Betting Blind (25 page)

“You got a beautiful family,” I said.

“Thank you.” He took the picture and put it back on the register carefully. If I ever had a family, I hoped I would be like that with their picture.

“So, how long have you been bartending?” I asked.

“Ten years, since I got married and we moved out here. Great money, and you don’t have to take work home. It’s a good way to support a family. But you’re probably not thinking about that yet.” He glanced at Irina, who was still chatting with her new friends.

“I don’t know. Maybe I am,” I heard myself say.

His eyebrows went up. “Well, it’s a good job. But you have to know how to handle drunks, how to stop fights. And you have to make great drinks. But you also have to know when to cut people off.”

“Huh,” I said. “So where does somebody learn how to bartend?”

He scanned the bar again, checking if anybody needed him. “Depends what kind of bartending you want to do. There’s the show-off stuff in nightclubs, juggling bottles. For that you go to Flair School. But if you decide you want to do real bartending, go to Crescent School, then find a job somewhere local, not the Strip.”

“Why?”

“You get regulars in a place like this. You make friends, and you get better tips.” He evened out a stack of napkins. “But the Strip is okay, too, if you like excitement. Just handle your bar like a man, and you’ll be okay.”

I wanted to ask him what that meant,
to handle your bar like a man
, but I was afraid I’d sound like a weirdo. “So where’s Crescent School?” I asked.

“On Sandhill. Listen, it’s none of my business, but”—he glanced at my O’Doul’s—“bartending isn’t the best job if you’re trying to avoid liquor.”

I looked at my bottle and started laughing. “Oh, man, no, I don’t have a drinking problem. I just felt like O’Doul’s.”

He smiled. “That’s good. If you can take or leave liquor, you’d be a good bartender.”

“Yeah, that’s me,” I said. “I like it, but I never need it or anything.”

“You like people? You like to talk a lot?”

“Yeah.”

“You stay cool in a fight?”

“Mostly.”

“You willing to be on your feet all day?”

“Yeah!”

“You not afraid of some grunt work, like dishes?”

“No.”

“You keep yourself looking nice, keep your hair combed . . . Never mind. I see you got that handled.” Just then, somebody held up an empty, and he disappeared.

Irina turned to me. “Gabe, this is Marina, Yuri, Sasha, and Katya.” I lifted a hand, and they nodded at me or said hey. What is it with Russian dudes being twice the size of American guys? They were dressed up nice, in sports coats. One of them looked like a younger version of Irina’s dad.

Suddenly I realized I didn’t have that much time left with Irina, and I sure didn’t want to waste it not talking to her. “You want to bolt?” I said in her ear.

She nodded. “Give me a second.”

I put out some cash to settle up, and the bartender’s magic sensors brought him around to grab it. He gave me change, and I slid him a twenty for a tip. “Thanks for the advice, man. I’m going to do it,” I said.

“You’ll like it. It’s good work.” He paused, looking me over. “Listen, you’re going to have to start with bussing or barbacking. Economy’s not so hot right now. Nobody gets a bartending gig right away in this town.”

“Yeah, I’m okay with that.” I didn’t know what a barback was, but I would do it.

“You a hard worker?”

I hoped he was going where I thought he was going. “Yeah.”

“I’ll ask around, see if anybody needs a busser or barback. All of us bartenders know each other. Come back and see me in a week. I’ll tell you if I heard of anything.”

It was a sign. “Thanks, man!” I was smiling huge. I didn’t care that Irina had turned away from her friends and was staring at me as if I’d changed color.

He nodded. “Sure thing. Have a good night.” Then he was gone.

“What was that about?” Irina said.

“I’ll tell you in a second.” I glanced at her friends. She waved good-bye, and we headed out the door into the cool night. The desert sky was black past the casino lights, and the stars were popping. I was stone sober and felt better than I had in about ten years. I wanted to holler into the air.

Irina looked worried. “It sounded like that bartender was offering to help you find a job.”

