Always Bet On Black

(Sunday, return flight)

"Ladies and gentlemen, we will be arriving in Columbus in about an hour." The captain continues his spiel as I look out the airplane window, continuing to reflect on the last weekend. I just wonder how I'm going to forget about everything that happened.

I should explain. I'm getting married in six days, and meeting Marilyn and falling in love with her has always been the best thing that's ever happened to me. This coming Saturday, we're making it official and getting married - at least we should be. The woman I spent all of college with...and now I just don't know.

I met her during freshman orientation at college, and we dated for two years until I asked her to marry me after spring finals of our sophomore year. I had saved my overage checks to buy an engagement ring, and we set a date almost immediately for this Saturday, just a month after graduation. For me, the timing couldn't be any more perfect.

I never listened to people who tell us that we're too young to get married. When you know, you know, and Marilyn and I have always known. Our families support us one hundred percent, and her father is even hiring me to be an accountant at his firm. I start next Monday, just two days after the wedding. Maybe Marilyn and I will take a honeymoon next year; I don't know.

I'm still figuring things out, though. At this point, my mind is racing, and I'm praying that Marilyn doesn't find out. After all, I need to hold onto this secret for as long as possible, or everything goes to hell - the wedding, my job, everything I've worked for.

But on the other hand, is that really the worst thing in the world? I put my head in my hands and think to myself as the plane descends. I guess it's time to get back to my life after a weekend of fantasy. After all, that's pretty much what a bachelor party is. I can't let it run my life.

(Friday, noon)

My three best friends and I grab our bags, climb off the airport shuttle, and head to the ticket counter, although I'm still not sure why we're here. They're the ones who had me set aside this weekend for my bachelor party, but we're only going to Cleveland; it's just two hours away and it seems easier to drive.

I made sure to ask them to keep it simple - no drunken orgies, no strippers, nothing that could get me in trouble - and they seem to be honoring that, although with a wild man like my friend Chaz in the picture, it's hard to imagine what he has set up.

Thankfully, Marilyn's here to see me off. She's really the best thing that's happened to me, and I'm thankful she's been in my life since I started college. I never had a girlfriend in high school, but when I saw Marilyn, I knew there was a connection, and so did she.

We dated throughout our first two years, and during that time, she's helped me immensely. My grades improved from high school to college, I never went to wild parties, and I have a job lined up after graduation. Chaz may call me a loser for being so into Marilyn's clean-living philosophy, but it's really been the best thing for me.

And now here she is at the airport, seeing me off to my bachelor party. She had her bachelorette party last weekend, and it looked like a lot of fun. I'm sure this weekend will be just as exciting, but I'm more looking forward to the wedding next Saturday.

She tags along with us all the way to the security check-in, drawing a sneer from Chaz and a snotty remark: "Just buy a ticket and follow us there, why don't you?" Marilyn avoids fighting back, just giving him her world-famous death stare, and the subject is dropped.

I kiss her goodbye, and out of the corner of my eye, I see her watching me the whole way as she heads out. I mindlessly meander through security, following behind Chaz, who has all of our boarding passes, and everything goes without incident as I hear the TSA agent give me my gate assignment. I don't really pay too much attention; as usual, I just follow Chaz, who has everything planned out.

I soon realize I should have listened to my gut and that something was wrong. It figures; I should never have trusted Chaz to plan a bachelor party. Unfortunately, I don't find out until we're about to arrive at the gate, and my choices consist either of going along - and praying I stay out of trouble - or walking away.

"I guess now's the time to tell you, Dave," Chaz begins, appearing to hold back laughter. "We're not going to Cleveland." I should have guessed that by the fact that we're flying and the fact that we'll be incommunicado for over four hours, a fact that displeases Marilyn greatly. He hands out the boarding passes, and I look over it. Immediately my heart sinks - no way am I staying out of trouble this weekend. Not with Chaz on the loose - in Las Vegas.

"We board in forty-five minutes. Let's go," Chaz commands, as I stop in my tracks and hand him back the boarding pass.

"I'm out," I state, firmly.

"Come on, dude," he belts back, with my other friends chiming in. "You only get to do this once."

"I said, I'm out," but he refuses to take the boarding pass. "I'm calling Marilyn and going home."

"What the hell?" shouts back Chaz. "I put in a lot of work for this weekend, and-"

"And I hope you enjoy it," I scold. "I won't be going."

