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“I’ve been praying for you non-stop, Glenn,” he says, taking off his jacket and draping it on the back of the chair. “Please stop all your sinning. It’s exhausting.”
“Prayer can be a dirty job,” the heiress says. She shoots me a jealous look and regards Dylan with more than business in her eyes. “But someone has to do it.”
No, no, department store heiress. You can just shut that shit down right now because I’ll be covering all Dylan’s dirty business needs tonight.
A bartender mixes cocktails at a bar set up in the corner of the suite overlooking downtown Chicago. A handful of waitresses circulate, taking orders and refilling glasses. I need to kill some adrenaline and movement always does that for me. Sadly, I don’t think jogging around the room in heels will help me blend in. I make my way to the bar and order a drink.
“Evelyn,” a woman says, touching my shoulder lightly.
I swivel and lay eyes on a pretty redhead in her thirties. Her dress fits her like a glove and looks like it cost more than the one I borrowed from Amelia.
“My name’s Annie,” she says, smiling warmly, holding out her hand with its neatly polished nails. “Dylan asked that I introduce myself. If you need anything while you’re here, all you have to do is ask.” She shakes my hand, her palm cool.
“Thank you,” I say.
“Is this your first time attending a game?”
I nod and sip on a bubby water with a lime.
“You’re in for a nail biter,” she says. “An excruciatingly slow, exhausting nail biter. We brewed the extra strong coffee. You can always take a nap in the adjoining room if you need to lay your head down for a few minutes.”
“People do that?”
“People do whatever they have to gain an advantage or to win at a high stakes underground poker tournament. Make yourself at home.”
I have plenty of time over the course of the next twenty-four hours to learn about the game. Players draw at the beginning to pick seats. It’s a cash contest. The buy-in is fifty thousand, the lowest chip five thousand. Pretty masseuses massage players’ tight shoulders and necks. Coffee is practically main-lined.
The room’s kept chilly. Annie tells me it’s done to help the players stay awake. I don’t see any non-legal drugs but there are three bedrooms and multiple bathrooms in the back of the suite. Drugs aren’t my thing, but I’m also not a cop and I’m not keeping track of anyone other than Dylan tonight.
About that. The look on his face is neutral but I find myself tuning into this man and I’m not all that happy about what he’s feeling. When the sun cracks on the horizon, he’s holding tight to five stacks of chips. By late afternoon his vibe is shaky and he’s down to three. When the sun sets almost twenty-four hours after we walked into this penthouse, the confidence he exuded earlier bleeds through the cracks in his façade onto the sole stack standing.
At the end of the marathon game, Dylan wins more than he loses. According to my calculations, he leaves the tournament thirty thousand ahead, including the money he spent on me. He’s not broke but he’s not balls-out champion either.
That honor goes to Glenn. He’s sweaty and beaming, brimming with bravado as he tips the dealer and staff generously. I don’t look at him because I don’t want to see him look at me while he licks his lips.
The bartender and waitresses close up shop. Servers collect the remaining glasses, transfer food from silver platters to plastic containers. Players wander out of the suite – some content, some pissy. All wiped.
Dylan smiles at the dealer, makes small talk, and tips her. He walks over to me, face strained, like an overworked coffee pot on its last legs at a Sunday church breakfast. “Ready, Evie?” he asks, his voice cracking.
“Yes.” I was not his lucky charm tonight, and for that I feel like a jerk. Technically, I have no control over this and yet for some reason it feels like I let him down. I want to make it up to him, collect him in my arms, kiss all his worry away. Promise things will go better the next game.
“Evie, what do you think?” Annie asks. She’s still immaculate, and looks like she just slept an uninterrupted eight hours. Not like she’d been up for twenty-four.
“Pretty much what you said. A nail biter, slow speed chase,” I say. “And somehow — still exhilarating.”
“Exactly,” she says, squeezing my arm. “I’m so glad I got a chance to meet you.”
“You too.”
“See you soon, Dylan?” Annie asks.
“You got it,” he says.
We exit the suite and hang with the small crowd of players and their support crew loosely clustered in the hallway waiting for the elevator. “How are you?” I ask, rubbing Dylan’s arm.
“Crap,” he says under his breath. “But I have to look like sunshine just spanked my ass and I liked it so much I invited it back for more.”
“That good,” I say.
