Page 57 of A Midlife Gamble

Kay nodded. She slid three piles of ten across to him and he slid three yellow- coloured chips back. She looked at them. Somehow, she was now in possession of four thousand two hundred dollars. The number stood tall as the ceiling, towered above her, shone a torch in her eyes. Four thousand dollars! In disbelief, she looked up and for the first time saw clearly the faces of the people who had come to watch. The grey sallowness of skin that comes from spending too much time indoors, the unconcealed envy in their eyes as they looked at her chips. She saw the dealer, the way his waistcoat had frayed along one edge, and as the waitress passed with her empty tray, she saw the deep lines at her mouth, pulling it downward like a sad marionette. The mask, her mask, everyone’s mask was slipping before her very eyes. ‘Perhaps,’ she said as she leaned in to Tony. ‘We should quit?’

But Tony’s cheeks had flushed magenta, and a delta of veins had spread across his cheeks. Drinkers’ veins, yielding to the flood of alcohol. 'You’re winning!’ he slurred. ‘Play on. Play on!’

‘Bets please,’ the dealer called.

Kay glanced across at the cards in the dealer’s hand. They had already played twelve hands from this shoe. The most hands she’d counted all evening, before the shoe was emptied and re-filled with six new decks, was sixteen. And the number of high cards left un-dealt were more than those dealt. She didn’t know how she knew this; she just did. It wasn’t so much counting cards, as a brain hard-wired to take note. Once again she took two hands, two hundred dollars on each. Her first hand turned over two eights. Her second hand turned over an ace and a nine. The first card the dealer had dealt himself was a seven.

She stared at her cards. Splitting the eights and doubling the bet would see her wagering four hundred dollars again, and if she doubled down on the ace and the nine, that would be another four hundred. She was in with a statistically probable chance of winning eight hundred dollars in this one hand. Which would take her total winnings up to five thousand. It was dollars, not sterling, but it sounded the same. It sounded so very much like the amount Caro had said,Give me five thousand and I know someone… Her mouth went dry. If she lost she’d be back down to three thousand, but statistically she should win. And if there was one thing she knew about, it was statistics. Plus, she was a winner… Tony had said she was winner. All these people around the table were here because she was a winner. Her hand wavered. She picked up four one-hundred-dollar chips, feeling the immense weight of them in her hand.You’re a winner,Kay, she whispered to herself. A winner!

25

Walking along the deserted grand colonnade, the slap of her dusty shoes loud against the marble, Helen saw the extravagance of her surroundings as if for the first time. And it was more opulent, more palatial, more ostentatious than she had ever thought. She couldn’t work out why that should be. Why did it suddenly seem so out-of-this-world grand? And then, as she looked up at the intricate cornices of the ceiling, she understood. At this time of the night, there were no knots of women in unflatteringly tight dresses, no grey-faced parents in sloppy t-shirts and ill-fitting shorts. No electric wheelchairs, and no pink-faced boys, slurping tall drinks, all elbows and baseball caps. There were no swirled tattoos on rippling skin, no starfish gaits from the wobbling obese and… no noise. Above her head the richly painted ceiling frescoes seemed to rise up to meet her, and along each side, marble columns flowed past in seamless classical proportions. She ran her hand through her clumpy, dirty hair. Empty of people, she felt she loved Vegas even more. Felt as if she were an empress, on a victory walk into Rome. Because if ever there was a place where you could be any and all things you ever dreamed of being, it had to be Vegas!

At the far end of the colonnade the hotel foyer opened up. She could see the elaborate queueing system, with its gold posts and heavy silk ropes, guiding nothing now but fresh air.

‘Shall we see if she’s in the room first?’ Caro said. She was already halfway along one roped off row. ‘I’ll ask them to ring.’

‘Right, yes.’ A little unsteady, with sheer fatigue, Helen nodded. It hadn’t occurred to her to do this. To ask the desk clerk to fulfil what was surely a part of his role anyway. She had been all but ready to take the elevator, traipse past a hundred closed doors, and stand knocking on Kay’s door herself. And as she watched Caro now, her lips twitched. If she hadn’t been so worried about Kay, she might have laughed out loud. Because for all Caro's confidence, and expectations in dealing with other people, she was now approaching the desk by walking the length of each empty row like an obedient child approaching a teacher. Up she went, turned and walked back again. Up and then back again. Why didn’t she duck under? And just as Helen thought this Caro turned, raised her eyes to heaven and said,

‘Why am I doing this?’

'I don't know,' Helen shook her head. 'Do something spontaneous instead!'

Caro didn't hesitate. She hoisted a rope, ducked under it and then did the same with the next one until she was face to face with the bemused clerk. 'We're looking for our friend,' she said. 'Can you ring her room?'

Smiling, Helen turned away to find something,anything,to lean against or rest upon. She settled for the nearest column, where Marianne had already had the same idea.

‘I need to sleep,’ Marianne groaned as she leaned back against the column.

‘Me too,’ Helen said and stifled a yawn. She was utterly exhausted. Her hair thick, her body heavy as a sack of potatoes. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, feeling the grit of the desert between her toes. Gabe had taken ages to answer Lula’s calls. Three times she’d had to ring, and when he’d finally arrived, scowling and tucking his shirt in, it was obvious by his heated exchange with Lula, in Spanish, that he wasn’t happy. And if she had to add two and two together, Helen was reasonably confident that the sum she would arrive at would include Tony. She'd heard both Lula and Gabe mention his name several times, and she had the feeling this wasn’t the first time Tony had caused chaos. Still, they were back now. All they had to do was locate Kay… and then bed. Tipping her head against the marble she allowed her eyes to close, but no sooner had she done so than she heard Caro call across the foyer.

‘There’s no answer. She could be sleeping, I suppose?’

Helen sighed. She pulled her phone out of her back pocket and looked at it. It was quarter to three in the morning.

‘What time was the last text?’ Caro said.

‘Just before midnight.’ She’d texted Kay at eleven fifty-two.

Are you ok? Caro and I have cleared the air. We’re both so sorry, Kay, but it’s all ok now and we’re worried.

Kay had answered.

I’m fine. Glad you and Helen are too.

‘What if she’s not in the room?’ Caro said as she walked back to them.

Helen sighed. Her feet ached, her mouth was dry and she could feel flakes of desert sand all down her back. A hot shower, a controlled collapse between sheets… that was what she wanted. But sleep was out of the question until they knew where Kay was. ‘We’ll have to start looking,’ she said. ‘Probably the casino.’ The casino? The thought of that army of slot-machines was more than she could cope with. How would they get through it? Images of them all wandering around in circles for ever and ever squeezed behind her eyes.

‘This is my fault,’ Marianne said bleakly. She leaned forward to inspect her feet, the maroon sheen of her toenails completely covered now in red dust. ‘All my fault.’

‘No,’ Helen said. She put a hand on Marianne’s back. It felt warm and damp. And before Marianne could straighten up or respond, a tall blonde-haired woman clicked past on neat heels. She was dressed in the white shirt and dark waistcoat of a croupier. Her hair had been pulled back into a slick ponytail and she walked with the smooth, easy gait of the young. Almost a bounce.

‘Tony Larson is back in,’ she called to the desk clerk, unaware of the dusty middle-aged women, half hidden by the column, that she’d just passed.

Marianne, Caro and Helen froze.

‘Does he ever leave?’ the clerk asked.

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