The Gambler

Michael Reed knew too intimately the truth every gambler knows: obsession and addiction are two sides of the same coin.

As a lifelong gambler, he had done the same dance with Lady Luck for decades, taking turns around the dance floors of casinos, tangoing in and out of backroom poker games, and waltzing hand in hand down the Las Vegas strip. There was no better partner for Michael, but he knew it was time to hang up his dancing shoes and give his sweet lady one last kiss goodbye. But, when he pressed his lips together in preparation for the bittersweet taste of heartbreak, instead they twisted into a smile. Michael watched as the machine in front of him lit up like fireworks on the Fourth of July and basked in the glow of a million dazzling lights. With a wink, he took his final bow and ran off with the fortune of a lifetime.

Now that his life had changed forever and the winds of luck finally turned in his favor, Michael wandered the Grand Canal Shoppes of The Venetian with a spring in his step and began his search for the thing, the elusive one-of-a-kind object on which to spend his winnings. Throughout his life, Michael likened his desperate longing for a wild jackpot to a dog chasing a car. Now that the car was caught, and his belly was filled to the brim with bones, he didn’t know what to do with himself. The thrill of the hunt was gone, and now he needed something new to fill the emptiness of his desires.

Michael’s winnings were burning holes into the pockets of his cargo shorts, and he needed to extinguish the fire before it consumed him. He took turn after turn in the shiny labyrinth of the luxury mall, but as he passed by each store, he felt emptier than ever. He couldn’t be tempted by salesmen offering him new foreign cars hot off the factory line, well-manicured women pushing spa products and Swedish massages, or designer stores filled fine with leather items and expensive garments. He passed by each store knowing that when he crossed paths with the right thing, he would know.

Michael found himself in a secluded corridor of the mall that he did not remember walking into. The beige walls, clear of advertisements, maps, or signs were unsettling and unlike the usual brightly colored shopping experiences offered on the Las Vegas strip. It made Michael feel uneasy and nervous in the empty, endless space. Panicked, he turned around to go back the way he came and realized he was more lost than ever. He was unsure of which way he was supposed to go to find his way back to the main plaza of The Venetian. But, he decided to push forward down the corridor and hoped he could find his way out.

He turned corner after corner, each of them looking like the last, until he was stunned by the appearance of a store. There was no sign or marquee above it offering a name or service, and there were no eager employees waiting to usher customers inside. If not for the light glowing from deep within the interior of the store, he would have assumed it was completely abandoned - much like this entire wing of the mall. Now, he could not explain the sudden, urgent feeling that dwelled in his stomach that beckoned him inside.

Michael was used to placing himself in odd, and albeit strange situations. Ask any seasoned gambler to explain the draw to a certain slot machine or a particular seat at a gaming table and you’ll find their answers to be the same: there is no answer. There is no logic, no rational thought process that can clearly describe what influences a gambler. They just act. They allow impulse to overcome them and pray their money lasts long enough for them to get out of whatever sticky situations they found themselves stuck in.

At this moment, Michael was no different. He felt now that same, indescribable feeling and allowed himself to be pulled into this random, unassuming store. With a hand on the wad of cash in his pocket and hope in his spirit, he prayed that whatever he found inside would be exactly what he was looking for.

When Michael crossed the threshold of the store, he was greeted by an opaque cloud of smoke. As it cleared, he instantly recognized the interior of The Fox and Hound, the tavern where he first learned how to gamble. His knees buckled at the impossible sight. How could this be? The interior felt broken-in and comfortable, and smelled exactly the same as it had when Michael was a teenager. The smell of cigar smoke and spilled beer filled his nose, and the pain of nostalgia nearly distracted him enough to ignore the strange apparition before him. 

He felt a slender finger tap him on the shoulder, and jumped at the shock that he was no longer alone. 

“Mr. Reed, I’ve been expecting you,” a sultry voice said from behind him. 

Michael turned around and was stunned - even more so than he had been at the sight of the tavern. Before him was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her long, red hair gleamed, even under the dim tavern light, and her green eyes sparkled as clear and deep as any emerald. Her lips, perfectly pouty and curved into a smile, were stained wine red and Michael couldn’t help but wonder what they’d feel like pressed against his.

“You’ve been expecting m-me?” He replied with a sutter.

“Of course I have. Welcome home.” 

She ushered him deeper into the tavern, and Michael, still incredulous at what appeared before him, found the courage to ask her his one, burning question.

“This is impossible. This is some kind of joke right? Like for a reality TV prank show? This can’t possibly be real. You can’t be real!”

“You of all people should know by now that nothing is impossible, Michael. Now come here, bring that fortune of yours and join me for a drink at the bar,” she said with a wink.

Despite his best judgment, Michael had no choice but to trust her. Even if this were some prank show or magic act being broadcast somewhere on the strip, he found the woman irresistible - and familiar. He hesitantly followed her to the bar and perched cautiously on a worn, leather barstool. Michael watched as the woman floated effortlessly behind the bar like she had done it a million times before.

“I take it you’ll want your usual, then,” she said. This time a hint of an old world accent slipped through as she spoke.

“Yes, that would be great.”

 Michael eyed her carefully as she started mixing the ingredients for an old fashioned. It wasn’t a unique choice for a cocktail by any means, but the burn of the whisky and sweetness of  cherry were a welcome taste for Michael on this strange afternoon.

