Oh well, she dealt the cards, that was her, the dealer, the one who dealt, she ‘crouped’, croupiers crouping and dealers dealing. She should have been a smoker, smokers smoking, they had these wee breaks in the alley round the back of the casino. A rear passageway ran the length of the building. Steps led down to the rear exit. Staff smokers used this; they went in twos and threes. In the old days the ‘girls’ took their ‘clients’ here. Druggies used it too, tramps and rats, drunks; people went there to be sick. It was dark and secluded, shadowy and horrible; who would want to go there? except in emergency. Nowadays it was still secluded, but security had been increased; good lighting and CCTV. But still not a nice place, having to step over bodies, watching where they put their feet; needles and human waste. It wasnt the first time a croupier had returned across the carpet in the worst poo-covered shoes imaginable. People never knew what they might find. There were the comical aspects; couples interrupted in ‘acts of gross indecency’. What the Smoker Saw, not the ‘Butler’. Experiences from the back alley provided some of the ‘green room’ hilarity. Anyway, people quite envied the smokers. They said that, escaping to the fresh air, it was worth the bad lungs and whatever else. As long as they went in company, not just the one person.
The ‘girls’ werent supposed to use the casinos nowadays. Did they or didnt they? Ha ha.
But if they did they werent cheap. They would never have gone to back alleys. It would have been good-class hotels or someplace nice, fancy apartments with all good furniture and proper everything, space and whatnot, bedrooms. Not like out the back where it was full of risk and filth and dangers too. Women never went on their own.
Why did he laugh? The ogler laughed. He laughed because he had won. Helen paused a moment while paying out the money. Not only him, everybody. The bank had taken a card, and another, a picture card: bust. So Helen was paying out the money.
But for the third hand in a row. The bank had lost the two previous. Yes, so that made the difference. To them it did. So they had beat the bank three times in a row. And Helen was the bank. Okay, but why laugh like that? Not only the ogler but the rest of them, sharing it with him; beating her, they wanted to beat her. It was sad, so sad.
Such was her job.
Did they actually for one minute believe she cared one way or the other? like really cared?
‘Wealthy woman’ too — she had returned to the table — perhaps her jewellery would fall off, perhaps somebody would step on it and break it, just crunch it like a whatever, under the heel of your shoe. But then it wouldnt be the genuine article, if it could be so easily crunched, and hers was real. Her man was back at the roulette. She only came to keep him company. Not to let him out her sight. Or him her. Comical. Males and females. Rich or poor.
What did it matter?
Helen had passed out the chips. People confused her with the job, that was the problem like it was her personal money, if it was did they think she would be gambling it all away? Ha ha. It didnt matter one way or the other. Not to her it didnt; not if she lost every hand. Or if she won every hand, although she would have enjoyed taking his money; that would have been nice, and if he waited a little longer she would, because in the end the bank always wins. What a fool.
So things were getting to her.
No they werent.
The ogler was whispering to his friend. It wasnt annoying but
It was annoying. It shouldnt have been but it was. So she was letting him get to her. She should never have let him get to her. No emotion in this job. You werent paid for emotion.
Helen smiled to the ogler and his mate. Yes.
She was waiting for the bets to be placed. An elderly man had sat down at the corner of the table. He seemed familiar. She waited for him and another player to place their bets. The ogler had left his winning chips from the last hand, so that was his. At the same time impressing her with the size of his bet, trying to anyway. Always the size of something. Him and his money. So silly, so childish, but that was a trait in men. Helen, what is the outstanding trait in men? They are childish.
That would annoy him, smiling, why had she smiled?
What if she giggled? If she laughed aloud? That would annoy him even worse. Did his wife know how much he wasted in this place? He was obviously married. Even without the ring he was married. He had like arrogance, that certain arrogance. He knew women. That is what it was. Did his wife even know where he was? Probably not. He would control everything. Even what she knew, what went on in her mind. That is what he would control, never mind the money. That was her ex my God oh yes, Mr Big Boss, he was the man, of course he was, arent penises wonderful? She could have carried one in her bag, dropped it on the table.
Goodness,
the card the card the card, the card the card the card, the card, seven players, and one for the bank.
the card the card the card, the card the card the card, the card
The ogler’s mate was whispering to him. He wasnt so bad-looking; only the scar, the front of his ear down to his neck. That summed it up.
stay, stay
Card, asked the ogler. He was showing 12.
Helen turned a picture to bust him, raked in his chips and continued the hand. And to the banker’s own she added an 8 to the face card showing, raked in the remainder of the chips, in a disinterested way. No comment from the ogler. She enjoyed taking his money. But did she? Perhaps she didnt, perhaps really it didnt matter, it didnt. She didnt care.
‘Wealthy woman’ passed money across and Helen exchanged it for chips. Usually with couples it was the other way about. The male played cards for pounds and the female roulette for pence. It was the competition. You could like beat somebody up at cards, but not roulette. At cards you showed who was boss. So they thought. But they thought wrong; blackjack and house-poker are the same, you bet against the ‘house’, not against people.
She rarely thought about money when dealing cards. If she did it would be all the time. She hardly saw it as money. She was an experienced worker. She listened to other croupiers but had her own opinions. She was a dealing machine and that was that. There would come a day when they wouldnt have any croupiers, it would all be machines. Already in the States they had entire casinos with machines. To each their own. The punters put in their money and hit a button. Money money money. Standing at the machines with that glazed expression, buckets of coins and buckets of popcorn; unable to hear or see, mindless. That was her ex, the proverbial.
All the people and all the money.
And up pops he. The bad penny.
Money money money. Mostly she didnt care. She had no control, like none, she had none. None! What did they think? In one casino where she worked an Inspector thought it was the dealer’s fault. That was how he acted, just so so stupid. If he saw you losing too many hands he whispered sarcastic comments, the same as any punter, thinking individual dealers were lucky, or unlucky. Even some dealers believed it about themselves, they were lucky, or unlucky. Anyway, it was all mixed up. If your every hand was a losing hand it was lucky for the punters; to be lucky for them was to be unlucky at the cards. Lucky at the cards was lucky for the house. Back in Glasgow there was one guy only played at her table because she was ‘far too good’. He said it to her when giving over his money: Helen, you are far too good, you are far too good.