by Alan Cook
Chapter 12
"What's the story you were going to tell me about
Stan?" I asked Arrow.
We had taken seats at a small table in the corner of the
casino room that wasn't being used for any other purpose
at the moment. Our plates were full of food. Arrow's eating
aspirations, although more modest than mine, were still
significant. I recognized the bluesy voice of Joe Williams
above the roar of the crowd, singing to someone and asking
that person to teach him tonight.
Between bites, Arrow said, "When I started at Stanford, Stan
was one of the boys who was nice to me, and as you can see
he's quite handsome, so when I was given two tickets to the
San Francisco opera I invited him to go with me. We saw
"Rigoletto," which we both enjoyed. Afterward, we had Irish
Coffee at the Buena Vista Cafe. Stan is an interesting guy to
be with and I was having fun so I guess somewhere during the
course of the conversation I said something that suggested we
might have some sort of a future together. At that point he
told me he wasn't for me. I misunderstood him at first, thinking
that he didn't like me. Then his meaning became clear."
"He's gay."
"Right. Talk about embarrassing incidents."
"He told me he lives here at the house."
"Yes. And I think we know why our friend James prefers
male assistants."
"And I know why you made a point of finding out my
sexual preference the day we met."
Arrow laughed. "I have to know where I stand. I don't want
to be fooled again."
We ate in silence for a bit. Then Arrow said, "What was that
about a phone call James was supposed to have made?"
"We were trying to locate Ned. We found out he had never
shown up at the restaurant where his meeting was supposed
to be. James called somebody, and it sounded, from his end
of the conversation, like whomever he was talking to had seen
Ned. After he hung up he immediately called the police."
"James said he didn't make such a call."
"Either James is lying or he really does have dementia." But
why would he lie? Was he protecting somebody? It wasn't
my problem. I wasn't going to get involved in Ned's murder
any more than I already was.
Was there anything else we should be doing while we were
here? Even if Buchanan was attempting to take over
Dionysus, was there a good reason for us to try and prevent
it? A takeover would probably be good for the stock, my
holdings and Arrow's options. I suspected that if the stock
went up enough her options would make her financially
independent and it wouldn't matter if Buchanan replaced her
with one of his men. There were a lot of ex-Microsoft
employees who were millionaires and didn't have to work any
more.
But what about my father? Did we owe him any loyalty? He
wouldn't suffer financially if he were replaced, but his ego
would take a hit.
It wouldn't hurt to gather all the information we could. I had
an idea. I leaned over the table toward Arrow, because the
noise in the room was reaching a peak, and said, "Do you
think you could get any information out of Stan about
Buchanan's intentions?"
"I suspect you might be more successful at that than I
would," Arrow said, and she winked at me. I must have had
an amazed look on my face because she said, "If you can
fool your father, maybe you can fool him too. By the way,
he can't hold his liquor. He always lost at those Friday night
poker games."
I didn't picture myself as queer bait. There had been a few
incidents in my life, but nothing...still, there was the time in
junior high when my English teacher had taken me up on the
catwalks above the stage of the school auditorium, before I
knew any better, and asked me to sit on his lap. He had later
gotten married.
Arrow had already caught Stan's eye and he came over to
our table. Taking my cue, I said, "Are you working or can
you sit and talk for a minute?"
"I'm here voluntarily tonight," Stan said, sitting down next
to me. "Since I live here it's an easy place to go on Friday
nights. But of course, as long as I am here, Jamesy is
going to find something for me to do. So maybe I can hide
out with you guys for a while."
"It seems to me you're in a very fortunate position," I said.
"You're working with one of the best investment minds in
the world, watching everything he does, learning how to
evaluate opportunities. It sounds like an ideal job."
"You don't know the half of it."
"No, but I'd like to. Could we have a drink?"
Stan flagged down one of the waiter-boys and ordered
a Bloody Mary. I asked for a beer and Arrow requested
a Tequila Sunrise. We made small talk until the drinks came.
I remembered that Stan had been in the control room
when James made the mysterious phone call. I said, "I
was trying to piece together what happened just before
we found out about Ned. Do you remember what phone
calls James made?"
He thought for a few seconds and said, "I remember that
James asked me what restaurant Ned was supposed to
be at. Then he called them, I think. I wasn't really
listening so I can't tell you exactly who he called, but at
some point he must have called the police."
"He called somebody else just before he called the police."
Stan shook his head. "You'll have to ask James."
I had struck out on that one. What else could I do? Start
slowly. I said, half jokingly, "Tell me, Stan. What really
goes on here? You've got lots of beautiful people flocking
here every night, the cream, it would appear, of San
Francisco society, gambling as intently as if their last dollar
were riding on it, and yet no money ever changes hands.
There's something wrong with this movie."
Stan looked slowly from one of us to the other, and smiled.
He said, "Don't you have any fantasies, any dreams, any
desires? I know Arrow does; she wants to be a CEO."