“Yep,” I said, grinning and still looking up. I sent out a silent thank-you in case God was real and listening.

Irina stopped on the edge of the parking lot and faced me. “Gabe, what’s going on?”

“Let’s sit down for a second.” I pulled her onto the curb behind a dark line of bumpers. Her eyes reflected the lights from the restaurant, and she wrapped her arms around her knees and sat very still, waiting. It was time to come clean.

I wasn’t sure where to start, so I blurted out, “I’m not going to be a doctor.”

“Okay, I knew that. But you’re not answering my question.”

“What do you mean, you knew that?” I was kind of insulted.

“A lot of people think they’re going to be doctors, and most of them never end up doing it. And no offense, but you didn’t seem that into medical stuff. But what about this job thing? What were you guys talking about?”

I put my elbows on my knees. It was hard to get the words out after all this time keeping them back. I said fast, in a low voice, “I dropped out of school on Wednesday. I’m staying in Vegas. Don’t worry, I’ll get you a plane ticket home tomorrow.”

She gasped. “You dropped out?”

“I was failing a bunch of classes.” I gave her a sideways look. “I’m fucking stupid, actually.” I couldn’t believe I was finally admitting it.

“No, you’re not!”

Suddenly I needed her to know. “Yes, I am. I can’t even read right, Irina. I can’t study. My brain doesn’t work like other people’s.”

“What are you talking about? You can’t read right?”

“I just can’t.”

She stared at me like she wanted more, so I tried. “The words smash together, and the letters get all weird. They crawl off the page sometimes. I get sick, like kind of dizzy. It takes me forever to get through a page.”

She was quiet for a moment. Then she asked, “Do you have dyslexia?”

I shook my head. “It’s not that. That’s where you write letters backward.”

“Anya’s little brother has dyslexia, and he doesn’t write letters backward. He just has a hard time reading. And he always says it makes him feel sick. You’re smart, Gabe. I know you are. You should get tested. It might be some other kind of disability. Words crawling off the page isn’t normal.”

The word
disability
made me feel so spooked that I wanted to stay as far away from it as I could. “Who cares what it is? I can’t change it.”

She stared at me. “Well, you can’t just drop out! That would be wasting all the time you already put in. Can’t you take those classes over?”

“I’d have to do summer school, and I’m not doing that. Anyway, who says I’d pass them if I tried again?”

“Gabe, you really need to get tested. They have to help you, and give you extra time on tests . . .” Irina trailed off as she saw my face. I was getting pissed, because I felt like she wasn’t listening, and I didn’t like her saying I had a disability.

“I’m not going back to school,” I said as strongly as I could. I wasn’t in the mood to argue about it.

After a minute Irina said in a strange voice, “What about your GED?”

“I guess I’ll do that sometime, just so I have it. But now I figured out what I want to do, and I don’t need a degree for it.”

“You’re going to stay in Vegas and
bartend
?” Irina scooted down the curb a few inches so she could see me. “But you’re not even eighteen yet.”

I shrugged. “I have a real ID that says I’m twenty-two. The feds aren’t sitting there, matching up birthdays with jobs. Besides, I have to go to bartending school and do bussing or barbacking or whatever. That’ll take some time.”

“So . . . you’re just going to stay here? You’re not even coming home?”

“I don’t have a home.” I looked away. “And besides, you’re going to college or wherever. You want me to come back to Washington just so I can say good-bye to you in a few months?”

“I guess not,” Irina said softly. She folded her arms over her knees and rested her head on them. After a minute, she said in a low voice, “Well, you’ll be a great bartender.”

“I know.” I threw a pebble at the curb.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were having a hard time in school?”

I gave a short laugh. “Are you kidding? Look at you. You wouldn’t date a loser.”

She put her cool hand on mine. “Don’t call yourself that. First of all, I obviously didn’t go the traditional school route myself. Second of all, I don’t care about money. I don’t want to live like my parents. My dad kills himself working, and it’s never enough, and all he’s buying anyway is a big empty house for my mom to sit in by herself. I don’t want that.”

