O+F Part 15

Red. Oliver collected his chips, relieved, and put all but one back in his stake pocket. All that risk on the last spin to win a net total of one chip. If he had lost, he would have had to bet $320 on the next spin to have a net win of one chip. And then $640. The dealer had seen it all before. Sooner or later, the improbable happened, and a run of losses wiped out the double-or-nothing players.

Oliver put his $100 chip on pa.s.s. He lost. He lost twice more and returned to roulette. This time he won on the second spin. He went back to c.r.a.ps and lost again. His winnings sunk to $45 and then climbed back to $120.

"How's your luck tonight?" A young blonde smiled appealingly.

"Not too bad."

"You want to bet a couple for me? You know, have a good time?"

"I'd love to," Oliver said, "but I'm too shot. I'm going to bed."

"I could help with that," she said.

"No thanks, Beautiful--not tonight." She shrugged and moved on. Oliver went up to his room and was asleep in five minutes.

At 4 a.m. he was wide awake. He dressed and returned to the casino. The room was mostly dark and shut down. Only one row of slot machines by the door was active. Overhead lights illuminated a single c.r.a.ps table, a bright mahogany raft floating in the darkness. Old men held on to its edges, playing quietly and grimly. Oliver put himself in their place.

Why go to bed? Save themselves for what? They clung to a different kind of life raft than Jacky had been for him, but it was just as real. He watched for ten minutes and left. He found an open cafeteria and took a cup of coffee back to bed. The steam from the cup and the warmth in his hand were comforting.

Oliver woke up late in the morning. He cashed in all but fifty dollars of his chips and ate a large breakfast. He walked along the beach to the Taj Mahal casino and found that it was much the same as Bally's. He returned to the hotel and checked out. Before he left, he placed a fifty dollar bet on pa.s.s. He would leave seventy dollars ahead or a hundred and seventy dollars ahead, a winner either way. My kind of bet, he said to himself. He won. Yesterday's pit boss was not there. Oliver imagined himself nodding to him--superior, free, out of there. It didn't matter. He could tell Jacky.

Finding the Delaware Bridge was the next challenge. Two hours later, Oliver was in Maryland easing around a curve on a gravel driveway.

Stones crunched under his wheels as he stopped in front of a white colonial. Jacky came out to meet him. She was wearing a Red Sox T-shirt and a wrap-around cotton skirt.

"Well, well," she said looking at his suit and holding her arms open.

"What have we here?"

"A player," Oliver said, coming close. Her arms drew him against her.

He smelled honeysuckle, and his hands found their familiar places.

"Mmm," she said, "I'll bet you're hungry."

"You win."

Jacky stepped back. "Good. I'm going to show off. I've been practicing my crab cakes."

"Yumm."

"I thought we'd eat home, relax, maybe go out later . . . I'll give you the Bay Tour tomorrow."

"Finest kind," Oliver said. "Nice house. That T-shirt isn't going to make you any friends."

"Just because I'm living in Maryland, doesn't mean I'm a traitor," she said, leading him into the kitchen. "How was Atlantic City?"

"Weird. I won. It wasn't what I was expecting." Jacky took the crab cake mix from the refrigerator. She turned on a burner under a Dutch oven half full of oil. "I thought I might get into a big deal all-or-nothing scene, a go-down-in-flames kind of thing. I brought all my money." He told her about the pit boss and the icy focus that had come over him and taken control. "I didn't even drink," he said. "It was tiring, but I won."

"Very good," she said. She flicked drops of water into the oil. The drops sizzled and danced. "You're safe now. There's a nice Sauvignon Blanc in the refrigerator. I think it's time."

Oliver responded to her ch.o.r.eography. He uncorked the wine and poured two gla.s.ses. "To us," Jacky said. Oliver clinked his gla.s.s against hers and sipped.

"Yowzir! You must have gotten a good raise."

"Wait until you taste these," she said, lowering crab cakes into the hot oil.

The crab cakes were delicious. "What's your secret?" Oliver asked.

