The Best Bet

by Hebby Roman

  She was a prostitute! A high-class, intelligent pro, she knew how to play the game so perfectly that she wouldn’t compromise her resort. He might be naive and stupid about Vegas, but he knew prostitution was illegal in the city. Only outside Clark County, in the rural areas and under close supervision, was it allowed.

  The room started to spin, and he knew it wasn’t from the two Mai Tai’s. He closed his eyes. His stomach churned and his gut burned. The strange food seemed to be crawling back up his throat and making him want to choke.

  Opening his eyes, he found the bill had arrived. Adriana was busying herself with reapplying her lipstick. Watching her, he schooled his emotions to feel nothing. She was just as alluring as ever, but she was now off limits.

  He grabbed the check and glared at it. He threw it back on the tray and fished in his wallet for some bills. Even though he knew her dirty little secret, he was a man of his word.

  He’d offered to take her to dinner in exchange for the clothes and toilet articles, and he would honor his part of the bargain, even if their new “friendship” was going nowhere. Counting out several twenties, he threw them on top of the check, leaving a whopping tip.

  Rising, he forced himself to say, “Thanks for having dinner with me. It’s been a long day, and I have an early morning tomorrow.” He moved behind her chair and held it for her. “If you’ll excuse me.”

  Adriana glanced up at him. She must have sensed some of his feelings or read them in his face because when she rose to her feet, she carefully straightened her skirt.

  “Is something wrong? I know Mr. Henderson can be obnoxious, but you shouldn’t let him bother you. After all, it’s just business.”

  “And not a very nice business,” he muttered.

  He knew he was as green as a new leaf in the seedy world of Las Vegas, but he couldn’t understand why someone as beautiful and intelligent as she was would want such a job. He guessed it must pay pretty well and maybe she needed the money. She’d lost her mother; what if her father was sick or disabled? Now he was engaging in wishful thinking, in fantasies to justify what she was doing. But still, he couldn’t help but want to know why.

  Only by clenching his jaws shut was he able to keep from asking the age-old question:

  What’s a nice girl like you, doing in a place like this?

  “Pardon me. What did you say?” she asked.

  For one frantic moment, he thought he’d spoken out loud and then he realized she hadn’t heard his muttered complaint about her job not being such a nice business. And he couldn’t ask her the real question burning on the tip of his tongue.

  Instead, he asked, “How can you let a guy talk to you like that?”

  He’d liked her so much and been instantly attracted to her. Finding out that she was a pro had disappointed him. He wasn’t as offended by her chosen profession as he was devastated by the realization that it would be impossible for them to have a real relationship. He knew he couldn’t, like some men, share her that way.

  Hell, what was he even thinking?

  Man, oh, man, he really knew how to pick them. First, a two-timing fiancé, and now a pro. He was batting a thousand.

  “I didn’t allow Mr. Henderson to talk to me like that. That’s the way he is, and no matter what clients do or say, as an employee of the resort, I’m not supposed to offend them. It’s a matter of business.”

  “But it didn’t work.” He couldn’t help but point out. “The man’s such a slime ball he took offense, anyway.”

  She shrugged and admitted, “Some clients are impossible, no matter what you do. Mr. Henderson falls into that category. Even so, the Xanadu will be sorry to lose him, and I’ll have to answer for it.”

  “But that’s ridiculous!”

  “That’s business,” she said.

  Shaking his head, he turned away, not wanting to say anything else. It was a lost cause.

  Business was what mattered or loosely translated, money was what mattered. But there was no fighting it; she’d obviously chosen her profession and she approached it from a professional point of view.

  What a waste.

  His shoulders slumped. “I’m going to my room.”

  She took his arm and linked up with him. “I’m sorry this has upset you. But I want to thank you for defending me, though it wasn’t necessary. I could have handled him. We’re given extensive training with regard to handling clients, you know.”

  “I’ll just bet you are.” The innuendo escaped his lips before he could stop himself.

