Page 26 of Worst Hand Wins in Deadwood

Chapter Twelve?

Over the following days, I collect the printed fliers from Michelle at the bank, meet with the other girls as they are able to take time from their jobs, and distribute said fliers around the downtown area, and at the hotels, convenient stores, and other shops where customers have to stand in line long enough to notice the announcement posted near the cash register. We eat lunch at the Buffalo and chat about the contest.

All of us are excited for what we are doing to help Kate. Never once do I share my gut-wrenching concerns about Donald Conway coming to Deadwood. I wouldn’t share that piece of news anymore than I would share that I am very good at gambling and that is where this prize money is coming from.

On Friday, I meet Michelle at the bank and withdraw $25,000 to be placed in a temporary account. Michelle, well, the bank rather, has large cardboard signs that look like giant checks, like what one sees Ed McMann handing to lucky Publisher’s Clearing House Weekly winners, or March of Dimes contributors bring to show off that a company is giving a large amount during a television broadcast marathon. We carefully,write the giver’s name as Buffalo Bodega Steakhouse. The amount in numerical and written form, and sign it in an illegible version of Dell Griffin’s handwriting. We decide to wait and have Dell print Kate Kroger’s name when the contest is over, just in case Kate spies the check before the contest is concluded.

Michelle has a giant envelope for the oversized check to go into so it is protected from mishaps, such as rain, or accidental spillage, or me.

“It’s as if they know I cannot be trusted!” I laugh. Michelle and I slide the check into the envelope. “Give me your keys, and I’ll put this in your back seat.” I say.

She nods and fishes out her purse.

As I leave the bank, I put the envelope in Michelle’s green and white Mini Cooper. It barely fits the width of her English import but I get the door closed without crushing the edge of the envelope. I head to the trolley pick-up post with the plan that Michelle will bring the prop tomorrow thirty minutes before the contest begins. In fact, we all plan to be there thirty minutes before everything begins, except me and Kate, of course. I have already asked Kate to drive me to the Buffalo. Unless something unforeseen happens, we’ll get there approximately ten minutes prior to the contest starting.

I giggle to myself as I ride the trolley down to where I get off and walk the two uphill blocks to my house. Tomorrow is going to be so much fun!

My joy is suddenly tussled to the ground like a bully wanting my swing, and demands I get out of it. I trudge up the elevated sidewalks. Can we pull this off? Will Kate be completely fooled? I had originally offered to give her twenty-thousand dollars, we changed the prize amount to twenty-five thousand. For one thing, the four girls scraped together five-thousand more and, second, so that it would not trigger her memory of myoffer. She’s a sharp cookie, and I expect if we gave her twenty-thousand, she’d correlate the two and refuse the funds.

Will it work? Will all this be for nothing?

I brood on my doubts as I walk up my street. My lungs are already laboring as I breathe so hard I sound like I am having an asthma attack. The thought of climbing those horrible stairs, too, gives me reason to look for something to break up the ascension to my door. My eyes land on Blaze’s door. Maybe I’ll stop by for a breather and then go to my house. Would he be awake? Had he had enough time to get the rest he needed in order to be alert for his night vigilance?

Even if he is still asleep, would he mind me interrupting him? If he truly cares about me, wants to spend time with me, like he insinuates he does, wouldn’t he be glad to have an opportunity to spend time with me? It’s been a good seven hours since he got home. Don’t virile men generally need less sleep? Like five to six hours?

Could I be any more egotistical?

Sucking air, like I’m trying to breathe through a wet rag, I decide to chance it. I desperately need a break before I climb those stairs! It’s either sitwithBlaze for a few minutes, or sit on his porch alone until I catch my breath.

“With,” seems less stalkerish than without.

I knock on his door.

A smiling Blaze stands behind his door as he opens it for me. This is a good sign that I’m not disturbing his sleep and he welcomes my intrusion.

“Hey.” I purr, hoping I sound as sultry as I did in my head when I thought about just saying the one word as my greeting. Truth is, I’m breathing so hard from my walk up here, the one word is all that I can manage without giving away that I am saturating at 30% Oxygen.

“Hey, you.” His mischievous grin rewards me with assurance that I am succeeding in being seductive. Score two points for me! He steps back, inviting me inside. I accept by crossing his threshold. I’m still sucking air, but trying not to look or sound like it.

“You want some water?” He asks, moving toward his kitchen. Concern replacing mischief.

I nod.

“You have dinner plans?” Blaze keeps an eye on me as I take the water bottle and go sit down on his minimalistic couch, slowly inhaling and exhaling to regain a normal pattern for breathing. I don’t understand why I have not acclimated to Deadwood yet.

I shake my head in answer. I still don’t trust more than one word to come out of my mouth without giving away my winded circumstance.

“Want to stay for dinner?” He leans against his kitchen counter, smiling at me, with his arms crossed. His chest muscles bulged under his tight t-shirt, bearing the dark sweat rings. Had he just been workin out? Man, if that were true, he had slept less than I thought. I’m not so sure I’m fooling him at all. There’s too much mischief in his eyes. I duck my chin and smile, too. I can feel my lungs negotiating with my vocal cords and risk the ability to speak. “I walked from the Trolley stop… and needed to rest before… I tackle my stairs.”

He tossed his head back in an, “oh, I see,” kind of gesture. “So,” he pursed his lips. “You didn’t come over for a dinner invitation?”

“No. But I’d love to accept one anyway.” I say quickly, hoping I can make up for the obvious selfish attempt to catch my breath by going inside his house.

Blaze nodded. “Good. Because I was about to text you anyway.”

Was he? Whew! What a relief. I am not imposing after all. “You don’t have work tonight?” I ask.

“Well, yes, but not until much later.” He walks to his fridge and disappears behind the opened door. “Can I offer you some wine?”

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