My mouth dropped open as he stared at me. “Are you talking to me?” I squeaked out.
“Yes, I’m talking to you.” He glanced at the chips in front of me. “This is a ten dollar minimum table.”
So much for people not telling me what to do anymore. I picked up a couple chips, my fingers not really wanting to cooperate. Could I spend the cowboy’s money while he was in the bathroom cleaning up my mess? Wouldn’t that violate every rule of socially acceptable behavior ever written?
I put two chips down on the table, mimicking the actions of the person on my right. I had no idea how much money it was. The old man to my left gave me a smile, revealing perfectly straight dentures and bright pink gums. “Ever play blackjack before?” he asked.
“No. Never.” I should have been scared out of my wits, probably. Gambling wasn’t my thing and spending other people’s money felt ten times wrong. But something about being here in this neon-glitzy place, my shoes off and my boobs pushed up to my neck made be feel bold. Daring. Ready to grab the world by the balls and make it beg for mercy. Rawr.
“Just get as close to twenty-one as you can without going over,” he instructed.
“Sounds easy,” I said, picking up my first card. I showed it to him. “Is this a good one?”
He nodded and leaned over to whisper in my ear. “Soft hand.”
I held out my fingers in front of me, smiling. “Thank you. I use hand cream to keep them moisturized.”
“Not your hand, the card. That’s an ace … possibility of a soft hand. It’s worth either one or eleven, you can decide which. If you get a ten or higher - any of the face cards - you win. You get a return of a hundred and fifty percent of your bet.” He glanced at the table. “You’ve put down two hundred dollars, so that could net you three hundred.”
I stopped breathing for a few seconds as the blood drained out of my face. My voice came out an octave higher than usual. “I just bet two hundred dollars?”
He chuckled, flashing me more of the dentures. “That you did.”
I looked around the casino, hoping the cowboy wouldn’t come back and see the huge pile of money I was playing with. Why didn’t I look at the chips closer? Why didn’t I check them first?
“Insurance anyone?” asked the dealer.
I felt the blood drain out of my face even more. I was a ghost now. “Insurance?” My voice came out as a whisper.
“Dealer has an ace. He’s giving you a chance to bet a little extra on the side. It pays two to one. If he gets a face card next, he wins automatically, so this can help offset your losses. You can bet up to half of what you have on the table right now.”
“He wins, even if I get blackjack too?”
“No, then it’s a push. But you’d lose your insurance money, so you’d lose net.”
“Should I do it?” I asked.
He shrugged. “I can’t tell you if you should or not. Gotta do what your gut’s telling you.” He examined his own cards and shook his head at the call for insurance.
“My gut’s telling me to run and lock myself in the bathroom.”
The old man shook his head. “Better not. Your boyfriend will lose his spot at the table and this dealer’s treating him right. He’ll be taking a break in the next twenty minutes or so and then your boyfriend’ll miss out on his run for good.”
I gritted my teeth together and took a deep breath in through my nose, trying to ignore the spinning of the room. Too many cocktails. So little time. “Okay, fine. I can be bold. I can be dangerous.” I shook my head at the dealer, trying to keep my game face on. “No insurance. But thank you for offering. That was very nice.”
The dealer gave me a small smile. “Rules of the house. I don’t make ‘em, I just play by ‘em.” He was kinda cute.
“Oh.” My face went red. Total rookie move. I slouched a little in my seat.
A cocktail waitress came up and stopped next to my chair. “Cocktail?”
“Oh, I don’t have any money right now,” I said. I’d left my wallet and credit card in Candice’s purse.
“They’re on the house as long as you’re playing.” She gave me a bored look.
“Well, okay then. If they’re free bring one for me and my friend.” I winked at the man next to me and he nodded back. “Gin and tonic for me and …”
“Make it two,” said my neighbor.
The dealer gave everyone else a second card. He lifted up the corners of own cards and then put them down, looking at the man farthest to my right expectantly.
The old man let out a hiss of air.
“What? What just happened?” I asked, looking at the dealer and then the old man again.
“Dealer doesn’t have a ten or higher on that second card. Your bet is safe for now.”
I watched the people around the table. They were all peeking at their second card and frowning.
I did the same, trying to mimic their technique of only bending up the very corner of the cards. Next to my ace sat another ace. My heart began pounding wildly. What does this mean? Twenty-two? That can’t be good. Twelve? That sounds too low.