Novice

In my defense, it was my first time in Vegas.

It was probably the heady atmosphere of bright lights, expensive perfumes, and crackling anticipation that made me accept when a casino employee invited me to take the last chair in a card game. But by the time I was holding a handful of cards, eyeing a pile of colored plastic discs in front of me, and realizing we were not playing Slapjack, it was too late to extricate myself.

The dealer grinned at me. His pointy front teeth reminded me of a shark.

The other players—whom I mentally dubbed Tux Dude, Red-Dress Lady, and Professor Tweed, since no one had bothered to share names—wasted no time. One by one, they pushed stacks of discs into the center of the table and either spouted off numbers or simply said, “Call.” No one explained what any of this meant.

When my turn came, I panicked. All I had was the twenty dollars in my jacket pocket, and there already had to be at least that many discs in the pool. I copied Professor Tweed, who’d gone just before me, by shoving a stack of blue discs into the center and blurting, “Call.”

Eyebrows went up all around the table. Tux Dude looked at me over the tops of his glasses.

Sweat trickled under my collar as the dealer flipped over another card. This round, Red-Dress Lady took her turn with such coolness that I also pushed in a stack of green discs and said, “Two hundred fifty.”

No one reacted much. I managed to breathe again. This copying-the-most-confident-person strategy might actually get me through this game with my dignity, if nothing else, intact.

After the dealer said, “Last round,” Red-Dress Lady paused, her eyes darting around. She was out of discs, but she pulled out a small black notebook and tossed it into the center of the table. Piles of discs scattered and toppled. The others peered at the notebook. Professor Tweed stifled a gasp and squinted at his cards. The dealer whistled before he could stop himself. Tux Dude sat back in his chair, holding his cards a little tighter.

I raised an eyebrow. Sure, the notebook had a glossy cover free of scuffs and scratches. But I'd seen plenty like it on racks in bookstores. Why did everyone act as if Red-Dress Lady had dropped a wad of booby-trapped hundred-dollar bills in front of them?

On their turns, both men pushed in their largest numbers of discs yet. When my turn came, I decided to try something I’d once seen in a TV show. I pushed the rest of my discs into the pot and said, “All in.”

Professor Tweed gave a little shriek. I prayed I hadn’t just made the biggest mistake of my life.

I hadn’t.

Apparently having two different cards is a good thing in whatever the heck we were playing. Especially when those two cards are a queen and a jack and the dealer happens to lay down an ace, a ten, and a king.

My opponents all spluttered and blustered. “She must have cheated! That’s the rarest hand! There’s no way!”

The dealer examined my cards, then shook his head with a baffled expression. He motioned to a nearby female security guard, who came over and asked me to follow her. In a private room, she politely searched me, then brought me back to the table and announced, “She’s clean.”

The dealer shook his head again as the other players continued to complain. Using what looked like a squeegee, he swept the chips and notebook into a small vinyl bag and handed it to me. My arm dropped under what must have been several pounds of weight.

“I’d quit while you’re ahead, kid.” The dealer pointed to what looked like a ticket window at the far end of the room.

I headed in that direction, my opponents hot on my heels and all begging for my attention at once.

“That notebook’s worth nothing to you. But it means a lot to me. I’ll give you five thousand dollars for it.”

“Are you kidding? It’s worth twice that much! I’ll give you ten thousand.”

“Twenty thousand!”

I stopped. If this notebook was worth that much to someone, it’d probably get me mugged. Or worse. This was Vegas, after all.

“Deal,” I said.

More protesting followed as Professor Tweed wrote me a check on the spot. I handed him the notebook. “Now,” I said to sweating Tux Dude and Red-Face-as-Well-as-Red-Dress Lady, “get away from me before I call security.”

Then I marched off toward the window with my bag. Just in case the check bounced.