Back in Black (22 page)

Cammie merely blinked at the girl, as if she weren't even worthy of a reply, then turned back to the group. “I've got a better idea. Remember I told you guys that I knew a place where we could gamble?”

“Cammie—” Adam began.

Cammie waved him off. “Adam doesn't approve of gambling,” she told the group.

“You came to Vegas and you don't approve of gambling?” Scott shook his head in mock disbelief. “You're a better man than I am, my friend.”

“It's no biggie,” Adam offered easily. “I came to hang with my friends and my girlfriend.”

“Which is so sweet, really.” Cammie stood on tiptoe to kiss her boyfriend. “And you can relax, baby. Because the place I want to take you is totally private. And you can gamble for fun, not for profit. No animals will be harmed in the process.” She kissed him lightly.

“Can we check out this DVD there?” Cyn pressed.

“Whatever. Let's go—I'm sick of this place,” Cammie declared. “We can figure it out later.”

What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas was definitely
not
about to stay in Vegas. Sam panicked as they made their way through the cavernous hotel to their waiting limo. As soon as her friends saw that DVD, the shit was going to hit the Vera Wang. And who knew how far it would fly?

Anna peered through the glass of the black stretch limo as the mesa-top mansion came into view. It was about time, she thought. The freeway run out of Vegas to the north and then the winding drive up the mesa to Cammie's mystery destination had made her feel a little queasy. So had the two bottles of Cristal they'd cracked open and emptied.

“This doesn't look like a private club.” She leaned forward to look at Cammie as the limo rolled past the front door. “It looks like someone's place.”

Cammie smiled enigmatically. “Doesn't it, though?”

“An enormous place,” Cyn opined, taking in the three-story-tall mansion that was as long as a football field. “Do you mind telling me where the hell we are?”

“O ye of little faith,” Cammie pronounced, opening the limo's windows so her friends could take in the panoramic view of Las Vegas. “Let's just say this is one of Sin City's best-kept secrets.”

“Or you could be setting us all up for the Mafia hit that will put you out of your misery,” Scott joked half-nervously.

“Trust me.” Instead of stopping by the front door—more like the entrance to a grand hotel than a front door, with its white colonnaded facade with laser lights shooting into the sky in all directions—the driver followed Cammie's instructions and brought them to a side entrance, where three sets of double glass doors led to a lower level. The driver asked Sam if it would be okay if he went down to the valley again to wash the limo. Sam said that was fine. She'd call him if he wasn't back when they were ready to leave.

As the limo pulled away, the group regarded the glass doors. They were tinted and it was impossible to see inside.

“Quick, who knows the secret knock?” Scott whispered.

Cyn laughed and kissed him, which made Anna squirm. Yes, she'd flirted with Scott at the pool. Well, kind of. Well, badly. But it had been harmless. And she'd never, ever, ever actually move in on her best friend's guy, even if she had the remotest notion of how to do such a thing. Which she didn't.

Cammie stepped forward and pressed a tiny doorbell—Anna realized that if you didn't know it was there, you'd never find it. Moments later, a man in his early twenties with a hipster goatee and a platinum blond buzz cut, clad in black Armani, slid open one of the doors.

“Yes?”

“Cammie.”

“Of course.” He ushered them in.

Once inside, Anna could see that the room was approximately three times the size of the family room in her father's Beverly Hills home. But where Jonathan Percy's taste ran to the classic, this room was done entirely in futuristic chic. In one corner was a replica of a female Japanese anime character with spiky black hair and outsize breasts that stood twenty feet high. On the far wall was a two-story fireplace; above it was a box of inlaid glass bubbles of turquoise and taupe. Recessed into the bubbles was a flat-screen TV. Bubble chairs made of Plexiglas hung randomly throughout the room, suspended from the ceiling by clear chains. There were postmodern paintings of soap bubbles on the walls. In each corner was a bubble-shaped white leather love seat lit by an Arco stainless-steel-and-marble lamp. Anna could see a full bar off to one side.

What was
really
special about the room, though, was the center: It was devoted to gaming, with all the trappings of a mini casino. There were a blackjack table, a craps table, a roulette wheel, and a row of video poker slot machines.

“Welcome to the House,” announced the goateed gentleman who'd let them inside. “Can I get anyone anything?”

“Your name would be nice,” suggested Cyn.

“Craig.”

“Craig,” Cyn repeated. “Where are we?”

“Do you mean in the existential scheme of things?” he asked coolly.

