“That leaves things pretty much wide open.”
* * *
When the Cessna landed in Los Angeles thirty minutes later, he gathered up his laptop and phone. But he couldn’t find his purple tie. He searched under the seats, on the seats, even in the bathroom. It was nowhere to be found, and he texted Julia, hoping she had it.
She replied that it wasn’t in her luggage or her purse, and that she was enjoying the view of the Strip from the penthouse at the Allegro.
He was glad she liked the room, but suddenly his mind stayed fixed on his damn tie. Maybe it was irrational, maybe he was superstitious, but he had the sinking feeling that his luck was running out.
CHAPTER FIVE
Friday, 1:33 p.m., Las Vegas
Julia’s red-soled heels clicked against the black-and-white marbled floor of the Allegro lobby—though lobby hardly felt like the right word. The entryway was stretched out like a palace, with two giant wings that wrapped around the circular hotel creating a long, tall oval in the middle of the Strip. She’d read up on the design, and the architect had waxed eloquently about being inspired by infinity pools and wanting to create that same sort of feeling of circularity, he’d called it. More like trickery.
Julia suspected the design had more to do with the ease of being swallowed up in the casino, sliding quarters into slots, slapping down chips on tables, and never being able to find your way out. This hotel typified that Vegas mentality of keep them inside. But it did so elegantly because the walls were adorned with art, replicas of some of the very paintings inside the Allegro Gallery in the heart of this hotel that boasted authenticated works from masters like Monet, Goya and Matisse.
Gorgeous emerald-green plants and small, potted trees lined the walls too, offering an inviting feel and sending the message that this was both a welcoming and an opulent place to stay.
Lord knew their room was stunning, and seemed to go on for miles. Earlier, she’d run her hands along the royal-blue comforter and leather headboard on the king-size bed, and was then drawn to the full-length glass windows that looked over the city: all of Vegas, all of gambling, all its secrets spread out below them.
She’d sighed happily, drinking in this city. Being here was like a second chance. She and Vegas used to be bedfellows, happily in love and lust when she’d taken girls weekend trips here, playing the tables at the nearby Bellagio late into the night. But then Charlie the mobster had forced her to be his ringer and to hustle for him in rigged poker games in San Francisco to pay off her deadbeat ex-boyfriend’s debt. That had sapped her love of the game just the teensiest, tiniest bit. She’d reclaim it this weekend; she’d already started taking poker back for herself, playing in New York games with Clay and Cam and a rotating cast of actors, producers, and friends. Now and then even Michelle Milo joined them. That woman had grown on her; they’d had a brief heart-to-heart when she moved to town, Julia thanking Michelle for giving Clay some of the advice he’d needed, and Michelle thanking Julia for making him—her good friend—so happy.
Here in the perfectly-modulated, precisely temperature-controlled hotel, she made her way to meet Tad Herman from Farrell Spirits at the poolside bar. The meeting wouldn’t start for another twenty-five minutes, so after she passed a painting of Monet’s Japanese Bridge, she turned into the casino in the center of the hotel, weaving her way through the tables, the flurry of quarters, nickels and dimes from the slots becoming the casino soundtrack. This sound was the music of gambling, of bets being laid, of chances being lost and won. It was the song of hope, of hands rubbed together as one-armed bandits were pulled, the players longing for the metal splash of money.
When she reached the poker tables, she scanned for one with a $25 minimum. Not too small potatoes, but nowhere near a high-roller location. She settled in with two other players, an older couple, both decked out in matching Hawaiian shirts and sipping on gigantic Pina Coladas.
Placing a $100 bill on the green felt of the table, she nodded a hello to the dealer. He was dressed in a simple yet classy black shirt with a tan vest. “Change please.”
He slid four green-and-white chips to her, tucked the cash into a drawer, and began dealing.
“Welcome to our game. We’re celebrating our thirtieth anniversary,” the woman said in a cheery voice, flashing a bright smile at Julia.
Raising an invisible glass, Julia toasted to the couple. “To another thirty. The best is yet to come,” she said.
The woman dropped her hand on top of her husband’s, bumping shoulders with him and planting a kiss on his cheek. Julia smiled to herself, glad that her poker companions were a happy couple rather than a coterie of Charlie’s plants, brought in to pad the game as she took down unsuspecting high-rollers. There was none of that here. She was playing without a net, playing for fun.