Authors: Keisha Orphey
Chapter Six
Chinese New Year at the Ritz All-Suite Hotel & Casino. Festive tambourines and colorful paper mache’ dragons paraded carelessly through the crowd of sight-seeing tourists and down the winding aisles of the casino floor. A band followed, playing musical instruments. Onlookers smiled and waved, as the entourage danced among a multitude of gamblers hustled around gaming tables.
Dawn entered the blackjack pit and approached Peter standing tall with white mullet-cut hair and beard wearing a silver suit. He looked sleek as a shiny bullet.
“Hey, Mr. Pete. What a crowd tonight. Took me nearly ten minutes to make it through. Any big action I need to know about before you go?”
“It’s definitely been rowdy.” Peter gestured toward a man at a blackjack table. “Denzel Washington at table four is up thirteen thousand. He’s quite a pistol, carrying on with everyone like he’s the master of the universe. He has ten orange in his pocket (chips worth $1000 each). Any black you’re missing, that’s where it’s at.”
“You think he looks like Denzel Washington?”
Denzel wished he looked
that
good.
From a distance, Dawn could tell he was in shape and strong. The top of his shirt was open offering a view of his chiseled chest, golden skin gleaming beneath the bright casino light. She could not see the lower half of his body, but knew, indubitably discerned, every asset below his waist was simply remarkable and arrestive.
Thick, wavy hair glistened above his perfect forehead and shapely brows. He was undeniably the most gorgeous man she’d ever laid eyes on. Not simply attractive, but turn-your-head-three-times-fine. Damn! And that mouth! A perfectly shaped goatee -- smooth silky black hair adorned his sensuous lips.
“Yeah, well, Denzel is the only black actor I’m familiar with. No disrespect, Miss Barron.”
“None taken, Mister Pete, but that man isn’t black. He’s not even American.” That’s Omari Hardwick’s Hispanic twin, she thought. Dawn met the man’s flirtatious gaze, then followed Peter toward a different blackjack table where large men in their thirties were seated sweating over twenty dollar bets. “Recognize any of them at table five?”
Dawn nodded, quickly getting a second eyeful of the man at table four staring back at her. His eyes were electric and seductive.
How am I going to get any work done with him around?
“I heard a couple of patrons commenting that those guys are Saints football players. You know I don’t watch that stuff.”
“I don’t either, Mr. Pete. I’m only interested when Christopher plays with the youth league. And I
still
don’t know what’s going on.” She laughed.
“Oh, yeah. Your boy’s got a great arm. Don’t work too hard, kiddo,” he said exiting the pit.
She found herself happy when Pete left. Enough about those football players, she thought. Besides, she just wasn’t in the mood for conversation. Or dealing with six flirty men at one time. Instead, she got right to work and walked table to table in the pit, picking up the long yellow index cards from the slots, surveying each dealer’s rack of chips, and scribbling the chip count until --
“Excuse me, Miss.”
Dawn’s heart seemed to beat outside her chest as she stood beside the blackjack dealer at table four. Was she perspiring? Could he tell how nervous she was standing there? Just three feet away from him now? Any closer she could be sitting in his lap…Oh, now there was a thought, and although she’d struck the thought quickly, she envied the woman seated beside him. How could she be sitting there without making conversation?
“Yes, sir?”
Oh my God! You’re even more stunning up close.
After a decade of tracking her whereabouts, he sat dangerously within reach of the woman he’d been sent to dispose of. Just one quick twist of the neck and she’d be dead, but Emilio wanted this one alive. In one piece. No missing arms and legs like the last one, he’d said. And whatever Emilio wanted, he was sure to receive, but this time,
this one time
, and at this very moment, the stakes’d changed. It’s been ten years. Why was Emilio still pursuing her? Since when did he want a mark returned… alive? That’s never been the case. But just one look at her, it had become clear. She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on. Her fair skin radiated in the light, long and freshly showered tendrils permeated the air between them like an ocean breeze and those hazel eyes, he imagined being enthralled in them as she lay beneath him in the heat of passion. For the first time, his heart pattered. There was something engaging about this woman and he wanted to explore every inch of her.
Sitting in the center seat, his large arms folded on the rim of the table, he pointed at two cards on the table in front of him. “What’s the book say about splittin’ tens?”
“Is that supposed to be a trick question? You know you’re not supposed to split tens. And you’re looking at the dealer’s ace,” she caught his furtive glance. He was taunting her. Teasing.
