly all squishy. Funny what one little endearment can do. “Now, just bet exactly how I bet. Same number of chips and everything. We’re going to start small to get your feet wet. Craps moves really fast, so you can lose a lot pretty quickly. Just remember, you’re paying for entertainment; don’t think about winning—just have fun. If the money is all gone in ten minutes, we can still make a movie.” He makes me feel very at ease. He places a single chip on the table in front of him, on something called the pass line. I do the same in front of me. The guy with the dice rolls.
“Yo, eleven,” the croupier shouts. “Pay the line!” One of the other guys hands chips all around.
“We won?” I ask Connor.
“We won. Pick up your chip.”
The guy rolls again.
“Four, the point is four,” the croupier yells. The guy who paid me my chip takes a huge hockey puck that says On and places it on the box marked four.
Connor puts two chips behind his pass line bet, and I follow suit. Then he puts one chip in the middle of the table, in a section marked Come, which, twelve-year-old that I am, makes me smile. I put my chip next to his.
The guy rolls the dice for about ten minutes, the croupier calls numbers, I keep following Connor’s bets, and periodically pick up the chips the croupier hands me, which I assume are winnings. It does move very quickly, but I’m starting to understand the game a tiny bit, not enough to play on my own, but enough to anticipate some of Connor’s moves. We are like synchronized swimmers. Suddenly something happens, and the whole table sighs. Then all of our chips on the table get swept away.
“What happened?” I ask.
“He rolled a seven, crapped out.”
“New shoot
er, new shooter coming out, place your bets!” The croupier does a weird shuffle of five dice and then pushes them toward me with a long stick.
“You ready?” Connor asks me.
“I’m going to roll?”
“Yep. No problem. Just pick the two dice that look lucky to you.”
There are two dice right next to each other, a four and a two. Well, I’m thirty-four, and Jill is thirty-two, so they seem a good pair, even if we aren’t so much these days. I pick them up. They are heavier than I would have thought, and sharply pointed on the corners.
“Now just throw them so that they hit the bunkers at the other end of the table, and keep betting the way I bet.” Connor looks deep into my eyes. I nod. And throw the dice.
We’re sitting at a small table in the casino, and I’m drinking my third glass of water. Gambling is thirsty, dehydrating work.
“I know, it’s all the extra oxygen,” Connor says, draining his own glass.
“What extra oxygen?”
“They pump extra oxygen into the casinos. Helps keep the crowd awake and euphoric and gambling.”
“Is that legal?” I ask.
“What are you going to do, sue them for making you breathe oxygen?”
We laugh. “Connor, this is the most fun I have had in a long time. Thank you.”
“Well, nothing like winning a few grand to make a girl perky, huh?”
Yep. Six thousand four hundred and twenty-four dollars to be precise. Apparently, I am the best craps shooter ever! The croupier said he’d never seen six hard eights in a row. Connor won just over four grand, because he never plays the “hard way” bets, but those paid off really well for me.
“Well, it doesn’t hurt, that’s for sure!”
“What do you say we get out of here before they realize you have telekinesis and are controlling the dice with your mind?”
I drain my water glass and get up. “I think we’ve done enough damage for one night.”
We start to walk out, and I turn to him. “You said we could settle up,” I say, handing him two crisp Ben Franklins.
He looks at the proffered money and smiles. “Tell you what. Go put it on a roulette number, Lady Luck. If it wins, I’ll split it with you, if it loses, we’re even.”
We walk to the nearest table. I look at the numbers.
“What do you think?” he asks me.
“I think twenty-two, since that was the date we met.”
“And the lucky number from Lost in America,” he adds.
“That, too.”
“Go for it.”
I put the two hundred-dollar bills on number twenty-two. The wheel spins. Double zero.
“Oh well, guess we can’t win all the time.”
“That’s why the casinos stay in business. Eventually they always get their money back. C’mon. Let’s take their money and run!”
We head out and find Connor’s truck in the lot. Once we find the highway, in a very quiet moment, my stomach decides to make itself known.
Bbbbbrrrrrrooooooowwwwwwllllllllgggggggggg.
Oh Lord.
Connor starts laughing. “Guess I’d better feed you, huh?”
“Guess you’d better.”
“Can you wait till we get back into the city?”
“Absolutely. On one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“Wherever we go, I need steak. My blood is feeling thin.”
“Steak it is. Settle back; I’ll go as quick as I can get away with.”
I lean back on the seat, my newly flush purse in my lap, and breathe deep.
It’s just after one by the time he walks me to my door.
“Connor, this was probably the best date I have ever had. Thank you.”
“I had a good time, too. I’d like to get together again.”
“I’d love that.”
He leans in and kisses me. Strong mouth, soft tongue, just heavenly.
He pulls back and smiles at me. “Well, the next week is pretty crazy for me. I’ll call you Mondayish and see if we can’t set something up for early the week after.”
“Okay.” This is perfect, since I’m supposed to be seeing both Abbot and Ben this weekend, and I can feel free to put them in my calendar without worrying about saving time for Connor.
“Okay then, you have a great weekend, and I’ll talk to you on Monday.”
“Okay. Good night, Connor.”
He kisses me again. “Good night. And tell your aunts I said good night as well.” He gestures at the parlor window, where two forms are silhouetted behind the drapes.
