The Hothead

by Myra Scott

  These folks came to my table to get away for a while, to escape their daily lives. It was all an elaborate dance, tailored specifically to each individual customer who sat in front of me. I comforted and commiserated when it was necessary, and sometimes on special occasions I might have even dealt out some light advice or opinion, but for the most part, I just listened and nodded. I was just a receptacle for these customers to pour their excess emotions and troubles into while they gambled away their money in pursuit of the big, flashy win that might change their life for the better.

  As dramatic and perhaps even sad as that may sound, the truth was that I really did enjoy my job, even for all its warts and bruises. I liked to be in control of my own table. I liked to deal cards and listen to my customers’ problems. I was a kind of collector of sorts, collecting stories and secrets to think about later when my shift was over and I was sitting in my bathtub with a glass of wine. Even when I got a particularly boisterous customer who just wanted to cause trouble and distract himself with cocktails, cigars, and big risks, it was a fine job. Listening to someone talk about themselves while blowing smoke in my face was fun, even though sometimes I did worry just a little bit about the secondhand smoke I had to be inhaling.

  As I dealt to three frat guys at my table, there was a loud “WHOOOOO!” from across the casino. Making sure to keep my facial expression calm and placid, I glanced over toward the sound and almost burst out laughing. There was a group of young women, probably around my age, all wearing sparkly plastic tiaras, feather boas, and sequined dresses paired with needle-heel stilettos. There were seven of them stumbling and bumping into each other, lifting their champagne flutes, laughing, slurring their words. Around their necks they wore long, cheap-looking necklaces with penis-shaped pendants hanging on them. Suddenly, it all made perfect sense.

  “Bachelorette party,” murmured one of my customers. He waggled his eyebrows at his friends, licking his lips as though he might run over and attack one of them like a lion stalking his prey.

  “Ooh, easy pickings,” commented one of the other frat dudes. He elbowed the other two in the ribs and chugged the last of his rum-and-coke in one sip. He slammed the glass down on the table and walked away, stumbling and swaying slightly as he approached the group of girls.

  “Damn, he doesn’t waste any time, does he?” I remarked. The remaining two guys laughed and shook their heads.

  “Nah. He’s a loose cannon, especially when he’s had a few drinks. Though if we’re being honest, the only reason he’s so reckless tonight is because he just got dumped by a sorority girl a few days ago. Tim’s trying to act like it doesn’t bother him, but it’s pretty obvious he’s still upset about it. She wasn’t even that hot, either,” explained the shorter guy.

  Ah, so there it was: the secret. The taller frat guy added, “That’s why we took him out tonight, to try to distract him from how depressed he is. Tim’s no fun when he’s moping around the house. You know what’s really pathetic? The other night I caught him clicking through all his ex’s photos on Facebook over and over again. He looked like he was about to start crying or something. It was pitiful.”

  “Yeesh,” shuddered the short one. “I’ll be damned if I ever let some girl turn me inside out like that. We’re all way too young to get tied down by some random chick who isn’t even super hot. Like, there will be plenty of time to be bored and mopey over a girl later in life, when you’re married.”

  “Man, fuck that. I’m never getting married,” quipped the other. “I’m gonna be a fucking famous computer programmer. Make a shit ton of money, buy a mansion, date as many hot babes as I want. But never get married. I don’t want to share my money with anyone, know what I mean, dude?”

  He was looking at me expectantly. It was difficult not to laugh in his face, but I resisted the urge. It was always hilarious to me that most men who came to my table seemed to read me as straight, but that was a good thing. As sad as it was, I had a feeling that my table wouldn’t be as popular with the young male crowd if they knew I was gay. Maybe that was just me being paranoid, but I would rather not find out.

  So, I simply nodded coolly and replied, “Yeah, totally. Why let yourself get tied down?”

  Both frat guys nodded approvingly. The taller one jerked his thumb in my direction and said to his friend, “See? This guy knows what’s up.”

