Betting on Bailey

Then I reconsider. The other dream I could be having is one that’s too soon going to come to pass. I’m trying not to think of Fake Elvis and Mr. Clean with iron pipes, aiming at my kneecaps.

* * *

Monday evenings after work, I hang out with my girlfriends. It’s our standing weekly date, and very few things are allowed to interfere. Since it’s the start of the week, we don’t get too rowdy. We just drink a little and giggle a lot. Sometimes, we commiserate about the shitty men we’ve been dating, and rarely, we brag about the good ones. Not too often. Single women outnumber single men in New York City by a wide margin, and all the guys know this and take full advantage.

I walk up 11th Ave and across W 49th street to get to Piper’s restaurant after work. It’s eight at night, and I’ve been at work since seven in the morning. All fairly typical of a PR firm in New York. The expectation is that you work hard and you play hard, and because I moved to the city with a burning desire to prove myself, I’ll put in the time without complaint.

An Arsenal fight chant sounds from my phone and I answer without needing to look at the screen. My father programmed the ringtone into my phone himself when I was home last, chortling the entire time at the look of exasperation my mother was giving him. “Ola, papa.”

“Gabriella,” my father’s voice is thick with affection. “How’s my favorite daughter?”

I laugh. “I’m your only daughter,” I point out. Then I glance at the phone in puzzlement. “Wait, isn’t it two in the morning in London? Why are you calling so late? Is everything okay?”

“We were out at a party, honey,” my mother’s crisp voice fills the receiver. “And I thought I’d call you to make sure you are also doing something fun.” Her voice is a mixture of disapproval and concern, wrapped up in motherly love. “You work too hard.”

“Si,” my dad agrees. “When I was your age…”

I doubt my dad was doing anything too wild. He’s a retired soccer player, and when he was my age, he’d just been recruited from Rio de Janeiro to play for Arsenal in the Premier League. The club owners and coaches would have made sure the talent was in peak shape. Partying was for the off-season.

Ever since my twenty-seventh birthday, my parents have been hinting that it’s time I found someone. Their calls have been increasing in frequency. Any day now, they are going to offer to start setting me up. Given that the only young guys my father knows are soccer players, I’m going to pass. I’m not looking in that cesspool for fidelity and true love.

“I’m on my way to a party now,” I tell them. It’s only a half-lie. They don’t have to know that there will be no men at this gathering. “What’s going on with you two? Tell me what’s happening in London. Who was at the party?”

My attempt at diversion is successful. My mother launches into a story about her friend Paula, and we gossip as I walk. I say my goodbyes once I near Piper’s restaurant, promising my parents I’ll visit them soon.

* * *

I should be trying to figure out how to lay my hands on a hundred grand, but I have no good ideas. No one in the shadowy world of underground poker in New York will extend me any credit so I can buy my way back into a game. At work, I won’t get a bonus until November. My checking account has just enough money to pay the rent.

Again and again, I replay Saturday night in my head, trying to remember each hand. Normally, when I lose, I look for patterns so I can improve my game. But this time around, the images remain fuzzy and my recollections are tinted with panic. Though I try to sift through the evidence to spot the instant I knew that something was going wrong, nothing becomes clear. The only thing I know for sure is that I was taken for more money than I’ve ever lost in my life.

My palms dampen with sweat as I imagine how agonizing the pain will be when Sammy’s thugs break my bones.

Mom and Dad will loan you the money, a sensible voice pipes up in my head. This is a smart voice. I should listen to this voice, unless I’m attached to the idea of spending the rest of my life in a wheelchair.