the thousand dollars represented a lot of skipped lunches and worn out clothes, just to pull the money together from his meager professor’s pay. And here he was throwing it away at fifty dollars a pop, all because he wanted to impress Adriana.
How would he pay his hotel bill if he lost all his money? He’d have to put the bill on his credit card and then it would take him forever to pay it off. The thought of a big debt hanging over him closed his throat and left him gasping for air.
Suddenly, the air was thick and close, made more so by several gamblers’ chain smoking.
He knew the casinos tolerated smokers to get their business, but right now, while he was gasping for air, he wished they’d all choke on their own smoke. Not a nice thought, but he wasn’t in a nice mood, contemplating the loss of his hard-earned eight hundred dollars.
He decided to skip the next bet and try to regain his composure. He dug both hands into the side of the table and closed his eyes, taking deep breaths of the smoky air. Hell, he couldn’t leave the table because he’d lose his place. And if all he could get here was smoke, he’d have to make do. The important thing was to regain control by measuring the steady intake and outtake of his breathing.
After a few moments, he felt better, calm and clear headed. He glanced at Adriana again and painted a fake smile on his face.
She nodded and returned his forced smile.
The stickman passed the dice to a new shooter. Each time Rafael had been offered the dice, he’d refused, preferring to bet on someone else’s luck.
The new shooter—a Dennis Rodman look alike—flashed a gold-toothed grin and flung the dice. They rolled, tumbled, landed. A five and a two.
Seven.
The crowd at the table cheered. Rafael blinked. He’d won! He was on his way again; he could just feel it.
He looked over at leopard skin and saw that his pile of chips had diminished. Not a good sign—time for another strategy. Rafael let his gaze roam the table. Most of the crowd had stayed put, and he had a pretty good idea of who was hot and who was not. With that thought, he devised a new strategy—bet on the shooter. For the few new people, he watched them carefully for a couple of rounds before betting for or against them.
He lost some rolls but won more than he lost. To his relief, his stack of chips started to grow. When he got back to his original bankroll, he was tempted to double his bets. But that was way too scary. He could win twice as fast, but he could also lose twice as fast. Sure and steady, bet on the shooters’ luck—that was the ticket. He’d never concentrated so hard. He didn’t take his eyes from the table, not even to see how Adriana was reacting.
After three straight wins, he mentally counted his chips. He’d doubled his original stake!
He swiped his brow and let out a long steady breath. He’d arrived. This was more than enough to prove he could do it. He didn’t want to be greedy and ruin everything. Now he could look Adriana in the eye with the knowledge that he was a winner.
He grabbed his chips and looked over to where she’d been standing. But she was gone.
Where she’d been was an empty spot. It was past three a.m. and the crowd had been thinning for the past hour. He craned his neck and raised himself on tiptoe, scanning the table. Nothing. She’d left before he’d proved that he could win.
His shoulders slumped. What a letdown.
He hefted the chips in his hand and tossed the boxman and stickman a tip like he’d seen other winners do. Slowly, feeling the exhaustion of the day washing over him, he walked to cashier’s cage and cashed in his chips.
It was over. Time to go to his room and get a couple of hours sleep before his interview.
Tomorrow was going to be a tough day. First, the interview and then he’d have to come clean and end his high-roller masquerade.
He wished tomorrow was already over.
#
Adriana arrived early at work. It had been a late night, but
How would he pay his hotel bill if he lost all his money? He’d have to put the bill on his credit card and then it would take him forever to pay it off. The thought of a big debt hanging over him closed his throat and left him gasping for air.
Suddenly, the air was thick and close, made more so by several gamblers’ chain smoking.
He knew the casinos tolerated smokers to get their business, but right now, while he was gasping for air, he wished they’d all choke on their own smoke. Not a nice thought, but he wasn’t in a nice mood, contemplating the loss of his hard-earned eight hundred dollars.
He decided to skip the next bet and try to regain his composure. He dug both hands into the side of the table and closed his eyes, taking deep breaths of the smoky air. Hell, he couldn’t leave the table because he’d lose his place. And if all he could get here was smoke, he’d have to make do. The important thing was to regain control by measuring the steady intake and outtake of his breathing.
After a few moments, he felt better, calm and clear headed. He glanced at Adriana again and painted a fake smile on his face.
She nodded and returned his forced smile.
The stickman passed the dice to a new shooter. Each time Rafael had been offered the dice, he’d refused, preferring to bet on someone else’s luck.
The new shooter—a Dennis Rodman look alike—flashed a gold-toothed grin and flung the dice. They rolled, tumbled, landed. A five and a two.
Seven.
The crowd at the table cheered. Rafael blinked. He’d won! He was on his way again; he could just feel it.
He looked over at leopard skin and saw that his pile of chips had diminished. Not a good sign—time for another strategy. Rafael let his gaze roam the table. Most of the crowd had stayed put, and he had a pretty good idea of who was hot and who was not. With that thought, he devised a new strategy—bet on the shooter. For the few new people, he watched them carefully for a couple of rounds before betting for or against them.
He lost some rolls but won more than he lost. To his relief, his stack of chips started to grow. When he got back to his original bankroll, he was tempted to double his bets. But that was way too scary. He could win twice as fast, but he could also lose twice as fast. Sure and steady, bet on the shooters’ luck—that was the ticket. He’d never concentrated so hard. He didn’t take his eyes from the table, not even to see how Adriana was reacting.
After three straight wins, he mentally counted his chips. He’d doubled his original stake!
He swiped his brow and let out a long steady breath. He’d arrived. This was more than enough to prove he could do it. He didn’t want to be greedy and ruin everything. Now he could look Adriana in the eye with the knowledge that he was a winner.
He grabbed his chips and looked over to where she’d been standing. But she was gone.
Where she’d been was an empty spot. It was past three a.m. and the crowd had been thinning for the past hour. He craned his neck and raised himself on tiptoe, scanning the table. Nothing. She’d left before he’d proved that he could win.
His shoulders slumped. What a letdown.
He hefted the chips in his hand and tossed the boxman and stickman a tip like he’d seen other winners do. Slowly, feeling the exhaustion of the day washing over him, he walked to cashier’s cage and cashed in his chips.
It was over. Time to go to his room and get a couple of hours sleep before his interview.
Tomorrow was going to be a tough day. First, the interview and then he’d have to come clean and end his high-roller masquerade.
He wished tomorrow was already over.
#
Adriana arrived early at work. It had been a late night, but
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