A Chance at Passion

A way out . . . .

Half a million dollars is a lot of money.

"Mr. Walker--"

Brett turned about quickly with a suddenly confident smile on his lips. "I'm in."

* * * *

He was like a machine focused only on the outcome, anticipating the moves of the other players, reading their faces, looking for tells. He remained rigidly stoic, and noted a few looks of consternation amongst his opposition. He was up against Old Lady, a hefty man Brett could only call Pudge, and a tall, skinny man with a bad complexion and wiry facial hair which Brett had come to refer to as Scruffy.

"Cards."

Old Lady slid one across the felt table top, as did Pudge. Scruffy gave up two. Brett didn't move.

"Mr. Walker?" asked the dealer.

He gestured casually. "I'm fine."

"In that case, I raise two grand," said Scruffy, dropping the chips on the pile. Brett and the others all chipped in.

"I raise another five," Brett said, taking up half of what he had before him and setting it carefully in the middle of the table.

The others shifted in their seats. Pudge cleared his throat. He looked uncomfortable. Finally, after a few moments, he sighed heavily. "Fold," he announced and set his cards down.

Scruffy snorted. "Not me," he said as he met the raise. "You're bluffing."

Brett only shrugged, keeping his eyes on the cards.

Old Lady hesitated a moment, then also chipped in. It was time to call.

This was the big gamble, Brett realized. But he had a feeling. Fate, perhaps, or providence. Unless he did something really stupid, this was going to work out.

He hoped.

"Let's see what you got," drawled Scruffy, setting down a pair of jacks. Old Lady dropped a triplet of sixes.

"Nice," Brett said, then very deliberately revealed his straight.

Scruffy stared, mouth agape. "Son of a bitch," he grumbled, then slapped the table and pushed up. He shook his head with a rueful smile, wagging a finger at Brett. "I'll be looking for you next time," he said, then stepped away.

Brett smiled, easing back in his chair as he let the tumultuous pounding of his heart fade to normal. "Thanks for the warning."

"Nicely done, Mr. Walker," Preach commented. He looked from Brett to Old Lady. "So now it's down to just the two of you. Half a million dollars to the winner, and nothing to the loser."

Brett nodded with a smug smile, the best he could deliver. He addressed Old Lady. "Shall we?"

He stared back, the corner of her mouth twitching. "By all means," she said.

* * * *

Brett stared at the cards laid out upon the green felt table top. They seemed to glow on their own, as if infused with some sort of supernatural power. The ace of spades sat prominently atop a classic flush, quietly lauding its supreme status.

His shoulders slumped. He managed a chuckle. Win some, lose some, he thought darkly, leaning back from the table and lifted his gaze to address Old Lady. "Good hand," he said.

She smiled. "Thank you, young man," she responded, and lifted her glass. "Age has taught me many things."

Preach clapped his hands together loudly. "Mrs. Carmichael, congratulations," he said heartily. "You've won the first Aguilar Poker Tournament!"

The elderly woman beamed. "Thank you."

Preach turned briefly to Brett. "Damn good game, Mr. Walker, but we can only have one winner."

"I understand," said Brett.

Preach gave a brief wink. "My assistant will show you out," he said.

Brett sighed and stood from the table. A slender young man approached with an expectant look. Brett managed a smile.

"Guess I should be happy with my winnings, right?"

"Absolutely, Mr. Walker," the assistant agreed. He gestured to the door. "Follow me."

* * * *

The key to a good bluff, Brett thought as he left his car, stacked boxes cradled in his hand. Is knowing how to use your opponent's perceptions against him.

He walked past the carelessly-parked vehicles, most of them trucks and Jeeps and other four-wheel-drive monstrosities on his way to the double-wide trailer. He ascended the stairs to a small deck built of weathered wood and kicked the screen door.

There was no response after nearly a minute. Brett could hear loud male conversation from within the abode. He grimaced, lifted a foot, and managed to touch the doorbell with the toe of his shoe.

