CASINO SHUFFLE (15 page)

Marty tuned him out and balanced his personal accounts on the laptop.
 
They were getting five hundred a minute for the nightclub show.
 
If he could keep
Brandon
in there for a couple hours that would be sixty grand.
 
He’d shove forty into their production account, put twenty into his personal account, and then go back and pay himself again out of the forty grand in the production account.
 
Maybe even negotiate an autograph signing after the nightclub show, or get the casino to put on an after-party and pay
Brandon
the contracted rate for however long he could stay there before running off to stick his erection into somebody.

Brandon
tossed the phone onto the seat and said, “I can’t wait to bang that bitch again.”

“Use the upstairs guestroom in the suite.
 
Lock the door.
 
There’s condoms in the nightstand.”

“Raspberry?”

“Yes, Bran,” said Marty, pouring himself more Scotch.
 
“Fuckin raspberry.”

Brandon
smacked his hands together.
 
“Hey!
 
You said
fuckin
right!”

Marty smiled and moved around a little more of his nephew’s fuckin money.

Chapter Ten

They stepped into the elevator and Antonio pressed the button for the Ballroom level.
 
Above the button panel there was a six-by-six LCD screen advertising the Million Dollar Texas Hold ‘Em Tournament.
 
After a few seconds it dissolved into
Brandon
’s appearance at Twilight.

“We have to lie,” said Antonio.

“About what?”
 
Max tugged at his shirt collar.
 
It felt damp.

Sonny said, “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m quite serious,” said Antonio.
 
“We have an extremely high-profile celebrity guest who is making a personal request.
 
We’ve accommodated stranger things in the past.
 
You might recall Alice Cooper’s boa constrictor.”

Sonny winced.
 
“It swallowed most of my hand before you got to it.”

“Also the celebrity that requested we all convert to Scientology before she arrived.”

“I still have the lapel pin,” said Sonny.
 
“And a headache from listening to all those audiotapes.
 
Sometimes at night I still dream about aliens.”

“The movie director that video taped every move we made.”

“Every morning we got our lines in envelopes and had to memorize them.
 
I had to speak in a French accent.”

“The young heiress who had affection for call girls of a rather burly persuasion.”

“I still can’t believe the nineteen-year-old Norwegian beat me at arm wrestling.’

Antonio nodded.
 
“You see.
 
Fulfilling this odd request for Miss Moon will simply become an anecdote of our profession.”

Max interjected.
 
“What’s the plan again?
 
Something about a snake and a Norwegian wrestler?”

“We’re going to give her what she wants.”
 
Sonny patted the poker player on the back.
 
“Welcome to the Native Sun Casino’s butler staff.”

The elevator doors opened.
 

Antonio stepped out and addressed Sonny.
 
“Please call Chef Carlson and ask him to meet me in the suite in five minutes.
 
Would you mind staying in case I need you?”

“I already made the call home.
 
Told her it was a crazy night.”

“Send her my apologies and my love.
 
Also send a town car with the cheesecake from the pantry.
 
Ask Joe to take it over, he owes me a favor.”
 
Antonio looked around for Max and saw him still standing in the elevator.
 
“Max?”

The elevator doors began to close.
 
“I’m going back to my suite and locking the door.”

Antonio pressed the call button and the doors closed briefly, then immediately reopened again.
 
“We’ll discuss things on the way to the tournament.”

Max jabbed at the button on the inside of the elevator.

Antonio kept his own button firmly pressed.
 
“Eventually the alarm will sound on the elevator and the fire department will be called.”

Max sighed and stepped out of the elevator, running his hand through his hair.
 
“I don’t have a good feeling about any of this.”

Antonio guided him towards the concourse.
 
“Being wanted by the actress who
People
magazine voted 7
^th
most beautiful in the world could actually be considered good luck.
 
Also you have fared remarkably well at our tournaments.
 
Lastly, I haven’t seen Trixie in months.”

“Well you can entertain her while I’m fluffing Shannon Moon’s pillows.”

“You know Max,” said Antonio, steering him towards the ballroom.
 
“There are thousands of men who would gladly change roles with you to get the opportunity to spend a weekend attending to Shannon Moon’s every whim.”

“But I’m only lucky at cards.”

“Maybe your luck is changing.”
 
He turned Max around and did a final inspection of his tournament attire.
 
“You realize that Miss Moon still has your hat?
 