  “Yeah, you got life all figured out, bro. Got this cool-ass job at a swanky casino, probably raking in money left and right!” said the other.

  Again, it was tempting to laugh, but I didn’t. “Sure. Yeah,” I answered. There wasn’t much else I had to say. These guys were already convinced that was how my life was, and there was no point in dispelling the fantasy.

  “Alright, well, we’ve already lost enough money here, so we’d better go check on Tim and make sure he doesn’t pick the ugliest girl in the bachelorette party again,” said the tall one.

  “Yeah, dude, we gotta be good wingmen. If Tim’s gonna get a rebound lay tonight, we gotta make sure he picks a hot one,” replied the short guy. They finished up their game with me and walked off toward the bar. I watched them, amused and slightly disgusted. Judging from the way they talked about women, it was no surprise they were striking out. As I waited for another customer to walk up, I watched the group from afar. To my surprise, when the girl wearing the biggest crown and fluffiest boa turned around, I recognized her.

  It was the cheerleader Ricky Perez dated in high school.

  I had no idea what the hell she was doing way out here, unless she had just flown out to Vegas for her bachelorette party. Yeah, I reasoned with myself, that actually makes sense. I hoped she wouldn’t recognize me. The last thing I needed tonight was for some drunk girl from my high school days to try to play catch up with me. I was sure she was a very nice person, but with the casino this busy, I needed to stay on my toes. So, I inwardly wished her a happy marriage, and turned back to accept the newest customers at my table.

  I dealt them a brand new hand and let my mind wander a little while they played. These guys were totally different from the frat dudes. They were quiet and stony-faced, clearly not in the mood for chitchat. So, I played silently, watching them as I thought about, as I often did when my mind wasn’t totally preoccupied, Gage. I wondered how he was doing. I was sure the stress of seeing Mr. Anderson and Mr. Castillo together all the time was getting to him. I could understand that, since it pained me to see Gage fawning over Zane. I wished he would just get over his silly crush, especially now that it was clear how serious Zane’s relationship was getting.

  Suddenly, something jerked me out of my thoughts. There was something fishy going on in front of me. I watched the men’s faces carefully, catching the subtle cogs turning in their heads, and I realized with a jolt that one of them was card-counting. One of them was a spotter.

  I subtly glanced across the room at the floorman, who was watching over the games with his arms crossed over his chest. I caught his eye and gave just the tiniest nod. He slowly made his way over, still standing at a slight distance so as not to alert the customers he was onto them. Once he watched a few hands and made the call that there was, in fact, cheating going on, the floorman called over to the pit boss. I hadn’t realized until now that the pit boss, a burly guy in a black t-shirt, was standing in the corner talking to none other than Gage himself. Amid the tension of trying to keep tabs on the cheating customers, my heart did a little flutter at the sight of the tall, ginger hottie.

  The pit boss and Gage both strolled over to the floorman, who leaned in and subtly filled them in on the situation. I watched it all unfold across the room out of the corner of my eye as I tried not to give away that I was onto them. Slowly, Gage and the pit boss came strolling over to the table, coming up behind the two men playing.

  “Sir,” grunted the pit boss, “you need to come with me.”

  The card-counter jumped out of surprise and whipped
around to look at the boss, who was staring him down. The customer protested.

  “What? Why? I didn’t do anything,” he insisted.

  “You, too,” growled the pit boss, gesturing for the spotter to come along.

  “No. We didn’t do anything. You can’t just drag us away like this. We’re paying customers, damn it,” barked the spotter.

  “Come on. Don’t make a scene,” Gage said, a warning tone in his voice.

  “Hey, fuck you buddy!” shouted the card-counter as he swiveled around to glare at me. “What did you do? Tattle on us? What, you got a secret code or whatever?”

  “Sir, please calm down,” the pit boss warned.

  “Shut up and leave us the hell alone,” retorted the spotter.

