"You'll gamble everything we have, sweetheart."
"I need to win big just once, then I'll get everything back, Chloe."
"You won't win because the odds are stacked against you, but I can't talk you out of this, so I'll wait at the bar."
If I stayed, my husband and I would quarrel in front of others, and I didn't want that. As I turned to walk away, my heart sank, shoulders slumped, and anxiety choked me. My head buzzed, filled with fearful thoughts of debt collectors visiting our home and a neverending spiral of bad credit score issues plaguing our lives.
Lance was eternally convinced the next hand would be his route back to riches, but every week, when our local casino was shut to regular punters and my husband joined the high rollers for a private game, the same thing happened.
My husband always lost big. Every time, someone gave him more credit, and he lost that, too.
Lance's gambling disaster ran our lives for nearly a year, and now, we had practically nothing left. I couldn't stop him even though most of our income came from my job as an executive in a specialized beverage import/export conglomerate.
Every time we quarreled, Lance issued me an ultimatum of divorce or support him. I'd been steadfastly behind him so far, but frankly, I was wavering these days. Our marriage was important, and his proposed abandonment of it was a manifestation of his gambling addiction. I couldn't give up on my husband without a fight, but I felt jaded.
We married young. I was twenty-four, Lance was two years older, and, honestly, even though many people said it wouldn't last, everything was great in the beginning. Now, with six years invested in each other, we were both tired, clinging to love, and flat-broke.
I reached the bar, sliding my fingers along the solid mahogany slab while hauling myself into a luxurious leather stool. My figure-hugging, ankle-length, black satin dress fell aside at the leg split, but nobody saw since it was a private evening.
I stared at the highly polished bar counter, which came from a tree over a hundred years old, and pleaded for some wisdom to be imparted to me. When the barman, a friend, slipped a coaster in front of me, I looked up, feeling weary, and he smiled sympathetically.
"Would you like a drink, Chloe? It's on the house."
"Yeah, I'll take a mineral water, please, Harry. Ice and a slice."
"I see Lance is in the red again."
"Yup. He won't be done until we lose everything."
"Why do you put up with it?"
"Sometimes the only way out of a car crash is to start your escape after the vehicle stops rolling, Harry."
A round of applause rippled through the players and a few guests observing them. My heart soared because it signified a big win, and I glanced across the room hopefully. My husband remained slumped in his chair, looking every inch the sad, lonely loser he appeared to have become.
I glanced back at Harry, who looked sad for me. He turned away, leaving me alone in my misery. I sighed, rolled my eyes, and readied to collect my husband, ease his pain, and count our losses.
"Just before you leave, Chloe, may I say something?"
"Yes, Harry?"
"You need to leave, Lance. I hate saying it, but I've seen these guys habitually lose so many times that they never rise again. They don't stop gambling until their life's curtain comes down, and in his case, you'll get dragged along."
"Thanks, Harry. It's fair advice, and I appreciate it. I'll be seeing you around, probably here, next week and thanks for the drink."
I collected Lance from the gaming table, holding his trembling hand tightly. I prayed he could restrain the tears already welling in his eyes just long enough for me to get him through the front door.
A familiar voice shouted my name as we walked through the casino foyer.
"Hey, Chloe, can I have a word, please?"
I whirled around with my husband, who followed me in a slower orbit, turning like an oceangoing tanker. My old school friend Simon smiled when he approached with an arm outstretched.
For a moment, my shame and anxiety dissolved through the comfort of seeing an old friend. For a fleeting moment, I wasn't broke and steering my distraught husband out of the place.
"Hi Simon, it's lovely to see you. What's up?"
He didn't offer a hand to shake. Instead, Simon kept walking, gripped my elbow, and ushered me behind the reception desk toward a door.
"Come with me, please, Chloe. It's a private matter."
"Private to you and me or private, including Lance, too?"
"Both of you, please."
The smile was suddenly gone, and Simon sounded and looked intense. I knew something was awry, but I kept my calm because I couldn't imagine his concern might be about me.
Simon and I grew up together and had been friends for years. We dated in high school but never got past first base. We lost touch during college years, then met again when I began working as a buyer of expensive whisky while he worked at the casino.
When Simon appeared disinterested in catching up, I had a couple of romances, primarily through work. Then I met Lance, and well, the rest is history. He hurriedly led us down an office corridor, and my anxiety returned.
"Where are we going, Simon?"
"To my office. It's just around the next corner."
When we arrived, I was agog. Simon's office was luxurious, and it became clear that he had fared well. A brass plate on a wood sign at the front edge of his desk announced his position as the managing director. Framed photographs on the wall identified him and the other three part owners of the casino.
