Against The Odds (Anna Dawson #1) (4 page)

“We need you here for this Ben. You’re the only person she’ll listen to,” Lorelei said.

“And she listens to me because I don’t waste her time telling her nonsense,” Ben replied.

I shot him a smile and he nodded his head toward me.

Lorelei ignored him, waved me to my seat; the guest of dishonor. She took a seat herself, pulled some papers from the coffee table, gave another hair flip and began to read. “Ten signs you are a compulsive gambler.”

The three dancers looked up from their breakfasts. Apparently lured by the offer of free food, this was the first time they realized what they were here for. They looked from Ben to me, trying to figure out who was the compulsive gambler.

Truth was we probably both were.

Another truth was we both liked it that way.

“Number one. Is preoccupied with gambling, reliving gambling experiences, or thinking of ways to get money to gamble.” She gave a dramatic pause, pointedly looking at me.

“Tabby,” I said. “How often do you think about dancing?”

She looked at me. God, she couldn’t have been more than twenty-two. “Dancing’s all I think about,” she said with such sincerity it nearly broke my heart.

I looked back at Lorelei, raised my brows, in a “whadda say to that!” way.
 
It’s a look I’d perfected at the poker tables.

She ignored me, returned to her papers. “Number two. Needs to gamble with a larger pot of money in order to achieve the desired level of excitement.”

I thought about a couple of weeks ago. Betting five thousand on the Giants. As I’d walked away from the betting window I had this fear, this dread, that it wasn’t enough, and had gone back to the window to double it.

“Kenny,” I said, waiting to see which dancer would look at me. Ah, the blond. So the brunette was Mark. “What was your first job as a dancer?”

He smiled a warm grin. “At Miss Porter’s school of dance. I helped her teach ballroom dancing to couples about to get married.”

“And do you like dancing on the Las Vegas Strip, in one of its biggest shows, better?”

“Hell yes.”

“You’d say it has raised the level of excitement? The bigger the show?”

“Right,” he said quietly, looking toward Lorelei, contrite, probably wondering if she’d take away the food.

“Come on Jo,” Lorelei scolded. “This is serious. I’m trying to help you.”

“I know you think you are Lorelei. But replace the top of your list with the word professional instead of compulsive. It’s my job. And I’m damn good at it. My gambling bought this house. The house that you live in rent-free, by the way.”

“Do you want me to start paying rent?” she asked. “Because I—”

“No,” I cut her off. “That wasn’t our agreement.” She started to come back with something but I held up my hand. I was on a roll. “Look in the driveway. My car? Gambling. Your car? Gambling. All the stuff you wanted for the gourmet kitchen? Gambling. My life—
your life
—is a very comfortable life thanks to gambling.”

“Yes. Gambling has brought you a lot. But it also has you disappearing every few months, doing God knows what for people right out of a Scorsese movie. You can’t say
that’s
comfortable.”

“Ben, help me out here,” I pleaded.

“Hannah, maybe we should just let Lorelei finish. Go ahead, dear.”

She looked at me. For permission? Yeah, right. I waved for her to continue.
 

Lorelei’s lived with Ben and me for six years. Before her, Ben was able to run the household. But not so much lately, and I didn’t want that kind of pressure on him.
 

I owned the house (though it was in Ben’s name), had a car for Lorelei (also in Ben’s name, as was my own) bought all the food and paid all the utilities. Or, I should say supplied all the money for those things.

That’s where Lorelei came in. Whenever I won, I handed the money over to her. She paid all the bills with it, did all the grocery shopping, did most of the cooking when she wasn’t working, and was my back-up for taking Ben places.

She also bought nice things for the house from my winnings. We had the latest electronic equipment, a huge in-home theater, an incredible state-of-the-art kitchen set-up. The works. It was her job to make sure the cash was spent. And that there was enough left—and I didn’t want to know where—for the bills to be paid for at least two years.

That was my safety net. Two years. If I went more than that without being on the plus side then…well, I didn’t know what, it hadn’t happened yet.

There was never to be large sums of cash at the ready. It was all to be invested in things that weren’t quickly—or at least easily—sold.

Responsibility and honesty were the only things I asked from her, and she had those in spades.

It was a good arrangement for everybody. Lorelei was a dancer, but on the waning end of that youth-oriented industry. She did mostly sub work, pick-up jobs. Took a bunch of dance classes to stay in shape. She kept odd hours, I kept odd hours, but between us there was usually one of us either here in the house or at least nearby and able to get to Ben if he needed us.

But a few times a year Lorelei got to feeling she should be doing more, and that usually translated to one of these faux interventions. Oh, it was real enough on her part, but it probably should have been a red flag of sorts when she could never find enough people that my “problem” had affected to populate one of these things.

I wasn’t mad at her. I knew she meant well. But I’m always cranky for a few days after taking one of my “trips”, and I was still feeling sleep deprived, so I was in no mood for her intervention this morning.

“Number three. Tries repeatedly to control, cut back, or stop gambling.”

“No problem there,” I said.

“No?”

“No. I’ve never tried to stop.”

The two male dancers snorted at that, and Ben chuckled. Lorelei shot them all looks and they quieted. Ben winked at me.

“Number four. Becomes restless or irritable when attempting to scale back or stop gambling.”

“Like I said, I don’t try to stop, so I’m never irritable about it.” She opened her mouth to continue but I cut her off. “I’ll tell you what
does
make me irritable though.”

She ignored me. “Number five. Gambles as a way to escape from family or work problems or to relieve a depressed or unhappy mood.”

“Nah. I drink for that.”

