RUSS’S PLACE WAS PHENOMENAL. ON the top floor of the Mandalay Bay, he had the corner suite facing the Strip. It had a huge bedroom, a dining area, a kitchen, and a posh living room that I believed only the rich could truly be comfortable in. I mean, I hesitated to sit on the sofa. The light brown material was so soft, so luxurious, I could drown in it. To keep from dozing, I ended up sitting in a black leather chair that overlooked the endless hotels.
Fortunately, I could reach the phone from where I was sitting. The guy down in room service referred to me as Mrs. Devon. I found the name amusing until I realized he might have spoken to a real Mrs. Devon earlier in the day. It was possible. How well did I really know Russ? The truth was, all I knew was that he was a genius at blackjack.
After placing an order for a pot of coffee and an assortment of cakes and ice cream, I jumped out of the chair and did a hasty search of the suite. As a rule, I hated snoops, but caution told me to learn what I could about the mysterious Russell Devon while he was out of sight.
There were only male clothes hanging in the closets. He had brought two large suitcases to town; he had three full suits, and plenty of ties and shirts to choose from, not to mention four pairs of shoes, all made of rich leather. Clearly, he planned to be around for a while.
He had left a laptop running on the table in the dining area, beside a pile of flyers that were stamped with two bright red letters: WW. A closer look revealed that the initials stood for West World.
I assumed it was a company he worked for. I didn’t study any of the brochures in detail, but read enough to learn the firm dealt with some kind of genome project—in other words, the study of human genes.
His laptop posed a real temptation. His files were open and available to be read; he had already entered his password. He had obviously left it on with the confidence he would be the first one to return to his room. I could read his private mail if I wanted to. He must have forgotten about the laptop when he had given me the key to his room.
Nevertheless, I found it odd he had left the computer on. I wasn’t a privacy freak but I never left my laptop in a position where even my mother could read it.
Two things kept me from checking out his mail: the fact that I would hate it if he did the same to me, and the chance he would later discover I had done so. Russ was obviously smart; he wasn’t someone to miss that kind of detail.
I returned to the comfort of the leather chair. It was a quarter past midnight. It had been a long day, an eventful day, and with the alcohol in my bloodstream, I began to yawn and closed my eyes. The next thing I knew there was someone knocking at the door; the noise woke me with a start. But the person hadn’t knocked four times. Of course I had just called room service. Carefully, quietly, I crept to the door.
“Hello?” I called.
“Room service.”
“Great.” I opened the door. The guy—he was young, but quick on his feet—wheeled in a tray loaded with enough desserts for a party. What the hell, I thought. Russ couldn’t be worried about the bill. After writing in a big tip for the waiter, I signed the check using Russ’s name. The waiter smiled and left and I poured myself a large cup of coffee, topping it off with cream and sugar. One sip told me I was drinking coffee I had never been able to afford in my life.
Ten minutes later there were four light knocks on the door. I opened it and smiled when I saw Russ’s grin and the bag of cash he was carrying. I assumed it was cash. He tossed me the leather sack, and it had that “money” feel to it.
“Did they let you take sixty grand?” I asked.
“A hundred.” He walked in and saw the tray of desserts. “Jesus, Jessie. You must be someone who doesn’t easily gain weight.”
It’s funny but it was only then that I took the time to size up his body. I wondered if the inspiration came from the sack of cash I held. Why did money and sex go so well together? Without a blackjack table in his way, I could see just how well-built he was. He must have worked out regularly. With such a great ass, and those blue eyes of his, he was going to be hard to resist.
However, it wasn’t as if I decided to sleep with him right then. But yes, I began to think about it.
“You’re wrong,” I said. “I count every calorie I eat.”
He gestured to the desserts. “How much is here?”
“About sixty thousand.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Is that a hint?”
“What do you mean?”
“Are you afraid I’m not going to give you your money?”
I shrugged, trying to act cool. “I had a good time winning it. I don’t care if you keep it.”
“Bullshit!” He laughed. “You should have seen the look on your face when I asked that question. It was priceless.”
“Great. Then I just earned my money.”
