As we moved through the room, I was struck by the difference between the Vegas I’d seen in advertisements and movies, and the reality. Maybe somewhere on the Strip there were casinos filled with handsome couples, grinning and cheering and having the time of their life, but here gambling seemed more a life sentence than a vacation. Those sitting at the antiquated slot machines looked like extras from a zombie flick, eyes glazed, faces ashen as they fed the coins and pulled the handles. The tables weren’t much better, everyone crowded around, expressions solemn, gazes fixed on the worn green cloth. At some tables, only the tinkle of the dice and the murmur of the dealers’ voices broke the quiet. Then we came along…

“But you promised,” I squealed as Jack dragged me to the blackjack table. “I wanna see Celine.”

Jack leaned down to my ear and hissed loud enough for everyone around to hear. “Shut the fuck up, or the only thing you’ll be seeing is the inside of the hotel room.”

I sniffled. Jack laid down a hundred-dollar bet and tried to snake his arm around my waist, but I sidestepped away.

“Come on, baby,” Jack said, his hand sliding to my rear. “Gimme some luck.”

“You said this trip was for me.”

“You give me a couple hours and we’ll see Celine, Newton…Hell, you can play with the fucking white tigers if you want, okay, babe?”

He started playing…and losing, a hundred bucks at a time, then two hundred. He won the odd hand, but most of his money went back to the dealer. Wasn’t long before a server sidled up with a tray of free drinks…the least they could offer for such a generous donation.

“Uh-uh,” I said, patting my still-flat stomach. “No booze for this baby. I got six more months and I’m sticking to it.”

Jack gave a proud papa grin and patted my stomach. “That’s my girl.” He shot the grin around the table. “Our first…and I’m here to win a room full of baby furniture.”

A murmured round of congratulations on the first point, tainted with skepticism on the second. The server returned with a soda for me and a Scotch for Jack. He made a show of taking a big gulp, but very little of the liquid left the glass before he surreptitiously slid it aside. My soda was supposed to be Coke. Judging by the taste, though, they’d substituted a no-name brand, then further cut costs topping it up with tap water.