Card Sharks (17 page)

“B
ij, wake up!” “Ungg?”

“Wake up! What did you do? Are you okay? Should we expect the police?”

Bijoux turned over and blinked sleepily; then suddenly her eyes flew open. “Oh, my God.” She sat straight up. “Oh, my God!” She looked around at the piles and piles of poker chips in the bed with her. She had the disk-shaped imprints of poker chips pressed into various parts of her body.

Marianne reached out and peeled a thousand-dollar chip off Bijoux's cheek, then handed it back to her.

Bijoux's eyes widened. She looked up at Marianne, grinned and then fell backward on the bed. “I remember drinking champagne and throwing lots of good numbers. And I remember . . .”

“Please tell me you're not hungover,” Marianne said. “I need your help.”

“I don't get hungover. You know that. It's a bad policy, and I don't believe in it.” She turned over and splayed facedown on the bed.

Marianne put on her new sunglasses and poked Bijoux's leg. “How bad are these?”

Bijoux instantly sat up, then recoiled as she took in the full effect of Marianne's shades. “What in God's name is on your face?”

“An admittedly unattractive, pair of squarish wraparound sunglasses I picked up at the gift shop.”

Bijoux inched to the edge of the bed, stuck one foot on the carpet, tested her ability to hold her own weight, and stood up. “Sunglasses. For sun. Right. We haven't left the hotel since we arrived.

“These aren't for sun. They're to prevent my competitors from reading my tells.”

Bijoux started stripping off her stale clothes. “Well, they certainly aren't going to want to even look at you in those things, so I guess that could work. But I think those are glasses for half-blind elderly people. They're so dark, you won't even be able to read your cards. I read in the in-flight magazine that Annie Duke doesn't wear sunglasses. She says that part of the game is exposing yourself, and that besides, you risk misreading the cards through your sunglasses.”

“Hmm. Well, what about the outfit? Is it enough exposure? Too much? Maybe I'm showing too much cleavage. But I'm trying to use my feminine wiles to my advantage.”

Bijoux glanced over and shrugged. “You look great. I would even go so far as to suggest that you turn it up a notch. Borrow something else of mine if you want. Though I should point out that Annie Duke probably never used her breasts to get an advantage either.”

“I hate to break it to you, Bij, but I'm no Annie Duke. And if I have to use all of my weapons against the condescending brotherhood of patronizing, ‘tit'-happy, poker-playing men I'll likely be playing with today, then that's what I'm going to do.”

“You look like Paris Hilton,” Bijoux said, heading for the shower.

“Oh. I didn't realize it was that bad.”

“No! I mean you look good for what you're going for. Now could you remove those atrocities from your face? They make me nauseous.”

Marianne ignored the request. Instead she tugged her skirt down a bit and stepped into the doorway of the bathroom. “Does my—”

“Your butt doesn't look big at all in that skirt,” Bijoux said with a smile, then closed the bathroom door in Marianne's face.

The sound of the water turning on drowned out Marianne's next question, and then suddenly Bijoux yelled, “Can we get back to the sunglasses? You really don't want to show up on ESPN wearing horse blinders. Let's go shopping at the Bellagio and get some decent ones that you can feel good about wearing on national television. How much time do you have?”

“I'm not on until the afternoon.”

“What?”

“The afternoon! Later!”

“Okay. I'll go shopping with you! I'll be out in ten!”

“Okay!”

Bijoux was as good as her word, and was made up and just about ready to go in another ten.

Marianne looked around for the card key. “So Peter kissed me last night,” she said.

Behind her Bijoux stumbled trying to put on her shoe and landed on her ass on the floor. “What?”

Marianne looked over her shoulder. “Peter kissed me.” She looked suspiciously at her friend, who was suddenly spending quite a bit of time bent over that shoe, giving it more effort than it really should have required, given that there were no complicated laces involved. “Are you that shocked because I'm
supposed to be focusing on the game at this point, or because it happened at all?”

Bijoux stammered a bit as she said, “I didn't really get that you were that interested in him. Like, already kissing interested.”

