Cashed In Part 5

"Belinda," Elva corrected me in a stage whisper. "This is a nice dinner not a fraternity party. There is no punch. You can ask for wine."

"What do you know about fraternity parties?" I demanded in shock as Elva giggled. I wasn't sure I knew my parents after all.

"Why were you telling the floor you wanted punch anyway?" Ben asked.

"I was talking to Jack Smack." I motioned to my right and looked down. Of course, The Smack was gone.

Silence was pa.s.sed around the table like the plague. Everyone stared at me. "We need to take her temperature," Elva finally declared. "She's hallucinating. She may have Montezuma's revenge. How's your intestinal health, pookie?"

"Elva, we aren't even in Mexico yet," Howard pointed out.

Callie and Stella giggled. Ben rolled his eyes. I peeked under the table. No Jack. I scanned the floors near the tables around us. No social phobics in sight. I signaled our waiter, who'd introduced himself as Armond from the British Virgin Islands. "I need coffee. Black."

Dinner wound down about seven thirty, the tournament started at eight, and I was supposed to be early. That left me only five minutes to run to the cabin to repair my makeup and take a Valium. Too bad I didn't have any.

The whole Jack Smack incident made me forget completely about Ian. He caught me by the arm as I made for the elevator along with dozens of other tournament hopefuls discussing strategy. "Hey, are we still on for dancing after the tournament? The Betcha Club on the top deck has a salsa band."

I blinked. Ooo, Ian was especially cute in clothes close-up. And, salsa was so s.e.xy. Restraint, Bee, he was a baby.

"I would hate to have to wait for you," I said with a grin.

"Oh, aren't we diplomatic. You know I will be the one waiting for you, the poker star." He put a hand lightly on my waist and leaned in to whisper. "And I don't mind waiting. You're worth it."

Now, Frank would have said no such thing. Frank was s.e.xy in nuance, in suggestion, in testosterone. But I have to say that obvious was working for me right now, since Ian was the one standing here and Frank wasn't. I could feel my mad at him rising up again in the center of my chest. I coughed, hoping to shake it out. I hated feeling so angry.

"Okay," I finally said, trying to brush off thoughts of Frank. "You're on. I'll meet you at the club after I play my last card. Maybe we'll get lucky and sit near each other in the tournament."

A commotion at the other end of the dining room cut into my sad attempt to flirt. I'd been out of the game too long. I didn't count Frank because I fought more than I flirted with him.

"Help! Help! He was looking up my skirt. He's a freak!" We turned to see a woman in her fifties jumping up from her dinner table, swis.h.i.+ng her black lame skirt around like it was crawling with a thousand fire ants. The maitre d' reached under the table and pulled Jack Smack out by the arm. The dozens of diners who hadn't yet made it out of the dining room doors paused, murmuring and pointing. Without thinking I rushed to the gathering crowd and called out, "It's not his fault. He's shy. I mean, he's been diagnosed as a social phobic-you know, a pathological introvert."

"He's a freak!" the woman shrieked.

A tall earnest young man stepped out from the crowd. "Listen, ma'am, I am a lawyer with the ACLU. It is not politically correct to name-call the emotionally challenged. In fact, it is grounds for slander. The Anxiety Disorders a.s.sociation of America would get behind this abuse."

"I didn't call him a freak because he's a nutcase, I called him a freak because he's a Peeping Tom! He was under the table! He was looking up my skirt!"

The ACLU lawyer shut up and melted back into the crowd. Guess criminal litigation for s.e.xual a.s.sault wasn't his specialty.

"This, I am afraid, is grounds for removal from the s.h.i.+p, sir." The maitre d' said to Jack whose face was glowing red with shame. He was beginning to tremble. Sweat was rolling down the sides of his face.

"I'm sure this is just a misunderstanding. He's shy and sometimes people don't know he's there because he's quiet," I blurted. "Jack's a freelance journalist, on a story, I'll vouch for him. I'm sure he was under the table because he'd dropped his pen, right Jack?" What the heck was wrong with me? Jack might be the modern-day Ripper for all I knew. Although he didn't look much like one, with his big puppy dog eyes, sucking his gap teeth as he nodded with pitiful obedience, gasping for breath, glancing from me to the maitre d' and back.

"Miss Cooley?" The maitre d' asked with his tone whether I wanted to go out on this particular shaky limb.

