What do the tough do when the going gets tough? We Red Hats break out the cell phones (especially if it’s toll-free after 9:00 P.M.). As soon as we flopped on the white leather sectionals to wait for further developments with Pru, we all called home to check our messages and touch base with family.
Meanwhile, Charles kept our sodas filled with unobtrusive perfection.
Teeny, of course, had a dozen urgent business calls to answer. Apparently, even if you hire the best people, you still have to keep in touch. But between calls, her cell phone rang.
We all poised.
“Hello?” Intense concentration congealed her expression. “Great. And she doesn’t suspect anything?” Relief. “Fabulous. And the guys at the door?” Concern. “I thought we had four?” Skepticism. “Well, if three’s it, then I guess that’s it.” Pause. “Did you have any trouble with casino security?” Nodding. “Good.” Pause. “I know. Of course you are, and for that, I am truly grateful. We just have to pull this off without making a scene or tipping her suppliers.” Great relief. “Oh, they are? Thank goodness.”
A longer pause. “Okay. Let me know if anything comes up.” Pause. “Oh, they don’t?” Pause. “All right then, call us from outside if you need to. You have my friends’ cell numbers, just in case?” Teeny nodded. “Great. And the doctor will be here by then?” Pause. “And he’s free for the whole trip.” Another nod. “Perfect. Unless I hear different, we’ll be down at the elevator waiting for you at midnight. Have Mr. Phillips meet us downstairs at the penthouse elevator.” More nodding. “Great. Bye.”
“Did you just say Mr. Phelps?” Diane teased. “I know you hired the best, but ‘Mission Impossible’?” Her attempt at humor was lame, but it broke the tension.
Teeny grinned. “That’s Mr. Phillips, the chief investigator, and he looks like Barney Fife. But he’s ex-FBI, a crack shot, a black belt in several martial arts—as are his female partners keeping an eye on Pru—and he has a master’s in criminal justice.”
“What doctor?” Linda asked.
“One who specializes in addictions,” Teeny said. “I’ve hired him to supervise Pru’s transition to rehab.”
“What was that about calling from outside?” I asked.
“Oh,” Teeny said, “Mr. Phillips says that regular cell phones don’t work in the casino. His decoys are wired with radio transmitters so he can monitor the situation, but he has to go outside to call us on cell.”
“The casinos probably do that on purpose,” Diane reasoned, “so nothing will distract people from their gambling.”
Blocked cell phones. Wired decoys.
I started to feel a tingle of mixed anxiety and excitement as the reality of our situation sank in. We were really, truly about to participate in a plot with black belts and crack shots and people pretending in deadly earnest to be who they weren’t, all to help an old friend.
How thrilling was that for a middle-class Goody Two-shoes from Buckhead, like me?
I didn’t pray for guidance, afraid that the answer might not jive with our plans. Instead, I asked for divine protection, which is very shaky theologically, I can tell you. Still, the good Lord can accomplish His will even through the shortcomings of His children, and our hearts were in the right place.
It had to work out. The pros were on it.
As Linda had said, failure was not an option.
But just to be safe, I went back to my suitcase and put on the auburn China-doll pageboy wig I’d brought along just for fun because its deep bangs and thick sides covered a lot of my face.
When I came back out onto the terrace with it on, the others didn’t even tease me about it, a sure sign they were as nervous as I was.
Somber, we all returned to the reassurance of the mundane.
Forgetting the time difference, I called John and woke him from a dead sleep. He wasn’t nearly as impressed with my description of Vegas and the hotel as I wanted him to be, but, to be fair, it was pretty late there. Despite his sulking whenever he found out I was going somewhere without him, once I was gone, it was out of sight and out of mind with John (a common Bigbrain trait). One of my nicknames for him was Oblivious George (the opposite of Curious George the monkey). He never required “I’m here safely” check-in calls, assuming that no news was good news.
I wish I could do that, but I think the worry gene is on that extra X chromosome that makes us women.
Linda didn’t want to wake Brooks up (he conked at 9:30 during the week), so she called Abby to check on her and Osama Damned Boyfriend, night owls both. Ever helpful, Osama got on the phone and tried to teach her how to play roulette, but after a while she politely thanked him and hung up. “I swear,” she grumbled. “I wish that man wasn’t so dang nice. If only he didn’t smoke pot and have all those tattoos.”
She left out the Muslim / Iranian part, which I considered a definite sign of softening.