With two thousand slot machines and three hundred tables, the casino was a big deal, and its owner/manager had an office suite fit for a king. While Simon organized himself, I strolled around the room, taking in framed photos of him with visiting celebrities and charities to whom the casino donated.
The sofas were plush, baby blue Italian leather and the carpets were brilliant white, to the extent that I felt guilty wearing shoes. Simon's wooden furniture, including his desk and a conference table, was all matched, probably cut from the same giant mahogany tree in the rainforest.
"Wow, Simon. This is the most gorgeous office I've ever seen."
"Sit down, please, both of you. Would you like coffee or anything else to drink?"
"No, thanks."
I noticed he didn't pursue my husband for a response, but I sat down to hear my old friend out despite a rising irritation that I was being controlled. Lance browsed collectible sports memorabilia on display in a well-lit, fancy wood and glass cabinet.
My old friend stared at me as though he didn't know where to start, which prompted my palpitations. I grinned, frowned, and clasped my hands together.
"You're scaring me, Simon."
"Lance owes a hundred thousand dollars, Chloe."
"Oh fuck. I thought it was ten grand."
"Nope, ask him if you need confirmation."
My husband hadn't batted an eyelid, admiring a tatty baseball in a presentation box on a table. My heart pounded against an aching rib cage as the room swirled. I felt deceived and clinging to love by a thread.
"Lance?"
"Lance?"
"Lance?"
On the third time of asking, he spun around with a profoundly apologetic expression. He heard the first time, but my husband chose to ignore me.
"Sorry, babe. I didn't hear. These trophies are so awesome and must be worth a fortune."
"We have a problem to deal with."
"What's up, Chloe?"
"Did you hear what Simon said?"
"Yeah. Kind of."
"How will you pay the debt off?"
"Umm, well. It's, umm. Why don't you ask Simon?"
I turned from my stupidly nonchalant husband towards Simon. By now, both men had angered me, and I was sure my old friend knew. My husband had turned away again, but something about his answer gnawed at me.
"What does he mean, Simon?"
"Your husband has offered you in exchange for canceling the debt, Chloe."
It felt like someone had opened my skull and squeezed lime onto my brain. My face contorted in pain and anguish as I tried and failed several times to process and comprehend what Simon had just said. I sat straight, closed my legs tightly, and glanced from one man to another.
"Fucking, come again?"
"Lance has offered you in repayment of the debt."
"In what way has my husband offered me?"
Oh, come on, Chloe. You know what the bastard did.
My head snapped from one guy to the other as though I were spectating a tennis final. My stomach churned, and I felt lightheaded as the ramifications of Simon's words coalesced into a meaning that terrified me.
"Lance has offered you in a sexual way to cancel out his debt."
Each word was a hammer blow to my soul, smashing another massive dent in my marriage. I felt like a common whore, traded by a brothel owner for anyone with enough money to fuck me. Tears welled in my eyes, and I tore tissues from a box Simon handed me, soaking up the pain that rolled down my cheeks.
"To whom did my husband offer me?"
"Lance agreed to hand you over to a wealthy man holding his debt."
"And this man wants to fuck me?"
"It's not my place to say, Chloe."
"I need a fucking name, Simon. Who is it?"
"Peter Ingram."
"I've never heard of him."
I combed my near, mid, and long-term memory, recalling six Peter's in my life, none of them wealthy or with the surname Ingram. This situation wasn't born of an unrequited love of anyone I knew, so I imagined his desire to fuck me was about revenge over my husband or a simple kinky fixation.
"He's a local gangster, Chloe."
"Fucking hell. I won't do it. This is on Lance. He's a stupid wanker and needs to sort his debt out. I'm not fucking anyone for money like some cheap whore."
"One hundred thousand dollars isn't cheap."
"Fuck off, Simon. You know what I meant."
Simon stood up, came around his desk, and sat beside me on a leather sofa. I shook with anger and fear about Lance's deceit. I saw he was upset, too, but not for the same reasons as I was. When my husband knelt before me, tears rolled down his face.
"Peter will kill me if you don't do this, Chloe."
"Why, Lance? Why the fuck would you do this to us, to me?"
He bowed in shame, and tears rolled down his cheeks, falling onto Simon's beautiful white carpet.
"I never thought it would come to this. I honestly believed my luck would change."
I let go of my husband's hands, unable to contain myself in the face of his awful betrayal of me and our marriage. I stared at Simon, praying he had another solution, but his expression was blank.
"Is there any other way?"
"Can you or Lance access one hundred thousand dollars?"