“Touché.” He paused. “You can let go of it, you know.”
“What?”
“The bag of money. You’re holding on to it for dear life.”
I wanted to snap at him that I didn’t give a damn about the money, but he had me. I was hugging the bag so tightly to my chest I had to make a conscious effort to set it down. The bag was hard not to stare at. It represented a whole new future for me.
“How old are you?” I asked.
“How old do I look?”
“You’re a tough one,” I admitted. “Your body language puts you past thirty. That’s a compliment, by the way. You have a commanding presence. But if I just saw your picture, I’d say you could be as young as twenty-five.”
“Interesting.”
I picked up the bag of cash and threw it at him. “Interesting? Is that all I get? How old are you?”
“How old are you?”
“I’m legal.”
“Legal for what? Not gambling, that’s for sure.” He paused. “You must be between eighteen and twenty.”
“True. Now you give me an in between for your age. As long as it’s only two years apart.”
He shook his head. “No can do.”
“Why not?”
“Because then I’d have to lie to you. And I don’t want to do that.” He held up the bag of cash. “You know what? You’re a first.”
“A first at what?”
“I threw a bag of cash at you and you threw it back. I’ve never seen a woman do that before. Once they have their hands on it, they usually don’t let go.”
I was flattered. “I trust you. Besides, it’s not really my money, and now I’m being serious. I did nothing to earn it. You’re under no obligation to share it with me.”
“You trusted me. That’s enough.” He set the cash down on a nearby table. “By the way, you can keep the whole hundred if you want.”
I almost fell over. I shook my head firmly. “No, absolutely not. That wouldn’t be fair. After taxes, at most I should get thirty-five grand. You can’t give me three times that amount.”
“I can give you whatever I want. It’s up to you to accept it. You saw how much I won. The extra money won’t make any difference to me. But it can help you. At the table, you mentioned how you wished you could go to the same school as Alex.” He gestured to the bag. “Well, there’s your ticket.”
“Like I could walk into UCLA and pay for my tuition with cash.”
“Believe me, they would take it and not ask a single question. All the campuses in California are hurting for money. They’ll be happy to let a bright young woman like you in, especially if you’re not asking for financial aid.”
“It’s too late to apply for the fall semester.”
“Show them the money and see what they say.”
My head spun. I retreated to my chair and my cup of coffee and swallowed a big gulp of caffeine. The waiter had brought six different dishes of ice cream—all of which rested on ice cubes—and six varieties of cake. The dishes looked divine but my stomach was spinning along with my brain and I didn’t know if could eat. Russ sat on a nearby sofa and poured himself some coffee. He took it black.
The funny thing was, I knew he was going to take it black.
“Was the floor manager upset I left?” I asked.
“If he was he didn’t show it. Remember, the money you won pales compared to what I won. At this point, his job is to treat me nice so I’ll feel at home in his casino and return to play some more.”
“He figures if you keep playing, you’re bound to lose.”
“Sure.”
I studied him. “But it doesn’t matter how long you play, you’d keep on winning, right?”
Russ met my gaze. “Yes.”
“How?”
“No offense, Jessie, but we just met. Isn’t that sort of a big secret to share so soon?”
“You spent hours flaunting your ability in front of me. I think I deserve some explanation.”
“All right, in exchange for a hundred thousand, I’ll tell you my secret.”
He was bluffing; it was a favorite pastime of his. I decided to call him on it. “Fine. I’ll trade the cash for your technique.”
He leaned over and spoke in a confidential tone. “I cheat.”
“Be more specific.”
“I know when to bet high or low because I know what kind of cards I’m going to get next.”
“How?”
He smiled. “That’s twice you’ve asked that. No matter what I say, you’re going to keep asking it.”
“That’s not true. You’re not telling me anything. That’s not fair.”
“Fair? Is it fair I should have to tell you all my secrets on the first date?”
“Is that what this is? A date?”
He drank more of his coffee. “I hope so.”
He said the line so sweetly, I was touched. And it was true, he had a point, I was being too demanding. I settled down and sipped my coffee, while he began to dig into a piece of German chocolate cake. He took man-size bites.
