Page 33 of The Devil Wears Orange
“Ms. Milton,” he says, “will you do me the honor of showing your cards?”
“Your Highness, I believe revealing one’s cards is optional. If I may be so bold, I decline your request.”
The corner of his mouth twitches. It’s exposed him, giving me some insight into his behavior with a hand most certainly better than my own. I played him and won.
Cue Jack.
If this were a Bond film, the camera would pan from the smug look on my face to the entrance awaiting Jack’s arrival. Casually, I look toward the entrance, and Jack is standing near the slender man who had greeted me earlier. Beside Jack stands another man. While I wholeheartedly threw myself into the part by dressing in a knockout designer gown, I remain a little perplexed by what role Jack is supposedly playing. Where, I wonder, did he pull that sweater vest? Apparently, he was joking when he said Jean burnt his clothes, but I had hoped it was true. Before I left him, I had laid out an outfit for him to wear which included a borrowed jacket procured by the concierge. Had I been with Jack when he dressed, I would have begged he wear the horrid tweed jacket instead of this monstrosity.
“Three players,” the dealer says, bringing my attention back to the table and Rashid, but his eyes are where mine had been. Did he catch me staring at Jack? Finally, he looks away from the front entrance to me.
Bets are made. Cards are handed out. Peeking at my cards, I hold my hands over them, then keep them face down. The house reveals its cards – Ace of Hearts, 9 of Clubs, and Queen of Diamonds. Again, I play with my chips in an attempt to mask my hand, fumbling them as I did before. I toss in 20,000, and the silent one meets my raise. Light flicks off Rashid’s diamond and gold watch as he reaches out to meet my bet.
Another casual look to the entrance reveals a strange pantomime with Jack handing over his sweater vest to one man while the slender man helps him into a black jacket. Jack should have known there’d be a dress code for the charity event, and I wonder why he didn’t consider it, but based on what I’ve seen of his wardrobe over the last few days, I know the answer. For Jack, clothing is only meant to prevent people from being naked.
The house reveals its next card, a 10 of Diamonds.
I raise another 40,000. The silent player folds, mumbling he “won’t go through that again.”
“And then there were two,” I say. “Or maybe just one.”
“Two is a perfect number,” says Rashid, meeting my 40,000.
The house reveals an ace of diamonds next. I want to focus on the game but strain to peek at Jack, who searches his pant pockets, then the pockets of the borrowed jacket.Oh God, I want to moan. His passport must be in the pocket of his sweater vest. Jack gestures wildly, hands flailing in response to something the other man said, his body language registering somewhere between oafish and cross. He’s supposed to join in for the next game and introduce himself to both Rashid and me, but at this pace, I worry he won’t get here on time. But my current winning hand, I suspect, will entice Rashid to keep playing until he wins.
“All in,” I say and push forward my entire winnings.
Chapter 17
The plan is simple.Get in. Make contact. Get out.
Jack frets that if the plan falls apart, it will be at the hands of Charlotte, for she seemed to pay attention only half of the time over the last few days while he plotted and drew diagrams of the casino’s layout. She nodded – he thought to validate his plan – but then, holding up two bottles of nail polish, she asked which he preferred. Charlotte was quite perturbed when he said, “the red one” and she answered, “butwhichred?” then rolled her eyes and disappeared into the hotel bathroom before he understood he’d said something wrong. When she emerged two hours later, Jack was blown away by Charlotte wearing what she referred to as abarely-thereVersace dress.
“You look like a Bond girl,” he said, the words escaped him before his brain had an opportunity to shut him up. He had expected to zip her up, but, much to his chagrin, she hadn’t asked. What must she think of him ogling her the way that hedid? If she slapped him, he’d deserve it. He’s not entirely certain his mouth had been closed, and, most likely than not, it wasn’t.
He spies an outfit Charlotte had laid on the bed for him and slips on the jacket. It’s a good fit, but he doesn’t like how the fabric restrains his arms and shoulders, so he tears it off, and dismisses it outright. It’s only clothes.Besides, given what he’s about to walk into, he’d like to feel relaxed in his own clothes.
Jack waits the required fifteen minutes after Charlotte’s departure, then travels to the casino by a different path. From the charity event entrance, he spots Charlotte at the Prince’s table, and, for several minutes, he watches, mesmerized by the way she commands the table. No, by the way she commands the men at the table. He suspects Prince Rashid is intrigued by Charlotte, and how could he not be? Jack has difficulty concentrating with her around, too.
Get in. Make contact. Stop daydreaming about helping Charlotte out of that barely-there dress and get out.
“Excuse me, Sir,” says a slender man with a French accent, “we have a dress code for the event. Gentlemen must wear a suit jacket.”
“Be careful who you call a gentleman,” Jack jokes. The slender man stares at him without expression, and immediately Jack feels like a buffoon. This is precisely the kind of corny joke his grandfather used to tell.
“I’m afraid we must insist. If I may, I’ll take your...your sweater vest, and Gerard will supply you with a jacket.”
Jack turns to a man, presumably Gerard, who holds three black blazers of varying sizes across his arm. Mulling them over, Jack points to one and proceeds to remove his sweater vest. Everything, Jack realizes, had been planned, contemplated, and reconsidered, yet he dismissed the wardrobe Charlotte had laid out for him. In retrospect, he should have listened, but in hisdefense, he does think the sweater vest makes him look quite spiffy.
“Invitation and passport, please, sir.”
“Of course,” says Jack, and searches his jacket pocket, then his pant pocket. “I’m afraid I left them in my vest along with my phone.” He turns to where Gerard had stood to find him gone along with his vest. “Where did he go?”
“Follow me, please, sir,” the slender man tells Jack.
Following him out, Jack takes another panicked look at Charlotte sitting at the table while cards are distributed. He should be there by now. This simple plan is beginning to fray, and as they search for Gerard, Jack realizes he is running out of time.
Jack pleads that they admit him into the event while they search for the vest thattheymisplaced, but they insist it would be against the rules to do so. Flummoxed, Jack raises his voice and says, “Do you know who I am? Baldie won’t be pleased to learn how you mistreated his cousin. I insist you get him on the phone immediately.”
