"Lily?" Calvin gawked at smashed dinnerware, downed paintings, and a ten-seater dinner table scooted against their adjoining wall. "W-What the fuck are you—?"
"Getting your attention," the diminutive barbarian said, scowling, fists clenched. "Having a nice time?"
"I was…" He grimaced, glancing to and through the wall. He felt a pang of guilt, immediately replaced. "Got a reason for this, or are you just being a dumbass?"
"I was worried!" Lillian whispered. "She's taking advantage of you."
Bullshit. If anything, he was taking advantage of her, his only true opportunity in the last six months. If this was his chance to show her how he felt, then his roommate certainly wasn't going to stop him.
"Pay up and go home, Lily. We'll talk then."
"As if!" Her voiced raised from hushed to audible, escalating further. "You've got one thing on your mind and I'm not about to let you be seduced by some hussy with a sob story."
"Damn it, she can hear you!"
"You think I care?" Eyes narrowed, she threatened a pout. Calvin turned away.
"You know what this means to me."
"But it shouldn't," Lillian said. "What has she done to deserve it beyond being vulnerable and suddenly paying attention to you: a better meal-ticket than the last."
He whipped his head around, glaring. "She ain't like that, and I ain't stupid."
"Pharis isn't proof enough? You are stupid, if you can't see it, CC. You talk like you don't care but act like you do. They both send you through the ringer and who has to deal with the clean-up? Me." She shooed away Tiffany and a trio of bus-boy-bouncers before they could get a foot in the doorway. "I hate how they make you feel."
How was that—alive?
"You deserve something better." Lillian lowered her head and walked close, her forehead pressing against his chest. She wrapped her arms around his waist. "Just come home."
Thump. Thump.
Calvin jerked away, again glancing to the wall. "I can't."
"But wh—"
"Let me have this, Lillian. Nothing's gunna happen." He stared into her eyes. "I'll come home."
She stared back, face contorted in some mixed expression between disappointment, hope, and all-out spite. "You're not Leo. This isn't real." She turned her back and stomped away, shoulders squared.
Fucking hell.
Calvin scratched his head, surrounded by displaced furniture, the actual damage less than he'd thought. For Lillian's outburst, nothing but plates were broken. He'd leave it for the Anatali family and her bottomless pocketbook to sort. Exiting and turning the corner, he found Rochelle, ear pressed against the wall. She blushed and snapped upright.
"S-Sorry," she said.
"For what?" He bit the words, trying not to let his mood darken the mood, shoving Lillian's commentary to the back of his mind. "She's just young, ya know. I'm like her big brother. I guess she's afraid."
"That's not it at all," Rochelle smiled, "God, boys are dumb."
"Now you're calling me stupid?"
"You don't have a chance against women." She beckoned for his hand. "First come, first serve."
"What's that mean?" Calvin bristled, looking out the window, their waiter intruding with a levitating silver tray. "If I'm 'easy,' explain nine months of single."
"No. First you have to explain you and Lily a bit better than, 'she's young.'" The waiter un-lid high-class delights: truffles, a steak for him, and filet fish for her, all dressed with sauce and steamed veggies. "Try and tell me you're just roommates. After what I just—"
"That was the first I heard about it! She's never been like that." He flopped down beside her, their masterpiece of a meal turned sour by Lillian—at this point it was just food, casual dining. "All I'm saying is don't take it personally. She's my best friend, watching my back, even if she doesn't have it right."
"You still don't get it, but it's probably better that way." Rochelle mumbled, stabbing a bit of salmon. Her eyes rolled with a taste. "So good!"
"See, I can do something right." Calvin accepted the subject change with nibbles, saws and chomps. Damn—it was good.
The conversation evolved into Academy clique breakdowns, from program to program—they all met at general studies such as history, basic tech, and theology. They commiserated on their loner statuses, blasting admin and students alike with fitting stereotypes and specific gossip.
A half-hour into it, the waiter delivered the check in subtle, timeless tradition—tip me. Situation salvaged, Calvin smiled, reaching into his jacket pocket. He patted his pants, brow furrowed. His heart skipped a beat—a glance to the seat.
No fucking way.
"Um, Brian, one minute please."
"Of course, Mr. Winslow." He bowed and exited.
"CC?" Rochelle said.
A whisper. "The hug—"
"The who? She stole it?"
"No, of course not. I probably just dropped it." He stood, raising a finger, keeping the edge out of his voice. Furious? Damn near close. Around the corner, a scan, then a hands-and-knees search turned up nothing, not like he didn't already know. He called Lillian's comm-unit—unavailable, of course it was.
Deep breaths between clenched teeth, he walked back into their nook. Rochelle didn't look much happier; the fire in her eyes started him. "What the hell is her problem!"
"Don't take it—"
"What, personal? A bit late for that!" She snapped her head to the window, arms crossed over her chest. "Quit defending her."
"It's not like that."
"Don't argue. We already established you're hopeless against girls."
"You established."
"Anyway, how do we deal with this?"
Brian hovered just outside the door, not very subtle this time. Calvin massaged his forehead. "My credit isn't that good here. I'm a regular, not a high-roller. What do you have?"
"F-Fifty credits. What's the bill?"
"More, but fifty's a start. Brian?" he said, calling the waiter across the threshold. "Tell Sara to save me a spot at the fives. Hold the check; I'll make sure you get yours."
"Of course, Sir. We appreciate your patronage." Upscale service at its best, wheeling-and-dealing.