I hit the speed dial for SuSu. Just before the message would have kicked on, I heard a click and a fumble as she opened her cell phone. “Hey,” I said. “Did I wake you up?”
“No,” she answered, belied by the fogginess in her voice. A long inhale. “I’m just clobbered from studying.”
I heard what sounded like the rustle of sheets in the background, not loud enough to be SuSu, then some heavy steps, then a distant door closing. I winced.
“Oh, gosh. Did I interrupt something?”
“No.” Her voice sharpened, doubtless defensive about her already twice-broken chastity resolution. “No. I was just taking a little cat nap. What’s up?”
More like a tomcat nap.
SuSu had fallen off the celibacy wagon again. But I said nothing, in observance of Tradition Five (Mind your own business.) and Tradition Eight (No beating each other up when we blow it.). Instead, I thumb-nailed a gossipy account of the flight, the city, the gorgeous bellmen, and our amazingly awful hotel, hoping she wouldn’t pick up on the fact that I was keeping something from her. I’m such a wretched liar.
Of course, SuSu was keeping something from me—I knew the sounds of postcoital male—so we were even.
She lit a cigarette, then exhaled. “Did you win anything with my quarters?”
Uh-oh. “Actually, we were so tired from the trip and getting settled that we haven’t gone to the casino yet.”
A distant door opened to the sound of a toilet flushing.
“Ohmygod, I can’t believe y’all,” she said louder than necessary to cover the noise. “Y’all are actin’ like a bunch of little old ladies. Midnight is noon in Vegas. Get up, take a cold shower, and go down there and play my quarters. I have a premonition that something big is gonna happen with y’all out there.”
Major uh-oh. She had picked up on something.
“Down, girl.” I did my best to keep my tone light. “We were just coolin’ our jets. We plan to go down at midnight, as a matter of fact.”
“That’s more like it. I like the midnight thing. Very dramatic.”
You don’t know the half of it.
I heard the heavy creak of springs, then more rustling sheets, another confirmation that she was not alone in bed.
“Are you there?” she prodded.
“Yes,” I hastened. “Yes.”
“You’re not on that damned laptop, are you?” she scolded. “’Cause if you are, that is so rude. Callin’ me up at this hour, then only givin’ me half your brain.”
I scalded with guilt from past transgressions, but realized it was better for her to think that than realize why I was distracted. “Sorry. I’m turning it off right this minute.”
Seeing my anxious expression, Linda intervened. “Gimme that phone.” She grabbed it. “Hey,” she said brightly. “Whatcha doin’ back there at law school?” Pause. “Studyin’, huh?” She smiled. “Well, we’re hobblin’ around like a three-legged dog out here without you.” Pause. “Good grief. Only eight hours in three days? Girl, you’d better do something for stress relief, then get some sleep and take your vitamins, or you won’t be any use to anybody, includin’ yourself, by the time those exams roll around.”
Sex was definitely a stress release. I wondered who SuSu’s latest stress-releaser was. Probably some cute, blindly overhormoned undergrad.
And no, I was not jealous. SuSu’s latest escapade merely provoked a fillip of desire attached to the image of John’s ecstatic face from our recent adventures in the bedroom.
“Okay.” Linda nodded. “I mean it, though: Take care of yourself. Here’s Georgia.”
I accepted the phone. “Well, I won’t keep you. Just wanted to check in and let you know we got here safe.”
“Thanks. I was just wonderin’ why I hadn’t heard from y’all.”
Now, there was a whopper. I smiled. “I’ll call tomorrow and fill you in on all the details.”
“Great.” SuSu took a deep drag, then exhaled, followed by a muffled male cough that I knew perfectly well was no accident.
We see you, Tom, my mind quoted from a children’s book, we know you’re there.
SuSu coughed, herself, to cover, but I knew what was what. I think men really like it when someone calls while they’re in the throes of whatever. It’s like dogs peeing on their territory; the guys subconsciously want the person on the other end to know they’re there and what’s been going on. It’s a pride thing.
“Don’t forget to play my quarters,” SuSu admonished. “As a matter of fact, play mine first. I’ll split anything you win fifty-fifty.”
“Okay.”
“Swear,” she challenged.
I came back with our most sacred vow from childhood. “Double-pinkie-lock, hope to die.”
“Okay. ’Bye.”
“’Bye.” I hung up, to hear Diane talking to her son in Germany, where it was already morning.
