10. Ten
TEN
I didn’t like Tallulah. Not even a little. She hadn’t been this persnickety in high school, but obviously she’d added ten years of attitude with each year of her life. That didn’t mean I could sit back and watch her be harassed.
The day with Baskins and his stripper-loving entourage had been bad enough. Things only got worse over the next two weeks.
I understood about entitlement. I’d grown up in that world, after all.
Certain individuals—and it wasn’t only men—thought that money meant they never had to compromise.
The women who came through the high rollers lounge were as bad, if not worse, than the men.
They looked down on Tallulah for her outfit, all the while flirting with me.
Somehow, in their minds, a dealer was better than a server.
Still, Tallulah put on a brave face. All the while, I could see her self-confidence eroding.
This job was eating her alive and not only because of the customers.
Kyla seemed to have a problem with her, too, which was funny because she’d been nothing but pleasant to me.
Sure, when Tallulah and I interacted, Kyla immediately came over to give both of us a hard time.
When it was just me, however, Kyla was pleasant and almost funny.
I had no idea what was up with her. I made it a point to keep my head down and my energy level up when she was around.
Otherwise, I went through the motions of doing my job.
It wasn’t difficult, and action in the lounge was hit or miss.
Sometimes, I was busy for hours. Other times, I had nothing better to do than watch sporting events play out on the screens.
Even if there weren’t professional games for the gamblers to bet on, horse and NASCAR races could keep them entertained.
For some, gambling was a sport all its own.
I’d never understood the appeal of gambling, but I was benefitting a great deal.
I’d already socked away more money in two weeks than I would’ve made in three months if I hadn’t been promoted.
My luck at falling into the high rollers lounge was giving me ideas.
If things stayed as they were—and it hadn’t been that busy—then I would have enough money for my gallery in less than a year. A couple lucky nights with big winners would make that closer to six months. The plan I’d had in my head was quickly shifting, and that was a good thing.
“We have a group coming in,” Tallulah announced, ripping me out of my reverie and drawing my attention to her.
“What?” I asked blankly.
She gave me a dirty look. “A group. We have a big one coming in. It’s a bachelorette party.”
The clock on the wall showed it was only five o’clock. “Isn’t it a little early for a bachelorette party?”
Tallulah shrugged. “It’s Maisie Coventry.”
I didn’t recognize that name. “Okay.”
“The star of that teeny bopper soap opera.” Tallulah sounded exasperated. “You know, the one about the rich kids in the uber-expensive wardrobe that all the teenagers are talking about now.”
“I’ll have to take your word for it,” I said blandly.
“She’s a big deal.”
“And she’s getting married?” I ran that through my head. “Since when is it legal for teenagers to get married and hang around in the high rollers lounge?”
The look she shot me was pitying. “Teenagers don’t actually portray teenagers on teen shows. Maisie Coventry is thirty.”
“And playing a teenager?”
She shrugged. “Teenagers are only allowed to work so many hours a day. If it’s an adult, then you can work them to the bone.”
It was something I hadn’t considered. It made a strange sort of sense. “Okay, I get it. Is there something I should be made aware of?”
“Just that we’re about to be inundated with a group of young Hollywood starlets who are going to be drunk and demanding.”
That scenario always seemed to hurt her more than it did me. “Okay.” I shrugged. “I’m sure I can handle it.”
“Yeah, talk to me again in two hours.” With that, she flounced away. I thought I heard her mutter something that sounded like “egotistical moron” under her breath as she left. I didn’t call her on it.
LOATH AS I WAS TO ADMIT IT, TALLULAH was right. Drunk Hollywood starlets were annoying and demanding.
“I don’t want that card.” Misty Penrose jutted out her lower lip and batted her eyelashes at me. “I want a queen.”
I smiled because I’d learned the hard way over the past hour that smiles could soften blows—at least, these women believed that—but I remained firm. “That’s not how it works.”
“But I want a queen.” Misty was four drinks deep, although she acted as if it were six. “I haven’t won a single hand since I sat down.”
What did she expect? The reason casinos even existed was because the house always won. That meant big profits for the casinos and small wins for guests. Sure, the occasional big jackpot made people think “that could happen to me,” but it occurred just enough to keep hope alive. That was by design.