I nodded. Mopping his brow with the cuff of his dress s.h.i.+rt, Jack looked like he might crawl up and kiss me. I shot him a warning look. He bowed his head humbly as the maitre d' began to give him a lecture about proper behavior at the dinner hour.

"There you are!" Kinkaid hissed as she grabbed my arm. "We were expecting you to be early to the tournament."

"I'm sorry," I said. "There was a problem-"

"We have a problem of our own," Kinkaid snapped. "Rick Santobella is missing."

Seven.

"What do you mean Rick is missing?" I asked Kinkaid as she propelled me with a turbo grip on my triceps through the crowd and into the elevator. Her glare must have been enough to ward off anyone wanting to join us, for when the doors closed, we were alone.

"We were waiting for you and Rick," she said, pausing heavily, "when Delia came running up, asking us if we had seen her husband. During dinner, he remembered he'd forgotten his lucky marker at the cabin. Apparently, he is on a diet, so chose to get it during dessert. He never returned. Delia went to the cabin and he wasn't there, so she a.s.sumed he'd gone ahead to the tournament."

I could feel my heart rate accelerate, beating in the hollow of my throat. "He's probably been waylaid by a fan and lost track of time."

"We can only hope that's the case. Thanks to your brother, and the nonsense he was spreading earlier, all my high-profile players are panicking. We'll be lucky to get the tournament off the ground tonight. I am counting on you, especially, to hold it together."

Heartwarming of her to be so worried about Rick. "Why me?"

Kinkaid turned to me, stunned. "Because you work in advertising, that's why. You understand appearances are everything."

I did? I thought people paid me to come up with creative ways to sell things.

"Use some flash and dash. Cover up the trouble. You have the experience, so I expect you to open up the cards tonight."

"What do you mean?" It was time to let my panic of crowds take control.

"You will have the mic to order the first pocket cards to be dealt."

"I don't think we ought to play. Under the circ.u.mstances."

"There's where you're wrong, Belinda." Kinkaid explained. "If we play, eighty percent of the s.h.i.+p will be occupied, and my security team will have a much easier time hunting for Rick than if all those thousands of people are wandering around on board with nothing to do, getting in our way."

I hadn't thought about that. "What's your plan to find him?"

"That's our problem, not yours."

The elevator stopped and the doors opened onto the second floor where I could see the glittering ballroom set up with hundreds of poker tables. Players filtered in, some pausing first at the bar set up just outside the door to grab a drink before checking in at the registration tables. Kinkaid propelled me forward again into the loudly charged pre-play atmosphere, which would morph by the last day of the tournament into one of quiet compet.i.tive tension.

"Bee." Delia jumped up from an overstuffed chair in the hallway. A woman in the security detail uniform of poker s.h.i.+rt and slacks, looking like Don Ho in drag, followed behind her as she ran up and gave me a hug. "I'm so glad she found you! You're okay?" I nodded as she continued breathlessly. "But what about Rick? Where could he be? What I am going to do? I knew this was going to happen."

I patted her on the arm. "Miss Kinkaid a.s.sures me the cruise line is doing all it can. Meanwhile, while they have security checking for him, you should go to the places he might have gone-"

"He was coming back to dinner!"

"I know." I felt so helpless. "Why don't you go back to the cabin and see if you can find anything that might give you a clue to where he is. Maybe you overlooked a note or-"

"We have the cabin sealed for security purposes," Kinkaid interrupted.

I turned to Kinkaid and raised my eyebrows and my voice just enough to make her nervous. "Surely you don't suspect Delia of having something to do with Rick's disappearance."

Of course they probably did, since most cops suspected family members first and likely the security on board was run by an ex-cop. Still, I thought I might intimidate Kinkaid into letting Delia do something.

Kinkaid was fidgeting with the rainbow phone case on her waist, praying no doubt for a call to interrupt. "No, certainly we don't suspect Mrs. Santobella."

"Good, then it won't be a problem for her to go back to the cabin for another look around? Certainly a wife might notice something out of place that a total stranger searching the room wouldn't."

"I'll arrange it," Kinkaid snapped, s.n.a.t.c.hing her phone and pressing a speed dial number. Delia turned her big brown eyes on me in grat.i.tude.

"Let me know what you find out," I said.

Delia nodded as Kinkaid whispered instructions to the sentry. As they disappeared down the elevator, Kinkaid turned to me. "You certainly are meddling in things you have no business in."

"And you are volunteering me for things I don't want to do. I suppose that makes us even?"