  “We have a zero-tolerance policy for cheating,” Gage explained calmly. “One strike, you’re out. If you don’t come willingly, we will call security.”

  The pit boss wrangled both guys into his grip and began pulling them away while Gage gave me an apologetic look. But the guys were not about to leave quietly. The spotter began to kick and yell, struggling to break free.

  “Do you know who the hell I am?” he exclaimed angrily. “You’re all going to pay for this! I will not be treated this way! And you—you sneaky little bastard, you’re gonna regret this for the rest of your short life. I will end you!”

  He glared right at me as he spat out the words, and though it wasn’t the first time I had been shouted at by a disgruntled customer, something about him made me more uneasy than usual. Gage narrowed his eyes at the spotter and growled, “Don’t you dare threaten him.”

  The pit boss dragged the guys away, the spotter still shouting and arguing and causing trouble as he was pulled out of the casino. My heart was pounding, my breaths coming short and fast by now. Gage turned to me and put a hand on my shoulder. I forced myself to look him in the eye and felt myself calming down instantly.

  Gage gave me a sympathetic smile and said, “Alright. Your shift’s almost over anyway. Let’s just call it now, shall we? And Devin… I think now would be a good time to cash in that raincheck for a drink.”

  CHAPTER 6 - GAGE

  “So, where to this time?”

  “The nightclub,” I said as Devin and I stepped into the glass elevator together. I straightened my tie a little. “I’ve only been in there a couple times, and I figure, if that’s the thing causing all our stress, what’s the point of having it if you can’t unwind there a little?”

  “Sounds right to me,” Devin said with a nervous laugh. The metal doors closed, and we could barely feel the machinery start to lift us up. We stood side by side, peering out the glass window and watching the city get smaller below us as we were lifted toward the fiftieth floor of the Sentry, closer and closer to that massive bridge that connected the two casinos.

  “It’s kind of haunting, isn’t it? In a beautiful way, I mean,” Devin said softly as we watched the neon glow and sleek metal buildings meshing together.

  “I hear you,” I said with a smile. “Especially in the elevator.”

  “What does that mean?” Devin asked, cracking a smile back at me.

  “There’s something quieting in here,” I explained, hands behind my back. “As soon as we step back out of this little box, it’s all chaos and work and…card counters shouting at you,” I added with a wink that made him smile broader. “But as long as we’re in here, it’s like you can pause everything and just take it all in. No noises, no emergencies. Just the view you’ve worked your ass off for.”

  I felt Devin’s eyes lingering on me for a long time, but I just stared out onto the city until he looked away and joined me.

  “That’s nice,” he said thoughtfully after the long pause.

  The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open behind us to reveal the fruits of my labors.

  The doors to the nightclub were guarded by two bouncers, and the entrance was every bit as lavish as it deserved to be. With golden walls and dark wood doors, it was almost more of a luxury lounge than a club, but in reality, it was a fusion of a classy, upscale ambience and all the dark and pulsating sin of a more traditional nightclub.

  It was El Puente, as Zane and Diego had named it, and even I had to admit it was well worth the money.

  The bouncer gave me a curt nod as we approached, and he pushed the door open for us.

  Inside, the floors looked like they were made of wood with black marble lining some of the panels, and low couches surrounded booths throughout the club. The whole wall was glass and exposed metalwork, giving the place an almost industrial “loft” feeling that would be overwhelming if it weren’t so perfectly spaced out. For shows, the windows could be darkened to let the lights do their magic for the DJ, but tonight, the moon was full, so the guests got to bathe in moonlight while they drank the night away.

  It wasn’t an overwhelmingly busy night, but the bar was still populated. It seemed like there were more high rollers than usual in here. Not many people were really denied entry, since the whole point of the nightclub was to get traffic moving between the casinos, but I saw a lot more expensive outfits strutting around this evening.

  “I’m suddenly feeling kind of underdressed,” Devin said, and I chuckled.

