“Got it,” Russ said, as he stood and walked toward his laptop. I rubbed the spot he had zapped. It felt warm.
“How does this device work?” I asked.
“It uses a laser to create a holographic image of your genes. Once your information is downloaded into the company’s database, it’s used to create a picture of your DNA.”
I stood and walked over to where he was using a cable to connect the scanner and laptop. The screen flashed a wave of binary code, at incredible speed, before it settled on a picture of what I knew from basic biology to be an image of a double helix.
It was so rich in color and detail, it literally took my breath away.
“God,” I whispered.
“Not quite. It’s you.”
“Me?”
“Your essence. Because the image is recorded in holographic form, I can rotate it in any direction I wish, focus on any gene I want to.”
“Was I already in your database or not?”
He hesitated. “No.”
“Do you see any problems with my genes?”
“I’m not looking.” He glanced up. “I know you hear the reluctance in my voice when I talk about West World’s project. There’s a reason for that. What I just did to you isn’t like taking your fingerprints or even your blood. It’s much more intimate. I now have the ability to know a tremendous amount about you—more than you would probably want me to know. For example, say I saw that you have a fault in your M5H2 gene. That would mean your chances of developing colon cancer are ten times greater than normal.”
I put my hand to my mouth. “Is that gene damaged?”
“I don’t know.”
“But you just said—”
“I told you, I don’t know anything about you because I chose not to look. However, if I change my mind and do look, I might discover your M5H2 gene is defective. Then I’ll probably feel compelled to tell you to start having regular colonoscopies for the rest of your life.”
“Is that where they stick a rubber tube up your butt?”
“That’s a sound scientific explanation of the process.”
I found myself fidgeting. “It’s weird—I want you to look and I’m afraid for you to look.”
“Your reaction is normal. Most people feel the same way. They say knowledge is power but too much knowledge can be a curse. Especially if it falls into the wrong hands. Besides learning about your physical health, I can study your mental health as well by studying this hologram. I can even estimate your IQ. I can do all this in a few seconds, without asking your permission.”
“But you did ask my permission,” I said.
“True. I told you, it was an official reading.”
“As opposed to an unofficial one.” I paused. “Does West World have the resources to scan everyone in the world without their knowledge?”
“They act like they do. But in the developing world, it’s hard. Too many people and not enough roads to reach them all. But West World might go for it.”
“That seems to scare you.”
“A lot of things about this technology scare me.”
“Russ, if you don’t like this company, if you don’t trust them, why do you work for them?”
He reached over and turned off the picture of my DNA. He took his time answering. “Because by working for them, I remain in a position where I might be able to stop them from abusing the scanner.”
“Are you high up in the company?”
He glanced out the window. “You think I’m too young, I can’t be very high up. Unless I happen to be related to the founder.”
He had read my mind exactly. “Are you?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Let’s just say I’m deeply involved in the firm. But I don’t want you sharing that info with your friends from school.”
“Why tell me if you don’t want me to share it? How do you know you can trust me?”
“Because I know they won’t give a damn who I work for. Not when they see your bag of money. All they’ll care about is how I win at twenty-two.”
“Twenty-one.”
“Huh?”
“You said twenty-two. The game is twenty-one.”
He stopped smiling and stood in front of me, placing his hands on my shoulders. For a moment I was sure he was going to kiss me. I had already decided I would let him. He was cute enough and I owed Jimmy nothing.
Nothing except months of pain.
“How would you like to learn to play twenty-two?” he asked.
“Don’t be silly—there’s no such game.”
“My friends and I play it all the time. It’s the same game, really, it just has a few extra rules.” He added, “It might help you understand how I win at twenty-one.”
“You’re joking.”
“I’m not.”
“Aren’t you tired of playing cards?”
He checked his watch. “It’s just after one. I have an early meeting. I have to be in bed by two. But we could play for a little while.” He added, “I’d enjoy it.”
Once again, who was I to argue with a man who wanted to pay for my college education?
Russ, to my surprise, had six decks of cards handy. They were new decks, still wrapped in plastic. He opened them and spread them out on the dining-room table. He shuffled them as quickly and smoothly as any dealer; he was a regular pro.
He took twelve packets of cash from the bag. Each one contained fifty one hundred dollar bills—five grand. Looking at the money, touching it, made my heart pound. It was mine, I kept thinking, all mine.
Unless I lost it playing twenty-two. Russ wanted to use the cash to play. He told me so in a serious tone. He kept thirty grand and gave me thirty.
“Since there’s only two of us and you don’t know all the rules, I’ll play the part of the dealer,” he said.
“What do you mean, all the rules? I don’t know any of the rules.”
“I told you, they’re almost identical to blackjack. The big difference is the winning hand is twenty-two, not twenty-one. And the value of two cards is slightly different. In twenty-two, the queen of diamonds and the queen of hearts are worth eleven points rather than ten. In this game, if you get both those cards at the start, you have the equivalent of blackjack, or a natural. You immediately get paid twice your bet.”