Kinkaid pursed her s.h.i.+ny pink lips, ran her fingers through her fluffy hair and pointed toward the stage where sat the podium shaped like a huge hundred-dollar chip. "I'll welcome everyone, then you take the mic and order the first deal, after that march on down to the empty chair at table sixty-six and play Hold 'Em. Good luck."

Table sixty-six-Ack. I hope Richard's theory would hold true and I would win loads at the tournament. I walked toward Ian at table twelve. He winked and gave me a thumbs-up. Ringo sat two tables over and motioned me urgently to him.

I strode over. "Hey, Ringo. What's up?"

"Where are your Gargoyles?" he asked.

I felt on the top of my head then remembered I had left them in my cabin, expecting to have time to return to freshen up before the cards went into play. I swallowed hard, suddenly nervous. "Uh-oh, I didn't have time to go get them."

Ringo whipped his shades off his face and put them into my hands. "Take these."

"Ringo! I can't keep taking your sungla.s.ses from you. What will you do?"

Ringo grinned irresistibly. "My eyes lie better than yours do."

Kinkaid stuck me in the small of the back with a sharp fingernail. "Get going, Miss Cooley. We have a whole room waiting for us."

Delivering a grateful look to Ringo, who winked, I glanced at the gla.s.ses before I slipped them onto the top of my head. Wraparound mirrored Anarchys. At least they were consistent with the theme of the cruise so far.

Some cruise tournaments operate like a bunch of satellite events leading up to one main endgame tournament, for which the winners of the satellites qualify-sort of like a mini-World Series of Poker. The no-limit $100/$200 tournament on the Sea Gambler with its twenty-five hundred dollar buy-in was different in that it was one long strung-out big event. Instead of a crescendo of excitement building each night, this tournament advertised itself as full throttle excitement from the first deal. It looked to me like there were at least 150 tables in the room, with ten players each. Everyone had the opportunity to rebuy once. Those who were eliminated from the tournament could stay and watch or they could go to the side poker room and play on one of tables there that dealt games from four in the afternoon until four in the morning when we were at sea.

The buzz of conversation began to quiet as Kinkaid clicked up the stairs to the podium. I lagged behind her, hoping I wouldn't have to spend as much time standing on-stage behind a giant chip with thousands staring at me. I nodded as I pa.s.sed two familiar faces at the last table.

I did a double take.

Elva and Howard?

I put it in reverse and leaned down to whisper in my father's ear. "I think you're in the wrong place, Dad. This is the Hold 'Em tournament."

"Then we're in the right place, girlie."

"I didn't know you guys played poker."

"I play bridge every Wednesday after my rose club," Mom said defensively.

Dad winked. There was a lot of that going around. "Don't worry. I won my share of five-card stud when I was in college."

"Uh, Dad, Texas Hold 'Em is a little different game than five-card stud and bridge," I began. "Don't you think you ought to learn how to play before you fork over big bucks to buy in?"

"What? Do you think you're the only person who can go into a game not knowing how to play and win?" Elva huffed. She turned to Dad and raised her eyebrows. "I think Miss Ma'am here is acting a little big for her britches, don't you?"

Oh dear. I was going to have to kill Frank if I ever saw him again for talking me into this. Dad winked. Three of the eight other people at the table tried to hide their smiles. The other five were laughing out loud. Super.

The speakers whined as Kinkaid moved the mic down to her mouth. "Welcome everyone. It doesn't get more glamorous than this, does it?"

Uh-huh, Kinkaid. I was just thinking that.

"I mean, think about it-you are on one of the most gorgeous, state-of-the-art s.h.i.+ps on the sea, headed to exotic paradises and about to play what is known around the globe as the Cadillac of card games-Texas Hold 'Em." Kinkaid had just noticed that I was still down on the floor and shot me a killer look which propelled me toward the stage. I guess my parents were on their own, headed to the poor-house.

"I am Alyce Kinkaid, director of this no-limit champions.h.i.+p tournament that boasts prize money of more than a million dollars. We pay to a hundred places and besides big money there is a secret prize for numero uno. Remember, the rules are traditional and a copy of them is available at each table. We will take a ten minute break every two hours. We call the game until the next night without notice, so play your best from the get-go. Now to call out the first deal with her favorite poker quote is one of our celebrity champs-Belinda "Bee Cool" Cooley. Have fun and good luck!"