“Are you going to play there again?” I asked.
“I’ve drawn too much attention. At most I can play at one or two other hotels on the Strip before I’ll have to get out of town.”
“Are you saying your life would be in danger?”
“You act surprised—don’t be. If I continue to win, the people who own these glittering towers will get annoyed. They’re used to taking people’s money, they don’t like handing it out in suitcases.” He paused and drank some more coffee. “Someone, at some point, would take action.”
“You’re talking about the Mob, right? I’ve heard it still controls Las Vegas from behind the scenes. That people just don’t realize it.”
He surprised me when he shook his head. “The Mob has no power here.”
“Then who, exactly, would take action against you?”
“That’s a story for another night. The main thing is you have enough money to go to school.”
“If I accept the hundred grand.”
“You’ll take it. You may be a nice kid but you’re not stupid.”
“I’m not a kid.”
He bowed his head. “My apologies.”
I nodded toward the dining area. “You left your laptop on. You should be thankful I’m not a spy. I could have gone through your mail.”
He was unconcerned. “I just use it to access the Internet and keep up with a few friends.”
“I noticed the brochures beside the computer. You work for West World?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“I glanced at the brochure. They’re a genetics company?”
“They’ve developed a technology whereby they can take a three-dimensional picture of your entire genome in a matter of seconds.”
“A real picture? One that shows where you might have a defect?”
“An extremely detailed picture. When our product hits the market, it will explode. It will allow any doctor to take a picture of you the instant you’re born and predict—with a high degree of accuracy—what diseases you’re likely to catch during your life.”
“The insurance companies will love that.”
“You’re quick. A few years from now the insurance companies will probably demand to see such a photograph before they agree to insure you.”
“That’s terrible. Just because someone has a predisposition to catch a disease, they shouldn’t be denied insurance.”
Russ wasn’t offended. “You won’t get an argument from me. The potential for abuse with this device—we call it the scanner—is frightening. WW is having a convention in town this weekend to address these precise issues. Tons of insurance company CEOs, deans of medical schools, presidents of hospitals—just about everyone who’s a major player in the medical field is in Las Vegas to hear about our technology. There are politicians here as well. Next to defense, the health industry is the largest industry in the world. Everyone who knows about the scanner wants some say in how it’s to be used.”
“It shows how clueless I am. I didn’t even know this convention was taking place.”
“Don’t be embarrassed. The convention is large but West World has gone out of its way to keep the media away. There hasn’t been a single article in the papers about our meetings.”
“I’m amazed you can keep anything a secret nowadays.”
“It’s not a problem if you have enough money. West World is heavily capitalized, to the tune of twenty billion, and it’s not even a public company. They know how controversial their project is. They want the scanner in widespread use before it gets major publicity.”
“Wait. You said ‘how controversial their project is.’ Did you mean ‘product’?”
Russ put down his coffee and stared at me. “You don’t miss much, do you? West World didn’t just develop the scanner so it can pass them out to whoever can afford one. They’re in the middle of a project where they’re trying to scan the genetic code of every person on earth.”
“You’re joking.”
“I wish I were.”
“How many people has your company scanned so far?”
“That information is proprietary.”
“Private?”
“Yes.”
I fidgeted uneasily. “Have I been scanned?”
I assumed he would say no, that I would know if I had been. But he stood and headed for his bedroom. He spoke louder as he disappeared from view.
“I don’t know—I’ll have to scan you and compare you to everyone we have in our database,” he said, as I heard him going through his drawers.
“You’re going to do this now?”
“It only takes a few seconds. It doesn’t hurt.”
“All right.” It was hard to say no to a guy who wanted to give me a hundred grand.
Russ reappeared a minute later with what appeared to be a narrow flashlight. Six inches long, it had a black metal exterior and a red tinted lens at one end. But the lens looked more like crystal than glass, and the thing hummed when he sat beside me and flipped on a side switch.
“We are now being recorded,” he said.
“Really?”
“This is an official reading.” He paused and continued in a businesslike tone. “Jessica Ralle, do I have your permission to scan your genetic code into the data banks of West World?”
I hesitated. “I guess so.”