“I still don’t understand - how do you know my name? How did you know about the money in my pocket?”

The woman did not look up from mixing his drink. “Michael, I’m offended. You really don’t recognize me? After all these years?”

Confused, Michael studied her even more carefully. He was certain he’d remember crossing paths with a woman as memorable and alluring as she was.

“I’m sorry, I really just can’t think of where I would have seen you before.”

The woman topped his drink with a cherry and slid it across the bar to him. 

“Oh Michael, you’ve always been so funny.” She grabbed a cherry and popped one into her mouth, chewing for a moment before pulling out the stem.

“You really don’t remember? You met me here,” she said with a wave of her bejeweled hand. “Well the real version of here.”

Confused, Michael tried his hardest to remember the many, countless nights he’d spent at the tavern in his youth. He tried to recall a stunning, bombshell redhead and yet, he couldn’t. 

“I think I’d remember you. Why don’t you tell me your name to see if that helps?”

Suddenly the smile dropped from the woman’s face. “I haven’t had a name in centuries.”

“But, you’ve called me many things over the years - Lady Luck seems to have been the one that’s stuck.”

The old fashioned suddenly tasted sour and dry in his mouth.

 “I still don’t understand - you aren’t - Lady Luck isn’t real. None of this is real.”

She placed her hands on her hips, annoyed with Michael’s lack of understanding and tried again.

“Oh, it’s very real Michael. Am I not standing right here in front of you?”

She walked around the bar and sat next to Michael on a stool, her face inches away from his.

“You and I shared something special over all these years, and now you have to pay the price for throwing me away, just like that.” She snapped her fingers and it echoed as loud and sharp as a gunshot.

“You would be nothing without me. Your pockets would be empty right now if I hadn’t stepped in and saved you today.”

This shocked Michael back into reality. “What do you mean by ‘saved me?’ I won this money today. Me. On my own.”

With this, she tossed her head back and laughed loudly. “You thought you won?”

“You only win when I decide you win.” She poked him in the chest, hard.

“And now that you feel like you’re not a pathetic gambling addict - let’s put that to the test, shall we?”

She pulled dice out of thin air and placed them on the bar between them. 

“Let’s play your favorite game, Michael. Let’s play craps.”

Sweat pooled at the back of Michael’s neck and pricked his brow. The dice sitting on the bar, shiny and white, brought him back to the countless nights he’d spent playing craps at The Fox and Hound. How many times had he won fistfulls of money, only to lose it an instant later? How many times had he narrowly escaped getting his kneecaps shattered by bookies and lenders? 

He shuddered at the endless loops of nightmares and memories that consumed his mind. 

“What if I don’t want to play?” He said, with a newfound steadiness in his voice.

“Who said you have a choice?”

He shook his head with disbelief. “I don’t understand what you want from me. Do you want my money? Here, take it.” 

He slammed the wad of crumpled bills on the counter, spilling some on the floor in the process.

She laughed again. “No Michael, I don’t want - or need your money. I want something a little more valuable. You.”

She grabbed his hand and placed the dice gently into his palm. 

“It’s a simple game, really. All you have to do is roll a 7, and I’ll let you leave. This will all feel like a bad dream and you can go back to your normal life.”

“But, if you roll anything else. And, I mean - any other number. You stay here with me. Forever.”

“No.”

“No? Let me say it again. Roll. The. Dice.”

Her face changed. It was no longer that of a soft, feminine vixen and instead took the form of something dark and unrecognizable. Her face was no longer a face at all - it was an endless, black void.

Michael swallowed his fear. This was really it. He had run out of choices and every gamble, every bet, every loss, and every win had led him here. To the end of his world as he knew it. In this moment, his weakest moment, he still felt that twinge of hope lingering at the edge of his spirit. What if? What if he won? He could wake up and resume his life and never think of her - or this place again. 

And if he lost - he wouldn’t let himself think of what that meant. It meant that she - or this thing in front of him was right. Maybe, at his very core he was a pathetic, obsessed gambler ruled by impulse and driven only by the love of money. Maybe he was nothing more than that.

He gingerly took the dice from her hand and rubbed them in between his palms. He prayed to whatever was out there in the universe and asked for mercy. He bargained with the heavens and swore that if he could walk out of here right now, he wouldn’t gamble ever again. He would live out the rest of his life as pious and humble as a monk. 

“Want to blow on them one last time for me? For old times’ sake?” he said, making a poor attempt at a joke.

“Don’t mock me, Michael. Roll them. Now”

Michael felt a surge of lightning rush through him as he tossed the dice down the length of the bar. They rolled over and over again until they clattered to a stop. For a moment, Michael let himself believe that luck - in whatever form had pitied him enough to let him walk away, to pack it in and get out while he still could.

But it was no use. He walked to the edge of the bar and felt his heart sink into the depths of his stomach as he read the dice. He had rolled a 6.

After all of this, all the wins, all the losses, and all the times he cheated himself and others, it was over. He had lost. He had lost everything.

As Michael watched the doors of the tavern slowly close and disappear forever, he was finally confronted with the sinister truth he had been running from - obsession and addiction were two sides of the same coin, yes. But, the invisible hand, the one flipping that coin over and over again in a game of chance, had not been obsession, desire, or addiction - it was greed.

And, as they say, the house always wins.