“Not one and a half times your bet?”
“No. The reason is it’s a harder hand to get than twenty-one.”
“Because all the picture cards aren’t worth eleven?”
“Exactly. In blackjack, the best card to get at the start is an ace—that’s how you get blackjack. But in twenty-two, an ace is no longer an important card.”
“Is an ace still worth one or eleven?”
“An ace is only worth one point, nothing else.” Russ paused. “By the way, twenty-two isn’t called blackjack. It’s known as the red queen.”
“Because the queen of diamonds and the queen of hearts are the easiest way to get winning hands?”
“Yes. And if you get two of each it pays double.”
“With that kind of payout, the game seems to favor the player over the dealer.”
“It only seems that way on the surface. Besides the fact that the ace is no longer helpful to the player, the dealer only has to hit up to sixteen, even though we’ve raised the winning number to twenty-two. That gives him an edge.”
“He busts less often.”
“You got it. I knew you’d catch on fast.” He slipped the six decks into a shoe he had taken from a nearby drawer. It looked as if he’d come ready to play. “Place your bet.”
I put down a hundred dollar bill. All I had were hundreds.
Russ dealt a card facedown, to himself, then dealt me a card faceup. The next two cards he dealt faceup, one to me and one to himself. I got a ten and a queen of hearts. I had twenty-one, by the new rules. He was showing a queen of diamonds. Naturally, I couldn’t see his hole card.
“Do you wish to stand?” he asked.
“Yes, Mr. Dealer.”
He flipped over his hole card. He had a nine, twenty altogether, which meant I had won. He paid me a hundred and we continued to play. Frankly, I was feeling my fatigue but I strained to focus. Yet I saw no point in playing a game that was virtually identical to blackjack, especially after such a long night at the casino tables.
While we played, my curiosity over how he had won so much money continued to plague me. How had he done it? Once again, I tried prodding him gently.
“I know you weren’t counting at the casino because I have a friend who explained how it works. The shoe gets favorable only when there are plenty of tens and aces left in it. But even when it swings in favor of the player, the advantage is only two or three percent. Five percent if the counter is real lucky.”
“I can’t argue with your friend,” Russ said.
“So you weren’t counting. And I have to assume you’re not psychic, because I don’t believe in that crap. So all I’m left with is that you’re another Rain Man.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s an old movie that starred Tom Cruise and Dustin Hoffman. In the film, Tom and Dustin are brothers, but Dustin’s a lot older and really messed up. He’s mentally retarded and needs constant care. Only toward the end of the film does Tom discover that he’s a savant. I assume you know what that is?”
“It’s a rare condition found in mentally disabled people. Their mental disabilities allow them to use parts of the brain that most people never use. That gives them special abilities.”
“Are you one of them?” I asked.
He smiled. “Do I seem retarded to you?”
“No. But not all savants are.”
“The vast majority are.”
“You still haven’t answered my question,” I said.
“I told you, this is only our first date.”
I persisted. “I remember at the casino, every time the dealer prepared a fresh shoe, he spread the cards out on the table for everyone to see. You would study them right then. Also, when he shuffled the cards, you would watch him closely. It was like you were memorizing their sequence. I don’t know how you did it. I would assume it would take a special ability, like a savant would have. But if you were a savant, then it would explain how you were able to predict whether your next hand would be strong or weak. It would also explain how you knew when the dealer was going to bust.”
Russ nodded as we continued to play twenty-two. “It’s true I did well at the table. But if I could remember everything you’re saying I could, then I should never have lost.”
“That’s not true. It was inevitable you’d be dealt weak hands from time to time. Not only that, you’re smart enough not to win every hand that was strong. I think you occasionally put a big bet on a bad hand just to throw off the casino employees.”
“So you have me all figured out?” he asked.
“I can’t help but notice you’re not denying any of it.”
“There’s no point. You believe what you want to believe.”
I thought I had figured out his secret but his quiet mystery disarmed me. My theory was all talk. I could feel him laughing at me inside.
No, not laughing, but smiling. Yes, I knew he liked me.
Russ looked down at the last cards he had dealt. I was showing a queen of diamonds and a king of jacks—twenty-one, another strong hand. Even against the queen of hearts he was showing. I told him that I’d stand. He turned his hole card over. He had a queen of diamonds, which gave him twenty-two, or what he called a red queen.
He went to take my money. I had grown careless, winning the last few hands in a row, and had let my cash pile up on the table. I had just lost a grand, or so I thought. Then he explained that in red queen, when the dealer got a natural, the player had to fork over an additional 100 percent.
“You didn’t explain that rule before,” I complained.
“I figured you’d learn it as we played.” He had already taken the grand.
“So I have to give you another thousand dollars?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“But we’re just playing for fun, right?”
“No. I told you, red queen is a serious game. What you win or lose here is for real.”
I snorted. “You have got to be joking!”
He didn’t blink. “No.”