“You need to say yes or no.”
“Yes.”
“Hold out your arm, please, and roll up your sleeve.” I did as I was told. He continued, “Rest your elbow on the arm of the chair. It will make it easier to keep still.”
“Okay.” I discovered I was shaking a bit.
He flipped another switch and a red beam emanated from the top of the scanner. The beam was narrow. There was no question in my mind it was a laser beam. I felt its warmth as it struck my arm. The sensation was pleasant but short-lived. The laser was on a total of three seconds. The device beeped faintly, the humming stopped, and the laser vanished.
“Got it,” Russ said, as he stood and walked toward his laptop. I rubbed the spot he had zapped. It felt warm.
“How does this device work?” I asked.
“It uses a laser to create a holographic image of your genes. Once your information is downloaded into the company’s database, it’s used to create a picture of your DNA.”
I stood and walked over to where he was using a cable to connect the scanner and laptop. The screen flashed a wave of binary code, at incredible speed, before it settled on a picture of what I knew from basic biology to be an image of a double helix.
It was so rich in color and detail, it literally took my breath away.
“God,” I whispered.
“Not quite. It’s you.”
“Me?”
“Your essence. Because the image is recorded in holographic form, I can rotate it in any direction I wish, focus on any gene I want to.”
“Was I already in your database or not?”
He hesitated. “No.”
“Do you see any problems with my genes?”
“I’m not looking.” He glanced up. “I know you hear the reluctance in my voice when I talk about West World’s project. There’s a reason for that. What I just did to you isn’t like taking your fingerprints or even your blood. It’s much more intimate. I now have the ability to know a tremendous amount about you—more than you would probably want me to know. For example, say I saw that you have a fault in your M5H2 gene. That would mean your chances of developing colon cancer are ten times greater than normal.”
I put my hand to my mouth. “Is that gene damaged?”
“I don’t know.”
“But you just said—”
“I told you, I don’t know anything about you because I chose not to look. However, if I change my mind and do look, I might discover your M5H2 gene is defective. Then I’ll probably feel compelled to tell you to start having regular colonoscopies for the rest of your life.”
“Is that where they stick a rubber tube up your butt?”
“That’s a sound scientific explanation of the process.”
I found myself fidgeting. “It’s weird—I want you to look and I’m afraid for you to look.”
“Your reaction is normal. Most people feel the same way. They say knowledge is power but too much knowledge can be a curse. Especially if it falls into the wrong hands. Besides learning about your physical health, I can study your mental health as well by studying this hologram. I can even estimate your IQ. I can do all this in a few seconds, without asking your permission.”
“But you did ask my permission,” I said.
“True. I told you, it was an official reading.”
“As opposed to an unofficial one.” I paused. “Does West World have the resources to scan everyone in the world without their knowledge?”
“They act like they do. But in the developing world, it’s hard. Too many people and not enough roads to reach them all. But West World might go for it.”
“That seems to scare you.”
“A lot of things about this technology scare me.”
“Russ, if you don’t like this company, if you don’t trust them, why do you work for them?”
He reached over and turned off the picture of my DNA. He took his time answering. “Because by working for them, I remain in a position where I might be able to stop them from abusing the scanner.”
“Are you high up in the company?”
He glanced out the window. “You think I’m too young, I can’t be very high up. Unless I happen to be related to the founder.”
He had read my mind exactly. “Are you?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Let’s just say I’m deeply involved in the firm. But I don’t want you sharing that info with your friends from school.”
“Why tell me if you don’t want me to share it? How do you know you can trust me?”
“Because I know they won’t give a damn who I work for. Not when they see your bag of money. All they’ll care about is how I win at twenty-two.”
“Twenty-one.”
“Huh?”
“You said twenty-two. The game is twenty-one.”
He stopped smiling and stood in front of me, placing his hands on my shoulders. For a moment I was sure he was going to kiss me. I had already decided I would let him. He was cute enough and I owed Jimmy nothing.
Nothing except months of pain.
“How would you like to learn to play twenty-two?” he asked.
“Don’t be silly—there’s no such game.”
