Bottled in Bond, James Bond

Bottled in Bond, James Bond

Adrian called. He was back from his latest trip to the Middle East and asked us to join him for an evening at the Casino in Monte Carlo. We told him we hadn’t been inside.

“You’re joking,” he said. “You live a few kilometers from Monte Carlo and haven’t been inside the Casino?”

“No, really.”

“Well, tonight you will,” he said. It wasn’t an accident that we hadn’t been inside. Though we lived among millionaires on a daily basis and though it sometimes seemed that we lived like millionaires, we never forgot that we had to keep track of every franc. What made it even more urgent was that no matter how careful we were, the money was going out faster than we had anticipated. Unexpected expenses like babysitters and the fall of the dollar against the franc had us concerned about money.

Still, we weren’t about to give up a chance to see the world-famous Monte Carlo Casino. Sally volunteered to baby-sit Justin. Max was out of town on some deal or other. For the occasion, I put on my blue suit. Anne wore her black dress and pearls. We met Adrian for dinner at Rampoldi’s, one of Monte Carlo’s most fashionable restaurants, which we could never have afforded if Adrian hadn’t offered to treat. I had fifteen hundred francs (about $200) in my pocket that I felt we could afford to risk at the casino.

After dinner, we went to the Hôtel de Paris for a quick drink at the American Bar and to rub the horse’s knee for luck, then marched over to the Casino. One’s first impression of the world-famous Monte Carlo Casino has to be disappointment. The outer salle was like a small second-rate Las Vegas casino, where locals in everyday clothes played slot machines and vingt-et-un.

But then we went through a door to a cashier’s cage, where Adrian and I paid one hundred francs per person for admission to the private salles. We handed our tickets to the uniformed guard at the door and walked into the large baroque-styled Salle Europe. The large room was surrounded by curtained alcoves of the various Salons Privés. This was a different world, very James Bond. Everyone was chic, elegantly dressed, and the soft murmur of conversation mingled with the smell of cigarettes and Cuban cigars, the tinkle of cocktails, and the voices of the croupiers.

“What’s your pleasure?” Adrian said.

“What about those?” Anne asked, pointing to one of the Salons Privés, where men in suits and tuxedos accompanied by attractive women in diamonds were playing chemin de fer so that it really was like a James Bond movie. We went over.

“Entréz, Messieurs, Madame,” said a man in a tuxedo, drawing the curtain aside for us to enter.

“Et on peut faire un pari le moins de quoi?” I asked.

“Le pari le plus petit est de cent mille francs, Monsieur,” he said.

I stepped back, nearly bumping into Adrian who was laughing at my reaction to the hundred-thousand franc or $15,000 per bet minimum.

“Ma femme préfère la roulette,” I told the man, beating a hasty retreat.

“C’est normal. Ma femme aussi, Monsieur,” he said with a little head bow and I appreciated that he didn’t smile as he said it.

“Roulette is an excellent suggestion,” Adrian said and we went over to the roulette table in the ornate Salle Europe. It was crowded with well-dressed Europeans putting down their chips as the croupier called out, “Faîtes vos jeux, Messieurs, Mesdames. Faîtes vos jeux.”

“God, this really is like a James Bond movie,” Anne whispered.

We gave the assistant croupier our money for chips. I leaned over and put 500 francs down on black. Adrian bet 1000 francs on the first douzaine. It came up black, but Adrian lost. I now had 1000 francs on the table.

Adrian redoubled, putting another 2000 francs on the first douzaine. Twenty-eight had always been a lucky number for me and I moved my 1000 francs to the first column. Seven came up. Adrian was even and I now had 3000 francs.

“Faîtes vos jeux, Messieurs, Mesdames. Faîtes vos jeux,” the croupier called. I decided to go for it. As Adrian calmly bet 1000 on the second douzaine, I pushed the 3000 franc stack of chips on a four-number play of 25, 26, 28, and 29. I felt Anne grip my arm as the ball rolled around and around the wheel before finally settling on 29 and we whooped, Adrian patting my shoulder even though he had lost. I now had over $3000.

I glanced over at Anne to see if she wanted me to still keep going and she nodded yes. God, I love this woman, I thought. She’s even crazier than I am. But I decided to play it a little safer and put it on black. Adrian, seeing I was having luck, followed with 2000 francs on black as well. The ball landed on 26 and now everyone at the table cheered as the croupier replaced some of my chips with a plaque. I had 48,000 francs, about $7,000, sitting on the black. It had been a phenomenal run. My God, I thought, doing ‘if’ as all gamblers do, if I had left it on the four-number play, I would have had nearly $30,000!

“Faîtes vos jeux, Messieurs, Mesdames. Faîtes vos jeux,” the croupier called again. Everyone was watching me and I didn’t know what to do. If I just left the chips there and black came up one more time, I would have $15,000, enough to cover our expenses and give us a big cushion till I finished the book and got my next check from England. On the other hand, what were the odds of black coming up one more time?

Black – red. It’s still 50-50. The wheel has no memory. It’s always 50-50, except for zero. I decided to let it ride one last time. The croupier spun the ball. Suddenly, I panicked. This was crazy. I started to reach to pull my chips back when the croupier said, “Les jeux sont faits. Les jeux sont faits.” Too late. We watched the ball roll and roll, then settle in, jump a number and I didn’t need the croupier announcing, “Douze, rouge,” to know we had lost. There was a groan from the crowd and an attractive blonde woman with long gold earrings gave me a sad smile as Anne patted my arm. The three of us walked over to a serveuse with a tray of drinks, clinked glasses and drank.

“Dommage,” Adrian said. “That was a hell of a run, Andy.”

“Well, I was almost James Bond,” I said. “I think that’s as close as I’ll ever get.”

“Do you want to play some more?” Adrian asked.

“No,” Anne said. “I think we’ve had enough excitement for one night.”

“That was very close,” Adrian said.

“I’ll never forget it,” I said.

That night, after we picked Justin up from Sally’s, as we put him to bed, he insisted I read to him. I told him it was late, but he wanted me to read Where The Wild Things Are to him again, although by now he could recite the words along with me. After I read him the story and tucked him in, he looked at me.

“I really like you, Daddy,” he said.

I leaned over and kissed his cheek.

“You know, Justin, I really like you too,” I said and turned out the light. As I went down to shut the lights downstairs, for the first time in my life, I felt like a success.