Marianne shrugged. “Why not? I like him. He seems like a contender.” She looked at Bijoux in horror. “Oh, no. Did you like him? Because if
you
like him—”

“Absolutely not. Don't be ridiculous. He kissed
you,
and I'm absolutely
not
interested. Ready to go? I'm ready.”

“Yep.” Marianne grabbed her purse, and the girls headed out of the casino for the first time in days, both of them stumbling back, their hands flying up to shade their eyes, blinded by the sunlight.

“Holy crap,” Marianne said. “You weren't kidding.”

Bijoux steered them both to the side while their eyes adjusted to the light. “I think the Bellagio is that way,” she said, pointing down the strip, which was still looking very white-light bright.

It felt good to be outside, and Marianne enjoyed the walk. Unfortunately the shops were about as crowded as the casino had been. They had to push their way through the throngs of gawking madras-plaid tourists and sugar daddies with their mail-order supermodels just to get in the door of the designer sunglasses shop.

Marianne beelined for the Chanels. The clerk raised an eyebrow but unlocked the case and pulled out the tray while Bijoux pulled a mirror over. Marianne picked up the first pair. She adjusted them on her nose and turned in profile to see if the insectlike appearance was as bad as it seemed to be.

“So if he hadn't kissed me, would you have been interested?”

Bijoux froze with a pair of white Marc Jacobses in her hand. “What?”

“You said, ‘He kissed you, and I'm absolutely not interested.' And I'm asking whether, if he hadn't kissed me, you'd've absolutely been interested.”

“Of course not. Don't be silly. Those are dreadful. You're like an enormous fruit fly. Try these.”

“Okaaay. Because all you have to do is say the word and I'll back off.”

Bijoux stared at her in silence for a moment.

“I would!”

But Bijoux just shrugged. “Well, it's not necessary. Off with the Jacobs. Try these.” She handed over a pair of orange Versaces. “Oh, God, no. Horrible. You look like some kind of alien J-Lo.”

Marianne stopped in her tracks and turned to Bijoux. “You really don't want him. Right? I mean, he's not rich. He does not match your purported criteria in any way. Am I correct?”

Bijoux stumbled a bit on her answer. “Well, no, he doesn't meet my purported criteria, but—”

“Good, that's settled then,” she said, handing back the Ver-saces and putting on some deep purple Guccis.

Bijoux stared down for a moment at the orange bling-laden sunglasses in her hand. “So, uh, how was it?”

“It actually rated pretty high. It had a lot going for it. Well, it started out as just a kind of a joke thing, so there was humor—”

“A joke? A kissing joke?”

“Well, right. So there was this sort of spirit of fun, you know, with a bit of swashbuckling behavior and a dash of . . . oh, I don't know . . . drama and occasion.”

“Jesus,” Bijoux muttered.

“And he was . . . I don't know . . . nuanced about it. Very different from Donny. Equally good, but very different.”

Bijoux rolled her eyes. “Let me guess. I'm Donny. ‘Hey, Marianne . . . wanna fuck?' And now I'm Peter. ‘Hey, Marianne . . .
let me make luuuuuvvvvv to you, my fragrant little flower.' Is that the difference we're talking about?”

“Don't be mean to Donny,” Marianne said, cracking up.

“I'm not being mean. Would you please take those off? Try these.” Marianne swapped her the purple Guccis for a pair of green Diors. Bijoux put the rejects in the reject pile and said, “You know I love Donny. But he's so ‘Me man. Grunt. You woman. Grunt.' ”

“He is not like that. Well, not exactly. I mean, his caveman tendencies are not without technique. Besides, sometimes you just want a guy who's gonna—”

“Throw you down on the bed and ravage you,” Bijoux said calmly.

“Yeah.”

“But not every day.”

“Maybe not.”

Bijoux shook her head, frowning at the green Christian Diors. “They engulf the top part of your head like some kind of flesh-eating plant. Not good. Maybe we should just go to Coach. They have a store here.”