"The fives?" Rochelle said. "Where are we going?"
"Shouldn't take an hour. No worries."
Bravado? Hell no. Anymore, this was the only thing he did well.
* * *
"Insurance?" Sara said, an aristocratic blond, another goddess by Rochelle's estimation. Another contender for Calvin, making three for the night, counting Pharis by conversation.
Was it even worth it?
Sure, he was single, seemingly hard-luck by his words, though the veracity of that could be game or an absolute dip into oblivious stupidity. He'd placed an extra bet, a tip for the dealer if he won. Her prim mask cracked in warmth. Calvin didn't catch it, studying the table, playing four hands at once.
Why didn't he see it? He deserved to see it.
Sara flipped her down card over, a six on her ace, seventeen, the house stands. He won three of his four hands, including her tip hand, ten credits on an eighteen-her third tip-victory since they arrived. No wonder she liked him. "Thank you, Cutter."
"Well, you are the lucky one. I'm shit without you."
"Mutual profit, I won't compla—" The pit boss hovered near, resetting her mask.
Their stack of chips—Rochelle's money—had grown from ten greens to thirty-four. Through the roller coaster, he'd never wavered, betting their last chip twice in the ascent. Now having tripled their winnings, he stayed put. Just how expensive was that dinner? Was he a gambling addict? Could he walk away?
Five bets, twenty on each, plus another tip-bet on right. Sunday night, they had half the casino to themselves, most of the real action on craps and holo-slots. Sara dealt, turning herself up a four, her second card facedown.
Calvin turned to her and smiled. "Play this with me."
"H-How?"
"Just tell me how far you're willing to go. We should cover dinner pretty easy; the rest of it's just smarts, instinct, and courage. But if we go too far, we could be back at square one."
"Blackjack." Sara paid one instant winner, thirty credits on top of twenty. Four hands remained to play.
The first one, Calvin waved off. "She's got a bust hand, meaning it'll take a lot of work to reach or beat a seventeen. Our sixteen is really weak, but if we hit, we'll bust before she does. It's better to let the house bust in situations like these."
Second hand, he waved again. "Nineteen is solid."
Third, "Here's where you come into play. We can split these sevens rather than hitting on a bustable fourteen. If we hit a fourteen, odds are we go over twenty-one, and it's too weak to keep if we can help it. But to split, we have to add our original bet to a new hand."
"S-So, there's no reason not to split it."
"Nope." Calvin set a new stack of greens offset from the hand. Sara split the pair and dealt two new cards. One was a four (eleven), the next, another seven (fourteen).
He pumped his fist, wriggling in his seat—cute.
Clearing his throat, he pointed at the seven-four. "We can double-down our bet on this for one card. If we get a two, we hope she busts. If we get a ten or face card, we damn better win."
"Double it up." Rochelle said.
Seven.
"Eighteen is good against a dealer's four." Calvin nodded. "Now we have another pair of sevens to worry about, same as the first. Fourteen is a shitty hand, and we can split again, but we need to lay more money down."
If they did, they'd have a hundred and forty on the table, not counting another double down or his forth hand. Risk versus reward became immediately real. If Sara dragged herself up to twenty/twenty-one as she had before, they could lose everything but the Blackjack, their original fifty credits. But during a single hand, could one shut down the gambler's spirit?
"I-I don't know this game," she said.
"It's pretty analytical, the strategy."
"Then why ask me?" She turned him by the shoulder, meeting his eyes. They glistened.
"Because it's your money. Live a little, play it safe, It's all up to you. I'm just your instrument. Worst case, we're washing dishes for thirty hours. Not exactly my idea of a good finals week."
More like a billed addition to Academy tuition, which wasn't high stakes other than the humiliation. Rochelle didn't want her first high-class date on Anatali to end in Calvin deferring on a bill due to his jealous non-girlfriend. Lillian be damned.
"Do it."
"That's the spirit." He again added a stack of chips. The cards split and were dealt, a three (ten), and a queen (seventeen). Calvin pointed at the ten. Rochelle nodded. He double-downed, a hundred sixty on the table, all their money. Sara slapped down a five (fifteen).
He waved off the seventeen and looked at the last, a thirteen, just beside it his dealer's tip-chips.
"We shouldn't hit it."
"But, it's only thirteen." Rochelle said.
"Remember, bust hand." He waved off the hit. "If we get an eight or more, we'll bust, but so can she, depending on what that down card is."
Sara flipped over her facedown card, an eight. That made twelve. Eyebrow raised, she slid a card from the dealer shoe, adding it to her stack—an ace (thirteen). Another…
A king.
Rochelle's eyes widened, not understanding as Sara matched Calvin's stacks with her own, including her tip-stack. He turned his eye, smirk full-on.
"D-Did we?"
He nodded.
"Woo-hoooo!" Clapping, she clasped her thighs together, skirt catching air during jumps. She hugged him around the shoulders, kissing his cheek. "Was it a trick?" she whispered.
"Nope. Smart, brave play." He switched up colors, three blacks and change. "Sara, a pleasure."
"As always," she said, glancing at Rochelle.
That's right: first come first serve.
Head tipped back, she slung her arm around his elbow as he stood. Cash out took a moment. Settling with Eden a moment more—Brian's name on the generous gratuity. Calvin handed her a thin stack of hard credits, fifty plus the remainder. "With interest," he said, grinning.