“That deuce doesn’t scare me,” he said as his white teeth gleamed behind his luscious lips. He took five black chips, worth one hundred dollars each, and placed them beside his current bet. “Split’em,” he told the dealer then gave Dawn a look: “Watch this.”
At the wince of the other players on the table, the dealer split the two face cards.
A disgruntled older white man sat in the last seat with a face ugly as sin. He stood, palming very few chips, and grunted: “Fucking bullshit,” Hunched over, he waddled away.
“Hold on just a minute, dealer,” he started. “If I lose, I’ll give everyone at this table five hundred dollars—“
The old man looked like an ogre as he turned his entire body around to look back at the table, then resignedly swatted as if he doubted what the man had said. He turned around again and headed for the cashier grumbling inaudibly to himself.
Two Asian women sitting at the table started to whoop and holler.
Another player, a white lady in her early forties with heavy makeup and bright red lipstick shrugged. She didn’t care what play he made. She was a winner either way.
“And if you win?” Dawn asked.
“
You’ve
gotta have dinner with me. Tonight.” His accent was one she’d never heard before. It seemed almost American, but it was smooth, and rehearsed.
You read my mind.
“I’m a married woman.”
“What does that have to do with dinner? You’re not dead.”
Yet.
“No, but I would be if I accepted your offer.”
The two Asian women giggled. The lady with the heavy makeup gave Dawn look that said: I’ll take him, if you don’t want him.
It’s just dinner, dummy
.
“All right. I’ll play your little game— “
“This isn’t a game, beautiful.” He stared at Dawn, but gestured toward the dealer: “Deal the cards.” His gaze remained fixed on Dawn as the dealer laid an ace on the first ten.
Twenty-one. A sure winner.
“Halfway--” he envisioned Dawn unbuttoning her blouse, licking her lips, moaning.
Dawn crossed her arms, smirking, “You didn’t say anything about a push.”
“Neither did you. Besides, a push is a win.”
The dealer laid a nine of clubs on the second ten.
Nineteen.
“Not bad.” Butterflies fluttered in her stomach; his gaze was piercing. Captivating.
He extended his hand across the table. “Nicoli. Friends call me ‘Nicky.” His lips parted in a smile exposing glistening white teeth. She could smell his cologne. It was fragrant and sensuous. And when she enveloped his hand with her own, she felt skin smooth as a baby’s bottom.
“My name is Dawn. Friends call me ‘Dawn’” she giggled.
The dealer turned over his hole card.
Seventeen.
The entire table had eighteen or better.
Nicoli grinned, shoving five black chips in front of everyone at the table, even though everyone had won the hand.
“My shift doesn’t end ‘til six in the morning. You’ll be asleep and I’ll be too tired,” she removed the long yellow card from its slot, scribbling the chip count.
The two Asian women quickly palmed their chips and left the table, thanking him with a grateful bow.
“I’ll take you,” the lady with the heavy makeup and red lipstick blurted, pushing her chips on the felt toward the dealer, and gave Nicoli a come hither look. She pulled on her coat and palmed the seven black chips the dealer returned. But when Nicoli didn’t respond, she walked away with embarrassment stamped on her face. Dawn could tell the woman was desperate and that hadn’t been the first time she’d been turned down.
“That was mean,” Dawn locked eyes with Nicoli.
“She’s not my type— “
Carrying a walkie-talkie, Joe DeConey walked up behind Nicoli and patted him on the back. “I heard you were here, Nicky.” Joe was the casino manager at the Ritz and a blood-thirsty hawk when it came to big action in the pits. Although he’d turned fifty that year, his black pepper hair was thin all over his head, his skin sagged of dark circles beneath tired eyes, and his tweed jacket fit snug around his barreled midriff. Unattractive as he was, he did have an outstanding playing card.
He was one of Emilio’s contacts in Sin City. A cell.
But he was in debt to the cartel and that wasn’t a good side of the table to be on.
Nicoli looked over his shoulder. “Hey, Joey.”
“Enjoying your stay? We got some hot babes in the bikini pit. Anything you need, just let me know.”
Nicoli locked eyes with Dawn as she stood at a nearby table and said: “As a matter of fact, there is something I’d like,” his eyes still transfixed on her. “
That
young lady is going to be joining me at the steakhouse in thirty minutes. Make the reservations.”
Joe chuckled, then realized Nicoli was serious: “Dawn? Sh-she just got here, Nick. I-I have no one who can take her place.”
