Las Vegas Casino Worker

The Mirage has one Somali dealer.

Shamso works the late shift—blackjack tables from midnight to eight. She's seen fortunes won and lost, marriages saved and destroyed.

I sit at her table at 2 AM.

"Minimum's twenty-five." She deals with fluid precision. Fifty-one years old. Two hundred and forty pounds of casino expertise. Ebony skin under the harsh lights, name tag on her vest, no-nonsense expression.

"I'll start at a hundred."

"Big spender." Her eyes miss nothing. "Hit or stand?"

I play for three hours.

Winning some, losing more. She deals with mechanical efficiency.

"You're not here to win," she says during a lull.

"How do you know?"

"Twenty years of dealing. I know gamblers. You're not one."

"What am I?"

"Someone looking for something." Her eyes meet mine briefly. "Most people in casinos are. They just call it luck."

I come back the next night.

Same table. Same time. Same dealer.

"You again." She shuffles. "Let me guess—insomnia."

"Something like that."

"Vegas is full of insomniacs. They all think cards will tire them out." She deals. "They're wrong. Cards just postpone the silence."

"What's your silence?"

"Ilaahay." She pauses. "That's personal."

"So is sitting at your table all night."

"Break in ten minutes."

The pit boss signals her off. She hands the deck to a relief dealer.

"Meet me at the café."

I cash out. Find her in the employee break area.

"I've been doing this for twenty years," she says, stirring coffee. "Never once has a player followed me to break."

"First time for everything."

"First time for getting fired too." But she doesn't leave. "Why are you here?"

"Because you're the most interesting person in this casino."

"I'm a blackjack dealer. I flip cards and take money."

"You're someone who sees people at their worst and doesn't judge."

"I judge." She sips her coffee. "I just keep it inside."

"My husband gambled away everything."

We're in the parking structure. Her shift ended an hour ago.

"The house we bought. The savings. Everything. Then he left me to deal with the debt." She leans against her car. "So I got a job at the place that took everything. Fight fire with fire."

"That's strength."

"That's survival. Different things."

"You can survive and still live."

"Waas." But her eyes are wet. "No one has said that to me. Not in eleven years since he left."

"I'm saying it now."

"Come home with me."

Her apartment is modest. The savings of someone who's been building back slowly.

"This is what eleven years of dealing looks like," she says. "Stability. Safety. Loneliness."

"What do you want?"

"One night where I feel lucky." She turns to face me. "Not the fake casino kind. The real kind."

"Then let's bet on us."

I worship the dealer.

Her body is the jackpot—ebony curves, heavy breasts, soft belly. Everything the house has been hiding.

"Eleven years—" She gasps as I undress her. "I've dealt hands to everyone—never received—"

"Tonight you hit blackjack."

I lay her on her bed.

Her body is a table I want to play all night. Every curve is winning odds.

I spread her thick thighs.

Deal her pleasure.

"ILAAHAY!"

She screams—eleven years of bad hands folding. Her hands grip my head.

"Don't stop—" She's shaking. "Dhakhso—"

I play her until she hits three jackpots.

"Inside me—" She's pulling at me. "Ku soo gal—go all in—"

I strip. She watches with those card-counting eyes.

"Subhanallah—high roller."

"No limit."

I push inside the dealer.

She screams.

"So full—" Her legs wrap around me. "Don't stop—"

I go all in.

Her massive body shakes. She hits twice more.

"Ku shub—" She's begging. "Cash out inside me—"

I release my winnings.

We lie in her bed.

"The odds were against us," she murmurs.

"The house doesn't always win."

"Haa." She smiles. "Sometimes the dealer does."

One Year Later

I still sit at her table.

But now I know where she lives. What she sounds like when she comes. How she tastes.

"Macaan," she moans. "My best bet ever."

The dealer who knows all the odds.

The woman I bet everything on.

Jackpot.