She sounded so strong that I looked at her in surprise. I guessed there was still a lot we didn’t know about each other. “So marry a bartender,” I said, because the talk was getting too intense, and we both needed to lighten up.

She smiled. “Is that a proposal?”

“No. If it was a proposal, I’d have a giant rock and be like this.” I dropped off the curb onto my knees, grabbed her arm, and started kissing her wrist. Irina shrieked and tried to get away, and I said in a Russian accent, “Say you vill marry me!”

Just then some people walked out. They looked at us like we were lunatics. I thought I’d give them a show, so I pulled Irina in and kissed her, and it turned into a real kiss, one that lasted way after their car pulled away. Irina slid her hands under my coat and whispered something in my ear that made me blush, which is hard to do.

“There is no way,” I said, “that you’re going to make it until you’re married.”

“Oh yes, I am,” she said, her eyes gleaming in the dark. Then she got to her feet, and I did, too, and we walked into the night, swinging our hands between us.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

I
rina and I didn’t sleep that night. She checked Orbitz on my phone, and the only flight the next day that wasn’t like seven hundred bucks was at six thirty a.m. So we wandered around the streets of Vegas, and we lay in the grass, kissing and talking in front of an apartment building. When somebody yelled at us, we walked some more and found another building and did it again. We talked about stupid things and funny things and deep things. There was a magic feeling, as if we’d knocked down whatever last guard we had up.

We finally made it back to the Venetian around four thirty a.m., and I drove Irina to McCarran International. We parked in the giant garage, and I walked her to ticketing. Even in the airport this early in the morning, the slots were clinking. We went past a bank of machines, filled with people who couldn’t wait to lose another few bucks before they got on the plane home.

When we got to the counter, Irina pulled out her credit card, but I pushed it away and made the United guy take my money. No way was I letting her buy her own ticket. I’d gotten her into this, and I’d get her home.

The man printed out the boarding pass, and as we walked away, Irina said in a kind of crazy voice, “Thank you.” I looked over in surprise. Was she crying? Her eyes were shiny, anyway. “You’re a gentleman,” she said, not looking at me.

I started feeling a little weird myself. “Yeah, I’m a real prince.”

We were almost to the security line, where we’d have to say good-bye. Irina pulled me out of the flow of traffic, against the wall. She said in a low, strong voice, “You’d better call me every day.”

I smiled at her. “You’ll have to give me your number.”

“Give me a week, and I’ll have a new phone.” She squeezed my hands. “Gabe.” She sounded intense. “I’m crazy about you.”

Part of my brain was right there in the moment, but a tiny corner was watching, amazed, thinking,
You love this girl. You actually love her.

“I’ll call every day,” I promised. I pulled her into my chest and said in her ear, “Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to learn how to bartend, and you’re going to college, and then you’ll get a job
not
playing the violin, and I’ll come bartend in that city on the day shift, so we can have nights together.”

I paused, and decided what the hell. “And we can get married if you want, because I can’t do this waiting thing.”

“If
I
want?”

“Well, I’d be okay with it.”

Irina pulled back and gave me a hard-to-read look. Her eyes were catching the sun, showing flecks of gold. She whispered, “What you said about going to Vegas came true. Maybe this will, too.” Then she stood on tiptoes to kiss me.

I guess we made a scene. After a few minutes, I heard someone say, “Get a room,” and then I heard the fast clicking sound that they must program into shoes for cops and security guards. I pulled back and yep, a three-hundred-pound guy in a tight suit was giving me the evil eye.

“Call me when you get there,” I said.

“I will.” Irina gave me a last kiss and hurried into the line.

I wanted to run after her and beg her to stay, to forget college. I’d find a way to take care of her . . . but I knew she’d never say yes, and if she did, she wouldn’t be Irina. So I watched her blond hair disappear through the metal detector, and I saw her turn and wave one last time. I waved back, even though I knew she probably couldn’t see me.