“My friends and I play it all the time. It’s the same game, really, it just has a few extra rules.” He added, “It might help you understand how I win at twenty-one.”
“You’re joking.”
“I’m not.”
“Aren’t you tired of playing cards?”
He checked his watch. “It’s just after one. I have an early meeting. I have to be in bed by two. But we could play for a little while.” He added, “I’d enjoy it.”
Once again, who was I to argue with a man who wanted to pay for my college education?
Russ, to my surprise, had six decks of cards handy. They were new decks, still wrapped in plastic. He opened them and spread them out on the dining-room table. He shuffled them as quickly and smoothly as any dealer; he was a regular pro.
He took twelve packets of cash from the bag. Each one contained fifty one hundred dollar bills—five grand. Looking at the money, touching it, made my heart pound. It was mine, I kept thinking, all mine.
Unless I lost it playing twenty-two. Russ wanted to use the cash to play. He told me so in a serious tone. He kept thirty grand and gave me thirty.
“Since there’s only two of us and you don’t know all the rules, I’ll play the part of the dealer,” he said.
“What do you mean, all the rules? I don’t know any of the rules.”
“I told you, they’re almost identical to blackjack. The big difference is the winning hand is twenty-two, not twenty-one. And the value of two cards is slightly different. In twenty-two, the queen of diamonds and the queen of hearts are worth eleven points rather than ten. In this game, if you get both those cards at the start, you have the equivalent of blackjack, or a natural. You immediately get paid twice your bet.”
“Not one and a half times your bet?”
“No. The reason is it’s a harder hand to get than twenty-one.”
“Because all the picture cards aren’t worth eleven?”
“Exactly. In blackjack, the best card to get at the start is an ace—that’s how you get blackjack. But in twenty-two, an ace is no longer an important card.”
“Is an ace still worth one or eleven?”
“An ace is only worth one point, nothing else.” Russ paused. “By the way, twenty-two isn’t called blackjack. It’s known as the red queen.”
“Because the queen of diamonds and the queen of hearts are the easiest way to get winning hands?”
“Yes. And if you get two of each it pays double.”
“With that kind of payout, the game seems to favor the player over the dealer.”
“It only seems that way on the surface. Besides the fact that the ace is no longer helpful to the player, the dealer only has to hit up to sixteen, even though we’ve raised the winning number to twenty-two. That gives him an edge.”
“He busts less often.”
“You got it. I knew you’d catch on fast.” He slipped the six decks into a shoe he had taken from a nearby drawer. It looked as if he’d come ready to play. “Place your bet.”
I put down a hundred dollar bill. All I had were hundreds.
Russ dealt a card facedown, to himself, then dealt me a card faceup. The next two cards he dealt faceup, one to me and one to himself. I got a ten and a queen of hearts. I had twenty-one, by the new rules. He was showing a queen of diamonds. Naturally, I couldn’t see his hole card.
“Do you wish to stand?” he asked.
“Yes, Mr. Dealer.”
He flipped over his hole card. He had a nine, twenty altogether, which meant I had won. He paid me a hundred and we continued to play. Frankly, I was feeling my fatigue but I strained to focus. Yet I saw no point in playing a game that was virtually identical to blackjack, especially after such a long night at the casino tables.
While we played, my curiosity over how he had won so much money continued to plague me. How had he done it? Once again, I tried prodding him gently.
“I know you weren’t counting at the casino because I have a friend who explained how it works. The shoe gets favorable only when there are plenty of tens and aces left in it. But even when it swings in favor of the player, the advantage is only two or three percent. Five percent if the counter is real lucky.”
“I can’t argue with your friend,” Russ said.
“So you weren’t counting. And I have to assume you’re not psychic, because I don’t believe in that crap. So all I’m left with is that you’re another Rain Man.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s an old movie that starred Tom Cruise and Dustin Hoffman. In the film, Tom and Dustin are brothers, but Dustin’s a lot older and really messed up. He’s mentally retarded and needs constant care. Only toward the end of the film does Tom discover that he’s a savant. I assume you know what that is?”