“Sorry.” I shrugged. “It’s the luck of the draw.”
Misty batted her eyelashes again and readjusted on her stool so I could have a better view of her cleavage. “Pretty please.” She fluttered her lashes as if she was having a spasm.
“Sorry.” I looked around and proclaimed Celeste Bishop the winner.
Celeste shot Misty a haughty look. “You should probably quit now or you’ll be broke by the time we head out to the show.”
Misty glared at Celeste. As far as I could tell, the only thing the two women had in common was that they were friendly with the bride. They seemed to despise one another.
“Maybe you should take a breather,” I suggested to Misty. I couldn’t have these two women throwing down, and it appeared that might be exactly where this conversation was going. “I’ve found that people can often change their luck if they walk away from the table for a bit and then come back later.”
And, if I was lucky, she would drink herself into a nap on one of the couches and never come back.
Misty didn’t appear to like my suggestion. “Or you can give me a queen.”
“Yeah, that’s not how it works.” I was good with people. I could often talk them down from a petulant fit. Misty was not prepared to play that game, however.
“I want a queen,” she demanded.
Tallulah picked that moment to swoop in. “Anybody need something to drink?” she asked in her chirpiest voice. “How about some iced tea?” Her gaze was on Misty as she asked the question.
“Yeah, Misty,” a taunting voice called from behind Tallulah. “Do you want some iced tea?”
I flicked my eyes in that direction and found the woman of the hour.
Maisie Coventry. She was dressed in what had to be a five-thousand-dollar cocktail dress and a veil to signify she was the queen for the evening.
It didn’t look to be of the cheap variety, like those worn by other women dressed similarly on the casino floor.
“Of course I don’t want iced tea,” Misty scoffed.
“I told you she would lose her chill first,” Celeste volunteered to nobody in particular. “You never could handle your liquor.”
Misty’s eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. “I’ll have a pomegranate martini,” she gritted out to Tallulah without looking in her direction.
Tallulah touched her tongue to her top lip then glanced up at me. She was obviously torn.
Servers in the casino had to walk a fine line.
Alcohol lowered inhibitions, so people were more willing to bet money—even big money—when gambling.
If people got too drunk, however, they picked fights and occasionally passed out at the tables.
Tallulah was supposed to make the call about whether to cut off the alcohol.
The last thing we needed—the very last thing—was a story making it out of this lounge and into a tabloid regarding one of the younger stars of HBO’s current big hit.
“Let’s get some iced tea,” Tallulah said brightly, seemingly making up her mind on the spot. “We’ll get some food in you—we can order from any restaurant on the property—and then you’ll be good to go in an hour.”
That seemed unlikely to me. Misty was one drink away from passing out. I smiled all the same. “I think that sounds like a great idea.”
“Nobody asked you!” Misty fired back, her eyes flashing with disdain. “You’re cheating anyway. I don’t like you.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I want another pomegranate martini,” she said to Tallulah. “I also want a different dealer. This one is cheating.”
Dealers are accused of cheating all the time.
Like there would be anything but grief for us if we did.
It wasn’t as if casino owners were trying to stop people from winning.
The exact opposite was true. An excited winner made everybody hopeful that they might win too.
It was one thing to be accused of cheating on the main floor.
It was quite another for it to happen in the high rollers lounge, however.
“Nobody is cheating,” I assured her. “You’ve just had a run of bad luck.”
“You’re lying.” Misty’s eyes filled with fire as they locked with mine. “You’re a big, fat filthy liar!” She screeched it at the top of her lungs.
Of course, since Kyla was making her hourly pass through the lounge at that exact moment, her attention was drawn to the table.
“What’s going on?” Kyla asked as she appeared at my side.
“He’s cheating,” Misty replied, jabbing a finger at me. “I wanted a queen, and he gave me a ten.”
Kyla blinked, then she blinked again. She seemed thrown by the accusation. “I see,” she said finally.
“He’s not cheating,” Tallulah countered. She looked as surprised as me that the words had come out of her mouth. “Ms. Penrose has had a little too much to drink.”
Misty lashed out when nobody was expecting it and caught Tallulah across the face with a hard slap. My mouth fell open—I so wasn’t expecting that—but what I expected even less was Tallulah’s response.