Finally it was time for the players to make one more bet.
“Double down,” I whispered. “Make it big.” ZK examined my face to see if I was serious, and then shoved half of his cash into the pile.
“I call,” he said. A couple of guys dropped out right away. Then everyone grew quiet waiting for Big Man Brad to make his move. He puffed and puffed on his cigar, and after debating for a few moments, he folded. ZK took the pot, which had to be a couple of thousand by my reckoning. I threw ZK’s cards in the pile before anyone could ask to see them. ZK was laughing and shaking his head as he raked it in.
“Brilliant, you really know how to play,” he whispered under his breath. I guess I’ve always been a better faker than I thought.
“Why don’t you play a round?” ZK asked.
“I never carry cash,” I whispered, my new excuse for not having any money. He laughed.
“No problem. I’ll stake you. Come on—let’s switch seats.” He stood up, offered me his chair, and slid out a wad of hundreds. I wondered how he had the cash to play with this crowd. Or for that matter, stake me, considering what Tabitha had said about his status as a Madoff Millionaire.
“Hey boys, get ready, ZK’s brought a ringer to the table,” Big Brad said, giving me a wink as he shuffled the deck. Everyone laughed.
“How about I split my winnings with you?” I said to ZK quietly.
Brad, Hugh, Ian, and Baird overheard me and found the idea to be completely uproarious.
“Lucky guy, ZK, she’s going to split her winnings with you!” chortled Brad. I noticed he was wearing a twenty-thousand-dollar Patek Philippe watch. He really was a show-off. I decided to play innocent, as I knew Audrey would.
“Now, if you boys don’t mind explaining, what’s a good hand again?” I asked. ZK raised an eyebrow, as the boys interrupted each other trying to tell me how to play the game.
An hour later, I had won four hands in a row, although I had to split the pot on a game of seven-card high-low. Brad had dropped twenty or twenty-five thousand, and ZK and I were up about seventeen thousand. My Nan knew how to hold ’em and fold ’em, and she taught me well. The trust-fund boys were no longer laughing.
“Darlings, you have been too kind to me,” I said. “Thank you for showing me the game. Apologies for my beginner’s luck, but I’m quite exhausted. So if you’ll permit me, I’ll retire for the evening.”
ZK scooped up our winnings with a satisfied grin. There was lots of mumbling around the table until Brad grew more vocal.
“Come on, ZK,” he said, “she has to give us a chance to win our money back.”
“You should be glad she’s quitting now,” ZK said. “If she stays at the table, you might just leave here tonight in a different tax bracket.” He slid his arm around my waist, which sent a shiver down my back, and escorted me from the table.
46
We walked outside to the terrace and leaned on the marble banisters, glancing out over the city.
“Are you cold?” he asked, smoothly removing his jacket and placing it over my shoulders.
“Thank you,” I said.
“It almost goes with your dress.”
I laughed and slipped my hand into the crook of his arm.
“Where did you learn to play like that?” he asked.
“My Nan.” I smiled, thinking that she’d love to hear all about my poker-playing prowess. “She’s a debutante card shark. I’m just a good student.”
He slid out the wad of bills in his pocket and handed it to me.
“No, I couldn’t—it was your money,” I said, trying to be cool about it, although I hadn’t picked up a paycheck in weeks. Tabitha said he didn’t have any real money. So what kind of money did he have? Just a couple thousand in pocket change for poker?
“You should keep the winnings.”
He peeled off a few hundred-dollar bills.
“This covers my stake; the rest is yours.”
“Thank you, but we did say fifty-fifty, right?” I cut the wad of money by half and handed it back. He hesitated for a second. “If you don’t take it, I won’t be your good-luck charm next time,” I added.
“Yeah, well, you’ve got way more than luck going on,” he said and pocketed the cash. I stuffed the remaining $8,500 in my tiny cocktail purse as though it was a common occurrence.
In that half-empty moment I secretly observed ZK. Although he was standing right beside me, a blank expression crossed his eyes, and he seemed like a forlorn little boy.
I thought back to all the times I had seen him since that evening at the Met when I was outside the fishbowl looking in, a mere onlooker. I remembered even then, there was a moment where he was alone and detached as the cameras flashed around him. I remembered other moments like that; those tiny instances where he let his guard down, where his fabulousness evaporated and he was more boy than man, as if he were just hoping to find a way from one empty moment to the next. I knew that feeling. His solitude made me want to hold him, care for him, and love him more.
We stood there, the city a twinkling galaxy of lights. Our legs touched innocently, but I didn’t move, and neither did he. It seemed to snap him out of his moment.
“Come on, let’s toast your success,” ZK said.
“As long as it’s not a pink martini, you’re on,” I replied. He didn’t seem to know what I was talking about, but I wondered if he was aware what went on in the penthouse upstairs.
We headed to the bar. ZK snatched a bottle of Macallan 18 and two glasses, ignoring the bartender’s annoyed look. He poured us each a single malt, dropping one cube in both glasses and swirling it around.
“Here’s to the mysterious Lisbeth Dulac,” he said. “You know, I’ve never met a woman like you.” I felt suddenly shy as we clinked glasses.
“You’ll be coming to the Hamptons with Tabitha, won’t you?” he asked.
“It depends, I guess.” Apparently the Hamptons was on everyone’s agenda.
“Well, I’ll be there,” he said. “Somehow I can’t imagine not seeing you for the rest of the summer.”
The terrace was dotted with plants and small trees in terracotta containers. I dropped down onto the cushy outdoor sofa, sipping my whiskey, and ZK sat next to me, his knee touching mine. He wrapped his arms around me, pulling me onto his lap. I put my arms around his neck, aching for the warmth of his body, inhaling his scent, listening to the sound of his breathing. He gazed into my eyes, moving toward me a millimeter at a time until, at last, his lips, soft and strong, touched mine.
In that moment there was nothing but ZK and me, the lights of the city, and the dark abyss of the night. I couldn’t help thinking that this was where I was meant to be.
47
On the PATH train back to Jersey, I squeezed in among the shopping-bag-toting, Starbucks-sipping, iPod-listening masses, grateful for a little downtime.
Thumbing the keyboard on my phone, I lined up five new entries promoting Designer X’s new line of “secret dresses” and hinted at big news to come. I had downloaded the app that allowed me to post to my blog from anywhere, and now I could shoot pictures on the fly anytime I saw something I liked and post them immediately. When I logged on to my Tumblr, I was blown away that there were so many followers. I featured pictures of last night’s Designer X masterpiece on my blog, including close-ups of the lyrical embroidery. Isak commented almost immediately, raising the count of my followers numerically.
“When do we get to meet Designer X!” he demanded in a later comment, and literally 237 followers cheered him on in a chorus. “X! X! X! X! X! X! X!” one person chanted, and then others repeated and reblogged, driving up traffic on the Web site exponentially.