“It’s a rare condition found in mentally disabled people. Their mental disabilities allow them to use parts of the brain that most people never use. That gives them special abilities.”
“Are you one of them?” I asked.
He smiled. “Do I seem retarded to you?”
“No. But not all savants are.”
“The vast majority are.”
“You still haven’t answered my question,” I said.
“I told you, this is only our first date.”
I persisted. “I remember at the casino, every time the dealer prepared a fresh shoe, he spread the cards out on the table for everyone to see. You would study them right then. Also, when he shuffled the cards, you would watch him closely. It was like you were memorizing their sequence. I don’t know how you did it. I would assume it would take a special ability, like a savant would have. But if you were a savant, then it would explain how you were able to predict whether your next hand would be strong or weak. It would also explain how you knew when the dealer was going to bust.”
Russ nodded as we continued to play twenty-two. “It’s true I did well at the table. But if I could remember everything you’re saying I could, then I should never have lost.”
“That’s not true. It was inevitable you’d be dealt weak hands from time to time. Not only that, you’re smart enough not to win every hand that was strong. I think you occasionally put a big bet on a bad hand just to throw off the casino employees.”
“So you have me all figured out?” he asked.
“I can’t help but notice you’re not denying any of it.”
“There’s no point. You believe what you want to believe.”
I thought I had figured out his secret but his quiet mystery disarmed me. My theory was all talk. I could feel him laughing at me inside.
No, not laughing, but smiling. Yes, I knew he liked me.
Russ looked down at the last cards he had dealt. I was showing a queen of diamonds and a king of jacks—twenty-one, another strong hand. Even against the queen of hearts he was showing. I told him that I’d stand. He turned his hole card over. He had a queen of diamonds, which gave him twenty-two, or what he called a red queen.
He went to take my money. I had grown careless, winning the last few hands in a row, and had let my cash pile up on the table. I had just lost a grand, or so I thought. Then he explained that in red queen, when the dealer got a natural, the player had to fork over an additional 100 percent.
“You didn’t explain that rule before,” I complained.
“I figured you’d learn it as we played.” He had already taken the grand.
“So I have to give you another thousand dollars?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“But we’re just playing for fun, right?”
“No. I told you, red queen is a serious game. What you win or lose here is for real.”
I snorted. “You have got to be joking!”
He didn’t blink. “No.”
I reluctantly peeled off ten hundreds and threw them at him. “Any other rules I should know about?”
“Yes. This one is important. After the dealer gets a natural, the player must immediately try to win his or her money back.”
“You’re saying on my next hand I have to bet two thousand dollars?”
“Yes.”
“That’s a crazy rule. What if I didn’t have it?”
“Then you shouldn’t be playing red queen. The game’s older than blackjack. It has a rich tradition. It’s never played just for fun and no one is ever supposed to break the rules.”
“That’s silly.”
“It’s a fact. You have to bet me two thousand dollars right now.”
I yawned loudly in his face. “Forget it, I’m tired. Let’s call it a night.”
He nodded. “Fine. As soon as we complete this hand.”
“Forget the hand. Let’s just quit.”
“We can’t quit in the middle of this kind of situation. I’m the dealer, I just got twenty-two. As the player, you’re required to try to win your money back.”
“I told you, I’m tired.”
“And I told you, in red queen every bet counts.”
“So the money I’ve just lost—you’re going to keep that?”
“Then why did you give it to me in the first place?”
“I gave it to you so you could afford your college tuition. But as a dealer, playing red queen, I’m required to keep the money and give it to . . . I mean, I just have to keep it. Those are the rules.”
I acted bored. “Fine. Deal.”
“Place your bet on the table first.”
“All right.” I slapped down two grand. “Deal, Mr. Dealer.”
He dealt. I got seventeen. He was showing a queen of diamonds.
“I’m screwed,” I muttered.
“Not necessarily. Remember, taking a hit at seventeen in this game is like hitting sixteen in blackjack.” He paused. “The book says you should do it.”
“Barely.” I paused, convinced he knew what card was coming next. “Are you telling me to hit?”
“I can’t give you any advice.”
“You did before.”
“Not in this game.”
