A Winning Hand

Chapter 1

August 2015: Lou

When I got the call I thought hell, because it was a domestic disturbance. Those had quickly become my least favorite. So rarely resolved in any true sense of the word, and so often merely one in a string of gradually-escalating events. I’d been with the Las Vegas Police Department for a little over three years, and I’d already seen four of these cases come to bad conclusions: a parent injured or dead, children traumatized, and someone going to prison.

I pulled in a minute behind Dominguez, the officer who’d called for backup. We went up to the apartment in the usual way, ready for anything. We could hear a man and woman yelling at each other inside. Dominguez gave me a nod; I unholstered my weapon to cover him. He knocked.

We heard the man say, Oh now the fucking neighbors have to get involved.

The woman said, If you weren’t such a won’t-take-no asshole nobody would be involved. Her voice got louder, obviously approaching the door. She opened it. Oh.

From there it was the usual, if less fraught than the usual. There weren’t any kids, and the only sign of violence was on the guy. It was a mark on his ribs that would be a bruise in a few hours, and he wasn’t proud of it. The only reason he showed us was I noticed him rubbing it. He said she hit him, she admitted it, and then we had to find out why.

Dominguez talked to her while I talked to the guy. Yes, they had a relationship. No, he didn’t live there. A show of embarrassment about being so loud, a surprisingly unconvincing apology for troubling us. Assurance that it wouldn’t happen again.

She heard him. Damn right it won’t. I want him out of here.

What? Gloria, come on.

Go home. Don’t come back. Don’t call me. She wasn’t looking at him. She was staring at Dominguez. He has a key. Please get it from him.

Dominguez glanced at me. This was unusual. The woman, Gloria Louise Bartolo according to what she’d said, was sitting at her little table wrapped in a casino-branded spa robe. Where did you get that robe, Ms. Bartolo?

I saw her face change, from exhaustion, annoyance, and well-hidden fear to cold blankness. A face that said okay, so this is a complete waste of time. It was a gift from my boss, she said, clearly expecting him not to believe her.

He frowned a little, because he didn’t. Stolen spa robes were all over the place in LV. I said, She works for the casino. Dominguez looked at me again; I nodded; he nodded and moved on. Bartolo was looking at me now, probably wondering how I knew that. There was only one way, of course. I’d seen her perform. She played piano for Gino Corsetti’s Sinatra tribute show.

Dominguez said, Both of you please stay where you are for a minute. They didn’t move. Either they had some experience with police, or they didn’t want to get any. Dominguez and I gave them as much space as possible. He spoke very quietly. She says he wanted to do something, she told him no, it escalated. What does he say?

Same thing except some whining. He says they’ve been going out for a year or so.

Did he say when he got a key?

Didn’t ask. If she wants it back, let’s get it back. Did she say what he wanted to do?

Only said it was something she didn’t want to do. Did he say?

I nodded. The guy had obviously – to me – thought he was entitled to whatever he wanted. I’d run up against that a few too many times. Said he wanted the back door.

Dominguez made a face like ‘is that all?’ He stared over at both of them for a few seconds until he had their full attention. Mr. Samuels, why did this escalate to the point that we were called.

It was ridiculous. It was like he forgot we were cops, he was so eager to justify himself. It’s not like we haven’t done it before.

Is that true, Ms. Bartolo?

Does it matter? she snapped. And of course it didn’t. I was annoyed Dominguez asked that, but not as annoyed as she was. Maybe you want the details, Officer? No prep, no lube, and no condom, that’s what he wanted, and he tried to hold me down to do it. Her voice wasn’t shaking but her hands were.

I made a move. Dominguez saw me. He nodded again. Do you want to press charges?

She rolled her eyes. What would be the point? And, sadly, she was right. Samuels looked relieved anyway. Bartolo said, Just please get him out of here. Get his stuff out of here. Get my key. Thank you.

Dominguez and I made eye contact again. He said, Mr. Samuels, the key. The guy made a huffy noise, but dug in his pocket, pulled out a bunch of keys, and detached one. Dominguez took it and showed it to Bartolo. Is this the key? She nodded. He handed it to her. Mr. Samuels, let’s go.

What about my stuff?

Officer Kravitz will get it. He didn’t take hold of Samuels, but the guy did a fair perp walk anyway.

When I was alone with Gloria Louise, I said, Are you all right, ma’am?

She took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. I’m feeling very grateful to my neighbors right now.

I think you should be. Can you show me what belongs to Mr. Samuels?

I’d be delighted. She stood up and we started going through the apartment. It didn’t take long; it was a small place. She dumped his junk in a couple of paper grocery bags. All there was, was a few pieces of clothing, some toiletries, a phone charger, a coffee grinder, and a pound of aspirational coffee beans.

