Tricks. Part 10

No more cheerful ribbing.

No more stupid jokes.

Three Weeks Ago I didn't have a girlfriend.

Not being partnered up wasn't so d.a.m.n bad, not that I totally mind having the hottest girl in my crowd acting like she can't get enough of me. It's just kind of complicated because, as I suspected, Alyssa is not very happy about Ronnie jumping my bones, jumping 'Lyssa's s.h.i.+p in the process.

The first time 'Lyssa saw us together, I thought she'd s.h.i.+t on the spot. We were sitting together (okay, like glued together, front to front, Ronnie in my lap) on the gra.s.s at school. 'Lyssa came hauling around the corner, headed somewhere in a hurry. But when she saw us, she braked and did a double take. Just what do you think you're doing?

I'm not sure if she was talking to Ronnie or me, but Ronnie jumped right down her throat.

What does it look like we're doing, Alyssa? Having tea?

Then she laughed. Too hard.

'Lyssa puffed out her cheeks and her face turned red-the rotten red of an overripe tomato. Her hands clenched. Unclenched.

I thought we were dog meat. But all she said was, That's f.u.c.ked up.

Oil and water or not, Alyssa was the first girl I ever had real feelings for. And now her feelings were shredded.

I felt like s.h.i.+t. Still do. But not enough to tell Ronnie to take a hike. She's freaking beautiful, with black coffee eyes, s.h.i.+ny dark hair, and legs that go up to there. Slipping in between them is like making love to warm milk and honey.

We Had s.e.x The very first night we went out together, although I didn't think it was going to happen, what with her brother being a bouncer (okay, security guard) at Frozen75, something she neglected to tell me until we slithered up to the front of the line. p.i.s.sed off a bunch of people, for sure. But, just like any club, I guess, they have an Invited Guest line.

And if your brother's a bouncer, you're invited. Especially if he's a bouncer the size of a VW Beetle. Vince Carino plays linebacker for the UNLV Rebels, a decent university team, usually the second best in the state.

Never mind there are only two, and the one from that cowtown up north, Reno, generally comes out on top. Not always, though, and when Vegas wins, it's party time.

Then Again It's pretty much always party time in Las Vegas. They don't call it Sin City for nothing.

Ronnie and I partied down that first night for sure. And we've been partying ever since.

See, Vince is not only okay with his sister and me being together.

He encourages it. Says she needs a guy in her life to keep her in line. Not that I'd ever try that with Ronnie. I'm a pacifist.

Vince is not. But he is a partier.

Drinks like no serious athlete should, not that I think he's especially serious. What I think is, he likes knocking people down- smas.h.i.+ng them into the ground.

Glad he seems to like me. Booze isn't his only bad habit, though.

Pot. Pills. Crack. Probably other stuff, but that's all I've seen. And that's plenty. I so do not want to know too much about Vince Carino.

Vince and I Have Shared A bottle or two, a fistful of doobs, pipes and pipes and pipes. Tonight, we'll pa.s.s around all three at his regular Friday poker game. Not sure how I reached the heart of his inner circle so quickly. Suppose it could be because I'm usually the one supplying the weed. Anyway, I know zip about poker, but it sounds like a h.e.l.l of a lot more fun than staying home, listening to Jack cough and Mom sigh.

Before I go, I guess I should brush up on the rules a little.

Punch a few words into my search engine and I come up with ... whoa. Way too much information. Let's start with the basic what hand beats what?

One pair, two pair, three of a kind.

Easy enough to remember. Straight.

Flush. Full house. Four of a kind.

Straight flush. Royal flush. Together, do those equal a hetero queen's toilet?

d.a.m.n It, Jack You've cursed me! You're the one who's supposed to be coming up with corny jokes.

I'm supposed to laugh at them, whether or not they're funny.

Now I need to check up on you.

He's in the living room, adrift on anonymous painkillers. The TV is blaring, and his eyes are aimed at it, but vacant. Dread shoots through my body on a wave of adrenaline.

"Hey, Jack. How's it going?"

He jumps a little. Huh? Oh.

Hey, Cody. What's up, son?

His speech is slurred, just barely coherent. f.u.c.king meds. Where's your mom?

Is she home from work yet?

d.a.m.n. For a minute, I really thought he might be dead. But why would I think that? He's only got indigestion. Jeez, man.

Talk about jumpy. Freaking crack is famous for that.

But I've got to admit I like the way it makes every nerve come alive. Just like Ronnie said it would. She's got a tidy little habit. I have to be careful not to let my own toking get so out of hand. I swear I never had a clue she had made friends with the pipe. Best thing about it is what a little horndog she turns into when she's smoking. Boo frigging yah! Whatever I want.

Jack Coughs Pulling my mind away from Ronnie's superior body, back into the present, toward the sofa.

I go sit next to Jack. Boy, is his face pale. "Mom's not home yet. Can I bring you something?"

He turns toward me, eyes wet with tears. (Tears?) No, Cody, I'm okay. Where are you off to tonight anyway? Got a hot date?

Before I can answer, a door slams.

Must be Cory. He's the only one who comes into the house like that. Sure enough, he stomps into the room, grinning like a goat.

d.a.m.n, even from here he smells like a brewery. Hey! What's up?

Why you look sho-so serious?