He was acting awfully weird, I thought.
“Hit me,” I said impatiently.
He hit me with a five—twenty-two. He turned over his hole card. He had a king of jacks—twenty-one. He had lost and I had won. I got my two grand back plus an extra two thousand.
“Who do you have to give it to?” I asked as we began to clean up. The ice cream was melting and the cakes had begun to look sad. I hated to send them back, though. Then I remembered he had a full-size fridge.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“You began to say you were required to give the money to someone. Then you stopped and said something else.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t remember.”
I touched his arm. “Russ.”
“What?”
“You’ve been great tonight. The perfect gentleman. Please don’t ruin it now by lying to me.”
He stared at me. “I’m sorry, I can’t tell you who I would have given the money to. But it’s not an issue because you won back what you lost. So can we just leave it at that?”
I smiled. “You don’t play fair. You know it’s impossible for a girl to get mad at a guy who just gave her a hundred grand.”
He stood and came around the table and gently put his hands on my shoulders. I say gently because his approach was totally nonthreatening. He didn’t try to kiss me until I gave him the hint by tilting my head back. He turned his own head slightly to the side, so I didn’t have to strain my neck to match his height. Then his lips were on mine and they were not normal lips. They were perfect lips, and only Jimmy was supposed to have those.
I felt myself falling as he kissed me harder, and I fought to keep from going off the ledge, but it was no use. By some strange magic we were in the dining room one moment and in his bedroom the next. The lights were off but the window curtains were pulled back and the kaleidoscope of colors from the Strip played through the open glass and into my brain.
It seemed as if his eyes turned purple, orange, and green, while his skin—I must have pulled off his shirt—remained a burning red. His strong hands were on my breasts, outside my dress, and then we both began to undo my buttons, so fast, so furiously, that I started to hyperventilate.
I was light-years beyond turned on. We fell on the bed and I felt I would explode. All thoughts of safe sex were washed away. My body wanted his body so bad I honestly felt I would die if he didn’t make love to me.
He took off my dress. I tore off his pants.
He removed my underwear. I ripped off his.
I pulled off his watch and threw it away. I wanted nothing in my way. But then something surreal happened. I was about to climb on top of him. He raised his head and backed up to give me room, and I looked into his face from inches away and felt his hot breath on my cheeks.
Then I saw Jimmy’s face. I swear, it had taken the place of Russ’s.
The image was more real than our bodies, more powerful than my lust. Maybe it was love that caused me to see it. Love or pain, if the two were even separate things. The love of my life, Jimmy, was the only one who had ever made me cry.
Maybe that’s why I burst out crying.
The sound caused my Jimmy hallucination to crumble. It was replaced by Russ’s confused expression. Not that I was confused. I realized that the months had not mattered. That I loved Jimmy as much as the first day I had made love to him, and the last day. I knew then that my mind kept track of time, but not my heart, and that I had to give him another chance or else I would regret it for the rest of my life.
I stood from the bed and walked naked to the tall windows. Behind me, I heard Russ sigh. “There’s someone else,” he said.
“Yes.” I stared down at the throngs of people still partying beneath the lights. “I’m sorry.”
“Why are you sorry?”
I looked at him. He was partway under the blankets, covered at the waist but still beautiful. “I feel like I led you on,” I said.
“I’m sure you didn’t mean to.”
“How do you know that?”
“You’re a good person.” He paused. “You don’t have to apologize for crying over someone you love.”
“Why are you taking this so well?”
“Because I doubt anyone’s ever cried over me.” He lit a cigarette and stared at the ceiling. “Is he here? He must be or you wouldn’t be so upset.”
“He’s here.”
“Is he with someone else?”
Russ found his watch and checked the time. He took one last hit of his cigarette and put it out. “It’s late, I better sleep. Grab your clothes and the money and get a taxi downstairs. Don’t even think of leaving the crowd at the door unless you’re in a cab. I left some smaller bills on the living room table. Don’t share a cab no matter how much someone begs you to. Remember, in this town, always take your own taxi.”
“I understand.” I began to pick up my clothes. “Will I see you again?”