I was relieved it was so little. It reinforced my sense that she was not super-involved with him. Do you have any personal belongings at Mr. Samuels’ residence?

No. I’ve never been there. She put the bags down by the door. Tell Officer Dominguez I appreciate the help tonight.

I’ll do that. Glad we could be of assistance. These things can go bad.

I know. She was staring at me. I wondered what she saw. How long have you been a cop?

Three years. Her eyebrows went up. I knew I looked a little old. I was in the Army for twelve years.

Ah. Thank you for your service. My dad was in, too. She stared at me for another few seconds, or forever.

Something happened. It was like the light changed color, or the air changed temperature, or the sound of the nearly-silent building changed to soft music. I shook my head, confused. Narrowed my eyes, wondering if she’d noticed anything, but she didn’t speak. I’ll take these down. You lock that door now, and take care.

You too, she said. Take care, Officer Kravitz.

I stepped out with the bags and waited to hear the door close, the deadbolt sink, and the chain slide. Then I went downstairs to make sure Samuels fucked off like he was supposed to. Dominguez wrote down his license-plate number, watched him go, asked me a couple of questions to clarify or confirm points we’d observed, then said, Thanks for the backup. This was an easy one.

A good outcome, I said. See you back at the ranch. We nodded to each other, he got in his car, I got in mine. Gave him a minute to head out and call in before following him and doing the same. With any luck there wouldn’t be anything else to respond to. From now till end of watch – about the time it began to get light – all I expected to do was pull over a few drunks or give a few warnings for jaywalking or loitering. The wee small hours of the morning, in Las Vegas. I thought about Gloria Louise pretty much the entire time.

She’d looked different, of course. On stage she wore rockabilly-style dresses, with her dark hair up in a loose way that showed off the roses tattooed around her neck and the thorny stems on her shoulders. Her eyes were outlined with black in that kind of exaggerated, Egyptian way, and her mouth was always painted red. On this night, off duty or after the show, her hair was down and she wore no makeup. I tried not to think about whether she might or might not have had anything on under that spa robe. I knew what her shape was like. Full and lush, an hourglass, an armful. I hadn’t been close to a shape like that for what seemed a very long time. I couldn’t help thinking, there’s no rule against a cop asking a piano player out for coffee. Or a drink. Or dinner. There was no arrest, so she wasn’t – technically – a witness. I couldn’t help wondering how she would take it if I did. If that would freak her out. I knew maybe more than she might be comfortable with, about what she might do in certain circumstances. On the other hand, I knew she had boundaries. I respected that. We all need to have boundaries, and we all deserve to have our boundaries respected.

I had never given a moment’s thought to how she would act in a situation like that. It’s not something that is first in mind when you’re watching someone perform. I’d been impressed. For starters, I was impressed that she only hit Samuels once. From the little she said and the nothing he said, I guessed that bruise was from her elbow. I would not have minded the opportunity to intimidate that guy a little. She probably would have gotten him out of there without further trouble, but because of the neighbor’s call it was a done deal, nobody was hurt, and he knew we had eyes on him. A good outcome. It was good knowing the next time I saw her I wouldn’t be wondering if she was going out with him after the show. None of your business, Kravitz, I told myself.

She was a really good piano player. A songwriter. I’d found that show almost the minute it opened, about eighteen months ago. I grew up with Sinatra and the Rat Pack in the house all the time. My folks live in Atlantic City. My dad is an accountant for a casino, and my mother works in one of their big performance lounges. First a server, then a bartender, and now a manager. She still wears high heels and a short skirt on the job, and she still bitches about having to settle for this or that pop or country singer instead of Gino Corsetti. It just so happens Corsetti is from Atlantic City too. When I told Mom I got to see his show almost every week, she said something very rude.

I wondered what she would say if I actually got a date with Gloria Louise. Mom knew all about The Desert Rogues. Which meant my father, my sister, my brother-in-law, their three kids, and all the extended family did too. I might be very popular back in Jersey if this worked out.

And I might be getting way ahead of myself. I would give it a couple of weeks, I decided. Keep an eye on the blotter and make sure that Samuels guy didn’t go back there – or show up at the casino – looking for trouble. I would go to Corsetti’s show when I could. And if everything seemed cool, I’d send around an invitation for coffee, or a drink. My commander knew I liked the third watch, even though it made dating tough. But for someone else who worked nights, it wouldn’t be as much of an issue. I was getting ahead of myself again. I couldn’t help it. I knew I’d be listening to that album when I got home. Gino Corsetti and The Desert Rogues: What If It Were True.

Corsetti got married in April. When he sang that title song, he always dedicated it to his husband. I didn’t know many out gay guys – the Army still favors don’t ask, don’t tell, and the cop shop did too – but I could respect the guy for guts, and for commitment. I had a feeling Gloria Louise would not be okay with dating someone who was not okay with Corsetti. I had a feeling I was going to be okay with anything she wanted.

