Chances
By Jim Getz
The last time he had occupied Vegas for a few hours, 19 years ago, Joe Lucas had arrived single and left married. Now, two days after receiving his divorce decree, his car pulled up to the Islander Hotel & Casino as if pulled by a magnet. Maybe there was a score to be made here?
Joe made a beeline to the blackjack tables and met the cinnamon eyes of the closest dealer. She smiled, making him forget his graying hair, beginning paunch and hardware store in Toledo. He took a seat, still wondering where the hell his intuition was leading him.
After too many hands, some wins, some losses, Joe could feel a tingle in the back of his head. He glanced up at the dealer. Stacy, her name tag read. Curly brown hair to her shoulders, aquiline nose, stylish glasses. Younger than him, but he could tell Vegas had worn on her. She smiled at him again and the tingle grew as he felt compelled to ask for a hit. He won. The wall clock read 11:58 p.m. After three hours, he was $75 richer. “Think it’s time for some air,” he muttered, and was outside before he knew it. He closed his eyes and breathed in the too-warm desert night.
“Ya know, ya really missed several chances with me, friend.” His eyes popped open. Stacy, next to him, hint of a rasp as she exhaled cigarette smoke.
“Aren’t you supposed to be … ?”
“Midnight smoke break. I only got a few minutes.” She paused. “What am I thinking about?”
“Hey,” Joe began, “sorry if I didn’t pick up on any signals. I was, uh, married for too long, the ink on my divorce is barely dry, and honestly, I’m just here to …”
“No, Romeo. Feel it.”
The tingle. Joe’s mouth formed a word. “Hit.” Stacy: Again. “Stand,” he said. “Double down.”
She dropped her cigarette to the concrete, crushed it out with a black boot, then bore her brown eyes into his. “We split everything 50–50, from the start. Otherwise, find a different table.”
Her shift ended at 4 a.m. After sliding several chips across to her as a tip and whispering, “531,” he walked out $6,400 to the good. He wired $3,000 into his account and waited for her knock.
+++
After she knocked the third night on Room 531, she stayed. They exchanged enough passion, drinks and life story to get below the surface. Afterward, she lit a cigarette in bed beside him as the sunrise tried to pierce the dark curtains.
Finally, his curiosity piquing, he asked, “You ever do this with anyone else?”
Get James A. Getz’s stories in your inbox
Join Medium for free to get updates from this writer.
“This — right here?” she laughed, pointing to the sheets. “All the time.” His gaze didn’t waver.
She exhaled smoke, stubbed the cigarette in an ashtray. “There was a woman about three years ago. They got suspicious, but when she started yammering about ESP, they kicked her out and I got a warning. So — no yammering. And it might be best if you didn’t play tonight.”
“No yammering, no greed. Got it. I’m already up nine grand anyway.” He paused, lifted her face to his. “Look, it doesn’t take a mind-reader to see you want out of this town. I’m assuming that’s what your half is for. Why have you stayed?”
“I let it become a bad habit,” she said, kissing him. “But everyone deserves a second chance.”
+++
Joe did as she asked, went to a magic show the fourth night. Just after midnight on the fifth, as Stacy exited and he wired another $2,800 into his account, a hulking man in an ill-fitting suit put a hand on his shoulder. “Mr. Lucas? Casino security. Will you come with me, please?”
Stacy, her head down, was already seated in an uncomfortable chair facing an oaken desk in the security office when hulking man escorted Joe inside five minutes later. He pointed to the chair next to her. “Mr. Lucas,” said another ill-suited man behind the desk, closed-circuit TV screens flashing scenes behind him. “I’m Irvin Kemmerer, head of casino security. I was just explaining to Ms. Christensen here we can’t tolerate this sort of thing.”
Joe opened his mouth but Kemmerer cut him off. “Save it. Here’s what’s gonna happen. You’re gonna leave and never come back. She’s gonna stay so we can figure out how to make some money offa this thing. This is her last chance. If we can’t figure out it, I’ll blackball her in every casino in North America. Got it?”
Joe stared coldly at Kemmerer for two seconds, then nodded and rose. “I take it I’m free to go?”
“Charles,” Kemmerer said to his aide, “can you kindly help Mr. Lucas get the hell out of here?”
Joe held up both hands to indicate he needed no escort. He backed to the office door. “Stacy,” he said. She looked up at him. “You really need to give up those midnight smokes outside. It’s a bad habit you ought to quit.”
++++
Twenty-four hours later, Stacy dove into Joe’s new car in front of the Islander’s revolving door and they peeled off. His left hand on the wheel, he laid an envelope on her lap. After flipping through the tens, twenties and fifties, she pulled out an airline ticket. Las Vegas to Honolulu.
“I did a little online research,” Joe said. “You know which state doesn’t have casinos or even legalized gambling? I’ve never had the chance to go there.”
Stacy slowly grasped his right hand in her left as new opportunities dawned. “Me neither,” she told him. “Me neither.”
— JULY 2023