He was such a gorgeous, smart kid that girls had thrown themselves at him since he was a boy. Now that they were women, nothing had changed, so it was little wonder he was so blasé about settling down. But he dearly loved his mama, as Southern boys should, and was unfailingly sweet to Diane.
All of us but Teeny (who was still leaving messages at various offices) eavesdropped while Diane chatted with him about his high-powered business ventures. From Diane’s repeated, “Oh, and where did you meet her?” he was clearly still in the mega-eligible, rich young bachelor mode, dating everybody and nobody in particular. Even so, he never failed to come home for two weeks at Christmas, showering Diane with expensive gifts and plenty of attention.
But even budding tycoons want an heir, so some girl was bound to land him eventually and give Diane the grandbaby she wanted. We all believed that for her.
By 10:00 P.M. our time, we’d all finished our calls, and Teeny told Charles he could go to bed. Her chief investigator reported back that Pru was zoned out at the slot machine, and everything was going as planned. So we all grabbed satin comforters from our rooms and adjourned to the balcony’s chilly desert night to wake ourselves up a bit.
Bundled on the balcony’s cushioned chaises, we watched the lights below and tried to dilute the tension with conversation. We were all worried about the dire events that were now in motion.
“So,” Teeny asked, her cell phone clutched in her hand just in case something went wrong. “How was SuSu about our going off without her? Really?”
I tucked my feet closer inside my comforter. “I doubt she’d even given us a thought. She was definitely in bed, and definitely not alone.”
All ears immediately zeroed in. Linda’s jaw dropped. “You didn’t say anything to me about that when she hung up.”
I shrugged. “I was trying to mind my own business. Tradition Five. Remember?”
“You can tell us,” Diane said, her feelings obviously dented by my failure to share this latest juicy tidbit.
I refused to fall for it, saying equably, “I just did.”
Linda leaned forward. “So?”
“So, that’s all I know,” I said. “She acted like she was alone, but I heard him get up and go to the bathroom, then get back into the bed.”
Okay, so we were talking about SuSu behind her back. We may be Red Hats with Twelve Sacred Traditions, but we are still human—and very much women.
Diane arched a critical brow. “So much for good intentions. I thought she was gonna be celibate till she got out of law school so she could focus her time and energies on studying.”
I doubted I could pass so much as a driver’s test at this stage of my life. It made my head hurt just to think about the academic grind SuSu had taken on. Emory Law was notoriously difficult.
Linda shook her head, flat-mouthed. “All that talk about keeping her life free of distractions so she could make dean’s list.”
“She has so far,” Teeny reminded us, positive as ever. “And she’ll do it again. SuSu’s brilliant.”
Diane shook her head. “Well, I hope she does better with that than she has staying away from men. First, that tall intern last September. And that blond teaching assistant in November.”
“Surely you didn’t expect her to quit cold turkey,” I defended. “It takes time to break old habits.” SuSu had been sleeping around since her wretched divorce. “Considering the fact that for the last few years she’s gone through men like cheap pantyhose, I think cutting down to two studmuffins in a whole semester is definite progress. And as far as I know, this is her first slip since.”
Clearly uncomfortable with the conversation, Teeny changed the subject, concern written on her heart-shaped face. “What do you think she’ll do when she finds out the reason why we came? And that I asked y’all to keep it from her?”
I knew the answer to that one without hesitation. “Honey, we all forgave you for a hell-of-a-lot bigger whopper than that.” Teeny’s secret fortune and separate-vacation “friendships.” “SuSu’ll forgive you. She’ll forgive us all.” SuSu’s grudges were reserved for God and her sorry-assed ex. “Especially if I win some money for her on the slots. I brought a whole roll of quarters with her name on it, and she made me swear to play hers first.”
Teeny frowned. “I’m not sure we’ll be able to gamble if everything goes as planned.”
Right on cue, her cell phone rang. We all went on alert.
“Hello?” Pause. “Yes, this is Tina Witherspoon.” As the caller spoke, Teeny slumped, eyes closed, which scared me, but her next words eased my concern. “Thanks be to God.” She turned to us with weary gratitude. “They found Bubba. He’s with my people on the way to the Denver Airport, ready to come to his mother.” Back to the caller. “How did he react when you told him?” Nodding. “He does? Oh, that’s so wonderful.” Pause. “Okay. I’ll call as soon as we know for sure where we’re going and when.” Pause, tiny frown. “And he doesn’t mind waiting?” Smile. “Yes, I guess for that kind of money, I wouldn’t mind hanging around the airport for a while, either. Well done, Ms. Atkinson. Well done.” She hung up. “What a relief.”