***

September 2015: Gloria

I told Gino and the Rogues about the whole police incident. Not exactly why, just that it happened. I might not have if Gino hadn’t given me a long frowning look in the green room the next day and said, What’s the matter? Of course I tried to play it off, but he knew me pretty well by then. Give his picture to casino security, he said. Tell them he’s not welcome.

I don’t have a restraining order, I said. It was a weak objection and I knew it. Gino gave me his very most Chairman of the Don’t Fuck With Me expression. It was pretty effective considering he doesn’t have a mean bone in his body. Okay, yes, I will. He nodded, and we moved on to choosing our set for the night. Ruben and Oscar, our drums and bass, didn’t really say anything, but they made sure I never walked out alone after the show anymore. I wanted to be annoyed about it, but it was too nice being cared for. Looked after. It had been a long time since I had that.

I was thirty-five and finally – by my own standards – successful. Our show at the casino packed them in, and our first record together was doing well. That was mostly Sinatra-esque covers of standards, but Gino did a few of my songs too, and one of them was the title track. I’d kind of loved him from the very start – it’s hard not to love someone who picks you out of half-a-dozen piano players and says ‘she’s perfect’ – but I really loved him after that. I loved Ruben and Oscar too, partly because they always seemed sincerely cool with me running the trio. That was unique in my experience, and I was certain it was due to the fact that Gino chose me first. And then had me sit with him while he auditioned all the people who came in for bass and drums. It was, basically, a dream job. The only problem with it was the whole working six nights a week thing. My schedule was incompatible with those of most acceptably-employed single men. Consequently, I tended to find dates among other casino employees, which was where I found that fucker Travis Samuels.

Two weeks after the police incident, I spotted the cop in the audience. Not the Latino guy, who’d seemed a little too ready to do that thing so many men do. Not exactly blaming the victim, not saying you deserved it or you asked for it, maybe more implying I contributed to creating a situation where a guy thinks he can make me do something. And the sad part is I get that. From one point of view, I did exactly that. I had sex with a man and I gave him a key to my apartment, and those two things add up to ‘well that means he has rights over you’ for a whole hell of a lot of people. But the thing is, it doesn’t mean that. Just because I had sex with him once, he didn’t have the right to have sex with me again. It was and is my choice, every single time. And this other cop, the one who was in the Army for a while and still looked like he could command a boot camp, the one who was tall and broad enough to make me feel petite and yet whose presence in my apartment had been not a threat but a comfort, the one I now remembered seeing here more than once before ... that cop clearly understood boundaries. He’d been pissed when the other officer asked that question, and when he’d asked about my robe.

He was out there in a sport jacket that might have been gray or blue, cut well enough to minimize his size, at a non-gaming table. He had a drink in front of him. Officer Kravitz. I wondered what his first name was.

During the mid-set break I told Gino, The good cop is here.

His eyebrows went up. Did you know he was coming?

Nope.

Do you mind?

Nope. I almost stopped with that. Then, because this was Gino, He’s been here before. He knew who I was, when they came to the apartment. I didn’t invite him to come back. Here, I mean.

I’m sure he didn’t expect you to. Gino sounded slightly amused. I think he thought I am more irresistible to men than I actually am. I am very resistible, apparently. Which, now that I thought about it, made the cop’s presence here best described as gratifying. He’d seen me at my worst, after all. I wasn’t saying anything. After a moment Gino nudged me and said, You want to swap anything in to the second half?

And I realized I did. Could we do ‘My Time of Day?’ You don’t do that much but it’s legit Sinatra. All the tunes – well, all the guy tunes – from ‘Guys and Dolls’ get a workout with us.

What do you think, fellas? Can we fake it well enough?

I can fake it like a debutante, said Ruben, whose knowledge of debutantes all came from the movie ‘Gone with the Wind’ as far as I knew. Maybe there was some debutante porn out there I didn’t know about. At any rate, Gino didn’t pursue that. We all flipped to the number in our fake books – that’s a thing when you have to be ready to perform a few hundred songs; it’s like a page for each song, with the chords and the basic structure, enough to get you through if you dry up – and then went back out onstage.

Kravitz was still there. I tried to be subtle, pointing him out to Gino. Then he completely blew my cover when, after three songs, he said, Here’s a number we like to do from time to time. It’s going out to everybody who lives at night like we do, including a friend of ours from the LVPD. ‘My Time of Day,’ folks. I wanted to kill him, but I played the intro, resolutely looking only at what was happening on stage. The reason that song wasn’t in regular rotation was, it’s tricky. It’s not danceable. It hasn’t got a conventional pop structure. It says more about the character of Sky Masterson than the whole rest of the musical, really. Anyway Gino sang the hell out of it