  “Just stick with me, and maybe I can convince them not to throw you out,” I teased, and I saw a little color come to his cheeks.

  We made our way to the bar, which was beautiful and circular in the middle of the club. One of the bartenders recognized me immediately and dropped what he was doing to wait on us.

  “What do you drink, Devin?” I asked him.

  “Usually whiskey sours, but I think I’m feeling a Long Island Iced Tea tonight,” he replied.

  “Good man, I was just thinking that,” I said. Whenever I seemed to approve of something he did, Devin was surprisingly happy, more so than I would have expected. I brushed it off and turned to the bartender, setting a $100 bill on the counter and sliding it across to him. “Couple of Long Islands, Jack, keep the change. We’ll be at table two.”

  “Yes, sir,” the bartender said with a grin.

  We made our way to the table, a booth that sat right up against one of the windows and offered a gorgeous view of the Strip, and we took our seats.

  “You really like dishing out tips, don’t you?” Devin pointed out, and I raised an eyebrow at him. “Over tipping, I mean.”

  “Oh, that?” I shrugged modestly. “I do what I can. When you grow up with people in your life who lived on tips, it’s a lot nicer to be able to give back as much as you can when you’ve got the money.”

  “You grew up like that?” Devin asked, raising his eyebrows. “I’m surprised.”

  “Surprised?” I said, chuckling. “Why’s that? Do I come off snobby?”

  “Oh no, not at all!” Devin backpedaled, his cheeks blushing adorably red. “I just meant that you wear that suit so naturally and fit in with everyone so smoothly, I always assumed your family was pretty well-to-do.”

  “Don’t let the rich clients hear you talk like that,” I said in a smiling, conspiratorial whisper. “They don’t like to be told they’re rich.” Devin snickered at that, but I shook my head lightly. “Anyway, it’s good to know I’m a decent actor. No, I grew up outside Tallahassee.” I raised my eyebrows and wagged a finger at Devin. “And no, you’re not allowed to call it Talla-nasty unless you’re local.”

  Devin burst out laughing at that, and even I found myself chuckling as a server approached with our drinks and set them down for us.

  “Let me know if I can get you gentlemen anything else,” he said, and I waved him off politely.

  “It can’t be that bad, though,” Devin said, tilting his head and crossing his legs. “I mean, I’ve never been, but…”

  “It’s central Florida,” I said with a shrug. “It has its charms, but you need to be a local to app
reciate them. Or find them, rather. Most people passing through are just there for the university, so all they see is a swamp and a spread-out college city.”

  “Far cry from Vegas in just about every way, huh?” Devin said.

  “It really is,” I admitted, putting an arm over the booth couch and looking out the window. “I don’t regret coming here for a second, though. Like I said, my upbringing wasn’t all gold-studded roses and silver spoons. Single parent household, half-raised by my grandparents, lots of getting tossed around different relatives, you get the idea.”

  “I’m sorry,” Devin said with an instantly sympathetic look. He was quick to react to anything I said, and he never seemed to want to turn the conversation away from me. There was something refreshing about that, and I smiled warmly.

  “Don’t be,” I said, “I’m not ashamed of any of it. It just made me work that much harder, and it was that much sweeter when I got to MIT.”

  His eyes might as well have had stars in them at that. “Seriously?”

  “Yeah,” I said, leaning back and stirring my drink while Devin sipped his. “Full ride. It was nice at the time. You come out of high school thinking you know exactly what you want to do with your life, and by chance, all your hard work seems to pay off, to boot. Had a job offer from SpaceX before I even left the college.”

  Devin was staring at me as if I’d just told him I was a demigod. “If you don’t mind me asking…”

  “What happened?” I finished for him. “Oh, nothing dramatic. I just burned out. Long hours, competitive environment, kind of alienating. Don’t get me wrong, the money was nice, and my mother wanted to come beat my ass in person when I told her I was going to take this job instead, but I knew what I wanted out of life, and rocket science was not it.”