  With her arm in his, he couldn’t help but wish that things were different. Her touch still moved him, sending explosions of heat to his groin. But then, she’d been trained to do that, too, hadn’t she? He groaned inwardly and wished he was home in San Antonio. Wished he’d never set eyes on her—just to have her snatched from him.

  She seemed impervious to his snide comment. “I’ll walk with you part way,” she said. “I have to go to my office before calling it a night.” She steered him from the restaurant and into the casino.

  Innocence, perfect innocence—her face was a study. What a consummate actress she was and that made him unaccountably angry. Like a child with a toy that had been snatched away, he was hurt and frustrated and resentful. He wanted to stop this stupid cat-and-mouse game and let her know he wasn’t such a country bumpkin after all.

  “Would you like to come up with me? To my room? I’ve got a great view from the twenty-first floor and a well-stocked bar.” He leaned down, purposely brushing her breast with his arm. “But you know that, don’t you?”

  She jerked her arm free and stopped, facing him with her arms crossed over her chest.

  Gone was the innocent look, replaced by the same emotions he’d been experiencing: disappointment and anger.

  “What do you take me for, Mr. Escobedo?” She uncrossed her arms and planted her hands on her hips. “I don’t know what you expect from guest relations, but I’m not...I don’t...”

  She shook her head. Lifting one slender hand, she covered the lower half of her face. “I can’t imagine where you got the idea that...”

  Surprised by her reaction, he didn’t know what to think. Surely, the game had gone on long enough. Had he been wrong? Or was this just another ploy? Confused and uncertain, he went on the offensive.

  “Mr. Henderson certainly had ideas,” he said.

  “Oh, that! He was just preening, showing off. You said yourself that he was a slime ball.”

  Lowering her hand, she glared at him. I don’t understand—”

  “Don’t you?”

  “No, Mr. Escobedo, I don’t. For your information, I’m a graduate student in business management at the University of Las Vegas, working at this resort to gain experience. My father is an executive at a resort across town. If you don’t believe me, you’re welcome to check my credentials.” Her face flamed red, and he saw the rapid rise and fall of her chest. “You want to know what I think?” It wasn’t a question, and she didn’t wait for an answer. “I think you should drag your mind out of the gutter.”

  Raising her chin a notch, she lowered her voice, adding, “I’ll find someone else in guest relations to assign to you. Please, don’t allow this … this episode to interfere with your stay.” She was all business again, her professional mask in place.

  “Good luck and good night.”

  Chapter Three

  Rafael watched Adriana stalk away, her back ramrod straight, her strides long for so petite a woman. He’d made a terrible mistake. How could he have jumped to such a conclusion?

  And he knew one thing—he couldn’t let her leave like that.

  He sprinted after her, dodging the gamblers roaming the crowded casino. In two steps, he caught up to her, grabbed her elbow and spun her around to face him.

  “Yes, Mr. Escobedo?” She frowned and her eyes wouldn’t meet his gaze. She shrugged off his grip on her elbow and crossed her arms again, as if she could shield herself. What can I do for you? I thought we’d�
�”

  “Please, accept my apology. I’ve been a jerk.”

  “That’s fine, Mr. Escobedo, I accept your apology.”

  Her tone sounded weary, as if she didn’t believe him. But she must believe him because he meant it. He had to convince her.

  “I don’t know what came over me. The way Henderson treated you made me a little crazy and ...”

  Her frown turned into a scowl, and she appeared to be studying her high heels. She half-turned away from him. He had to stop her from going. He reached out and touched her arm. She gazed at his hand on her arm as if it were a poisonous spider. Not wanting to upset her, he removed his hand again. “Please, give me another chance. I don’t want someone else. I want you.”

  Por Dios, how had that popped out? What a stupid way to put it. He pulled his hand through his hair. “What I mean is, ah ... that is, what I meant to say,” he stammered, “is that I know how good you are at your job. I wouldn’t be happy with anyone else. If you can forgive me?”