Jack takes it in. Turns to me.

He's messed up, huh? I could say no, and Jack might even go for it. But Cory's way too young to start down this ol' road. I nod.

You been drinking, Cory boy?

Cory's face flushes, from beer and defiance. So what? Cody drinks all the time. You never sh-say nothing to him! Fingers knotting and unknotting, he waits for someone's next move.

If he's expecting me to deny it, he's drunker than he looks.

I don't want the situation to get out of hand. I'll try humor.

"'Never say nothing' is a double negative. What you said means-"

Suddenly Cory wobbles.

Weaves. Drops face-first to the floor. Holy s.h.i.+t, says Jack, trying to get up, and wobbling almost as bad as Cory before he took his literal nosedive.

I nudge Jack back down on the overstuffed cus.h.i.+on. "No worries. Other than a lump or two, I'm guessing he'll be fine once he sleeps it off. I'll get him to bed." Like when he was little.

I Pick Him Up Off the floor, haul him to his room, thinking about when we were younger, before Jack came along. I took my big-brother job seriously then, and often helped Mom feed him, bathe him, put him to bed. Deja vu! Except this time he smells like cheap brew.

Thirteen! How did he even get hold of the stuff? Ripped it off, no doubt. But from where? Or who? d.a.m.n it all, Cory! I tuck a light blanket around him, go to check on Jack. He's snoring, pushed down into a painkiller pit. I pull up the foot of the La-Z- Boy, cover him with Mom's favorite afghan. She'll be home soon. Think I'll make my escape now. Things could get ugly-or at least complicated-when every- one wakes up and accusations get kicked back and forth. I don't want to play explanation dodgeball.

It's a Short Drive To Vince's apartment, not far from the UNLV campus. But since it's Friday evening, just past six, the freeway looks like a boulder field. I opt for surface streets, which aren't a whole lot better.

him to bed. Dejavu! Except this time he smells like cheap brew.

Thirteen! How did he even get hold of the stuff? Ripped it off, no doubt. But from where? Or who? d.a.m.n it all, Cory! I tuck a light blanket around him, go to check on Jack. He's snoring, pushed down into a painkiller pit. I pull up the foot of the La-ZBoy, cover him with Mom's favorite afghan. She'll be home soon. Think I'll make my escape now. Things could get ugly-or at least complicated-when everyone wakes up and accusations get kicked back and forth. I don't want to play explanation dodgeball.

The Game Hasn't Started Yet Four or five guys are drinking.

Smoking. Snorting something off the gla.s.s-topped coffee table.

They barely notice me join the party, and that makes me a little nervous.

Vince is setting up the card table.

He, at least, sees me come in. Hey.

Help me out here. You brought some of that good green, didn't you?

As I suspected, the key to my invite.

When I nod, he surprises me. Cool.

I'll throw some extra chips your way.

When he actually does, I'm even more surprised. Six of us belly up to the table, and I light a big fat one.

I buy in for fifty, and he slides me sixty in chips. The dope is worth more, but I didn't expect anything, so I figure I'm ahead. "Thanks."

The poker-for-beginners rules said to watch the other players, learn how they "tell." In other words, read their body language.

Three might as well tell for real.

You can see what they've got in their eyes. But Vince and some guy called Fly (pretty sure I don't want to know why) are d.a.m.n good at bluffing.

I keep my bets low. One pair ain't going to beat much, and that's all I'm dealt for several hands. I bluff a couple of times, to make 'em think I know the game. Down thirty, the deal goes to Fly. I turn my cards over one at a time. Ten. Eight. Ten. One pair.

Here we go again. King. Ten.

Holy c.r.a.p. I swallow the rush. Can't tell 'em I've got three of a kind. Ante up.

Don't bet too much. Ask for two cards without smiling. One dude folds.

Another bets five. Vince calls, raises ten. I flip one card. It's a three. f.u.c.k.

Bet comes to me as I flip the last card.

Ten. Four of a kind? Calm. Stay calm.

I raise Vince twenty. Fly folds. Vince looks into my eyes, but I give nothing away. He calls, shows two pairs.

I win! For once in my life, I win!

I Leave Vince's Two hundred dollars richer.

I'm walking on water, oh yeah, and the rush is effing amazing.

Only one thing could make this night better. I dial Ronnie's number. "Hey. It's me. You up for some fun?" I knew her answer before I asked the question, and she doesn't live far. When I get there, it's too late to knock on the door, so I go to her window.

It's the only one with a light in it.

My head is Tilt-A-Whirling with substance abuse, but more because of finis.h.i.+ng off the evening as a winner. I won at poker. And I'm about to win at something even better. Ronnie comes to the gla.s.s, opens it, lets me inside. Her room smells of roses, and she has nothing on but a thigh-length s.h.i.+rt. She puts a finger to her lips, but there's no need for words once we fall together into her bed. Night slips away.

A Poem by Eden Streit Once I thought fairy tales were lies or worse, promises spoken, yet meant to be broken. Intent is all.

Why do grown-ups feel the need to make up a story, only to later confess that it was a lie?

Why look for a prince when frogs are much more common? Why reach for a dream when you're at ease within your nightmares? Why scramble to disguise what your personal truth is when reality not only hurts less in the long run, but is most often the easier path?

Eden

Spring Break