The boys laughed again, sat up, put their coffee cups down, and settled in to watch the show. Tabby kept right on with her breakfast. My God, dancers could eat.

Lorelei turned to the next page in her notes. Great, this was to be a multi-page intervention.

“Number six. After losing money, often returns another day to get even.”

“I return everyday,” I said. “It’s my job.” Nobody had any comment to that one. Lorelei seemed to take it as a small victory, but the men all just shrugged.

“Number seven. Lies to family members, therapists, colleagues or others to conceal the extent of the gambling habit.”

I looked at Ben. “I have never lied to you.”

“I know you haven’t, Hannah, darling,” Ben said, sympathy in his voice.

I looked at Lorelei. “I have never lied to you.”

“Where were you two days ago?” she quietly said, no victory in her voice now.

I looked from her to Ben. The dancers, sensing a “moment”, leaned forward. Tabby even put down her fork.

“I’m not going to tell you that,” I said. “Because it’s none of your business, and because I won’t lie to you.”

The moment was anti-climatic for the dancers whose attention returned to the table. Ben looked away when I tried to meet his eye. Lorelei held mine for a long time before returning to her notes.

“Number eight. Has jeopardized or lost a significant relationship, job, or educational or career opportunity because of the need to gamble.”

“Nope,” I said.

“No?” she prodded.

“The only job I’ve ever had—as an adult anyway—is gambling. And I’ve never lost that one.”

“What about relationships?”

“What about them?”

“Most women your age are married, starting families.”

“I could say the same thing back to you. And if you say you’re married to “the dance”, I’m going to come after you.” I think that’s exactly what she was about to say, because she shut her mouth pretty quickly.

“Besides,” I said, thinking of Jeffrey. “My needs are met.”
 

I thought of my parents back in Wisconsin. They’d just been out for a visit a couple of months ago. “I’ve got family.”
 

I looked at Ben, smiled. “I’ve got lots of family.” He smiled back, nodded his agreement.

“What about,” she looked down at her notes, “educational opportunities? You said you left college one semester shy to come out here.”

God, that seemed like a lifetime ago. It
was
a lifetime ago. “Yes, but I didn’t lose that opportunity, I walked away from it. Big difference.” At least it had felt like it at the time, now that decision process all seemed blurry to me.

“Number nine. Borrows money from friends, family, even strangers to pay off catastrophic debts from gambling.”

“Have I ever borrowed any money from you?” I asked her, evading a direct answer to number nine.

“No.”

“Ben?”

“No, Hannah, of course not.”

Kenny cleared his throat. We all looked at him. “Oh. No. You haven’t borrowed from me. But, like, hey, if you’ve got some to lend…”

“Shut up, Kenny,” Lorelei said. Kenny shut up. Although I was thinking that breakfast alone might not be payment enough for this torture for these kids and that I should reimburse them. Except, hell, if I had to sit through it, so could they.

“Number ten.”

“Finally.”

“Drum roll please,” Kenny said. Mark did the honors.

Lorelei ignored them both. “Number ten. Has committed illegal acts like forgery, fraud, theft or embezzlement to finance a gambling habit.”

Well, shit. Visions of Lurch and Mr. Smith sprawled across their hotel beds flooded over me. I made a sound of disgust, like how could Lorelei even dare to think I’d do something illegal.
 

I stood up, said, “We’re done here,” and walked out of the room.

T
hree nights later number ten was still zinging through my mind as I found myself in front of a municipal building on the west side of Vegas. Out of my territory, but that was good, less likely to run into anyone I knew.
 

That’s why it’s called Anonymous.

I believed everything I’d said to Lorelei. I’m a professional gambler. It’s what I do, how I make a living.
 

And the thing is, drinkers can stop without losing their jobs. Druggies can stop without losing their jobs. But with me? It’d be like telling a professional wine taster they were an alcoholic and had to not only break the habit, but find an entirely different line of work.

I loved my job.

And yet…and yet here I found myself at midnight on a Wednesday night instead of in a poker room.

I looked at the notices on the front of the building. Gamblers Anonymous, room 214. Alcoholics Anonymous, room 334. Narcotics Anonymous, room 422. Different diseases, different floors. Man, I’ll bet the doughnut and coffee industries made a killing at a place like this.

People filed into the building. I stood to the side, not moving, trying not to look the people in the eye. A few people came together, some couples, some just friends, I supposed. Or, what do you call them? Sponsors.

At quarter after, I still stood in front of the building, glued to my spot. The sidewalk was empty now, the people all inside. Taking a deep breath, I started to move toward the door when I heard someone walking up the steps behind me.

It was a man alone, dressed in khakis, a chambray work shirt and a leather jacket. His tie was loose around his neck and as he walked up the steps he took it off completely and stuffed it in his jacket pocket.

His walk up the stairs was slow, deliberate, and I knew just how he felt.
 

Dead man walking.

He had a cigarette in his hand and when he got to the door he noticed the no smoking indoors sign. He leaned along the metal railing on one side and took the smallest drag off his cigarette. Making it last.

I didn’t even have the excuse of a cigarette, but I took my hand off the door handle and leaned back on the railing on the other side of the stairs.

He looked up, startled, like he hadn’t noticed me until now, and that seemed to disturb him. He nodded at me. I nodded back.

I could pretend to be waiting for someone. Just hang out until he finished his cigarette and went in. I didn’t have to let his presence drive me away.
 

Or in.

I watched him. He was reading the flyers on the front of the building and I thought I could get a good look at him without him noticing, but when he turned back to me I realized he’d known I was watching him all along.