"Not cool," he fires back. "Now I didn't say you have to go out to Vegas and fuck the first woman you see. Just have some fun. For all I know, it's the last fucking time you'll be able to after Marilyn gets you on lockdown."

"Lockdown?" I shout. "You don't know anything about Marilyn if you think she's keeping me on lockdown."

"Fine." The word of defeat evident. "If you really want out, I'll take your boarding pass. Go fuck off home and we'll have fun. But it's the last damn thing I ever do for you." I look at the boarding pass in my hand. Back at Chaz. Then back at the pass, thinking it over. "Or you can come to Vegas and actually do something fun instead of this bullshit Marilyn makes you do. You're a free man for another week. If I were you, I'd enjoy it."

I hold the boarding pass in my hands, looking sternly at Chaz while he returns the stare. I can end this. I can go home, tell Marilyn everything, and feel good about what I did. Or I could go with Chaz and see how life is on the other side of things.

(Friday, airport)

Well, here we are - Las Vegas. All is said and done, We're off the plane, we have our luggage, and we're on our way to the hotel. Chaz, never one to skimp, got us rooms at the Planet Hollywood, if for no other reason than the dealers who wear lingerie. Not my thing, but whatever does it for him.

It's a whole lot of hell convincing Marilyn that we were incommunicado for four hours because of a problem with our luggage, but I think she buys it. I know she has an itinerary from Chaz - fake, of course, including a baseball game and some comedy club - but the only itinerary for me this weekend is staying out of trouble. Frankly, though, if Chaz pisses me off, I'm more than happy to spend the weekend in my room watching free cable and eating granola bars while the rest of them go out and do stupid shit.

After I get over the initial shock of seeing slot machines at the airport, we catch a cab and check into our hotel room, where I shove my bag into a corner and plop down on the bed exhausted. I take a look out the window - at least it's a nice view of the Strip - and turn on the television, figuring I can at least watch the game we planned on attending on TV.

Chaz gathers us all up in some sort of pre-fuckery huddle, asking right away, "Where to first?"

"Right here," I answer abruptly. "I'm taking a nap. If you assholes have any money left when I wake up, we'll go get dinner."

I expect a bit of laughter out of Chaz - and get none. "You're not fucking this weekend up, Dave," he demands. "You're going out and having a good time, since it's the last time you ever will."

"Go fuck yourself," I fire back. "I didn't ask to come out here, and if I want to, I'll sleep. Now get the hell out of here."

Chaz throws his hands up and walks out, evidently defeated, and I pass out pretty quickly, not even thinking about what kind of shit they're about to get into. It's about three in the afternoon in Vegas, so there's still lots of time for me to let this weekend slip away while they go out and make stupid decisions.

The next thing I notice is my cell phone going off; predictably, it's Marilyn checking in. Damn, I think - have to wake up quickly so she doesn't notice I was sleeping and start asking questions.

"Did you get a cold out there?" I hear her ask - I clear my throat and start talking normally. "Don't scare me like that. I told you Chaz was trouble. I wish you were home." Yeah, me too, but I don't tell her that. "So tonight's the show. It must be later." I check the time quickly - almost six, nine back home.

"Yeah, it's a later show. I don't know anything about this guy." This part's true - I guess I have to look him up to tell Marilyn about him later. Maybe fake something about how vulgar he is and that I walked out halfway through. Just grit my teeth, I think. Soon I'll be back home.

I hang up and call Chaz, figuring he's either broke, in jail, or doing something dumb; surprisingly, he seems pretty upbeat when he answers. "Dude, come down here. I got us reservations at this kick-ass steakhouse." Chaz, of course, says it's on him - must be nice to have rich parents and a bottomless budget for crazy trips.

(Friday night, Planet Hollywood casino floor)

For once, I actually feel pretty good about this trip. Maybe it's the overpriced dinner Chaz just bought, or maybe it's the whiskey he talked me into having - another thing not to tell Marilyn, who's talked me into giving up alcohol. Until now, that is.

"So what do you guys want to play?" Chaz asks, and we go looking for a game. Blackjack? Too conventional, and I can never figure out that damn game. I know it's good, but when do you split, do you hit your 16 against a 10, it's just too much thinking.

"I want something easy," I fire back. "I'm not here to do a bunch of math." I spent four years doing a bunch of math. I'm not here to work.

