Betting on Hope by Kay Keppler Page B

shrimp, her mouth watering.
     Marty shook his head, putting some of the ribs on Hope’s plate. “Hope, I think you been out of the game too long. Is that what Big Julie said? Bring two hundred?”
    Hope nodded, adding some shrimp to her plate. She should have taken a bigger plate. “Yes. So at least I can manage that .” 
    “Honey, what he meant was, not you should bring two hundred dollars, but you should bring two hundred thousand dollars.”
    “ What? ” Hope felt disappointment like a blow, stopping so suddenly that Sharp Eddie ran into her, poking her back with his plate. “I can’t do it then. Marty, I can’t raise that kind of money in a week.” Her credit cards were maxed out, and she couldn’t afford a third loan. She was at her limit everywhere.
    “Of course you can,” Marty said, picking up a set of tongs and easing a red bean paste bun onto Hope’s plate.
    “That’s why we’re here,” Sharp Eddie agreed, taking a heaping spoonful of steamed crab for himself and putting another on Hope’s plate.
    “You have to earn your stake, like everybody else does in these games,” Marty said, moving on to the steamed dumplings. “Do you like these things? I hate cilantro. Tastes like soap. Here, try one. Everybody says they’re delicious.”
    “I can’t win two hundred thousand dollars in a week,” Hope said, horrified. “I played for two hours today and I lost eight dollars.” She looked at her overflowing plate. “Leave the dumplings. I don’t think I can eat a thing.”
    “You gotta eat,” Marty said, putting first the dumpling and then a miniature omelet on Hope’s plate. “Nothing to be scared of. If you can’t win even your stake, then you have no business playing Big Julie for a two million dollar ranch.”
    “Practice,” Sharp Eddie agreed. “That’s all it is.”
    “You mean gamble for the stake and then gamble for the ranch? I don’t know,” Hope said, feeling sick. Who could take those chances? Not her.
    Marty stopped putting food on Hope’s plate and turned to face her. “Hope,” he said. “What happened to you? Cards ain’t gambling. Slots is gambling. Slots is you donating your money to the house which has rigged the game for you to lose. Cards is skill . You know that. And you got the chops for it—or you used to. You want to win this thing, you gotta be aggressive. Think big. You can do it, or we wouldn’t be here.”
    Hope exhaled, pushing her hair back. She looked at him.
    “And we’re here because we owe you,” Marty said, still holding the tongs with the shrimp dumpling. “You held our marker. Now you called it in. We can get your game back. But you gotta play it.”
    “I held your marker?” Hope asked, confused.
    “Don’t get us wrong, Hope,” Marty said. “We’d a come anyways. But it’s up to you. You gotta decide right now what it’s gonna be. Because whether you think you’re gonna win, or you think you’re gonna lose—either way, you’re right.”
     
    Punctually at three-thirty Hope went to Big Julie’s suite to pick Baby up for their shopping trip. Drake opened the door.
    “Hi,” she said, eying Drake’s sharp attire. “I’m Hope. I’m here for Baby. Are you the butler?”
    “Bodyguard,” Drake said. “I opened the door because you’re no threat.”
    “Yes, I am,” Hope said, ruffled. “I’m getting my ranch back. Is Baby ready?”
    “How should I know? Do I look like a butler?” Drake asked, drifting away.
    “Yes,” Hope said, “just not a very good one.” But Drake was gone, leaving Hope standing in the hallway. Some bodyguard , she thought, and entered the suite, looking around until she found Baby in a huge bedroom putting things in a trendy leather purse adorned with buckles it didn’t need.
    “I don’t know why I have to take you shopping,” she complained when she saw Hope.
    “Because Big Julie asked you to, because I need some accessories, and because you know where to shop,” Hope said, eying the