"Mustard and capers," she said, pleased. The bottle was quickly empty and they opened another. Drinking with Jacky usually made Oliver softer and more open. Today, he began to feel focused again, revved up, not unlike the way he had felt in Atlantic City. Jacky was smiling.

"Oh, this is so much better," she said. Let me show you the rest of the house . . . I could use some of your special attention." She led him through a comfortable living room and up the stairs. Oliver looked at the ceiling in the bedroom.

"No eye bolt," he said.

Jacky giggled. "Funny you should mention that." She opened a drawer and took out a large bolt. "I thought maybe you could help me with this.

Maybe tomorrow." She laid the bolt on the dresser. "Take your clothes off, Oliver."

The focus inside him strengthened. He dropped his clothes at his feet without changing expression, kicked off his shoes, took three steps, and pulled her to him. "Aren't we strong, today," she teased. He turned her backwards onto the bed. She fell beneath him and wrapped her legs around him. "My fierce little man."

This was the way it was going to have to be, Oliver realized. Talk wasn't going to do it. A counselor wouldn't work. This was their language.

He pulled up her skirt and curved his right hand between her legs. His left hand reached up under her head and took a fistful of hair. He pulled her head down, immobilizing it, and rubbed slowly with his right hand. Her shoulders strained upward twice in resistance or surprise.

Oliver held her head back and continued to rub.

Jacky adjusted quickly. She pushed up against his hand. "Take them off," she said. Oliver rolled sideways without letting go of her hair.

He pulled her panties down, and she bent her knees. He slid them over her feet and then moved back on top of her. "Give it to me," she said.

Oliver entered her, slowly and deeply until she was pinned to the bed.

She made a small gurgling noise. He withdrew and then pushed into her again. "Oliver?" He increased the pressure on her hair and went on f.u.c.king her silently and slowly. "Oliver?" He didn't trust himself to speak. He was afraid to speak. She would regain control, somehow.

"Ohh," she groaned. "Sweet?" The question in her voice was increasing, changing to doubt. His intensity strengthened, feeding on her doubt.

He kept an impersonal rhythm, driving her into the bed with each stroke, holding his grip on her hair. "Baby," she said. "f.u.c.k me." She began to writhe beneath him, meeting him, trying to draw him on. Oliver refused to hurry. "Oliver?" She was pleading, now. Deeply in. Slowly out.

Jacky began to strike him in the back. She made angry sounds. Her fists drummed on his back. I--am--in--control, he said to himself. "d.a.m.n you!" she exhaled. She stopped hitting him. "All right. All right." She went limp.

Oliver continued without varying. She gave up. Her hands went to his back and her body molded to his. Her breath began to whistle on each exhale as he drove into her. She came with a sudden release and a series of falling sighs. Her hands fell back on the bed.

Oliver released his grip on her hair and cradled her cheeks in both hands. He kissed her for the first time. Holding her lips softly under his, he began to move faster. Her hands went to his shoulder blades.

Her tongue touched lightly in and out of his mouth. In a minute, he was done. She stroked his back.

"Oliver?"

He was off her and dressing.

"Oliver, please . . ." She sat up, uncertain. He saw the little girl in the strong woman. He wanted to comfort her, but he didn't trust himself not to give in. She would control him forever. It wasn't her fault; it was just the way she was. Arlen's words came to him.

"It's not your fault," Oliver said. "It's not anybody's fault. You are wonderful, Jacky. Queen of crab cakes. The greatest f.u.c.k in the western world. But--I've changed. It won't work." He shook his head. "I wish it could."

"Why did you come?" She reddened. "Well, go then!" She looked around and picked up a book from the table next to the bed. "Go!" She threw it at him. He ducked sideways and walked downstairs. She followed him, shouting "Go!" As he went out the front door, a gla.s.s shattered against a wall. "Get _out_ of here!" The other gla.s.s smashed and he heard her begin to cry.

The Jeep started and he was on the road again.