  “It isn’t my place to forgive, Mr. Escobedo. This is about your stay. I want you to have a pleasant time. So far, it’s been like the script of a bad comedy.”

  Was she cutting him some slack? Had he gotten through to her? If she was talking about him having a pleasant stay, did that mean she was going to forgive him? Could it be possible?

  His heart lifted.

  Her gaze swept him, then caught his and held. “As long as we understand each other, I see no reason to reassign you. If that’s not what you want.”

  He managed a weak grin. “So, I’m not as bad as Henderson?”

  “Could we please leave Mr. Henderson out of this?”

  “Claro que, sí. I mean, of course.”

  “You seem like a reasonable man, and I appreciate your apology. Let’s forget this unpleasantness, shall we? It was an unfortunate misunderstanding. You have my card.” She turned away. “Call if you need anything.” Glancing at her watch, she added, “Your luggage is probably already in your room, but I’ll check from my office. Good night, Mr. Escobedo.”

  “What’s my chance of you calling me Damian again?” He winced when he said his brother’s name. They’d just cleared up one misconception—what would happen when she learned what a big phony he was? But that had to wait for another day. Now wasn’t the time to tackle it.

  She smiled then, with the tiniest lifting of the corners of her mouth. “I would say it’s a pretty good bet.”

  #

  Rafael watched the gentle sway of her hips as Adriana walked away from him. He watched and didn’t move toward the elevators. What was he doing? He should be exhausted. For the past several hours, he’d run the emotional gauntlet. But that was the problem. His eyes were wide open, and he wasn’t sleepy. He knew he should return to his room and get a good night’s sleep before tomorrow’s interview but that was the last thing he wanted to do.

  He wandered into a nearby cocktail lounge and ordered a Mai Tai. He sat at the bar and listened to the throaty tones of the lounge’s female singer as she crooned about lost loves. He’d come to the bar thinking a drink might relax him, and he didn’t know what else to do. He didn’t know how to gamble, and he didn’t want to appear foolish again.

  But the dark lounge did nothing to soothe his jangled nerves or sort out his confused thoughts. Sipping the Mai Tai, he grimaced. He didn’t like the acidic taste, and he didn’t know why he’d ordered it. He pushed the half-finished drink away and glanced around him. He was the only person alone in the lounge. There was a family at one large corner table, Mom and Dad and two antsy adolescent boys. Another table held what looked like a bunch of college kids, sporting T-shirts with obscene slogans. And of course, there were three tables with the obligatory lovers, holding hands and whispering over drinks.

  The tables of people underscored his aloneness, along with the bluesy, sad music. He put some cash on the bar and got up and left. Like dinner, he didn’t want to charge his drink because it would be comped. And he knew he couldn’t continue this farce. Tomorrow, he’d confess to the management and pay for the suite before moving to a room he could afford.

  He wandered the casino, weaving among the banks of brightly colored, neon-flashing slot machines. He stopped and watched some of the players at the slots. A zombie-eyed woman in too tight stretch pants fed quarters into a Treasure Island-themed machine. Two stools over, a swarthy man with a patch over one eye cursed a video poker machine. A lanky youth with purple hair and at least a dozen face piercings puffed on an electronic cigarette and never took his eyes from the metal monster he was feeding dollars into.

  Rafael yawned. His twin considered this fun?

  Maybe he was getting sleepy after all. One thing was certain—dropping coins into a slot and pulling a machine’s arm or punching a button wasn’t his idea of fun. From where he stood, it looked monotonous and boring.

  Abandoning the gaudy row of slots, he moved to the center of the room and circled the tables of play. Blackjack, roulette and craps were the main draws, along with other strange sounding games such as Caribbean stud and Pai Gai poker.

  He stood behind a blackjack table and followed the action, finding the basic concept simple enough—don’t go over twenty-one. He was tempted to sit down and try a hand, but he wasn’t certain how to count aces, when to stand, or when to ask for another card.

