Fake Money, Real Questions
Maddox
Delaney gave a dramatic groan. "Oh, my God. Talk about terrible luck." She looked genuinely distressed, which made no sense whatsoever.
With a chuckle, I said, "But not for you." I'd just landed on Boardwalk, where Delaney had earlier planted two little plastic houses, jacking up the rent to a lofty six-hundred dollars.
Lofty in the game.
Not so lofty in real life, where six hundred bucks might get you a broom closet if the landlord was feeling generous.
Delaney gestured toward the board. "Yeah, but on your last turn, you landed on Park Place."
"So?"
"So, like two minutes ago, you had to pay me four-fifty."
The game had spread across the coffee table in colorful chaos – with fake money, scattered deeds, and enough tiny plastic houses to form a questionable suburban development.
Delaney was curled up on the floor beside the table with one foot tucked beneath her, frowning at the board like bankrupting me wasn't such a great plan.
But I was far from destitute. I still had plenty of money left, and we were just getting started.
I asked, "Don't you want to win?"
"Well…sure. Eventually. But where's the sport in destroying you right away?"
Already, we'd been playing for over an hour, circling the board and gathering up properties in hopes of completing matching sets so we could add houses and hotels.
So far, Delaney had locked down Boardwalk and Park Place along with a second monopoly in red. As for myself, I had the full set of orange plus that low-rent stretch of light blue – the slums as Delaney had called them.
Slums or not, I'd done my own share of house-buying, too. And now, as I forked over six hundred dollars in fake money, I told her, "So land on mine again. That'll even things out."
"I can't do it on purpose," she laughed as she studied the board. "And I'm not sure I'd want to."
I couldn't resist teasing her. "Oh, so I can pay you, but you don't want to pay me."
She looked up, meeting my gaze. "Can I confess something weird?"
"Go ahead."
"I don't even know why I play this. I hate to lose. And I hate to win. So, why do I torture myself?"
"It can't be all torture," I said. "You're still smiling."
She snickered. "Yeah…well, so are you."
She was right. In fact, I'd smiled more today than I had in weeks. "If you think I'm smiling now, just wait 'til I've got all your money."
"Hah! Dream on, sucker!" As she said it, she reached for the two dice and tossed them lightly onto the board, rolling a nine and moving her game piece to a railroad she already owned.
She looked up with a smile. "See? No rent for you."
The roll hadn't gone my way, but I still smiled back. I couldn't help it. As a kid, I'd played the game only a handful of times, but I couldn't recall it ever being this much fun.
And it continued to be fun – even when Delaney added a hotel to Boardwalk and nearly cleaned me out in a single turn.
Still, I wasn't too worried. All things considered, the game was evenly matched. I had more hotels, but Delaney had better ones, which made every trip around the board a nail-biter for both of us.
The stakes were technically zero, with nothing but bragging rights on the line. This should've made the nail-biting ridiculous. After all, I'd handled bigger deals in real life with less adrenaline than this.
It didn't matter. I was too caught up in the game.
When Delaney landed on New York Avenue and had to pay me a thousand bucks, it felt stupidly good to relax.
But then Delaney asked, "So how long have you been living here?"
Shit.
I took my time stacking the rent money – one orange five-hundred-dollar bill and five beige hundreds. As I straightened the new cash onto the appropriate piles, I carefully replied, "Not long in this place. But in Chicago, most of my life."
As I said it, it wasn't lost on me that this was the perfect opening to come clean.
Maybe thirty minutes ago, I'd busted out a bottle of chardonnay to keep us relaxed while acquiring fake properties. Now, Delaney's glass was nearly empty even if mine was mostly full – a good thing, considering I couldn't afford to lose my wits.
Then again, it would take a lot more than a single glass to put me under the table.
Instead of confessing, I asked, "How about you?"
She rolled the dice. "What do you mean?"
I knew plenty about where she'd been living. But I knew nothing of where she planned to go next.
From Cal's report, it was fairly obvious that Delaney was currently between homes – not technically homeless, but definitely not settled. And now, she was here in Chicago for a visit. Or at least that's what she'd called it yesterday, which implied that soon, she'd be moving on.
The thought of her leaving hit harder than it should've, and I heard myself say, "I just mean, where do you call home?"
She'd been moving her playing piece – a tiny pewter cat – seven spaces. But her counting faltered, and she looked up. "Actually, I'm not quite sure."
Without Cal's report, I would've been confused. Everyone called someplace home, right?
But not Delaney. At least not now.
But then, as if realizing her statement was unusual, she said with obvious reluctance, "I just moved out of my apartment – only a couple of days ago, actually." She finished counting, moving her piece to Kentucky Avenue and making no comment about the fact she already owned it.
It was my turn to roll, but I made no move to pick up the dice. "So you don't have a new place yet?"
"Not really." She hesitated. "I mean…I can work from anywhere, so I guess I've got lots of options, huh?"
She'd said it lightly, but underneath, I'd caught something else, something that made me sit up straighter. "So, why'd you move? You didn't like your place?"
"Actually, I loved it." She bit her lip. "But it was getting a little crowded."
I wasn't sure what she meant. Cal's report said she lived alone. Unless…did she mean the city itself? "Crowded how?"
"I just felt like I needed a little breathing room, that's all." She was no longer smiling.
I searched her face for clues. "What kind of breathing room?"
She scooped up the dice and started to hand them over so I could roll. But then, she drew back her hand and said with an unconvincing laugh, "You know that's not fair, right?"