“No hock, Sherlock,” Linda said. “At least now Pru has a compelling reason to get back on track.”
“Thank you, Lord and Saint Anthony.” Patron saint of lost things—one of Teeny’s favorites. Revived, Teeny shivered. “Man, it’s getting cold out here. I think we’re all waked up enough. Let’s go back inside.”
“Dibs on the fire pit,” I claimed in earnest, a victim of “froze toes” as my daughter Callie used to call them.
It wasn’t much of a fire, just some anemic gas logs—which shouldn’t have surprised me, considering the hazards of having an open flame in the vicinity of so much polyester upholstery. But it felt good.
After toasting our toes, we freshened up, then scanned through two dozen first-run movies so fast you’d think we were men, trying to decide which one to choose. We ended up watching a little of everything, and a lot of nothing, not unlike Diane’s son’s dating style. Frankly, the selection in the high-roller suite wasn’t geared to a bunch of middle-aged women, anyway. It leaned heavily to the car-chase, T & A, shoot-’em-up genre.
“Mr. Phelps” called in a report that Pru was still rooted to her seat at the slot machine, flanked by the two “user” agents who were feeding her a steady stream of quarters and making sure she knew the gravy train ended at midnight. Pru had won just enough to keep her coming back for more. Everything was going as planned.
When Teeny told us, Diane refrained from saying, “I told you Pru wouldn’t win,” but we all knew she was thinking it.
At ten till midnight, Teeny marshaled us to the elevator. I stood ready, my purse heavy with the two rolls of quarters that I carried along with all my other earthly belongings, just in case. (Be prepared!)
“Okay.” Teeny looked at the diminutive Piaget on her wrist. “Let’s synchronize our watches.”
Diane readied her Citizen for resetting. “I can’t believe somebody really said that.”
Deadly earnest now, Teeny didn’t respond. “I have exactly eleven fifty-one fifteen.”
I adjusted my Timex, while Linda’s plump fingertips struggled with her Seiko.
“Crud,” Linda muttered. “I have no idea how to adjust seconds. I’m gonna set this thing for eleven fifty-two. Somebody tell me when that comes, so I can push the stem back in.”
We stood poised, then said, “Now,” in near unison.
“Close enough.” Teeny ruled. She took out her keycard. “Everybody make sure you have your keys.”
We all held ours up.
“Okay, here’s the deal,” she went on. “Mr. Phillips will take us to the row of slots just before the one Pru’s on. Her back will be to us, so she shouldn’t spot us coming. The aisles are crowded, and it’s easy to lose somebody, so we’ll split up on the row before hers, then approach her in pairs from each end.”
No need to assign who went with whom; Teeny and Diane had always been as close as Linda and I were.
“Then,” Teeny went on, “after the decoys leave Pru with no money, we move in from either end. I’ll talk to her, tell her we’ve found Bubba. Offer her food, drink, whatever it takes to get her back up here.”
Chicken Little wanted to know what happened if Pru refused to come with us, but I managed to sling the feathered freak-out back into her little henhouse of doom and padlock the door.
“Sounds like a plan to me.” Diane smoothed her impeccable blazer. “Let’s do it.”
This was no game; it was a matter of survival for someone I’d once loved very much. Pru and I had grown apart over the years, but that didn’t mean I didn’t care. The possibility that we might fail set my heart beating hard and heavy with performance anxiety.
Despite a soul-deep conviction that God can and will work His pleasure using the means available, I suffered from the time-honored Southern woman’s delusion that He needed me, personally, to help Him.
Talk about hubris, but there you are. It’s what kept Southern women from starving or going crazy through the Civil War, the Great Depression, race riots, the death of the textile industry, the emergence of the international New South, and an epidemic of men who go shiftless and wayward at midlife.
So it was with great trepidation that I followed the others into the elevator and rode down to our date with destiny.
Five minutes later, Mr. Phillips (who did, in fact, look like a taller version of Barney Fife in khakis, with an earpiece firmly in place and a microphone dangling into the vee of his golf shirt) led us deep into the darkened world of noise and neon that was the casino. Walking behind Teeny and Diane, we passed row after row of individual slots on the way to the progressive ones near the back. I couldn’t help noticing the wide range of people there in every imaginable type of clothing, from fresh-faced twenty-ones to wrung-out oldsters.