Well, you’ll have to make do without it.”

“Maybe my luck
is
changing.”

“Call me after the tournament.”

“I thought you said tuxedos create moments of truth.”

“I do recall.”

“But Shannon Moon thinks I’m a butler and it’s all because of this tuxedo.”

“That is correct.”

“So where’s the truth in that?”

Antonio straightened Max’s bowtie.
 
“I have no doubt that we shall find out.”

Antonio turned away but Max lurched forward and grabbed his sleeve.
 
“Wait!”

“Yes?”

“She’s almost out of cigarettes.
 
Remember?
 
She said it right before she spilled the champagne on my pants.”

Antonio rubbed a fingertip across his chin. “I don’t recall.
 
I must have been distracted.”

“Can you buy her some for me?
 
Here, take my credit card.
 
Oh!
 
I know what you would do.”

Antonio was taken aback.
 
“What would I do?”

“You’d buy her a cigarette case and put her cigarettes into it.
 
That’s what you would do.”

Antonio was more than amused.
 
“I believe you’re right, Max.
 
But keep your credit card.
 
I’ll charge it back to your suite.”

“Oh yeah.
 
Good.
 
Thanks for doing that for me.”

“It is my pleasure.”

“Can I call you Tony now?”

“No.”
 
Antonio turned on his heel and strode down the concourse.

When Max saw the ballroom full of well-dressed cowboys he actually missed his hat.
 
The dealers wore hats.
 
The cocktails waitresses wore hats.
 
Everybody had a hat, and everybody kept looking at the unoccupied space above his head and he imagined them wondering why he didn’t have a hat.
 
It made not having a hat almost embarrassing.
 
It was almost embarrassing enough to forget about his other problem.
 
The problem where he was going to have act like Shannon Moon’s butler.
 

His head was starting to hurt again.

“Where’s your hat?”
 
Greg Sheffield was the first person to say it out loud.
 
As the Special Events host for the tournament, he had a quick eye for mismatched décor.
 
He matched.
 
He had a hat.
 
“Didn’t Antonio get you a hat?”
 
He was talking while physically pulling Max through the crowd of cowboys.

“Where’s your goddam hat?”
 
Cash was the second one to point out the hat deficiency.
 
Even though Max hadn’t seen Cash since a month ago in Vegas, the burly, bald-headed poker player acted like it had only been a few minutes.
 
Cash was stalking alongside him wearing a snakeskin cowboy hat, a cheekful of forty-eight-hour stubble and a scowl.
 
He leaned forward so Greg Sheffield could get a good look at the scowl.
 
“Why doesn’t he have to wear a hat?”

“He should have a hat,” confirmed Greg, who in turn informed Max once again.
 
“You should have a hat.”

“Hey Greg, don’t get crazy,” said Cash, clamping his hand onto Max’s shoulder.
 
“Hey kid,” he said to him.
 
“Where the hell’s your hat?
 
You’re gonna make everybody crazy.”

As the three charged through the crowd toward the tournament tables, tuxedoes stepped aside and cowboy hats turned and drifted away like ships to sea.

To Max the whole thing looked like a Texan butler convention.
 
He had a ridiculous urge to ask one of them to cover for him in the Sachem Suite.

Cash stuck out his hand and jerked a hat off somebody’s head.
 
“Now you gotta hat.”
 
He popped the Stetson onto Max’s head where it echoed a hollow thump, tipped sideways, and then tumbled down his back.
 
“Too small,” grunted Cash.

Greg Sheffield said, “Good idea.”
 
He snatched a passing hat and shoved it onto Max’s head.
 
The heavy hat knocked into Max’s nose and bent his ears down.

Max was blinded. He veered and stumbled into someone.
 
The hat was lifted away and winged out over the crowd.

“Odd shaped head,” said Cash, scanning the crowd.
 
“Here we go.”
 
He pulled a new hat from a blur of people and sat it on Max’s head.
 
“Perfect fit.
 
You don’t mind it being pink, right?”

Greg, driving Max quickly forward, said, “Just give him
your
hat, Cash.”

Cash reached up and tugged his rattlesnake cowboy hat lower over his eyes.
 
“No can do.”

“Your round is over and Max needs a hat.”

“He’s gotta hat.”

“It’s pink.”

“Think of it as light red.
 
Red is good luck, right Max?”

“In
China
,” said Max.

“So later we’ll go play Baccarat.”