“That sounds like a personal problem, Joey.”
Dawn returned to table four with casino security. The officer placed a clear case in the center of the table and removed the lid. The dealer removed racks of chips and counted them down as Dawn scribbled on the long yellow card. “It was nice to meet you, Nicoli.” Dawn proceeded to another table out of Nicoli’s earshot where a dealer stood beckoning her assistance.
Nicoli swiveled around in his chair, turning his back to his dealer, and faced Joe. “How much do you owe these days, Joey?” his eyes squinted with revulsion. “Do I need to make a call? Tell the boss you’re being uncooperative?”
Joe cleared his throat and whispered: “No-no, of course not, Nick…I owe twenty-five.”
Nicoli gave him a stony look. “You owe forty-seven, you fucking imbecile.” he stood, pulling on his leather jacket. “Make the call.”
¤ ¤ ¤
“You sure know how to stir a commotion.” Dawn met Nicoli’s gaze over the candlelight.
Nicoli had an athletic build, with long masculine arms and broad shoulders. A straight-edged nose and a square chin complimented his teeth and goatee. But it was his green eyes she found herself focused on. They were irresistible. He’d witnessed death with those eyes and possibly at his own hands. Those eyes didn’t miss a beat. Right now they were boring straight through her and as she found it nearly impossible to look into them, she sensed the urge to cross her arms defensively.
“Commotion? Me? No, I just know what I want--” Nicoli drank from a glass of water never taking his eyes off of her.
“And that is --“
“To talk to you. Alone. If that’s alright. I saw you looking at me and I was obviously looking at you.” Nicoli was gorgeous and the first to ever intimidate her. He’d accomplished it so easily.
Dawn took a moment to respond, as if mulling it over, then: “How do you know Joe?”
“Let’s just say Joe and I are … associated. We know a lot of the same people.” Nicoli removed a bottle of champagne from a bucket of ice perched beside the table. He poured himself a glass and gestured at Dawn.
She declined. “Thank you, but I’m still at work.”
Nicoli’s face captured the light of the candle’s flame as he slouched back and regarded her with magnetic eyes. In the ensuing silence, Dawn's expression and the manner in which she sat with her shoulders squared and her back rigid, told Nicoli that she was uncomfortable being alone with him. Not just being alone with him, but in his presence. Period. How would she explain this man to Philip if he just so happened to come to the casino in an attempt to make up for the way he’d allowed her to leave home that night? No hug. Just a quick peck on the cheek. He hadn’t even wished her a good night at work. Sure, he was at home with the kids, but an unannounced visit was possible. They’d hired babysitters before. She was nervous and the clanging sound of metal startled her.
Two waiters approached the table holding large serving trays above their heads with a single arm. Each waiter placed a plate on the table in front of Dawn and Nicoli. Lobster and steak dinners.
“Could I get you anything else, sir?”
“No, that’ll be all.”
“And for you, ma’am?”
“No, thank you.”
The waiters walked away from the table leaving them alone in a secluded area of the restaurant.
Dawn took a deep breath and exhaled. Dinner would be over soon. Hopefully, Nicoli would get bored of her and eat quickly, yet neither Nicoli nor she had touched the meal.
A vague look of bewilderment beamed in Nicoli’s eyes. “Why do you avoid looking at me? Do you not like what you see?”
“Excuse me?” her brow wrinkled with bemusement.
Of course she’d been looking at him – noting every angle of his form was perfect, every curve of muscle salient and extraordinary. From the way his body moved to the gesture of his hands, this man took her breath away.
A moment, then: “Come here.”
She stared back at him, expecting a burst of laughter, but there was none. Not even a glint. Sincerity prevailed. What was she going to do? Go to him? Then what? Straddle his lap like an exotic dancer as she had in the deepest, darkest corners of her mind earlier that evening? Of course not, but then she saw him stirring, standing and moving toward her, a glass of champagne in his hand.
“What are you doing, Nicoli?” The words slipped off her tongue breathlessly, as if he were removing his clothes …or hers.
Unwavering, he affirmed the obvious: “Coming sit beside you.” His jeans made a whiffing sound against the leather as he sat in the nearest chair and sipped from the glass. With wet lips, he whispered: “Don’t be nervous, sweetheart. I promise not to bite you.” Staring into her eyes, he brushed a finger across her cheek then her bottom lip, letting it linger there, swirling, gently, as if awaiting permission to slither inside her mouth. “Join me in the presidential suite. I want to taste you.” He removed his hand from her face and curved the chair with his arm.