Chaz looks around - and zeroes in on the aforementioned lingerie pit. A roulette game doesn't have anyone on it, so we all head over and buy in, Chaz for five hundred and the other guys for a hundred each. I, on the other hand, toss down a $20 bill.

"Really, dude?" Chaz scolds.

"I only brought a hundred to gamble with," I shoot back - I have more but want to save it.

"Just live a little, will you? Besides," he chuckles, "I think you're getting lucky." The dealer, a blonde named Molly, is slightly amused. "You like blondes, right, Dave?" I give a hard look back to Chaz - Marilyn's a redhead.

I collect my chips, not letting go of the cold stare, and bet $10 on the even numbers and nothing more while Chaz slaps $5 chips on what seems like the entire board.

Molly spins the ball, her breasts resting in her lacy red bra as she grins at us. I guess she's about a C-cup, all natural, and probably a lot smarter than her appearance lets on.

The ball drops. "Twenty-two black," Molly calls, paying me my $10 and Chaz a huge stack of chips for his win, though I think he loses about as much as he wins. Molly then instructs us to place our bets as I look over my winnings.

After another couple of spins, I'm even, and we seem to have brought Molly some more company. A young woman sets down a tall stack of $100 bills, and Chaz' eyes light up at her - I can tell he's into her right away. She isn't his type at all - Chaz usually likes girls like Molly, and this one is a dark-skinned black woman with red streaks in her hair - but I'm guessing that buying in for $3,000 will change his mind.

She brings a friend with her, one with a similar build, dark skin, a bright smile, and blonde highlights - and an equally impressive stack of money. She seems to have trouble finding a spot, so she squeezes in next to me. Great, I think. Just what I need.

I glumly slide in a stack of ten chips on red while my new neighbor takes a stack of green chips - twenty-five dollars apiece, chips the dealer ironically calls "quarters" - and dwarfs my stack, betting against me on black. She seems to give me a bit of a dirty look, and I turn away from her.

"Lighten up, will you?" she scolds. "I'm just having fun. We're in Vegas; live a little." I fake a smile and look at Molly, who's ready to spin the ball.

"I'm sorry," the woman responds. "I don't mean to be in your face. I'm just having fun." She looks me right in the eyes and smiles. She really does have nice eyes. I shouldn't be looking into another woman's eyes like this, but I'm looking at her in the eyes, not taking her behind the table and fucking her.

"I'm Cherise," she tells me, extending her hand - no jewelry except a diamond bracelet, fingernails that are real but painted and a bit longer than average, and no beauty marks or blemishes.

"Dave," I answer, shaking her hand. She smiles as she releases my hand and looks back at the wheel - damn, I think.

"Ten black," Molly calls out as my bet loses but Cherise's wins. I jealously look at Cherise, who collects a mind-blowing stack of chips, tossing one to Molly, who thanks her for the tip.

The next couple of spins go much like this, as Cherise wins big and I'm down to my last $10. I look on, frustrated, as Cherise shoves a huge stack of money on black again.

"Bet with me," Cherise tells me. "Trust me on this, honey." I look strangely at her, and she repeats it. "Tell you what. I like looking at you, so if you lose, I'll cover your loss. Bet all that on black."

She licks her lips as I take her up on her offer, shoving my chips on black. I look at Cherise, tall, polished, and voluptuous, wondering what her deal is. I'm guessing she's some drug dealer's girlfriend or something, not even realizing just what a racist asshole I seem like saying that. Maybe her boyfriend plays football instead; I don't know...damnit, Dave, shut the fuck up.

"Twenty black!" calls out Molly, paying both me and Cherise. I take my stack, going back even, as Cherise nudges closer to me. She puts her hand on my leg, though a quick look gets her hand back to her own space.

"You ever been to Vegas, sexy?" giggles Cherise - I tell her I haven't and that I'm only 22. "I like younger guys. Well, not that much younger; I'm 28." That's nice, I think. "What brings you out here?"

"Bachelor party," I answer, hoping to drop the subject before Chaz notices I'm discussing my upcoming wedding. "I'm getting married next Saturday."

"Well, congratulations, I guess. I wouldn't get married at your age." She stacks chips on several numbers, again shoving what appears to be a thousand dollars onto black. "Bet with me again, honey," she insists. "All of it. I'll cover you if you lose."

I follow her advice, but then I ask, "I don't get it. Why are you being so nice to me?"