  He backed away and moved to the end of the row of tables to watch the spinning roulette wheel. Here was a game he understood, but his brother had told him it was a sucker’s game, as were the huge wheels of fortune scattered throughout the casino. Trust Damian to advise him about the relative merits of games of chance, and nothing else when a few words of advice about the perks a high roller could expect might have kept him from making a complete ass of himself.

  Loud screams of: “Go, go, go,” from across the casino drew his attention to another bank of tables. He drifted toward the noise, until he reached a constantly shifting crowd that was so dense he couldn’t see what all the excitement was about. He wove in between a motley crew of old and young, men and women, all craning forward. At the center of the crowd was a craps table ringed with players placing bets.

  The green felt layout sported boxes that read: “Pass,” “Don’t Pass,” and “Come,” along with rows of numbers in the middle and other gibberish, which might as well have Greek for all the sense it made to him.

  He edged his way to within a few inches of the table and tried to follow the action. But it was difficult to understand what was happening. One of the casino employees in the middle of the table used a long wooden stick with a tiny crook at the end of it to offer the pair of dice to each player in turn.

  Sometimes, when the player rolled, he lost immediately and there were groans around the table. Other times, the player won at once. And sometimes, the player rolled for a long time and the other bettors won or lost on the throws. The game was extremely confusing but interesting.

  Before he realized it, some of the players in front of him had moved away and other would-be players pushed him against the deep bank of the table. The man with the wooden stick gathered up the dice and pushed them toward him, offering them for him to roll. Rafael raised his hand, palm out, and shook his head. The stickman shrugged and moved the dice to the young woman on his right.

  She was a petite blonde with green eyes and a large solitaire diamond ring on her left hand. Rafael looked around for her fiancé, but he didn’t see anyone who appeared to be her future husband.

  She bent down and grabbed the dice. Turning to him, she opened her hand, palm up, with the dice lying there. “Blow on them for good luck,” she urged.

  It was a strange request and he felt awkward doing it, but he obliged, blowing softly on the dice. She snapped her hand shut and shook it before throwing the dice against the far wall of the table. A three and a four showed on the dice.

  “I won! I won!” She jumped up and down. The crowd roared, urging her on.

  She gave Rafael a swift kiss on his ch
eek and said, “Thanks for the good luck.”

  He could feel himself blushing and mumbling, “It was nothing—you threw the dice.”

  Despite his ignorance of how the game worked, he knew at once that he was hooked. The young woman’s casual inclusion in her win made him feel like he belonged for some strange reason. And he liked the sense of camaraderie with the other gamblers. He didn’t feel alone anymore, not in this boisterous crowd. He felt part of a whole, and it was exciting to see people win.

  Now if he could just figure out how to play.

  #

  Adriana returned to the casino. She had a card key for one of the penthouse suites that she wanted to personally leave at the front desk. Then she could go home.

  Halfway across the floor of the casino, she heard a loud roar of: “Point, point, point.” Turning toward the noise, she realized it was coming from a large crowd around one of the craps tables. Not too surprising. Unlike most gambling that was done solo, craps was a social game where bettors wagered for or against the shooter.

  It was an example of the strange psychology of gambling, because most bettors preferred to back their fellow gamblers, rather than the big bad casino. Linked by a common cause—to beat the casino—craps fostered a kind of team spirit, rarely found in other games of chance.

  Although her family’s livelihood depended on gambling, she didn’t have a taste for it herself. She’d seen too much of the darker side to be attracted to gaming. But a good game of craps was always interesting to watch. Turning around, she approached the table, curious to see how large the wagering was.

  Then she saw him. Damian Escobedo stood in the thick of the crowd at one corner of the table. She’d wondered how long it would take for him to find a game. So much for him going to his room early.

  Once a high roller, always a high roller.

  She stopped directly across from Damian, eager to see how he played. The shifting crowd partially obscured her view, but he didn’t seem to be placing any bets. He didn’t even have any chips in front of him. He was just staring at the table and watching what the other players were doing. He might be a high roller, but he didn’t act like any high roller she’d ever known.