Let it Ride

Mission 1. Hook up with someone as old as my mom (54) and as young as my sister (20) in a month.
Mission 2. Live a completely gay lifestyle (without the gay sex) for a month.
Mission Three: Live without an apartment for a month.

It was a moment of Pantone panic, the colors of green, red and black swirled like a child’s melting Neopolitan. But, I pulled myself together, laid it down and won. Only one more spin to go. I needed a breather more than I needed closure.

I stepped away from the table, but stayed at the high-stakes area. There was a pseudo couch, lounge thing. I walked over to it, sat down and let the leather cool my slacks and my nerves. Yea, I said slacks. I knew jeans and an “I’m a Pepper” T-shirt wouldn’t grant me the access I needed to this exclusive venue. I looked around the Bellagio, and sipped my whiskey. I thought of what brought me here.

Twelve hours ago, I was still thinking this thing through. Jelly had given me some good advice on numbers and percentages, and I solicited the help of others as well. But as much as I worried about it all, I kept the glass half-full. The worst I could do was lose $5k on the first spin or $10k on the second. But the best I could do, with luck being my ally, was to walk away with $20k on two spins. I liked the odds, even if they were aligned with the existentialist philosophy of Rosencrantz and Guilderstern.

Some other advice I got was Baccarat, but that sounded like a game of skill. I was looking for a game of chance. A game that the universe controlled. And that game was roulette. It offered the romance and happenstance that I needed for this effort. And I didn’t really want to be celebrating my 30th birthday at the Baccarat table with a bunch of Asian guys wearing yellow Porsche sunglasses and smoking tiparellos.

So there were better ways to win, but I liked this the best. I was smart about things, though. I learned there are different wheels, an American and European one. The roulette wheel at Bellagio had some advantage, and gave better odds than some of the others. I headed there.

I took another drink and started walking toward the table, throwing away that stupid tiny straw and taking another pause. This wasn’t about the money. It never was. It was about risks. It was about taking the biggest chance in my life. And it was about doing it on a day I would never forget, my 30th birthday. Fuck all.

I stacked the chips, $10k on the side of the table and stood there for a bit. The dealer smiled politely. He was a middle-aged man that appeared older than he probably was. His uniform seemed to fit his personality so well, seeing him out of it would be securely out of context. The black socks, the white legs, the seersucker shorts, the reflective bald dome. Here he blended. In the real world, he blinded. He smiled again, this time more as a question or a nudge.

I answered him with a blank stare that did not reveal the epiphany that was going on inside my head. I felt like a person on his deathbed who was saying goodbye to one life to make room for another. But, that act was not as morose as it sounds. It was a freeing experience, the release of the fear and buildup and anticipation. It was a thought bubble that helps melt away a lifetime of thinking and brings peace. I let go of my twenties and gave birth to my thirties.

The slight change of perspective made me smirk. I was satisfied with myself. Indelible. Narcissistic. At that moment I felt worldly profound and understandably aloof. Before I was focusing on what was being lost and I failed to understand what could be won. And it had nothing to do with money. It was something far more important--the hopeful beginning of a new decade of my life.

So, I took a moment to say goodbye to college, my first real job and the friends and loves that have come and gone in the last ten years. And I said hello to the decade that will see me marry, have children and become whole. I was ready. Ready for a new beginning.

My hand moved black. Spin

I watched the ball swirl like a dream-sequence transition. I watched the dealer’s face, half-wanting me to win, half-wanting me to lose. I watched my chips. I watched my twenties. I watched Tracy and Amanda and black and Yellow. I watched my college roommate who died in a car crash. I watched my life. And then it all came to a grinding halt.

Black.

I reacted like I thought I would. Stoic on the outside, flamboyant on the inside. I tipped the dealer and soon the pit boss and another attendant came by to help me with my chips and offer me a suite so I could lose the money later. I agreed to the lodgings, was handed a key on the spot, and cashed out for the night. It was 3:35. I won at 3:33. I smirked again. The universe is a fucking head trip.

So I took the chance and walked away with $20,000. I walked outside into 4 a.m., away from the pure, stale air of the casino and into the hot, purple Las Vegas night. I turned 30 without anyone from my past. I turned 30 in a way I will never forget.

I turned 30.

I breathed, sat down on the steps and watched the drunk-sweat-late-night ants walk by, holding their cups. The hip flask of Jack was held up high as I toasted the neon landscape, I toasted them. I toasted everyone.

I won. I fucking won.

And it had nothing to do with black.