“They’re incorrigible.”
“They’re sweet.”
He kisses me one more time, dipping me for effect.
“Go inside and explain that one!”
I laugh and watch him retreat down the stairs. Then I go inside to face the music.
“You four are impossible!” A sleepy Hunter appears in the aunts’ parlor. It is nearly two in the morning, and we are all a little soused. I got home after my date and knocked on the door to find that not only had Ruth and Shirley waited up, they had champagne chilling. Pink champagne, no less.
“We figured if it was great, we’d celebrate, and if it was awful, pink champagne would perk you up!” Shirley said.
“It’s hard to argue with logic like that,” I say, gesturing for Aunt Ruth to pop the cork. Aunt Shirley goes to the phone and dials. “She’s home; come down,” Shirley says. Within moments, it seemed, Jill joined us, wearing her pajamas and a bathrobe and clearly half asleep.
“Did I miss anything?” she said, accepting a glass of champagne.
“Nope, she hasn’t begun yet.”
Once we all had our drinks, I raised my glass. They all looked at me expectantly.
“To Mr. Connor Duncan, the best first date in the history of the world!”
They all started buzzing at once, asking questions, and I took them through the date, but leaving out the most important detail.
“It sounds lovely, sweethear. We liked him immediately, didn’t we, Ruthie?” Aunt Shirley said.
“Yes, of course, as much as you can like someone based on two minutes of superficial conversation in the foyer.”
“But, wait,” Jill says. “How’d you make out? With the gambling, I mean. Did you win anything?”
This was the cue I’d been waiting for. I grabbed my purse, reached inside, and pulled out the wad of cash and tossed it into the air.
“I won a little,” I said.
We all giggled, and Jill and I rolled around in the money on the floor, and it must have been this ruckus that woke Hunter.
Aunt Ruth fetches him a glass, and Jill tells him about my date. I love this about Jill. She takes your story and tells it with total joy and abandon, as if it is as meaningful to her as it is to you. Listening to her, and watching Hunter react, I’m filled with love. He isn’t angry that we woke him at two A.M. on a work night, tipsy on pink champagne and laughing loudly for no other reason than that I had a good date. He seems to really like our personal Spingold brand of crazy. Bless his heart. Jill catches me looking at them and smiles the most genuine smile I’ve seen from her since Thanksgiving. Something in my chest loosens the littlest bit.
I raise my glass again. “To Hunter, for putting up with four insane women!”
“To Hunter!” we all say.
“Aw, shucks, ladies. I’m a lucky, lucky man!” We all laugh again and start to gather up my winnings off the floor.
I count out four stacks of $500 each and hand them around. “I want each of you to buy yourself something totally frivolous and wonderful!”
“Oh no, sweetie, we couldn’t possibly. That’s your money!” Shirley says, waving me off.
“Like hell we can’t, sis.” Ruth snickers. “I’ve had my eye on a new purse that I’ve been hesitant to splurge on, and this is just the ticket. Thank you, honey.” She takes the money and kisses me.
“Well,” Aunt Shirley says, a little puzzled.
“Oh go on, Aunt Shirley!” says Jill, taking hers. “I’m buying my first pair of Jimmy Choos!” She nudges Hunter. “And Hunter really wants one of those new Xbox things . . .” Hunter shrugs and takes the cash.
“Thanks, Jodi. I’ll let you play with it whenever you want!”
“You’re very welcome.”
“I have wanted to get one of those new home ice-cream makers . . .” Aunt Shirley is struggling.
“Please take it, Aunt Shirley. I had so much fun winning it, and I still have plenty left. It would make me so happy to know you were able to buy something fun for yourself!”
“Well, dear, if you insist!” She grins.
“I do.” I drain the last of my pink bubbles. “And on that note, I think we should all get to bed.”
“Indeed.” Shirley yawns delicately. “I’m glad you had such a nice time, dear.”
“Me, too, darling.” Ruth pinches my cheek.
“C’mon, let me escort you ladies upstairs.” Hunter offers his arms to Jill and me.
We head up the stairs, and on the second landing, I kiss my sister and brother-to-be good night.
“G’night, Butthead. Glad it was a good date,” Jill says.
“G’night, Moose Face. Thanks for coming down to celebrate. You, too, Rusty.” I sometimes call Hunter Rusty because his hair gets reddish in the sun.
“I’m glad you had fun. Hopefully this one will stick. I could use some more testosterone around here! Good night, Kangaroo Arms!”
Jill shakes her head at him.
“No?” he asks.
“Keep working,” I say. I smack him lightly on the arm and head up to my apartment. I check my voice mail.
“Hey, Jodi, it’s Connor. I figure you’re downstairs telling those great aunts of yours all about tonight. I hope I come off okay . . . Have a great weekend, and I’ll call you early next week. I want a full report on everything you plan on buying with your loot, and no charitable donations! Good night, Jodi. Thanks for a great evening.”
Hmmm. I have to say, I really do like this guy. If his second dates are anything as good as the first, I might have to reconsider my current dating roster.
I get ready for bed in a pleasurable haze, climb into bed, and fall asleep with the taste of Connor’s kisses and pink champagne on my tongue.
The Spinster Sisters Page 11