“I'll explain,” Cammie put in. “For now, just have a good time and do all the gambling that you're not allowed to do down in the valley. How about apple martinis all around. Munchies?”

“Is there, like, a menu or something?” Scott asked. He looked around the room, taking it all in.

“Quaint notion.” Cammie smiled. “Craig, how about some foie gras, beluga caviar with French bread, gherkins, an assortment of charcuterie, two fresh fruit platters, and two pitchers of apple martinis, stirred not shaken.”

“Very good. You'll excuse me.” Craig took his leave, heading through the entryway into the barroom.

Very strange. Anna couldn't imagine what the connection was between it and Cammie. “Seriously, Cammie. Where are we?”

“An old friend's house,” Cammie replied. “His father keeps this cute little casino for guests, friends, private parties, bar mitzvahs, you know. It's kind of like a hobby.”

“What friend?” Adam queried, an edge to his voice.

Craig had just swung back through the door. “You kids want to play for fun or for money? I can convert the machines with a flick of a switch. And we've got the loosest slots in town.”

“Nah,” Adam answered quickly. “We'll play for fun.”

“Fair enough,” Craig agreed. “I'll be back shortly with the refreshments. Sound system is by the side of the fireplace, and then we can open whichever gaming table you like. Cammie can show you the gym and the virtual reality room. Please feel free to explore. Really.”

“Cammie can show you?” Adam repeated. “How does Cammie know?”

“Enough with the intrigue shit,” Sam demanded. “Whose place is this?”

“My place.” A voice came from behind them. “Brock Striker.”

Anna turned—a ruggedly handsome guy with broad shoulders, spiky hair, and blond stubble on his dimpled chin stood with his arms crossed. He wore hip, baggy jeans and a long-sleeved black T-shirt.

Sam was staring at him in disbelief. “
Brock?
”

He smiled. “Sam Sharpe. You remember me?”

“How many Brocks are there?” Her face broke into a huge grin. “I can't believe it. You used to be such a little shit! I wondered what happened to you.”

As the others watched, Sam threw her arms around the guy, who hugged her back, warmly. “God, remember that time in, like, fifth grade when your parents took us out on their yacht?”

“And we played spin-the-bottle with Chassagne-Montrachet '
77
from your father's wine cellar,” Cammie recalled, laughing. “He found us and said, ‘You
drink
this, you
play
with each other.’ Then he made us all drink some.”

“ ‘Take in the bouquet,’ ” Brock intoned somberly, evidently imitating his father. “Didn't Dee Young get sick?” He looked around the casino room. “Where is she, anyway?”

“Seeking enlightenment in the mysteries of the Zohar, up in her suite at the Palms,” Sam scoffed. “She didn't want to come.”

“When did Dee convert to Judaism?” Brock sounded incredulous.

“Oh, there are many souls living in Dee's teeny-tiny body,” Sam joked. “So you never know.”

Brock motioned to the far side of the room, where there were white couches and an entertainment center. “Why don't we go over there and wait for the food? It'll be a lot more comfortable.”

“Um, at the risk of being rude, how do you know this guy?” Cyn asked Cammie and Sam as they made their way across the mini casino.

“From the Brentwood Country Club,” Cammie explained.

“His family moved away maybe five years ago,” Sam chimed in. “He really was a little shit. Smallest kid in our class.”

“I've grown.” Brock grinned. He settled into one of the plush couches. “It was six years ago, but who's counting? When Camilla called and told me you were all coming to Vegas, we reconnected.”

Camilla? Anna thought as she found a seat on a love seat. Parker plopped down next to her. He calls her Camilla?

Cammie introduced everyone to Brock, saving Adam for last. Brock gave Adam a strong handshake. “So, you're her guy. I heard a lot about you.”

Adam's face looked tight. “I didn't even know you existed.”

“No reason you would,” Cammie said easily.

“So, what's your poison?” Brock asked the group. “Blackjack? Craps? Craig'll be back in a minute. If you don't know how to play, he'll help you.”

“Blackjack,” Adam declared loudly.

“My man!” Scott laughed, sharing the latest variation of a fist-shoulder bump.

“Let's play for money,” Cyn decreed. “Otherwise what's the point?”

“Let's play for services rendered,” Adam suggested.

“Ooh, you naughty boy,” Cammie said, patting Adam's butt.

Anna smiled. It was nice to see that Adam could hold his own with Cammie. “Excellent,” Brock told him with a chuckle. “You'll have the best dealer in the world. Me. And let's make things interesting. A new 3Com Palm IX for the winner?”

