“Chrissy,” he answers, nodding. A minute later, my usual Stoli and seven is placed in front of me. Twirling the small black straw around the glass, I wait for my invite just as I’ve been taught. I know the cameras are on me right now, Len most likely debating about letting me in. God knows I owe him money, but the one saving grace is that I can win it back plus some.

I’ll be the first one to admit, I’ve played better, but that’s what happens when the pressure hits. When you know you have to win in order to eat, to clothe yourself, to survive, the stakes are higher. The need to win outweighing every other fight in you.

It takes three drinks tonight, which kind of sucks because I like to play with only one drink in me. Enough to take the edge off and relax me, but not enough to make me sloppy. “Go on in,” Hank says, nodding toward the red door, and I reluctantly leave a twenty on the bar top. “No, Chrissy, I got you.” Hank pushes it back my way, and I give him a small smile for his kindness.

Another long and deep breath later and I’m in the room. They should refer to it as the red room of death. Poker tables fill the rooms; poor and rich men seated next to one another. No doubt the rich thinking they have the poor, but I’ve seen those tables turn in one deal. Suddenly, the poor become more fortunate and the rich leave empty handed. Too bad it’s can’t be like that outside of the red room.

Old vinyl chairs rest in the center of the room, strewn about around the round tables. Red … everything I see is red. Isn’t red for sexy? You’d think that it’s a strip club the way it’s decorated. But that has been tried before, failing miserably. The last thing you want around when someone begins losing all their money is to have a hooker to bury their sorrows in. To save those last few bills to sneak into the hands of a woman, who will make you forget you just lost your last buck.

Just when I’m about to sit down in order to wait my turn, a man stumbles away from a table in front of me. Ivy, the dealer, waves me forward and motions toward the seat. She smiles at me and out of all the tables I could end up at, Ivy’s is the best. It has to mean a sign of good luck, right? Placing the chips I’d just cashed in when I walked in on the table, I patiently wait for my deal. My drink of choice quickly appears in front of me, and I nod a thank you to the waitress.

It’s nice to have Ivy dealing me the cards, but my companions couldn’t be worse. Stench number one to my right keeps leaning my way, barely able to hold his body up. While Stench number two to my left keeps checking me out from the corner of his eye. I take a drink and wince at the enormous amount of alcohol burning down my throat. Hank was being easy on me out in the common bar.

Ivy deals the cards and everyone antes up. The first couple hands come my way, ‘blessing’ me with a small windfall. Even though the guilt still remains, with the chips stacked in front of me, my lips begin turning up, over confidence building inside of me. Then jackass number two orders me another drink and begins chatting in my ear. Obviously, he’s a newbie because most people around here know my dad. No one messes with someone else’s child. Note to add, rule number three is you never lean into someone after the cards have been dealt.

“Hey, why don’t we get out of here?” he whispers in my ear, nudging my drink closer to me.

“Nah, I’m good right where I am.” I give Ivy a small smile, and she snidely raises her eyebrows.

“Hey, Chuck, why don’t you take a break?” Ivy says to him dealing the cards out.

“I’d love to, as long as this fine Sheila joins me.” His finger brushes along my leg, and I jerk it the other way.

“Um … I wasn’t aware we’re in Australia,” I remark, and Ivy tightens her lips, withholding her laughter.

Tossing my chips in, I attempt to disregard him, but the lingering scent of dime store cologne mixed with cinnamon brings an incredibly nauseous sensation to my stomach. Trying to appear unfazed, I drink my vodka with nothing but a splash of cranberry and focus on my cards.

Five hands later, my chips are slowly disappearing into the hands of the others. My ‘blessings’ slowly blessing the tall lanky guy at the end of the table, who consistently mocks me by winking every time his hand slides the chips his direction. He’s kind of cute, college kid most likely. Hat on backwards, vibrant jade-colored eyes, t-shirt with some sarcastic comment too faded to read. You have to know someone to get into Len’s games, so the curiosity to who he knows keeps my eyes focused on him.

An hour later, my last chip clinks into the center pile. It’s small, but I need it to stay in the game. It’s all about staying in the game, because once you’re out, you’re finished. Unfortunately for me, Len let me slide two nights ago with being short a couple hundred. Biting on my lip with my foot bobbing up and down under the table, I turn the corners of my cards one more time. Eyeing college stud, who glances down at the empty spot in front of me and then back to his cards. His lips slowly turn up into a Cheshire grin.

“Fold,” he says, pushing his cards toward Ivy.

I allow my eyes to narrow toward his as I grab my miniscule winnings. He gives me a full smile and winks again. If I wasn’t so desperate, I’d chuck them in his face. Thanks to good ole Dad, I’m as desperate as a life-sentenced prisoner in front of the parole board.

“Glad to see you can continue playing.” Sleazebag next to me moves a little closer, his gold ringed hand placing another drink at my side.

Giving him a small smile, I concentrate on Ivy. For the next two hours, I stay afloat barely. College stud throws me some bones, and I’m ashamed that I allow him to do it. I finally stop drinking, but it’s too late, the vodka weighs heavy in my bloodstream already.

The flirtatiousness between college guy and myself begins becoming more heated and since the spot next to him just opened up, I debate changing seats. He nods his head, insinuating that I do just that before his eyes dart to the center of the room. Then as though I spit in his face, a sour look crosses his mouth and he sits up straighter in the chair. Confused on what happened, I play another hand in my current seat. Sleazy to the right leans in to me, his hot breathe connecting to my neck.

Sliding my head away, I attempt to concentrate on Ivy, who looks up and behind me, placing the cards down on the table. Tilting my head to her in confusion, she says nothing, but then a firm grasp wraps around my upper arm and yanks me from the chair.

Thrown off kilter, my eyes blink a few times before I’m out of the room and into the bar. The guy pushes me onto a bar stool and signals for Hank, the bartender. When I meet the pair of blue eyes that knows my complete past, I debate if I could outrun him.

“What the hell? I had them.” I yank my arm away.

“You didn’t have them. You’re under by over five bills. You’ll never make it up, and pretty soon Len will come in and stop it himself. Why the hell are you here, anyway? Aren’t you the one who hates this scene? Everything and everyone who’s involved?” He sneers my own heated words I spoke to him once upon a time.

“I do. Just let me go back in there.” I start digging in my pockets, as if I actually have money in them.

“Hell no, you stay here.” Dex signals to Hank again to get me a drink. Already feeling a little wobbly, I don’t really think it’s a good idea. But, hey, what else do I have going for me?

“Give her a water, will you Hank?” Dex asks, but when Dex disappears through the red door, Hank places a shot and refill of my drink in front of me. Slamming the shot glass down on the bar top after I pour it down my throat, I quickly chase it with my Stoli and seven.

Leaning my head in my hands, I figure Dex might be in there saving me from tonight, but he can’t save me from everything. Not that I would ever tell him exactly why I’m here.