“Most of these people sure don’t look like they’re having fun,” I confided into Linda’s ear over the din. “They look like they’re at war with the machines.”
Linda’s brows lifted as she scanned the rows. “I guess they are. Compulsive gamblers actually believe that what they do or don’t do can affect their luck. They’re convinced the big payoff is just around the corner if they just handle themselves right.” She shook her head with a sad smile. “Their superstitions are endless.”
She wasn’t kidding. I spotted a sun-seared bear of a man with his cowboy hat turned backward and then a little granny rapping precisely three times on her machine after she won a small payoff. Another woman crossed herself, kissed a rosary, then turned around three times in place, hand to heaven and what I assumed was a prayer on her lips, before she sat down to play.
“I even have a few of my own good-luck rituals,” Linda confided.
“What are those?” I asked, wondering where Pru was.
“The main one is to stop playing when I run out of money,” Linda answered.
Before I could respond, we almost ran into Teeny and Diane, who had stopped. Wary, “Mr. Phelps” shepherded us into the next row of slots. He spoke into his microphone, then told Linda and me to go to the far end of the aisle and wait for his signal to come around on Pru’s row.
I couldn’t resist a peek between machines as we got into position, but I didn’t recognize any of the women with their backs to us.
Good thing Teeny had offered to do the talking. My throat felt like it had swelled like a toad-frog’s. And my heart hammered like the backbeat at a Stones concert.
Please God, let this work. And don’t let us get arrested for kidnapping, I added with just as much sincerity.
Linda and I stood poised, our eyes locked to “Mr. Phelps.” He pressed his finger over the earpiece and spoke into the microphone, motioning for us to hold. Then two overmade-up, skanky women with wild hairdos and dark roots emerged from Pru’s row of slot machines, the plastic containers they carried almost empty of coins.
The make-believe addicts. Had to be.
“Oh, my gosh,” Linda said as they spoke briefly to Mr. Phelps. “That one on the right has on the same outfit you just bought at Filene’s Basement.”
Good grief. She was right. “Perfect. I just spent two hundred dollars, no returns, on designer druggie chic.”
The women nodded to “Mr. Phelps” and split up, presumably to act as backups should things go wrong.
Then “Mr. Phelps” signaled us to move in.
Half-wild with anticipation, I looked down the row to Diane, who gave us the thumbs-up.
Linda and I rounded the corner to the next row and started threading our way through the players and observers who clogged the aisle.
Unable to spot Pru, I zeroed in on Teeny for guidance. She stopped beside a hunched figure with dark hair and laid her hand on the woman’s shoulder.
I watched Pru’s face, already haggard with despair, crumble at the sight of Teeny’s sympathetic smile. Pru curled in on herself as if she wished she could implode to nothingness. Linda and I moved in close from our side, but not too close. We didn’t want to pen her in.
“It’s okay, honey,” Teeny said to her without condescension. “You’ve had a setback. Those happen. But everything’s going to be okay, I promise. We’ve found Bubba, and he’s just fine. He wants to see you. To help you get back on track. We all do.”
Like a cornered animal, Pru glanced up to see us standing all around her. But her response was anything but grateful. A flash of mortal shame was replaced immediately by anger. She straightened, hands fisted. “Get out. Leave me alone. You’re lying about Bubba. He’s dead. I know it.” She whacked at her chest. “I can feel it. A mother knows when her son is dead. Now go away and leave me alone!”
People looked over from their machines. And I saw a casino security guy go heads-up, scanning for the source of the disturbance.
Teeny firmed, but dropped her voice. “That’s just the drugs talking,” she said, “lying, like they always do to get you to use. Bubba’s fine, and I’ll prove it. I’ll call him right now so you can talk to him.” She opened her cell phone. No service. “Damn. The phones don’t work in here. If you’ll just come over to the hotel with me, we can call him.”
Clearly, Pru was not convinced.
“Pru, we care about you,” Diane said. “That’s why we came. We want to help you lick this thing.”
“You don’t have to do it alone,” I told her. “We want to be there for you.”
Pru’s spine stiffened. “Bull shit! Where were y’all after we got busted that time? You disappeared, just like everybody else. Didn’t want to dirty your hands with us.”
Not true! We’d all offered to help, but she’d turned us away. Yet somehow, I knew it would be futile to argue with her. Blame was part and parcel of the addict’s psyche, rewriting past, present, and future.
