I broke off from the herd after lunch since their plans included a trip to the Coca-Cola store and my plans did not. When I met up with the group at the Monte Carlo, they were just leaving a craps table that Michelle the Crazy Voodoo Lady had deemed dry of luck. They confessed to not having gone to the Coke store yet and left me to the tables. $125 later, I left the Monte Carlo and went over to the Boardwalk, self-proclaimed 'Home of the $3 Tables' teeming with floor-to-ceiling Point Pleasant flava.
Dinner at Red Square was excellent, from my banana-flavored martini, to Andy's steak tartare, to the lobster bisque and crabmeat pasta. There was some unpleasantness at the end of the meal, the kind that tends to come up when 12 people split one bill, but not enough to sour the evening. I'm happy that Andy thought to make the reservations, as I probably would never have thought to indulge in such an extravagant meal and I'm really pleased that we did.
After a costume change, we went straight back to the Monte Carlo. The craps tables were either full or too expensive (Rant: yes, yes, I know why they do it that way. But it doesn't seem to make sense to have 2 full $5 that are making money and three empty $10 that are not. Turn two of them to $5's, lure in some fish and do the switcheroo. Come on, people), so Keith and I played some blackjack.
Keith was dealt the worst Ace Split in the history of Ace Splits. It would have been a decent aces over threes two pair if he were playing another game, but alas, he managed to turn one soft twelve into two soft fourteens. Bra-vo.
Sitting at the table with us was a young man of Latin American heritage wearing his hair slicked tightly back into a braided ponytail that was held together with a puffy powder blue scrunchie which coordinated perfectly with his powder blue sweatsuit. He was a very good player to have at the table: friendly, free with the "nice hit"s, "ooh, bummer"s, and was always pleased to see someone get a blackjack.
Out of nowhere, the friendly, powder blue-clad Latino blurts to no one in particular, "Lance Burton brought his A-Game tonight, yo."
I blink, and realize that name is familiar. I look around, and about 20 feet from our table is the Lance Burton Theater. I ask our fellow player, "and what does Lance Burton do?"
"He's a magician, yo."
The dealer, in a voice much calmer than his, "oh, yes. It's a very nice show. He's got dancers on stage and everything. And soon, he's going to have a few that are topless."
Keith and I stifled our laughter long enough to make it back to the craps table where the rest of the crowd were beginning to collect their chips and split, as just like earlier, the table was running dry. Mickey was still in it, and since I had a loose $5 in my pocket and the table was mid-point, I dropped it on the come (uh, huhuhuhuh). The pit boss gave me a dirty look, but I knew it was a perfectly legal and good bet so I decided he could go fuck himself.
And fuck himself he did. About a half-hour later, they upped the table to $10, so Mickey and I decided that was our cue to leave. And somehow, with that sneer-worthy bet, I turned $5 into $86.