Mumbled words drifted closer until they were almost intelligible, before the door on the other side opened. Ino's husband frowned upon him, only briefly looking at the boxes Brett held.

"Who the fuck are you?"

"Uh, delivery from the Double J," Brett said in his most amiable voice. "Four cherry apple pies. I think I got the right place."

The man rolled his eyes. He was already more than halfway drunk, and the televised fight had not even begun. "Probably my wife," he grumbled, then leaned back, cocking his head over his shoulder. "Ino! Get your ass up here!"

Brett struggled to maintain an impersonal, professional smile as he waited. Finally, Ino's husband stepped back as Brett's beautiful lover approached. Her eyes bulged at first as she saw him, but she corrected herself quickly.

Brett could not help but look over the young woman. She wore a tiny blue bikini top that just covered her nipples, and a pair of denim cutoffs that would have made Daisy Duke blush. Brett would have felt instant arousal if not for the fact that his lover's attire was the result of her husband's demand.

"You order some fucking pies?" her husband asked.

Ino's eyes flickered back and forth from her husband to Brett. She caught on quickly. "Uh, yeah," she said, effecting a disarming smile. "Thought the guys might like them."

Her husband rolled his eyes. "Should'a got more beer, but hey, pie is always good," he said and stepped away, giving Ino a smack upon one of her mostly-bared buttocks. She stiffened with a scowl, but kept her tongue in check. Once her husband was gone, she addressed Brett.

"What are you doing?"

He smirked. "Just thought I'd bring some pie," he said.

Quickly, he transferred the boxes over to Ino, who set them upon the top of a bookshelf near the door. Then she stepped out, looking both apprehensive and hopeful. The door closed behind her.

Urgently, needfully, she pressed herself to him, whimpering into his mouth as she kissed him. Her hands gripped his shirt, his pants. "Oh, God, Brett, I've been thinking about you all day," she panted.

He gently pushed her back with a smile on his lips and his hands upon her shoulders. He gazed into her eyes. "Been thinking about you, too."

She grinned, giving an adoring gaze. "Did you win?" she asked hopefully.

He studied her face a moment. "I won," he said, then cast his eyes down. "And lost."

Ino's shoulders fell. "Oh."

He shrugged. "Still made twenty grand," he said. "Not bad for three days."

She smiled affectionately. "That's still a lot of money," she said.

"Enough for two people to live on for a little while, right?"

Ino's smile drained away. Her soft pink lips parted beneath an expression of incredulity. "'Two?'" she asked.

Brett touched her face. She leaned her cheek against his hand. "What do you want, Ino?" he asked her.

"I want you," she responded breathlessly.

His eyes bore into hers. "No. What do you really want?" he asked. "Not from me, not from him, not from anyone. What do you want?"

She swallowed thickly, eyes shaking. Finally, she looked away. "I just wanna be able to . . . to live," she said at last. Her furtive eyes darted back to his. "I wanna be able to come home to somewhere I don't hate. I wanna feel like I don't belong to anyone. I wanna have great sex." She laughed chaotically, but it faded away before a petulant countenance.

She grabbed handfuls of Brett's shirt and spoke in an emphatic voice. "I wanna be free."

Brett placed his hands over Ino's and gently uncurled her fingers. "If you could leave right now, would you?" he asked.

Her head snapped up, wide dark eyes glistening with hope. "Without even thinking about it."

He touched her cheek. "You working tomorrow?"

She nodded. "I go in at eleven."

Brett smiled, then stepped back, though he still held her hands. "I'll be there."

Ino squirmed on her feet and squeezed his hands. "You wanna come back later?" she asked hopefully. "He won't know if I'm gone; he'll be too drunk."

Brett took his hands from hers. Their fingertips danced together briefly. "Tomorrow," he said, then turned and headed down the steps.