I reluctantly peeled off ten hundreds and threw them at him. “Any other rules I should know about?”
“Yes. This one is important. After the dealer gets a natural, the player must immediately try to win his or her money back.”
“You’re saying on my next hand I have to bet two thousand dollars?”
“Yes.”
“That’s a crazy rule. What if I didn’t have it?”
“Then you shouldn’t be playing red queen. The game’s older than blackjack. It has a rich tradition. It’s never played just for fun and no one is ever supposed to break the rules.”
“That’s silly.”
“It’s a fact. You have to bet me two thousand dollars right now.”
I yawned loudly in his face. “Forget it, I’m tired. Let’s call it a night.”
He nodded. “Fine. As soon as we complete this hand.”
“Forget the hand. Let’s just quit.”
“We can’t quit in the middle of this kind of situation. I’m the dealer, I just got twenty-two. As the player, you’re required to try to win your money back.”
“I told you, I’m tired.”
“And I told you, in red queen every bet counts.”
“So the money I’ve just lost—you’re going to keep that?”
“Yes.”
“Then why did you give it to me in the first place?”
“I gave it to you so you could afford your college tuition. But as a dealer, playing red queen, I’m required to keep the money and give it to . . . I mean, I just have to keep it. Those are the rules.”
I acted bored. “Fine. Deal.”
“Place your bet on the table first.”
“All right.” I slapped down two grand. “Deal, Mr. Dealer.”
He dealt. I got seventeen. He was showing a queen of diamonds.
“I’m screwed,” I muttered.
“Not necessarily. Remember, taking a hit at seventeen in this game is like hitting sixteen in blackjack.” He paused. “The book says you should do it.”
“Barely.” I paused, convinced he knew what card was coming next. “Are you telling me to hit?”
“I can’t give you any advice.”
“You did before.”
“Not in this game.”
He was acting awfully weird, I thought.
“Hit me,” I said impatiently.
He hit me with a five—twenty-two. He turned over his hole card. He had a king of jacks—twenty-one. He had lost and I had won. I got my two grand back plus an extra two thousand.
“Who do you have to give it to?” I asked as we began to clean up. The ice cream was melting and the cakes had begun to look sad. I hated to send them back, though. Then I remembered he had a full-size fridge.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“You began to say you were required to give the money to someone. Then you stopped and said something else.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t remember.”
I touched his arm. “Russ.”
“What?”
“You’ve been great tonight. The perfect gentleman. Please don’t ruin it now by lying to me.”
He stared at me. “I’m sorry, I can’t tell you who I would have given the money to. But it’s not an issue because you won back what you lost. So can we just leave it at that?”
I smiled. “You don’t play fair. You know it’s impossible for a girl to get mad at a guy who just gave her a hundred grand.”
He stood and came around the table and gently put his hands on my shoulders. I say gently because his approach was totally nonthreatening. He didn’t try to kiss me until I gave him the hint by tilting my head back. He turned his own head sligh
tly to the side, so I didn’t have to strain my neck to match his height. Then his lips were on mine and they were not normal lips. They were perfect lips, and only Jimmy was supposed to have those.
I felt myself falling as he kissed me harder, and I fought to keep from going off the ledge, but it was no use. By some strange magic we were in the dining room one moment and in his bedroom the next. The lights were off but the window curtains were pulled back and the kaleidoscope of colors from the Strip played through the open glass and into my brain.
It seemed as if his eyes turned purple, orange, and green, while his skin—I must have pulled off his shirt—remained a burning red. His strong hands were on my breasts, outside my dress, and then we both began to undo my buttons, so fast, so furiously, that I started to hyperventilate.
I was light-years beyond turned on. We fell on the bed and I felt I would explode. All thoughts of safe sex were washed away. My body wanted his body so bad I honestly felt I would die if he didn’t make love to me.
He took off my dress. I tore off his pants.
He removed my underwear. I ripped off his.
I pulled off his watch and threw it away. I wanted nothing in my way. But then something surreal happened. I was about to climb on top of him. He raised his head and backed up to give me room, and I looked into his face from inches away and felt his hot breath on my cheeks.
Then I saw Jimmy’s face. I swear, it had taken the place of Russ’s.
The image was more real than our bodies, more powerful than my lust. Maybe it was love that caused me to see it. Love or pain, if the two were even separate things. The love of my life, Jimmy, was the only one who had ever made me cry.
Maybe that’s why I burst out crying.
The sound caused my Jimmy hallucination to crumble. It was replaced by Russ’s confused expression. Not that I was confused. I realized that the months had not mattered. That I loved Jimmy as much as the first day I had made love to him, and the last day. I knew then that my mind kept track of time, but not my heart, and that I had to give him another chance or else I would regret it for the rest of my life.
I stood from the bed and walked naked to the tall windows. Behind me, I heard Russ sigh. “There’s someone else,” he said.
“Yes.” I stared down at the throngs of people still partying beneath the lights. “I’m sorry.”