"Because," she laughs, "you're so damn good-looking. You're lucky I'm not in your lap right now."

"I don't think my fiancee would like that," I sheepishly reply.

"Well, your fiancee isn't here, is she?" she fires back.

I hear the ball drop once again - fuck yes. "Eight black!" calls out Molly, who's now paying Cherise in $500 purple chips. I'm up for once, and I can't even count how well Cherise is doing. I look over at Chaz, though, and he's buying in for another $500.

Cherise seems to be getting friendlier with me, her winnings growing with mine and her hand finding its way into my lap once again but this time staying there. "Do you trust me?" she asks - I don't answer. "Well, if you trust me, bet with me again. Put some chips on my numbers."

I put $100 on black, taking my stack and following her direction. "Bet on thirteen," she tells me. "It's my birthday. When's yours?" The twenty-fourth, which I bet on as well. Chaz, of course, isn't anywhere near either of those bets, opposing me with two $100 black chips on red. Eat my dust, Chaz, I think. The hot girl and I are taking your crazy ass down.

Molly bends over the wheel and spins, practically exposing herself along the way. I watch the wheel, not even noticing that Cherise seems to have her hands on me and I'm not stopping her at all. The wild thought of a threesome with Cherise and Molly enters my mind, not that I'd entertain any notion that insane. I just want a damn winner.

The ball drops, bounces around, off one of those weird diamond-looking things, and I can't bring myself to take my eyes off of it - no, no, no, wait, yes. Good. "Thirty-one black," shouts Molly. My two numbers lose on the inside but I make $100 off the spin. Cherise? Two grand. And her hand under my shirt.

"What the-?" I ask Cherise, who quickly removes her hand. I can't even spit it out.

"Look at this," she answers, holding four purple chips. "You're lucky, Dave. I'd like to find out just how lucky you are."

"Are you shitting me?" I spit out to a confused Cherise - a rarity for me, since Marilyn scolds me for cursing.

"Chill, Dave," she giggles as I fume. "I said you're lucky because I won every time here. I usually get my ass kicked at this game." No shit, considering I actually took a statistics class where the professor debunked roulette and its ridiculous house advantage. No idea how I'm up almost $200. "I came out here in May and lost five grand. No big deal."

"The fuck do you mean no big deal?" I blurt out. "What the holy fuck do you do where you can blow through five grand on a game with a house edge of five and a quarter percent is no big deal? For fuck's sake, if you want to blow through your God damn money, go play fucking baccarat. It's got better odds."

"Will you be cool, Dave? You're acting like a damn spaz. It's like you're some animal that spends your life in a cage eating hamster food and now you're out and don't know what the fuck to do with yourself." I put my hands up in confusion. "I like you, Dave. You sound like a great guy. And I'm up an assload of money, and I think you're the reason."

"I get it," I answer, calmly. "But-"

"The hand under the shirt, I know." She smiles. "My bad. Won't happen again." Then she leans into my ear and whispers. It takes me a second to figure out what she says.

"Unless I have a fat stack out there."

I step away from her as Molly appears halfway ready to call security. "Kidding," replies Cherise. "I'm messing with you. God, you're so much fun to fuck around with."

Molly giggles as I smile, accepting her explanation. She's already done two spins without us on them - sixteen and twenty-one, both red numbers - and Cherise takes her winnings from the previous spin and slides them out on black.

"Tell you what," she calls out to me, seeing me a little annoyed at missing some action. "Bet those chips on black with me." I set two green chips on black, a little nervous. "No. All of them," she continues, and I look at her funny. "Don't give me that look, Dave," she scolds. "Do it."

"What if I don't?" I answer.

"I'll get it out of you one way or another," she teases. "I'm that damn good. Now do it." I refuse. "Fine. I'll sweeten the pot. If you lose, I'll cover your losses."

"You'll cover my losses?" I answer in disbelief.

"I will give you two black chips if we lose," she responds. "And I'll leave you alone. You'll never hear from me again."

What the hell, I think, as she sets down the two promised chips in front of her, smiling as I comply. Molly gets the ball out to spin.

"And by the way," continues Cherise, "if we win, I owe you a drink. We'll color up and head to the bar."

"What?" I exclaim, not sure if I'm hearing her right.

"It's a drink, not sex," she continues. "Don't be such a fucking prude." With that, I agree, putting my remaining chips on 13 and 24 black. Looks like about $20 on each number.