He did not look back. The walk back to his car seemed to take forever.

* * * *

The rain that had been threatening the border town finally let loose its torrent early that Saturday morning. By the time Ino made her way to the bus stop at the entrance of the trailer park, light rain had given way to a sound and steady downpour. She clutched the nylon windbreaker about her shoulders as she waited for the bus.

Stepping off on the edge of the parking lot of the Double J some fifteen minutes later, Ino danced through spray and across puddles on her way to the front door. She cursed under her breath as she was forced to take a few extra steps to get around a parked yellow cab taxi. Even as she did so, however, she spied the sleek little convertible roadster parked near the entrance. Her heart leapt.

"Hey there, little girl!" exclaimed Mona as Ino stepped through the doors. The older woman looked amused. "Get a little wet this morning?"

Ino shook off her windbreaker and gave a wry look. "Just a little."

Mona smacked her gum, looking her protege over. "Just so you know, you got something waiting for you."

Ino looked excited. "I know."

Mona chuckled, watching after the girl as she darted toward her station.

The part of the dining room to which Ino had been assigned was mostly empty of customers when Ino entered. In fact, it was entirely empty of patrons, although, within the furthest booth, a single empty glass sat upon the table, beside a conspicuous manilla envelope.

Ino approached slowly, brow furrowed, not knowing what to expect. She looked back, hoping to see Brett somewhere, or even Mona, but neither were there.

Perturbed, Ino took up the envelope, surprised by the weight; it jingled. Opening the flap, she found a folded note taped to the inside of the envelope, conspicuously labeled "read first."

What's going on? She unfolded the note and read with some agitation.

"Ino,

"I originally wanted to do this face-to-face, but I knew I'd change my mind halfway through and sweep you off your feet. As much as we both might want that, I can't do it. It wouldn't be right for either of us. Everything would be great and wonderful for a while, and then we'd both start thinking we made a mistake. I'm not ready to settle down, and you settled down to soon.

"But I can't just leave you where you are. You said you wanted to be free. Well, now you are. Money doesn't fix everything, but it sure as hell can help. You'll find everything in the big envelope.

"Good luck, Ino. I couldn't say it to your face, but I'm pretty sure I love you.

--Brett"

She snapped her head up, tears dripping from her eyes, as she read the last lines. Mona approached her, a slice of pie on a plate.

"Where is he?" Ino asked desperately, jumping to her feet. "Where's Brett?"

Mona frowned. "I thought you saw him outside. He left just before you came in. Here, he told me to give you--"

But Ino ignored the woman and instead jogged toward the front doors. The rain was no less oppressive than it had been, but Ino didn't care. She dashed out into the thick of it, stopping at Brett's car. It sat empty.

Perturbed, confused, anxious, she cast her gaze about. Where would he go if he didn't take his . . . A sudden strange realization dawned on her. . . . car?

Uncaring that her clothing was now soaked through, clinging like wet paper to her skin, Ino spun about and marched back into the diner. Mona scurried toward her with the windbreaker held at the ready.

"Girl, are you crazy?"

"Hey!" Ino barked toward the dozen or so men sitting at the diner's bar. She ignored Mona's offering of the jacket and marched towards the men as they turned toward her, bemused expressions coloring their faces as they beheld the young woman's perfectly-outlined breast.

"Something we can help you with, Ino?"

"Yeah, some of you guys followed that poker tournament at the casino, right?"

A few men nodded. One raised his hand. "Yep. Hell of a game."

"Who won?"

"Some dude. Some old lady supposedly took the pot, but turns out she was cheating. So the guy she was up against in the last round won."

"What was his name?"

"Uh . . . Bill Walker. I think. Something like--"

"Brett?" she asked hopefully.

The man snapped his fingers. "That's the guy. Hey, Ino, I didn't know you liked poker . . . ."

The man's words trailed behind her as Ino returned to the table, leaving a trail of droplets across the floor. Mona huffed to catch up.

