His arms were crossed and nearly touching my shoulders. I inched forward, leaning into the chair my husband was sitting in.
The stakes were high for one gambler. Despite the silent confusion the packed crowd around the roulette table had created, all focus appeared to be on the player sitting at the end of the table.
My husband had moved his attention off of his own gambling, his usual numbers avoided as he played only the outside and peered down the table at the man two seats away.
The man had been up $150,000. Now we watched, mesmerized as he wagered $50,000 on his favorite number, 15, and scattered five chips around the table.
With the tall stacks on 15, the randomly placed thousand dollar chips seemed like pocket change. He had put them down as if spilling liquid from an overfull glass. One rolled from where he let it go onto a number in a different row. He left it there, disinterested that it had shifted from where it appeared he had wanted it to land.
The man standing behind me said something in a hushed voice.
“Excuse me?” I asked while turning halfway around.
“Rich,” the man grunted with a tinge of jealous sarcasm.
Turning back to the table, I saw that the ball was in motion. I looked around at the faces in the crowd. Players seated, onlookers standing. All attention was on either the wheel or the high roller. Many people, I assumed, were thinking of the number 15.
Personally, my mind was elsewhere. I leaned over and whispered to my husband, “what are you thinking about right now.”
He paused a moment and while he sat staring at the chips on 15 he said, “our mortgage.”
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