Parker spoke up. “Brock? There isn't anything past a Palm VIII right now.”

“O ye of little faith.” Brock smiled. “Adam, I suggest you play hard this evening. I have a feeling. Tonight, you're going to get lucky.”

Anna motioned to Brock with her right hand. “Hit me.”

“You sure?” he asked. “You've got seventeen.”

She took a sip of her Grey Goose apple martini—really good. Anna was still nursing her first while everyone else had moved on to seconds, or even thirds. Anna contemplated the big stack of chips in front of her, knowing she shouldn't take another card. It was statistically foolhardy; there were so many chances to go over twenty-one and lose.

“Don't do it,” Sam cautioned from her stool to Anna's right. “It's a sucker play.”

“Let the girl do what she wants,” Cyn opined. “If she wants to throw her chips away, she should have that privilege.”

“How supportive,” Anna quipped. “I know what I'm doing. I think.”

It was almost an hour later, and the blackjack game had been going hot and heavy. Anna knew the game but had never really played it with any kind of stakes—not even with chips for fun, like she was doing right now. And she had to admit, it was fun to watch her stack of chips grow and grow, while Cammie's and Cyn's were shrinking and shrinking. Sam, meanwhile, appeared to be just about breaking even.

The guys had disappeared. Probably to check out the virtual reality gaming room on the top floor.

“Okay, this is my last hand,” Anna declared. “So hit me, Brock.”

Brock pushed a card in her direction. Anna flipped it over. Four of diamonds. She punched the air with her fist. “Twenty-one.”

Sam flipped her cards. Eighteen. Cammie hers. Seventeen. Cyn took one more card on a hand of twelve. Jack of hearts. Busted. Finally, Brock flipped his cards over. Twenty.

“Nice job, Anna,” their host complimented her. “You should think about doing this for a living.”

“And skip the whole Yale-education thing. Highly overrated.” Cyn pushed back from the table. “Tell you what. Let's get the guys and watch the DVD from the hypnosis thingie.”

“Bad idea,” Sam responded quickly. “I was there. It wasn't that great. Let's play some more.”

Anna ran a finger over the top chip on her pile. “I'm kind of curious, actually.”

Cyn pulled the DVD case from her oversized Dior by John Galliano white goatskin satchel—Anna recalled how Cyn had filched it from her mother when they were in junior high and had been invited to their class-mate Babette Biscomb's grandparents' oceanfront manse on Hilton Head Island for the weekend. Cyn had stopped being friends with Babette years ago, after Babette had caught Cyn making out with her boyfriend at some drunken party in SoHo. Cyn had lost the friend but kept the bag.

“DVD?” Brock asked with a sly grin. “That can be arranged.”

“What can be arranged?” Adam asked.

Cammie smiled as the three guys returned to the casino room. “Perfect timing. We're going to watch the hypnosis show. Should be cool.”

Brock brought them back to the area with the couches and pillows and opened a cabinet recessed in the wall by the fireplace. Inside were the controls for the TV and DVD player. As the group gathered around the fireplace to sit on a lush white Berber rug, Anna saw that Sam was a bit pale.

“Are you okay?”

“Shit,” Sam muttered.

“Okay, let's roll 'em.” Brock pointed the remote at the DVD player and pressed the play button.

Anna leaned closer to Sam. “What?”

“You're about to find out.”

The replay began playing on the flat-screen plasma television on the wall above the fireplace. There was loud music, a card listing the date and time of the show, and then the actual show. Anna was amused to see herself climbing onto the stage with all the others except Sam.

“You look hot on camera, girl,” Scott told Cyn, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. She leaned into him as Drake put everyone into a trance.

“This is like watching a train wreck,” Sam declared in a low voice.

Sam's trepidation was really starting to bother Anna.

“
What
?”

“The kind where you don't want to look but there's this sick fascination.”

“What are you talking about?” Anna wanted to know what was on that tape.

“Just watch,” Sam hissed. “You'll see.”

On the video, people starting “fluffing” the nearest member of the opposite sex, thinking the person was a pillow. Everyone cracked up. Anna laughed, too; it really was funny. Weird, too, to think that she didn't remember any of it. But this harmless stuff couldn't be what Sam was so upset about. So what had happened? Anna blushed when she saw herself rubbing against some very cute guy; everyone else in the room hooted and applauded. Scott cut his eyes at her as if he was reconsidering his opinion of her all over again. How could she not remember? That had to be what Sam had been warning about—her publicly seducing a stranger. Well, Anna could handle it. It wasn't really so terrible.