LENA

THE SMELL that filled my nose was not the usual scent of chemical spirit of a fresh paint. But what trickled my nose was the pungent smell of alcohol, and cigars.

My ears tingled with the loud playing of the sultry music, ears grabbing the clicks of the heels of the strippers dangling on the pole above the table.

Glancing down at my phone, the time read 1:30 am. By this time, I, too, would have been dangling on the pole after mornings of forging fake art on the canvas, wearing heels -inches- higher than necessary, clothes wrong for the season.

I didn’t mind.

My body was sinuous, and in a world of sinful men, that seemed to chase everything under the skirt, I was sure meant to use to my advantage.

The sound of rolling dice caught my ears, as I dragged my eyes from the exotic stripper to the round table in front of me.

Gambling.

Round table, consisting of a man and another— my father, with several men standing around like bodyguards. I was really unamused being here. I didn’t want to be here, didn’t like being here. I. WANT. TO LEAVE. But unfortunately… I can’t.

My eyes strained at my father’s opposition. At the moment, I was too embarrassed to stare at my father. He sat with his shirtless back hunched and lips cracked from anxious biting.

He was losing.

My dad was losing so badly. It was comical. Viktor—my father— sat only with his briefs on. The Acne studios pants he wore, with his Dolce & Gabbana belt, were gone, taken by the man in his front.

I truly wondered what he was planning to use my father clothes and jewelries for. It didn’t look like he was struggling for money. Or honestly, none of them looked like they were struggling for money, so I wonder why.

Unlike my father’s anxious and agonizing look, his opposition, was relaxed, and leaning deeply to his seat.

The dealer toyed with the extra chips in his finger knuckles,

“Last hand? Gents?” He asked. The dealer had an amused look in his eyes.

Of course, why wouldn’t he? When my idiot father didn’t know when to back down.

Perhaps, it was when he was buck naked, he would realize he was losing.

The cards were dealt, and I rolled my eyes as my father picked it like it was lava in hand.

I watched the match like it was one of a lifetime match.

His opposer, pushed some chips forward with two fingers.

“Raise…” He let his voice linger, as though letting the tension rise. I visibly rolled my eyes.

“… One fifty grand”.

My rolled eyes, widened. One fifty grand?!

I immediately whipped my head to my father, wondering what he would do.

Viktor chuckled, but with was dry and without confidence.

“Still trying to bluff your way into my pockets, boy?”

Unamused, the man replied, “I don’t bluff, I merely collect what’s mine.”

Viktor chewed the side of his lips— his gum— but said nothing.

“Call.”

The dealer laid out the final card. The river. It’s a queen of hearts.

My father leans back and stares at the board, then at the competitor. They both looked too calm for my liking, but I kept my eye on the game.

“Check.” My father said.

The man smirked, and with a voice cold as Ice, he stated. “All in.”

The crowd gasps at his audacity.

“What?” I mumbled, with a low, soft voice. I turned to my father, his lips tighten.

Right now, he had nothing to lose, in this game. He was already naked, with just his briefs on.

“You arrogant little—” He began to say, but cut himself, once he heard a metal kick behind him. Even I tensed at the sound. I was not stupid, I was very familiar with that sound.

I watched as my father glared at him with gritted teeth, before pushing his remaining chips in.

“Call”

The man turns over his cards.

A straight flush.

I sniffled a laugh in the quiet room. But rather than my laugh to break the silence, it was my father’s out rage which did.

“You son of a bitch!!” He slapped his cards on the table.

Two pairs.

Not enough.

Then the man leans in, his voice dropping in my father’s ears. “I told you… I don’t bluff.”

With him still, smirking at my father, he pulls the stacked chips to his side, adding to his pile.

“Fun game, don’t you think?”

I looked at my father, then his opposer, then to the dealer.

This… dealer has been staring or, appropriately, stealing glances at me. I on the other hand, would also do that.

Not steal glances, but, turning to him when I feel his eyes on me and go back to my father.

Yes, he was attractive— like every other Italian man in the country— no big deal. But with the way his eyes were squinting at me.

Plain mockery?

Amusement?

I didn’t know how to point it, but it felt like he was toying with me. Mocking me, perhaps for my father’s foolishness?

“Again!!!” Shouted my father. Brows creased, and my eyes shut open. Was he foolish? Or just acting like one?

It didn’t seem like it was only I who was stunned by his words.

“You are stripped naked. I don’t want boxers.” His opposer stated, not sparing him a glance as he folded my father’s belt.

Personally speaking, I didn’t think the belt was worth anything for him to sell.

“Also,” He began again, finally turning to face my father.

“You don’t look like you have any other thing to give.”

‘Exactly, my thought.’ I spoke in my head.

My father was seething with visible rage. His fingers clutched, and it left crescent marks from his nails to his palm.

Without turning to me, he gripped my head and forced me to the table. The action was so sudden, my heart skipped a beat, before I trailed to him.

“Dad?”

“You want her? I’ll give her, only for another round.”