Push(58)

He was right. This is far from a couple of guys sitting around a table playing poker. It is clear that this is a finely tuned game. I’m certain that it is both professional and illegal. I’m also certain that I’m not supposed to be here. There are about two dozen felted tables around the room, each with its own group of players—all of which are male—and its own dealer—all of which are female. Scantily clad females. Beautiful, scantily clad females. There are also a handful of half-naked waitresses walking around the room toting drinks. I am the only other woman here, and I suddenly feel out of place. Very out of place. At least I am not in my work clothes, I joke to myself.

As I stand here gaping openly at all the goings-on, David walks past me, pulling the dolly toward the bar in the center of the room. A few steps into his trip, he turns back to look at me. His eyebrows go up and he shrugs. I see his lips forming the words “told you.” It makes me smile.

I follow David, who is now lifting the cases of beer up on to the bar. But before I can get to him, one of the waitresses throws her arms around his neck and plants a kiss on his lips. I am frozen in my tracks, a swell of rage building in my chest. I want to rush at her, to knock her off of him, to smash her down to the floor. But I don’t because I promised David that I wouldn’t freak out. Damn her. The kiss is blissfully brief, because the moment their lips connect, David calmly pushes her away. He says something to her, and she lets go of his neck instantly. He drops his hands on to his hips, and she starts to laugh, throwing her head back and sticking out her chest. When she stops laughing, she looks over at me and then back at David. Then she slinks away from him, sending me a small wave as she goes. I want to flip her the finger, but instead I plaster a psychotic “girlfriend smile” on my face. One that I hope conveys both attitude and arrogance. One that I hope David sees, too. It is my way of telling him that I am not about to let some half-dressed whore ruffle my fucking feathers.

Now it seems that I have something to prove. I vow to not get visibly fired up at all tonight. I’m going to lay myself down for him. To show him that I can handle whatever is about to be dished out. I promised him exactly that, but up until now, I thought it was a moot point. I didn’t think anyone would be able to fire me up. But clearly this poker game isn’t what I thought it would be. I’ve got one sentence to say to David, and I need to say it before I see anything like that again.

“Don’t make me kick your fucking ass,” I say, looking him dead in the eye. He is wearing a look of utter surprise.

“Yes, ma’am,” he says with a smile in his voice. He grips my wrist for a second and skims his thumb across it. I am sure he can feel my skin burning. When he lets go, I grab a beer from the counter and turn on my heels. I want to watch.

Despite feeling incredibly out-of-place, I decide to wear my confidence like a goddamned badge. I’m not going to cling to David tonight. I’m going to treat this poker game like it’s precisely where I belong. I don’t know how to play poker, and I’m not sure they’d let me play anyway, but I do know how to drink. And flirt. And pretend.

David spends a good amount of time behind the bar, unloading the beer and pouring drinks. Then he moves around the room, chatting with the gamblers, checking in with the dealers, swapping wads of cash for chips. He talks easily with the waitresses who all seem to know him very well. They are flirtatious and engaging, and I know that he is watching me carefully from across the room to see my reaction to their touches and smiles. But I see now that it is part of the game going on here tonight. It is more than a poker game. It’s an atmosphere of energy, sex, money, alcohol and business. Watching David is mesmerizing. He is exuding light, and whenever he glances at me, I feel my breath stick. Suddenly I am feeling very fucking lucky to be this fine-ass man’s girlfriend. I want to stand next to him, to touch him. I want everyone here to see that he is mine and I am his. But I don’t, because I don’t want to be that kind of girlfriend. The word “covetous” pops into my head because it is precisely how I am feeling.

I’ve been leaning against the wall drinking beer and watching for the past hour and a half. I decide I’m done with the wallflower shit and step out into the room.

Two hours later I am drunk as hell, sitting at a table right next to Carl. My ass alarm is sounding loud and clear, but it doesn’t stop me from chatting Carl up because I know that David is here, standing right next to me. Carl might be a fat prick of a landlord, but he is funny as shit. Telling stories, playing cards, slurping down shots, smoking cigars. He is riotous. Unfettered. Gregarious. I haven’t laughed this much ever.