“What's wrong with the Sunglasses Shack? I could get some really fabulous crazy ones on the cheap.”

Her friend looked at her with a pained expression. “Do you want to be on national television wearing cheap sunglasses?”

Marianne thought about that one for a moment. “I'm not entirely sure I care. I just want to win.”

“This was so not originally about winning.” Bijoux huffed. “It was supposed to be about you and me and men.”

“Peter's a man.”

Bijoux nodded. “True. But you don't have to go for the first one who shows interest, Marianne.”

Marianne wheeled around. “Ouch.”

“I didn't mean it like that. I just meant that you should have your pick. You're a . . . you know . . . you're a catch.”

“You sound like my grandmother. If there were really so many good fish in the sea, we'd be out there enjoying both fish and sea from an expensive yacht with our wonderful husbands in the Caribbean.”

“Maybe we just haven't met them yet.”

“My point exactly. All in good time. Which is why I'm here to win. If you can't meet 'em . . . beat 'em,” Marianne said with a grin as she turned to the door. “And if we can't find a decent pair at Coach, I'm going to the Sunglasses Shack.”

“We'll find a decent pair at Coach. I promise,” Bijoux said grumpily. They thanked the saleswoman and headed back out to the other shops. “Well, poor you. A choice between the best of both worlds. Should you go with Colin Farrell? Or Cinderella's prince? What a burden.”

“There's no choice to be made here, unless it's go for Peter or don't go for Peter. Donny and I aren't a thing. And he knows that when I find someone new—long-term new—all this messing about we do on and off is done with. And it's the same if it happens for him first.”

Bijoux chewed on her lower lip. “Those things are more easily said than done. It's easy to say you don't care until the evidence is in front of you and you're reeling with jealousy.”

“He has no right to be jealous. If he really wanted me, he would have made some sort of effort by now.”

“You don't think he's made an effort? I kind of think he has . . . in his Donny sort of way.”

“ ‘Wanna fuck' is not an effort. It's a sporting event. A fine sporting event, mind you. A Wimbledon or a Super Bowl—”

Bijoux held up her palm. “Thank you. I get it.”

Marianne followed Bijoux into Coach and tried to focus her
brain on shopping. Talking about Donny was making her feel weird. “Why do I feel guilty? I shouldn't feel guilty. I haven't done anything wrong. Donny and I have an understanding. Don't you think?”

“You haven't lied to him, so I don't see the problem.”

“Good, good. Why is this so weird for me? I feel weird about Donny.”

Bijoux picked up a purse and looked inside. “For fuck's sake. You guys need to clean-break it, clean-slate it, whatever. Or else get married and get it over with. Peter's the best-looking, smartest, most qualified male individual prospective to come into your life for a long, long time. Do not let Donny guilt mess this up. Do not let on to Peter that it's even an issue. Do not talk about Donny. Do not talk about how you're
over
Donny. The minute these men sense weakness, their little feelers go up.”

“Their little feelers. Heh.”

“Stop laughing. This is serious. You know what I'm saying. The red flag goes up the minute you sense the specter of a fucked-up relationship not yet far enough in the past. Ex baggage is just a deal breaker. He'll pull back. He'll preemptively dump you—”

“He can't dump me. We're not really dating.”

They wandered over to the glass case with the sunglasses and Bijoux flagged down an assistant.

“Well, you are about to.” Bijoux stood behind Marianne and looked over her shoulder into the mirror. “All jokes aside. I beg of you, just keep Donny out of the conversation.” Bijoux took Marianne by the shoulders. “Look at me. Look right at me. You need to cut this thing with Donny off for good. Because just about every element, every angle makes you crazy. The guilt. I'm always hearing about the guilt. And you know you're not
going to get back together with him. He knows he's not getting back together with you. Yet you never make a clean break and there's always this . . . stuff . . . there between you, and you go through this cycle all over again with every guy you realize you might like. What about Donny? What about poor Donny? Cut bait, Marianne, 'cause you've both been fishing off that particular pier for a long time now, and if one of you was going to bite, you would've bitten by now.”