“That’s up to you. Take the key I gave you. I can always call down to the front desk for another. Come by whenever you want.” He added quietly, “Or else come by when you don’t know what else to do.”
“Russ?”
“Just do what I say.” He turned away, wrapping himself in a blanket. “I really have to sleep,” he whispered.
His breathing had altered by the time I was dressed. He was out cold—not snoring, but far from this world. I collected my purse, his key, the cash he had left on the table, and the leather bag crammed with a hundred thousand dollars. Swinging it over my shoulders by its straps, I felt as if I discovered golden wings that could fly me to a new destiny. Only I knew this was Las Vegas, the City of Sin, and that the gold here was really colored green.
There was a line for taxis at the door. I was tempted to set off for the MGM on foot. But I remembered Russ’s warning, and there were a few dark spots between the two hotels, areas where someone wicked who had been spying on me earlier, and knew what I had won, could stage a surprise attack. I forced myself to wait for a taxi. Finally, when my turn came, the driver was annoyed I was only going a few blocks. He wanted to pick up the couple behind me as well.
“No,” I said. “Take me alone.”
He was old, grouchy, burned-out from too many years under the desert sun. “I’ve waited thirty minutes. I can’t make any money off your fare.”
“Hey, babe, we don’t mind riding with ya,” the guy behind me said.
His girl kissed him. “We like threesomes.”
I ignored them, spoke to the driver. “You have to take me alone, those are the city rules. But I promise to give you a big tip.”
“How big?” the taxi driver demanded.
I opened the door and jumped in. “Shut up and drive,” I said.
We arrived at the MGM in fifteen minutes. The traffic caused the delay. Plus I refused to get out of the cab until the driver took me to the front entrance. Then I opened my purse, not the bag Russ had given me, and gave the driver ten bucks for the fare and another twenty dollars for a tip. He seemed satisfied, although he didn’t thank me. He had no idea the kind of tip he would have received if he’d been the least bit polite.
Inside, I checked at the front desk and asked if they had a vault with private lockers where I could store an important bag. Of course they had just the place; they were used to people with valuables. A guard led me to a room lined with lockers and handed me a key. I opened the locker and put the bag inside and relocked it.
“Does anyone come down here without an escort?” I asked.
“No, ma’am. They need a key and have to be with me or one of the other guards to get in here.”
“What if I lose the key and someone else finds it?”
“You have to show ID to get in this room. Don’t worry, ma’am, your bag is completely safe.”
“Thank you,” I said.
Upstairs I found Jimmy sitting outside my door on the hallway floor. He was dozing, with his head on his knees, but he heard me approach and stood quickly. He looked happy to see me. Of course the reverse—times a thousand—was also true.
“How long have you been waiting here?” I asked.
“I don’t know. A while.”
“You couldn’t share a room with Ted?”
“No. I mean, yes, he loaned me his key.” Jimmy added, nodding toward my suite, “He’s inside, with Debbie.”
“With Debbie?” I had to laugh. “How long have they . . . oh, never mind. Do you know where Alex is?”
“I haven’t seen her. Wasn’t she with you?”
“We were together but she got annoyed and ran off. You know her.”
“Yeah.”
“What brings you here?”
Jimmy took a breath. He went to answer but then his pain got in the way of the words and his face crumpled. He stopped breathing; the air around him seemed to go numb.
“I don’t know why Huck died,” he said finally. “He was small and frail. He had come early, a few weeks, but the doctors said that wasn’t the reason he died. They wanted to do an autopsy but I didn’t want them cutting him up. Kari felt the same way. We wrapped him in a blanket and took him away and had a private funeral for him and that was that.”
“How long ago was this?”
Jimmy looked dazed. He counted on his fingers. “A month ago, I’m not sure.” He added as a tear ran over his cheek, “I’m sorry, I should have told you earlier.”
“Oh, Jimmy, don’t say that. You did nothing wrong.” I hugged him and held him for what seemed like forever. Then he kissed me and I kissed him and it was okay that I had been with another man less than an hour ago. Because Russ had been a dream, I realized, while Jimmy was the only real thing in my life. I loved him, God how I loved him.