Pru turned to sneer at us. “Where were you when I was trying to feed my child while his father was in prison?”
That hit a hot button in me, putting me on the defensive. I’d offered to help her with groceries back then, but Pru had wanted only money, so she could keep herself in cigarettes, booze, and drugs. How dare she accuse me of being so unfeeling, when it was she who’d put her addictions above her child’s welfare!
My frustration must have showed, because Linda grabbed my forearm and squeezed, hard, to silence me even as she said to Pru in an even tone, “Pru, none of us can change the past, but we’re here now. And we want to help.”
My intellect told me that Pru was only trying to pick a fight with us so she’d have an excuse to reject our help, but my heart bled from her baseless accusation. At that point, the best I could do was draw back, wounded, and let the others try.
Teeny put her arm around Pru’s shoulders. “Please, just come with us upstairs. We’ve got the whole penthouse to ourselves. There’s plenty to eat and drink up there, and we can call Bubba. I swear, Pru, he’s okay. Once you talk to him yourself, you’ll know it’s true.”
I saw a blessed shard of hope warring with the determined despair in Pru’s eyes, but then her face hardened with bitterness. “Leave me alone.” Her voice got louder as she went on. “You think I don’t know you’d tell me anything to get me up there, out of sight, so the men in white coats can bundle me up and cart me away?” We were attracting unwelcome attention. “Well, it won’t work. I’m sick to death of being your charity project, so scram! And take the Junior League, here, with you! It’s too little, too late!”
She reached into her bucket for a quarter and found it empty, then stood to leave.
“Wait. Don’t go.” I grabbed for a roll of quarters and broke it open over her bucket. “Use these. I know this machine is lucky.”
Pru shoved the bucket back toward me. “I don’t need your charity. Take your measly quarters and get out.”
This time, the security guard zeroed in on us. He motioned for another to move in as he approached. “Is there some sort of problem here, ladies?”
“No,” Teeny said. “My friends and I—”
Pru spoke on top of her. “These women are not my friends.” She jerked back the bucket and sat, feeding them into the machine as she spoke. “They’re trying to make me leave, and I’m not finished gambling.”
“That’s not true,” I defended. “I just gave her those quarters.”
Pru’s expression went sly and evil. “That is a lie. I never saw these people before. They’re just a bunch of do-gooders who want to stop me gambling.”
Linda made an “oh, no,” face, and I found out why.
The security man’s expression set in concrete. None too gently, he took Teeny’s upper arm in one hand and Diane’s in the other. “I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you ladies to leave the casino. Immediately. This is a legal form of entertainment, and we have a zero-tolerance policy about harassing our customers.”
His buddy latched onto Linda and me in like fashion, and they all but lifted us off the ground heading toward the exit.
Oh, Lordy, we were about to be given the bum’s rush to the sidewalk!
Where was Charles the butler when you needed him?
Chicken Little went stark, raving berserk inside me.
People stopped and stared, making way.
Three rows down, “Mr. Phelps” moved in to intervene, blocking our progress, but Teeny motioned him to wait. “It’s all right, Mr. Phillips.” She looked to the security man. “As you know, this is my bodyguard, Mr. Phillips.”
“Your bodyguard?” The man’s grip loosed immediately. Clearly, he wasn’t anxious to step on such powerful little toes as Rose Pendergrass’s. But our guy held on to Linda and me.
Teeny rubbed her arm. “Thank you.” She shot a pregnant glance to “Mr. Phelps” before addressing the guard. “I’m sure we can clear this up without any further disturbance.” She looked just put-upon enough to keep him off balance. “Contrary to what the lady in question told you, she is an old friend of ours, down on her luck. When we saw her in the casino, we came over and tried to convince her to have dinner with us in the penthouse. Clearly, she has some serious personal problems, because she misinterpreted our efforts. I’m sure you can understand what an unfortunate misunderstanding this all is.”
Man, she was good. And to think, I’d once believed her incapable of the slightest falsehood. But I guess all those years of covering up for a high-profile, abusive, philandering, alcoholic husband had given her plenty of training.
The guard nodded, but still didn’t back down.
“Of course,” Teeny said, all honey, “I shall be happy to compensate the casino, if necessary, for any unpleasantness we may have inadvertently caused.” She extended her gold keycard. “Shall we say, five thousand?”
