24/7
Susan DiPlacido
Zumaya Publishing, 2003www.susandiplacido.com
3.4285714285714285714285714...
Caesars Palace. The Bellagio. I had never been to the Zumaya before, but these houses share their blacklists of bastards like me- Critical Mick! I donned a Marge Simpson wig and Groucho Marx glasses, approaching the glittering Zumaya. When I plunked down my $25.00 at the cashier counter, security hovered nowhere nearby. Ha, ha! So far, so good. The girl delivered 24/7 across in one neatly-wrapped package.
Collecting my bag of chips as casually as if I lived a life filled with Romantic Suspense, I selected a darkened table near a quick exit. A nod to the dealer, nametag: Susie D. These people can tickle or skin you alive. Always note the names, I say. Now! Let's see what's on the cards.
"Mind if I join you?"
I looked up, startled.
"Marina Martino," the Italian introduced herself. "I'm an amateur gambler with tattoos and serious attitude."
A strong opening, that. The chickie was not bad looking. Bit of a wise ass, I could tell by that smirk. And she would describe herself as fat. All Girls Think They're Fat. The Reel Big Fish song told me so.
"Please," I invited.
Within minutes, I knew Marina well. There was a job that she hated, back east, and she loved it here in Vegas. Her favorite bartender, Vince, sent over a couple of lemon drop shots. "He gives them to me free," Marina explained when I keep looking around expectantly for the check. In addition to a swell bartender, she had a callgirl nemesis named Diamond who kept stealing her boyfriends and an annoying best friend named Bruno. I was half-trying to concentrate on the game playing out before me, but, as Marina kept talking, I couldn't help half-thinking that Bruno is a weird name for a girl.
Susie D was shuffling the pages, serving 'em up hot. The first hundred had me absolutely gripped. As Marina taught me to count the cards at blackjack, the dealer toyed with style, insight, humor and nookie. Damn, there was nookie! Quirky, creative nookie.
"Did I ever tell you about my sex life?" Marina began. "Man! OK, well, I went a little nuts there, for a while. Madone!"
None of the Italians that I had worked with ever used that term. It left me momentarily lost. Maybe it's an Italian-American thing? Maybe a romance expression for "Golly"? Someone cooler than me would know. I was a little uncomfortable, but Marina didn't notice. She bobbed boob-deep in intimate details about her many adventures. Then came the three-year barren stretch that set her up nicely for the occasion when a blackjack dealer struck up a passionate affair. "Miguel is so strong and handsome! With such a mysterious past! I'm so fat, what does he see in me?"
I listened carefully to Marina this first time that she agonized over her relationship, but tuned out when Bruno dragged over a chair and had all agonizing repeated for her sake. My attention perked again at the mention of a villain named Blue Lou, accompanied by two menacing goons. Now that was interesting! But, soon enough, Marina was back wondering whether Miguel really liked her or if he was just after endurance-testing sessions of athletic sex.
"Maybe Miguel is after your gambling winnings," I suggested. "He is on the lam from unfriendlies who want to collect more than his money."
"Umm, yeah, that’s just swell. Another thing for me to worry about!"
"I didn't mean to trouble you, Marina. Here! Have another drink. Vince sent two rounds over, while Bruno ran off sobbing like a drama queen."
Marina drank, then surprised me with an earnest appeal. "Do you like me? Seriously- have a look. What could you criticize?"
"Well-" I hid behind Groucho's brows.
"Go on, ya ****er. I'm a tough cookie. Whatever you got, I can take."
I could believe that, actually. "You swear like you're Irish. Man! Doesn't bother me, mind, but some people I know might consider it much."
She nodded. I crunched a few chips.
"And that time you were telling me about, Marina, with Miguel's car? And that other tale about how Miguel got in deep trouble with Blue Lou? I've seen those in movies. Good stories, yes, but not true originals."
Flames lit, fists curled. "So I'm just some fat old hack from a gritty Philly gutter, is that it-!"
"No! No! Hell, the way you kept winding your manager up- hilarious! Definitely innovative." I gulped warm beer. Susie D, the dealer, glared like a mirror. Female solidarity, God help me.
"Hey, pendajos!" interrupted a tough brute in a bad jacket, two heavies in attendance behind. "Hows about raising your arms?"
A sudden sweat broke. Had I absent-mindedly taken off my Groucho glasses when wiping my nose? All the cameras in here- was I busted?
Mr. Tough Guy sprayed a liberal dose of deodorant, turned, and left.
"How bizarre, Marina-! Was that Blue Lou?"
"No," the gambler coughed. "The pit boss."
"You really make Vegas come alive," I complemented Marina. What a character! We clinked glasses and knocked the contents back. That's no easy feat when this lady has just introduced a Vegas
specialty that arrived, oozing smoke, in a glass the size of a television set.
Boy, could she drink. Definitely some Irish in her somewhere.
"Mick, I've got to ask. What's with the crappy disguise?"
Damn! I was busted, all along. Hadn't realized, before dipping into this glitzy 24/7 world, that the odds always favor the House. I leaned close, confiding. "This is the first book I've ever read with Romance on the cover," I whispered. "It's a bit embarrassing. I didn't want to show what an idiot I am in this genre. I probably missed whole points that any other reader would immediately understand."
"Gotcha! -! Oooh!"
Marina's bottom had just been squeezed by a big gold chain-wearing dude. Miguel. Marina introduced us. Rather than conventional-style, Miguel did some funky secret handshake that slicker guys would have known how to respond to. I felt like a D-cup boob as Marina's boyfriend lifted her out of her seat and tickled her into a nearby laundry cart. I didn't get a chance to say a proper goodbye, but at least the ex-boxer didn't punch me in my fake Groucho nose.
Well! Interesting people to know. Now, left in peace, I could get my attention back to the game. Just a few leaves left. "Hit me," I said.
Susan DiPlacido took a quick look at my review. Then uppercut me clear out of my wig.
Summary: Mick recommends 24/7. Crime fiction blokes might skim a bit. For Vegas and romance fans, it's a knockout!
Susan DiPlacido is American Cool!
Read Critical Mick's February 2009 interview with Susan DiPlacido
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