Dawn swallowed. Hard. Her body sunk back in the seat and she stared at him, then down at the bracelet on his left wrist, gold and sparkling in the dim light; with at least a hundred embezzled emerald and diamond stones. Her gaze moved from the intricate bracelet to his long, gallant fingers. He wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. She wondered now what would make a man, so heavenly attractive, find her so appealing. Until that moment, she thought … No, she hadn’t thought. Hadn’t thought about no one but herself. How could she be so foolish? So desperate for a man she hardly knew. This -- whatever
this
was -- couldn’t go any further. The flaming desire in his eyes convinced her that he was serious.
Dawn cleared her throat and uttered, “I can’t do this. I’m sorry, but I must go.” Abruptly, she stood and raced out of the restaurant. And that was it. He hadn’t begged her to stay. Hadn’t said another word. Just like that, he’d let her walk away.
The irony was that except for feeling like she’d been untrue to a man who barely made her feel beautiful, she wasn’t at all fazed about walking away from one that did. Veritably, as she opened the door to Joe’s office, she felt surprisingly resilient and free. Light as a feather.
She could learn to love herself again. Perhaps even join the local gym and work hard for the body she’d always dreamed of. Three kids over the last five years had been torture on her physically and mentally; working out would make her a better mother, too.
When she returned to the blackjack pit, she was actually smiling. She conferred with the relieving supervisor, then table after table, she verified high denomination chips -- black, purple, orange, yellow and even grey – jotting the count on the long yellow cards. Next she made small talk with patrons -- an occasional 'how are you this evening' and 'if you need anything, just let me know'. Surprisingly, she found herself swaying and bopping to the music from the live band in the bar. She'd give anything to be in there dancing right now. Philip hadn't taken her dancing in years. Eight years to be exact. Nicoli would’ve been too happy to take her, she thought. Her stomach fluttered at the thought of him, she'd forget about dancing. And forgetting about Nicoli, as difficult as it might be, she would most certainly try -- she wasn't going to risk her marriage and her kids for a one-night stand. For any man. Or anything. To do that, she would have to tell him face to face.
The need to see him again became inescapable. Dawn picked up the phone in the pit and dialed zero for the operator. She asked for the presidential suite and upon being transferred, it rang…and rang…and rang. And when she hung up, she wondered what she would have said had he’d answered.
Standing next to a high limit blackjack table, she found herself enthralled in thoughts of Nicoli. The way his finger caressed her cheek and the explicit manner in which he'd run that finger across her lips. She wondered now what his lips tasted like. So wet, glistening with sweet champagne.
In the restaurant earlier that evening, he'd looked so handsome, so confident and masculine, sitting across from her at the table. When he’d moved into the seat beside her, he’d taunted and teased like a lover…she’d enjoyed it. And when she looked into his bedroom eyes, she'd been overwhelmed with guilt. It felt so good to be desired by another man, especially a man that looked like Nicoli, but it was so very wrong. Sinful.
She was a married woman thinking about another man. And although her marriage hadn't been happy for years, Dawn knew she was wrong for even thinking about seeing someone else. But now, as she paced the length of the pit and quickly surveyed each gaming table, she couldn't help but picture him alone in the suite upstairs. In the shower. A hot shower. That’s why he hadn’t answered the phone. She envisioned his head bowed beneath the steaming spray of water, a soapy lather sliding down over his broad muscular shoulders, his lips glistening wet, and his…. his -- I can’t do this, she heard herself say. I’m sorry, but I must go. Go where? Where did she have to go? Philip hadn’t expected her home until morning. She had a good nine hours to kill before he’d begin to worry. Shit. She regretted -- just for a second -- not following Nicoli to that presidential suite. She was lusting heavily for a man she knew nothing about and didn’t remember ever wanting anyone this much.
Not even Philip. Her husband and the father of her children. The man she’d promised to spend the rest of her life with. In sickness and in health. ‘Til death do us part. Their marriage had been boring; nothing in comparison to what she was feeling for Nicoli -- a stranger. Before she left home that evening, Philip’s kiss seemed rushed. Obligatory. She left home disgruntled and unfulfilled, but now she concluded what she was missing from her life. For years, she’d prayed that she and Philip could rekindle the old flame they had before marriage and kids.
Now she couldn’t think of anyone or anything but Nicoli.