Arrow didn't deny it. I looked at her and believed it.
Stan paused while he took a sizeable gulp of his Bloody
Mary and crunched on the celery stalk that came with it.
Then he said, "What we have here is an adult Disneyland.
Your dreams can come true and you don't even have to
wish upon a star. All you have to do is get a few
blackjacks or land on a double zero or roll three sevens
in a row."
"Would you care to elucidate?" I asked, finishing my beer
and signaling the waiter to bring us another round. Stan's
patronizing manner was irritating, but at least he was
talking.
"Karl, what is your secret desire?" Stan asked placing his
hand on my knee.
My secret desire wasn't to have his hand on my knee and
I had to exercise a lot of self-control not to shake it off.
I said, "I'd like to own a certain Honus Wagner baseball
card." An easy choice since I'd just been talking to
Buchanan about it.
"Tell James. With his help you can own that card."
"He already did," Arrow said. She was still working on
her first drink. The second one sat untouched in front
of her. "Let's come down to earth for a moment and
change the subject. How much Dionysus stock does
Tartan own and what are Buchanan's plans in regard
to Dionysus?"
Stan laughed out loud. "You don't want much, do you?
Just give away our corporate strategy. You always were
very direct, Arrow. I admire you for that. But I guess
you'll have to wait for the next SEC report to come out."
"By the time the report comes out the information will
be completely out of date and useless."
"Yes."
Stan took another healthy swallow of his drink. I
surreptitiously signaled the waiter to bring yet
another round.
"Is that what you want most in life right now?"
Stan asked Arrow. "Because like I said, dreams can
come true here."
"My future is tied up with Dionysus," Arrow said. "I
also owe it to Richard to find out all I can because
he's my boss and he started the company--it's his
child."
"Wait here," Stan said. He got up and stumbled
slightly before he regained his balance and headed
in the direction of Buchanan, who was talking to
some people at the roulette wheel.
At least his hand was gone from my knee. I watched
him for a few seconds, then turned to Arrow and
said, "Do you understand what's going on?"
"Not exactly," she replied, "but I think we'd better
take it easy on the booze so we can stay alert."
Good advice. Too much beer made me sleepy and
dulled my senses. After a couple of minutes Stan
came ambling back, swinging his body in a way that
suggested he was feeling no pain. He sat down and
took a swig of his third Bloody Mary.
"Okay, here's the deal," Stan said. "James isn't averse
to giving you the information you asked for even
though he knows it will go straight to Richard. After all,
he's not a secretive person. In fact, he's willing to give
you daily updates on Tartan's holdings of Dionysus
stock and any strategic moves we're making in regard
to Dionysus. You'll be a hero, Arrow."
"What's the catch?" I asked.
"The catch, as you call it, is that you have to
gamble for the information. Roulette, craps or
blackjack, your choice."
"Blackjack," I said, immediately. The odds would be
most in our favor because I knew how to count the
cards.
"All right, blackjack. You start off with $500 in chips.
If you can triple your money you win. If you lose the
five hundred you lose."
"What's the penalty for losing?" Arrow asked.
"What if we win and James welshes?" I asked before
Stan could answer Arrow.
Stan looked hurt. "James doesn't welsh on his bets.
Ask anybody here. They wouldn't keep coming back
if he did."
My adrenaline was flowing. "I'm ready to try it," I said.
"What's the penalty for losing?" Arrow repeated.
Why was she worried about losing when we were
going to win?
"Ah, yes," Stan said, sipping his drink. "Sometimes
we offer live entertainment here. You'll notice that
the floor at the other end of the room is raised and
can be used as a stage. We have spotlights and
everything," he said, pointing to the ceiling.
"Sorry, I can't sing like Joe Williams," I said.
"No need. You both have gorgeous bodies and we
have a sophisticated audience that would love to
see you both in--and out of your clothes. We can
provide the mood music of your choice."
"You want us to strip!" Arrow exclaimed.
"That's a vulgar way of saying it, don't you think?
I prefer to call it an artistic exhibition." He leered at
Arrow. "But we will find out what you have on under
that dress."
"Not much," she said, shortly.
I could confirm that.
"It will be educational. We'll learn the difference
between panties and pants. Unless, of course, you
aren't wearing panties," he said to Arrow. And to me,
"Is it briefs or boxers with you?" Then feigning sadness,
"Whichever it is, I'm afraid they'll have to go."
I swear Stan smacked his lips. "Leave us for a minute," I
said, harshly.
He bowed and left the table, taking his drink with him. I
turned to Arrow. She was actually smiling. Then I noticed
that in the last few minutes she had finished all three of
the drinks in front of her.
"Of course we're not going to do it," I said.
"Of course not. But the look on your face is so funny."
"Funny! That coc...." I caught myself.
"I don't think we're in Palos Verdes anymore, Karl.
Of course we're not going to do it. But..."
"Arrow! Don't even think about it. What if my
father found out?"
