They glare at each other. The side of Brian’s sensuous mouth twitches.
*
“Excuse me,” Sam says to the brunette, “I couldn’t help overhearing you. Brian Morton is here?”
“Yeah. What’s that to you?” The brunette sizes her up as though she’s competition.
“Brian Morton.” Cassie cackles. “Oh come on, Sam, there are plenty of Brian Mortons in Chicago.”
“And we were just talking about one of them,” Sam says. It’s just too uncanny. But Cassie is right. Brian Morton is probably a common name, like John Smith. “I went to school with him. He was the most awful eight grader in the state.”
“Oh really?” The brunette leans over interestedly. “Same guy, do you think?”
*
Caleb says, “OK, I’ll bet on one condition. Twenty thousand dollars is chump change to you.”
Brian grins. “You want me to raise the ante?”
“Let me finish.” Caleb’s eyes and hands are steady. “If I lose, I come to work for you. But if you lose, I want you to add a little condition to the pot.”
Brian raises an inquiring eyebrow. “Oh?”
“Yeah. Losing a bet has gotta mean something to you.” Caleb’s face spreads in a slow smile. “If you lose, you’ll have to do something you normally wouldn’t do.”
“Such as?” Brian is intrigued despite himself.
“Hey, is this allowed?” the black man asks the dealer.
The dealer shrugs. “Only two players left in the game. The pot is theirs to spice up any way they like.”
Caleb says to Brian, “I want you to perform good deed. It’s for your own redemption and personal growth, bro.”
“That’s easy.”
“Not this one. I’m going to throw you a lifeline with God for all your misdemeanors.”
“You make my misdemeanors sound like a police charge,” Brian complains.
“Women. You f**k them and leave them, all in the same night. There are a lot of broken hearts out there, Brian.”
Brian is speechless for all of ten seconds.
“There are no broken hearts . . . none caused by me. We are all consenting adults. I don’t do promises or stupid love declarations. They all f**k me because they want to.”
“Yeah, but most of them want more than that. I’ve seen them. I’ve heard them.”
Brian raises his hands in mock surrender. “Well, sorry, that’s all I have to give.”
“That’s why atonement starts with you doing a good deed.” Caleb’s grin is infectious. “You’re going to have to be a slave to some lucky woman whom I’ll pick – out of my own personal magician’s hat – for the weekend. You’re going to have to do anything she wants.”
Brian starts to laugh. “Boy, you’re rich. What if she wants nothing but sex?”
“What if she doesn’t?”
“They all want sex.”
“Then it’s your lucky weekend?”
“A whole weekend with some random woman? No way. No one’s gonna fall for that.”
“Hey, give her some credit. You’re gonna have to be her slave, that’s enticing enough . . . ”
“Sex slave.” Brian hasn’t stopped laughing.
“ . . . to the first lucky woman I’ll pick.” Caleb jerks his chin at the door of the poker room. “Do you have the balls to take this one on?”
“Balls? You’re talking to me about balls?”
*
“There’s only one way to find out,” Cassie says, grinning. “Go see for yourself. I’ll come with you.”
The brunette holds out her hand. “I’m Melanie.”
Sam gives it a shake. “Samantha. And this is Cassandra.”
“Cassie and she’s Sam.” Cassie rolls her eyes and elbows Sam. “What’s with the formality?”
Melanie says, “This Brian Morton that we’re all talking about . . . he thinks he’s God’s gift to women.”
“So what’s new? He’s a regular prick,” Cassie says.
“With an ego the size of the moon,” Melanie affirms.
The blonde tosses back her drink. “You can say that about his cock,” she slurs.
“But you still want him,” Sam says to Melanie.
She flushes slightly. Then again, it could be due to the martini in her hand. “Just to try him out. You know, to see what the fuss is all about.”
“Like a one night stand?” Sam is aware that her tone has taken on a little disapproving lilt.
“What? You don’t do one night stands?”
“More like a one hour stand,” the blonde throws in. “And we weren’t even standing.”
Sam says carefully, “Well, I sort of want more in a relationship with a man. Sex is just a very small part of it.”
“That’s why she never gets laid,” Cassie remarks. “So tell me more about this Brian. He sounds interesting.”
“You’d say that.” Sam rolls her eyes.
Melanie says, “He sleeps with anything that moves, apparently, but he doesn’t sleep with a woman twice. Ever.”
“It’s his rule,” says Melanie’s brunette friend. “He doesn’t want emotional entanglements.”
“Why not?” Sam asks.
The two brunettes eye each other and shrug.
Melanie says. “Maybe you should ask him yourself.”
“But the man can sure f**k,” the blonde interjects. She’s slumping in her seat now. She quickly downs the rest of her drink before she can lose her balance.
Cassie says, “He does sound like our high school bully. That guy could f**k you in ways you’d never imagine. And he doesn’t even have to use his penis. Only thing . . . I don’t remember him being a dreamboat. Do you, Sam?”
A procession of vivid memories fleet through Sam’s mind. The Brian Morton she knew was a huge kid in eighth grade – a little on the tubby side. Scratch that. He was hulking, overweight and tall. Towered over everyone at fourteen. Ham-fisted. Sulky, petulant mouth. He was always with his two buddies, Caleb and Norman. He scored surprisingly good grades. Better grades than her, which was something she could never stomach about him.
“Hey, Jaws,” he used to yell at her. “Bitten off someone’s leg yet?”
Then there was that incident with the chalk. Brian Morton drew – with white chalk – a picture of shark teeth encapsulating the words ‘FUCK ME’ on her chair in mirror image. Unsuspecting, she sat upon it. And walked around school the entire day with it imprinted upon her black skirt.