Card Sharks (14 page)

“I'll head back down to meet you guys after I change. Marianne already knows I wasn't going to watch all day,” Bijoux said. And while Peter went off to pay the bill, she collected her
things and thought about cute, nice boys and wondered why the ones she fancied never had any money.

Bijoux would have recognized Donny from a mile away based on just body language alone. He was leaning on the door to her hotel room in a kind of sulky way, like he'd been waiting for a while. He perked right up when he saw her, and smiled. With his hair too long in front, tousled and sloppy, uneven bits falling in his eyes, the whole package was just gorgeous and bad, and she was reminded why Marianne had a such a hard time letting him go.

“Hey, Bij!” He wrapped her in an enormous hug and squeezed her tight.

“Will you look what the cat flew in,” she teased. “What are you doing here?”

“What do you mean, what am I doing here? I just saw my girlfriend on ESPN. Fifteen seconds of full frontal airtime is nothing to scoff at.”

Bijoux narrowed her eyes. “You just said ‘your girlfriend.' ”

“My who? What?”

“You called Marianne your girlfriend.”

“No, I didn't . . . did I?”

“Are you here to make trouble?”

“Is there trouble to be made?” he asked, waggling his eyebrows.

“Donny, I'm serious. This is not the time to get Marianne all riled up.”

He cocked his head. “I know that guy's here with you. Is there something going on you wanna tell me about?”

“No! There's nothing going on. We're all just friends. And that's exactly what I'm worried about. Don't go escalating things where there's nothing to be escalated. He's just here to work on a story. Marianne's a great story. You know that.”

Donny held out his arms, palms up, the picture of innocence. “Look, I'm just here to support.”

She gave him a dubious look.

“Come on,” he drawled. “You had to know I would come. Poker. The World Series of Poker, to be precise. And Marianne playing in it, fer chrissakes. I mean just the thought of that all mixed up together makes me hot.”

“Well, “I shouldn't be the least bit surprised to see you. And really, I couldn't be happier you're here. I've had the most rotten day.”

“What happened?”

Bijoux waved the question off. She didn't want to go into it.

“Hmm. Well, how about you and I go out right after the tournament and have some fun?” Donny asked. “Maybe I can make your potential suitors jealous. You know how well we men respond to that.”

“I don't much feel like golddigging tonight,” Bijoux said, the Caesar's disaster still too much on her mind to relax.

“Okay, then let's just go and watch the end of the tournament. I want to see Marianne in action.”

“Sound great.”

“Give me your room key.”

“Oh! Fabulous.” She handed him her room key, her makeup, and some gum. He took it all in his hands, looking a little lost at the volume of it all, and then stuck it in various pockets. It was always nice to have a guy around who could substitute for a purse. “I'll just drop this back in the room.”

“Okay,” he said, picking up his suitcase.

“Okay,” Bijoux said, opening the door and then letting it slam back in Donny's face as he stepped forward.

“Oh, my God! Are you okay? Donny, I'm so sorry!” She pulled him inside the suite and fussed and clucked and tried to get a look at his nose as he clutched it and moaned in pain.

He broke loose and disappeared into the bathroom, from where he began swearing profusely while Bijoux used all of her human body strength to drag the suitcase from the hall into the suite.

Donny came out of the bathroom and flopped down on Marianne's bed. “Jesus.”

“Everything still functional?” Bijoux asked.

“To the best of my knowledge. After all, it's only my nose. It could have been worse.”

“Sorry, though . . . Wait a minute.”

“What?” he said, his eyes narrowed.

“You stepped forward. Did you think you were staying with us?”

Donny gingerly poked his index finger along the bridge of his nose. “What did you think I wanted the room key for? Obviously!”

“Obviously,” Bijoux said dryly.

He got off the bed and moved to the full-length mirror, preening and reviewing his injured member from all possible angles.

“So which one of us were you planning to sleep with?” Bijoux asked, tapping her foot on the ground.

Donny gave up on the nose and flashed her his hundred-watt smile. “Every guy's dream question.”

His fingers rubbed the bottom of his chin as he looked between the two beds.

It made Bijoux just want to roll her eyes. She knew what he must be thinking. If he insisted on bunking with Marianne, he looked too needy, the worst thing a guy could possibly do. And if he bunked with her, he stood no chance of getting anything. Worst-case scenario, if he got his own room, he couldn't be sure that Marianne was staying in hers.

He finally stuck his bags on Bijoux's bed. “Just try not to knee me in the nuts while I'm sleeping. That's all I ask.”

“Are you joking?”

He unzipped his suitcase and began removing clothes. “I need a favor, Bij. Just help me out.”

Bijoux chewed on her lower lip. She would have let him stay either way, but . . . “I kind of need a favor, too. Can I borrow some money?”

Donny stopped unpacking, midshirt, and stared at her. “You've run out of money?”

She waved it off as inconsequential. “My cards aren't working. It's a pain in the ass. I'll pay you back when we get home . . . You know I'm good for it.”
Aren't I?

“Of course you are. No problem. It's just not a set of words I think of as ever coming from your mouth. ‘Can I borrow some money.' ” He pulled his wallet out of his pocket and tossed it to the comforter in front of her. “Take whatever you need.”

Bijoxu sighed and opened the wallet. She took out a hundred dollars in twenties, closed the wallet, then thought better and took another hundred, leaving a five and a couple of grimy ones. “This is either going to be incredibly ugly, or the best damn Vegas weekend of my life.”

“I'm a glass-half-full kind of guy,” Donny said, flashing a grin as he opened the drawers—it happened to be Marianne's side of the bureau—and began jamming his clothes in. “You gonna change or what?”

“Just give me a second.” Bijoux pulled a fresh outfit from her closet and headed into the bathroom. “You're not really here to watch Marianne in the tournament, are you?” she asked, closing the bathroom door behind her.

“I am so here for Marianne,” he shouted.

Bijoux snorted.

“Oh, and if I'm going to be staying with you girls, there's one more thing!”

“What?”

“Can we stay away from that let's-put-makeup-on-Donny-for-fun business?”

“I'll try,” Bijoux said with a laugh. “But anything can happen.”

M
arianne was staring at the chips still stacked in front of her on the table, calculating how much she had. Someone came on the loudspeaker. She wasn't listening. She was a machine. She was feeling the adrenaline of . . . not losing pounding through her body. It was a good thing she didn't have an addictive personality, because right about now she'd have been hooked on the drug.

Yes, you must die.

I'm a badass female and you must die. If I cannot pull a Tarantino and slice the stiletto heel of my boot through your gut, I will simply have to beat you at cards.

She might not have looked it, with her hair tucked behind her ears, part askew, and her jacket discarded on the back of her chair, but Marianne was in the zone. She'd settled into the game, the toes of her boots pressing into the floor as she leaned forward, mesmerized as the dealer dealt the cards around the table once again.

A king of spades and a jack of hearts. Not a terrible hand, but not automatically playable. She looked around and noted
she was in a middle position, two off the button. At the very least it didn't warrant a raise before the flop. She flicked her eyes over and took stock of Texas Trouble's chip count. He was a reckless player. He cared too much about things like women sitting at his poker table. He needed to go down.

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 clothes 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.