"I know. But I'd like to get my hands on that
information so badly I can taste it. You're a good
blackjack player, aren't you?"
"Yes." I had to admit it since I felt as if I was under
oath. "But there's still a chance I might lose."
"But if you won it would be so great."
It would be. My father would have to admit that I was
good for something, for once in his life-and mine. The
information would be invaluable to him for planning his
defense; even if he ended up selling to James he would
be able to get top dollar.
I was a good blackjack player. If I played carefully
I could do it. It might take me a while to triple my
money, but....
Stan came back to the table and sat down. He looked
from one of us to the other. He said, "I sense some
indecision, but you're definitely leaning toward action."
He was enjoying this, immensely. I wanted to bust him
in the nose. I also wanted to get the better of him and
James. I looked at Arrow. She had a gleam in her eye
that said, "Go for it." How much of that gleam was from
booze? Don't think too much. I said, "We'll do it."
Stan's smile was a mile wide.
I needed to collect my wits. "I get a table to myself.
Dealer uses one deck. Betting limit is what I have on
the table. Minimum is a dollar."
"Done." Stan smacked our table with the palm of his
hand, bouncing the glasses into the air.
He hadn't even gone running to James before he
answered, as I had expected. Now he walked over
to one of the blackjack tables and talked to the players
there. From their glances at Arrow and their smiles and
ready acquiescence to giving up their places I gathered
that he had told them about the bet.
Things were moving too fast. By the time Arrow and I got
to the table there were a dozen of the beautiful people
clustered around it, waiting. Waiting for us to lose. I sat
down on one of the stools in front of the table; Arrow sat
beside me, holding another drink. The dealer produced a
number of chips, with values ranging from one to one
hundred dollars. As I placed them in piles in front of me he
shuffled a single deck and presented it for me to cut.
"Wait a minute," I said. I wasn't ready. I looked around
at the wolves surrounding us, waiting for the kill. I
conjured up a picture of my father after he found out
I had gambled again and lost. Lost my dignity and that
of his executive assistant. Made him a laughingstock for
James. Probably lost Dionysus to him.
"We're not going to do it," I said, standing up. I took hold
of Arrow's arm to pull her away from the table. She resisted.
Stan said in my ear, "You're not going to welsh on our
bet, are you?"
"I'm not welshing," I said. "We haven't started yet."
"Do you know what happens to welshers?" Stan whispered.
"Remember what happened to Ned."
I shoved him away and grabbed Arrow's arm forcefully enough
to pull her off her chair. I had to catch her or she would have
fallen to the floor. I guided her, half supporting her weight,
toward the stairs as fast as she could walk.
# # # #
I think I over-tipped the cab driver, but I couldn't
remember how much money I had given him as
soon as we got out of the cab. Actually, I wasn't
in bad shape, but Arrow was. She couldn't hold her
liquor any better than Stan.
I kept my arm around her as we staggered across
the hotel lobby, because her legs were rubber. Once
inside the elevator she threw both her arms around
my neck and clung to me as if I were a life raft. The
feel of her body welded to mine was not unpleasant,
but I couldn't give in to it.
Once out of the elevator we slow-danced our way
down the corridor in this position and somehow I
extracted her room card from her purse and opened
her door. Only then did she let go of me as she tottered
for the bed, landing face down across it.
I watched her for a few seconds, wondering whether
it was safe to leave her like this. She said something
I didn't understand; I said, "What?"
"Unzip me."
I closed the door, went to her and performed the
requested act. She struggled to get her arms out of
her dress, still face down.
"Help me."
I helped her. Once her arms were free she stopped
struggling. Stopped moving. Unconscious. On top of
the bedclothes. I found a blanket in the closet and
placed it over her. Then I headed for the door.
"Wait."
She wasn't quite unconscious. I hesitated. Somehow,
she managed to turn over onto her back. She
performed an acrobatic routine under the blanket
with her eyes half-open. Then the blanket came flying
off her, along with her dress.
Arrow lay on her back, quiet again, wearing only black
pantyhose.
"Don't you like my body?" she asked.
"It's...it's fantastic," I said, truthfully.
"Then don't go." Her voice became louder.
I mumbled something inane about both of us needing
to get some sleep.
"Come here." Louder yet.
I walked carefully to the edge of the bed, wondering
how to get her quiet again so that people in nearby
rooms wouldn't hear her.
She grabbed my arm and said, "Kiss me."
I was afraid she'd yell if I pulled away. I sat down on
the bed and leaned over to give her a brotherly kiss,
but her tongue got in the way.
I knew there were at least six good reasons why we
shouldn't have sex, none of which I could remember.
Then I thought of one. She was going to regret this in
a big way tomorrow morning.
In desperation, I put my hand on her stomach and then
slid it under her pantyhose. She closed her eyes. Soon
she began to moan. She was asleep in five minutes.
Aces and Knaves copyright ©2002 Alan L. Cook
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