“I’ll fold,” the dealer says.
“Fold,” the black man says.
It’s now between Brian and Caleb. They face each other from opposing sides of the table.
“Care to call?” the dealer says to Caleb.
Brian scrutinizes Caleb’s face. His best friend’s expression is simultaneously beatific and wary. It means he’s got a very good hand, Brian thinks.
Caleb raises his eyes.
“I know what you’re trying to do,” he says in a low voice.
Brian bares his teeth. “You don’t know anything.”
A glimmer of uncertainty passes through Caleb’s face. He’s calibrating the situation, as he always does.
He says, “I don’t have twenty thousand dollars.”
“I know.”
“So I should just fold.”
“But you don’t want to do that. You think you’ve got a winning hand … but you don’t know for sure.”
Caleb visibly swallows.
“What if I can’t pay up?”
“It doesn’t have to be just money. If you win this round, the pot money’s all yours fair and square. But if I win, you’ll have to come to work for me at the salary we agreed upon.”
Caleb stares at him for a long, long while. “Why, you sneaky bastard.”
“Sorry to disappoint you but my Mom was married to my Dad when she had me.”
“You can’t keep bailing me out like this.”
“I’m not bailing you out. I need an accounts manager to handle all the money I’m making and you’re a damned good one.”
“I work at Q-Tip. I don’t know anything about advertising.”
“Bullshit. You know everything there is about accounting. And you’re honest. People respond to that.”
They glare at each other. The side of Brian’s sensuous mouth twitches.
*
“Excuse me,” Sam says to the brunette, “I couldn’t help overhearing you. Brian Morton is here?”
“Yeah. What’s that to you?” The brunette sizes her up as though she’s competition.
“Brian Morton.” Cassie cackles. “Oh come on, Sam, there are plenty of Brian Mortons in Chicago.”
“And we were just talking about one of them,” Sam says. It’s just too uncanny. But Cassie is right. Brian Morton is probably a common name, like John Smith. “I went to school with him. He was the most awful eighth grader in the state.”
“Oh really?” The brunette leans over interestedly. “Same guy, do you think?”
*
Caleb says, “OK, I’ll bet on one condition. Twenty thousand dollars is chump change to you.”
Brian grins. “You want me to raise the ante?”
“Let me finish.” Caleb’s eyes and hands are steady. “If I lose, I come to work for you. But if you lose, I want you to add a little condition to the pot.”
Brian raises an inquiring eyebrow. “Oh?”
“Yeah. Losing a bet has gotta mean something to you.” Caleb’s face spreads in a slow smile. “If you lose, you’ll have to do something you normally wouldn’t do.”
“Such as?” Brian is intrigued despite himself.
“Hey, is this allowed?” the black man asks the dealer.
The dealer shrugs. “Only two players left in the game. The pot is theirs to spice up in any way they like.”
Caleb says to Brian, “I want you to perform a good deed. It’s for your own redemption and personal growth, bro.”
“That’s easy.”
“Not this one. I’m going to throw you a lifeline with God for all your misdemeanors.”
“You make my misdemeanors sound like a police charge,” Brian complains.
“Women. You fuck them and leave them, all in the same night. There are a lot of broken hearts out there, Brian.”
Brian is speechless for all of ten seconds.
“There are no broken hearts … none caused by me. We are all consenting adults. I don’t do promises or stupid love declarations. They all fuck me because they want to.”
“Yeah, but most of them want more than that. I’ve seen them. I’ve heard them.”
Brian raises his hands in mock surrender. “Well, sorry, that’s all I have to give.”
“That’s why atonement starts with you doing a good deed.” Caleb’s grin is infectious. “You’re going to have to be a slave to some lucky woman whom I’ll pick – out of my personal magician’s hat – for the weekend. You’re going to have to do anything she wants.”
Brian starts to laugh. “Boy, you’re rich. What if she wants nothing but sex?”
“What if she doesn’t?”