"Girl, what the hell is going on?" the older woman queried.

But Ino snatched up the manilla envelope. He wouldn't. He couldn't. She dumped out the contents. A single large, silver key clattered across the table, along with a simple white envelope. Ino's heart flipped. Madre de Dios, He did.

Behind and beside the young woman, Mona gasped. "Is that . . . what I think it is?"

Struggling to hold her emotions in check, Ino held up the key. "If you think it's the key to a solomente dark blue convertible, you're right."

"Oh, that's better than an engagement ring!" exclaimed Mona. "So, when's the date?"

Ino chuckled, her shoulders falling. The urgency was gone, having suddenly vanished upon sight of the key. It put all the pieces together for her, told her everything she needed to know.

"There's not going to be a wedding," she said, then picked up the envelope. It opened easily, revealing a check. Her eyebrows arched, and she felt another palpitation in her chest. "But there sure as hell is gonna be a divorce."

Mona peered over the younger woman's shoulder. Her eyes bulged comically. "A hundred thousand dollars!" she shrieked, then slapped a hand over her mouth. When she spoke again, it was nearly in a whisper. "A man's gonna give you that much money and he don't wanna marry you?"

Ino smiled. "Yep. And I think I love him because of that."

"Now that just don't make any sense."

Ino turned to the woman who had been like a second mother for the previous five years. "No, it doesn't," she admitted, fresh tears welling in her eyes. Impulsively, she hugged Mona, crying out a mixture of emotions. She felt as if she had lived through the entire day, yet it had barely begun.

"Well," Mona said as she and Ino pulled back. "You need to dry off. Why don't you sit and have your pie?"

Ino glanced to the plate sitting upon the table and emitted a small laugh. "Cherry apple, naturalmente."

"Of course. Your favorite."

"For so many reasons," Ino said, taking a seat and picking up the fork. She sliced off a bite and regarded it for a moment. "Oh, Mona?"

"Yeah, hon?"

Ino grinned and shoved the bite into her mouth. "I quit," she said as she chewed.

Mona grinned. "Bet your ass."

* * * *

The salesman looked up from the game of solitaire before him as he heard the door chime at the front of the lobby. Standing quickly, he stepped from his small glass-walled cubicle to see a well-dressed young man setting a suitcase on the tiled floor. Behind him the rainy gloom, a yellow cab was leaving the curb.

"Good morning! I gotta tell you, with all this rain, I didn't think anyone would be coming through the door today. How are you doing, sir? I'm Stan Hanley."

Brett smiled upon the salesman, accepting the man's proffered hand and introducing himself. "Nice to meet you."

"So, what brings you here?" Stan asked, glancing briefly to the suitcase on the floor. "Wife kick you out?"

Brett chuckled. "No, sir," he said with the air of a man who held all the right cards. "I'm looking for an RV. And--" he opened his blazer, revealing a bank bag tucked inside the waistband of his slacks. "I'm paying cash."

* * * *

Two hours later, Brett pulled the hulking monstrosity of a Windsport motorhome out of the dealership's parking lot. It wasn't brand new, but new enough, and with enough features that Brett felt he could live comfortably within it for quite some time. It wasn't a roadster, but driving it somehow made Brett feel more free, more alive.

I hear New Mexico has some pretty good casinos, he thought as he angled the RV west.

* * * *

On the other side of Del Rio, Ino finished loading the trunk and front seat of the roadster. She could not take much, but she didn't care; she was finally and for the first time truly free to do what she wanted. She had written and re-written the letter to her soon-to-be ex-husband several times before finally leaving a simple note:

"Roberto,

"Clean your own fucking house. I'm gone. The next thing you hear from me will be from my divorce lawyer.

"Ino."

She drove away from the trailer park and toward the highway. On a whim, she decided to turn west.

As Ino drove, the grin upon her face grew and grew.

-fin-