Applause and hoots of excitement filled the room as I made for the microphone. Favorite poker quote? Was this some kind of joke? Could the woman not have at least warned me? Suddenly the sound system began to play Kenny Rogers' "The Gambler," the lyrics of which were, of course, the only poker quote that had sprung to my panicked mind. Ack. What was I going to do?

I reached the podium and paused, looking to all the world like I was enjoying the hoots and hollers, when in fact I was scared to death. Suddenly I remembered what Frank had told me the last time he'd come to visit me in Houston. We'd gone to play a brick-and-mortar game at the back of the neighborhood sports bar. When we'd walked in, the poker room was nothing but guys. I'd begun shaking my head and Frank, reading my mind as he has a knack for doing, leaned into me and whispered the famous David Shoup poker quote and added: "He's right, this is your best environment to play. You can clean up here." He'd been right. I'd gone home with forty-one hundred dollars.

I cleared my throat. The crowd quieted. Kenny's song dropped to background noise. "Thank you, Miss Kinkaid. I realize all of you come from different walks of life as well as bring differing degrees of poker experience into the game. The beauty of Hold 'Em is that neither the most skilled nor the luckiest always wins. But one thing will doom you every time, even more than bad luck. I would like to send you all into the tournament with this from David Shoup: 'The commonest mistake in history is underestimating your opponent; it happens at the poker table all the time.' "

Applause filled the room again.

Kenny's song swelled . . . "know when to run. You never count your money when you're sittin' at the table. There'll be time enough for countin' when the dealin's done. . . . "

Kinkaid smiled tightly at me in reluctant approval and motioned for all the dealers to begin. I could see Ian give me another subtle thumbs-up. I dipped my head in acknowledegment and made for table sixty-six.

On my way, I saw an empty seat at table three and knew it must be Rick's. He still hadn't shown.

Six hours later, I was heads up with a middle school English teacher who had nerves of steel. I guess trying to teach teenage h.e.l.lions not to use "like" every other word will toughen a person's nervous system-convenient for tournament Hold 'Em. I, on the other hand, rarely feel cool under pressure even though my fans seem to think I look cool. I think they need gla.s.ses. Prescription ones. I jittered, on edge as I watched Delia Santobella repeatedly peek into the big room, no doubt praying Rick would materialize at any moment.

Normally in tournament Hold 'Em, players were moved to different tables as the number at their tables diminished, but I think Kinkaid and her minions were so distracted by Rick's disappearance that she was slow on finding the tables low on players. That left me with the wrath of Semion High.

The Flop was Ace of spades, Jack of clubs, eight of clubs. I had a King of clubs and nine of clubs-setting me up for a straight draw, which I hate, or a flush draw, which I hate only slightly less, or a straight flush, which I find almost as unbelievable as the perfect man. I love trips and pairs and full houses. They seem so clean and easy, attainable. My opponent was hard to read, so much so I had thought she was the sucker at the table for the first twelve hands. After that, she took out at least four players, big wake-up call to me before I went broke. I belatedly remembered my earlier sage advice to the room. Fortunately, I was the big blind in this hand and had to wait for her bet. She looked tempted to go all in. I could see her counting her chips in her head. I figured she had two clubs also or perhaps pocket Aces.

I knew I should fold as I calculated the odds of my draws. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Hans rush up to Kinkaid, who was patrolling the room, and whisper in her ear. She spun around, looked at table forty-three where three people still played. Hans nodded. They marched over to the table and spoke to the dealer. He nodded and looked at his watch. Kinkaid motioned to Hans and then they both hustled out of the room.

"Miss Cooley?" The dealer verbally nudged me.

I looked around. Both the dealer and the teacher stared at me. Uh-oh. I looked at the chips pushed forward on the table in front of my opponent. Not all her chips, but d.a.m.ned close. I might have to go all in to stay in the game, as I calculated that I probably had a couple hundred less in chips than she did. I looked back at the doorway where Kinkaid and Hans had disappeared. A couple of the poker chip/flower s.h.i.+rt uniformed cruise dudes were trying to un.o.btrusively stand guard, but it was pretty obvious to me. What was going on? Had they found Rick? If so, why did they go over to table forty-three if his table had been number three?

"We can't wait any longer for your bet, Bee Cool," the dealer announced.

The teacher took a sip of her Scotch and soda, giving me the stony stare she must have perfected on a thousand middle school renegades. And suddenly I felt like acting like one of them. My limited Hold 'Em knowledge told me to fold and take my five hundred dollar hit. The renegade in me said, "All in."