I hadn’t done anything to deserve an invite.
“Don’t be modest now.” She pokes me. “I can come in the room while you guys are playing.”
The idea of her naked around Zebulund and his closest compadres twists my gut as if the boat lurched to the side.
“I don’t see how that’d work. What if the door’s closed and you get trapped?”
She taps her pointed chin. “I’ll tap your shoulder when I need a break. You could get up and open the door.”
“Maybe. It feels risky.”
“Don’t get cagey on me now, Roe. This is why we’re here. To get information.”
“What do you expect to hear from a bunch of guys shooting the shit?”
“I don’t know. Seeing who’s even invited in there would be good. How he treats them.” She studies the scrollwork around the door. “Oh! Maybe I could help you cheat! Like tell you the other hands around the table or something?”
“I can’t hear you well, remember. And besides what would that do but piss people off? No, I hate to say this about my own sex, but the last thing we want is to have our ego wounded. They’d kick me out of their little club faster than you can say ‘Piccadilly.’”
“That was a random word choice.”
“It’s the first word I thought of.” I pull my hat down lower on my head to hide the blush.
“You’re right though.” She smirks and flicks the rim of the hat. “Men have very tiny, fragile egos.”
“Hey, my ego is hardly tiny.”
She laughs and I grip the couch.
“Ugh. How did I get here? I’m so tired.” Her eyes drift closed as she rests her head on the wooden paneling. Her neck is long and elegant and her skin is smooth. And even after working all night her sweet smell fills the space. She catches me staring. I study the wall.
“Me too.” It’s true. I’m tired of all of it. Suddenly, I want nothing more than to go home—Nebraska home—maybe open a small store and work and make a family. I’m struck with such longing for another life I feel woozy.
“Just get me in that room and we’ll figure it out,” she says, determined again, albeit exhausted.
I agree and notice that for the first time in her plan-making she uses “we” instead of “I.” It was only a word choice. Nothing to get excited about.
* * *
Maggie
Even though I’mdead tired as the party winds down, I insist on joining Roe’s poker game. Okay maybe “winds down” is the wrong phrasing, as really it’s slowly morphing into an orgy of biblical proportions, and they don’t need a cigarette girl for that. I have enough time to wash my face and strip off my clothes before there’s a soft knock at my door.
“Now or never,” he says through the door.
“Hold your panties.” I slip on a robe and answer the door.
He’s stripped off a few layers too so that he’s only wearing a white button-up shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows, and dress slacks with suspenders. The hat’s gone and his hair has lost some of its slick hold, like he’s been rolling around in bed. I swallow. The man is epic.
“Ten minutes. No more. I really don’t like this idea.” He glances down the hall as his arms cross.
“Yes, sir.” I salute him. Ten minutes would never be enough time. We both know that, but sure, let him think he has any control of this situation.
“You strip now or…” He pointedly looks away.
“Uh. Well. I guess I had planned on waiting until we got there.”
“I don’t think you can risk it. And what am I supposed to do with your robe thingy?” He’s right, but it kills me.