Mr. Phillips stayed where he was, but relaxed, with a nod of admiration toward Teeny.
The security guy knew which side his bread was buttered on. “Well, I’ll speak to the manager. Please wait here. I won’t be long.” He left us to his stone-faced buddy.
The guard was right; we didn’t have to wait long.
The general manager rushed over, oozing apology, trailed by a dark-haired tree trunk of a man in a silk suit and tinted glasses who had to be some muckety-muck from security. The tree trunk nodded to the guy holding me and Linda, and he immediately released us, turning his attention to dispersing the few remaining curious. “Nothing to look at here. Please enjoy the casino.”
“Ms. Pendergrass,” the manager gushed, his tone and posture for all the world like Fagin’s from Oliver Twist. “We so regret this little misunderstanding. I trust you and your friends are all right?”
In her best duchess mode, Teeny nodded. “Thank you so much for your concern. We’re fine.”
“Then of course, we shall be happy to overlook the entire matter.”
The tree trunk shot him a warning look.
The manager squirmed, raising one finger. “There is just one little thing.” I could tell, he was definitely caught in the middle. “We’ll have to respectfully request that you keep your distance from your friend. Otherwise, we’ll have to ask her to leave. Clearly she’s somewhat disturbed, and we really don’t want to have another disruption upsetting our guests.”
Teeny blanched, but remained serene. “Oh, no, we wouldn’t want that. But I don’t want to interfere with my friend’s entertainment, either.” I saw a light go on in her eyes. “As a matter of fact, I’d like to subsidize her play at that particular machine. I would be most grateful if you could inform her that because of her inconvenience, the house is staking her to free play on that machine”—she paused—“in twenty-five-dollar increments.” Smart move. Teeny batted her eyelashes. “Under the circumstances, I’m afraid she wouldn’t accept anything from me.”
“Certainly,” the manager said, “we’d be delighted to do as you wish.” I’ll bet they were; it was more money in their pockets.
Can we say, brilliant? That should keep Pru where she was—for a while, anyway.
Mr. Phillips spoke up. “Was there a limit you were thinking of, Ms. Pendergrass? Monetarily or time-wise?”
Teeny considered, then told the manager, “Let her play till she’s five thousand down.” That should take quite a while on a slot machine.
Unless she won.
Diane must have read what I was thinking in my face. She edged over. “I’m telling you,” she said in a stage whisper, “she’s not going to win.”
“How very generous and thoughtful of you, Ms. Pendergrass,” the manager fawned.
The tree trunk snapped his fingers, and one of the guards took off, presumably to take care of staking Pru.
“Now, if you ladies will excuse me, I must return to the hotel. Please notify me immediately if there is anything further I can do. We want you to think of the Parthenon as your home away from home.”
“Thank you ever so much,” Teeny dismissed.
Linda and Diane and I waited until he was out of earshot before we mocked his “Home away from home,” but Teeny was in no mood for levity.
She corralled us and Mr. Phillips and made for a palm-secluded table by a fountain in the lobby, where we couldn’t be overheard as we started brainstorming alternative plans.
Meanwhile, the decoys moved back in to keep Pru company, but she was so hostile, she ran them off, too, and kept feeding the slot machine with the quarters the house had provided.
We brainstormed for what seemed like an hour, but was only fifteen minutes. Under so much pressure, none of us came up with anything brilliant. The one thing we all agreed on, though, was that we couldn’t let Pru go back to her suppliers. When they got word of tonight’s incident, they’d probably eliminate her on general principle.
This wasn’t an adventure anymore. It was so deadly that I didn’t even notice I was up five hours past my East Coast bedtime.
Mr. Phillips said there was little choice left but to “gunny sack” Pru, as we called it in the South. His male operatives would drug her, then “help” her to the penthouse. But Teeny raised the valid point that security would be on Pru like white on rice till she left the casino, so that wouldn’t work. Not to mention the guard at the private elevator.
He countered that they could try to nab her outside when she left, but security on the Strip was as tight as it was inside the casinos. Anything suspicious drew immediate police attention.
Stymied, Teeny rose. “I can’t think here. Come on, girls.” We stood. When Mr. Phillips rose with us, she motioned him to stay. “If you’ll excuse us for a little while.” She turned back to us. “There has to be some way to get Pru to let us help her.” She pointed to the casino lounge and said with uncharacteristic assertion, “To the bar. I need some liquid inspiration, and we need a plan B.”