We found two stools together and she tried to give me a few chips. I didn't want to gamble and told her so, and she explained that I would have to stand up if I didn't. Considering what 84 percent gee does to my poor feet I bought a few chips of my own and did just what she did, which was to place minimum bets on the colors, or on odd or even. This way you don't win, you don't lose-except that once in a long while the little ball lands on zero and you lose a chip permanently (that "house percentage" the sign warned
against). -/
The croupier could see what we were doing but we actually were gambling and inside the rules; he didn't object. I discovered almost at once that the trays of food circulating and the drinks were absolutely free-to anyone who was gambling. Girdie had a glass of wine. I don't touch alcoholic drinks even on birthdays-and I certainly wasn't going to drink Hi-Ho, after that obnoxious ad!-but I ate two or three sandwiches and asked for, and got-they had to go get it-a glass of milk. I tipped the amount I saw Girdie tip.
We had been there over an hour and I was maybe three or four chips ahead when I happened to sit up straight-and knocked a glass out of the hand of a man standing behind me, all over him, some over me.
"Oh, dear!" I said, jumping down from my stool and trying to dab off the wet spots on him with my kerchief. "I'm terribly sorry!"
He bowed. "No harm done to me. Merely soda water. But I fear my clumsiness has ruined milady's gown."
Out of one corner of her mouth Girdle said, "Watch it, kid!" but I answered, "This dress? Huh uh! If that was just water, there won't be a wrinkle or a spot in ten minutes. Travel clothes."
"You are a visitor to our city? Then permit me to introduce myself less informally than by soaking you to the skin." He whipped out a card. Girdle was looking grim but I rather liked his looks. Actually not impossibly older than I am (I guessed at twelve Mars years, or say thirty-six of his own-and it turned out he was only thirty-two). He was dressed in the very elegant Venus evening wear, with cape and stick and
formal ruff... and the cutest little waxed mustaches. The card read:
DEXTER KURT CUNHA, STK.
I read it, then reread it, then said, "Dexter Kurt Cunha- Are you any relation to-"
"My father."
"Why, I know your father!"-and put out my hand. Ever had your hand kissed? It makes chill bumps that race up your arm, across your shoulders, and down the other arm-and of course nobody would ever do it on Mars. This is a distinct shortcoming in our planet and one I intend to correct, even if I have to bribe Clark to institute the custom.
By the time we had names straight, Dexter was urging us to share a bite of supper and some dancing with him in the roof garden. But Girdle was balky. "Mr. Cunha," she said, "that is a very handsome calling card. But I am responsible for Podkayne to her uncle-and I would rather see your I.D."
For a split second he looked chilly. Then he smiled warmly at her and said, "I can do better," and held up one hand.
The most imposing old gentleman I have ever seen hurried over. From the medals on his chest I would say that he had won every spelling contest from first grade on. His bearing was kingly and his costume unbelievable. "Yes, Stockholder?"
"Dom Pedro, will you please identify me to these ladies?"
"With pleasure, sir." 56 Dexter was really Dexter and I got my hand kissed again. Dom Pedro does it with great flourish but it didn't have quite the same effect- I don't think he puts his heart into it the way Dexter does.
Girdle insisted on stopping to collect Clark-and Clark suffered an awful /moment of spontaneous schizophrenia, for he was still winning. But love won out and Girdle went up on Clark's arm, with Josie trailing us with the loot. I must say I admire my brother in some ways; spending cash money to protect his winnings must have caused even deeper conflict in his soui, if any, than leaving the game while he was winning.
The roof garden is the Brasilia Room and is even more magnificent than the casino proper, with a nightsky roof to match its name, stars and the Milky Way and the Southern Cross such as nobody ever in history actually saw from anywhere on Venus. Tourists were lined up behind a velvet rope waiting to get in-but not us. It was, "This way, if you please, Stockholder," to an elevated table right by the floor and across from the orchestra and a perfect view of the floor show.
We danced and we ate foods I've never heard of and I let a glass of champagne be poured for me but didn't try to drink it because the bubbles go up my nose-and wished for a glass of milk or at least a glass of water because some of the food was quite spicy, but didn't ask for it.
But Dexter leaned over me and said, "Poddy, my spies tell me that you like milk."
"I do!"
"So do I. But I'm too shy to order it unless I have somebody to back me up." He raised a finger and two glasses of milk appeared instantly.
But I noticed that he hardly touched his.
However, I did not realize I had been hoaxed until later. A singer, part of the floor show, a tall handsome dark girl dressed as a gypsy-if gypsies did ever dress that way, which I doubt, but she was billed as "Romany Rose"-toured the ringside tables singing topical verses to a popular song.
She stopped in front of us, looked right at me and smiled, struck a couple of chords and sang:
"Poddy Fries-uh came to town, Pretty, winsome Poddy- Silver shoes and sky blue gown, Lovely darling Podkayne- "She has sailed the starry sea, Pour another toddy! Lucky Dexter, lucky we! Drink a toast to Poddy!"
And everybody clapped and Clark pounded on the table and Romany Rose curtsied to me and I started to cry and covered my face with my hands and suddenly remembered that I mustn't cry because of my makeup and dabbed at my eyes with my napkin and hoped I hadn't ruined it, and suddenly silver buckets with champagne appeared all over that big room and everybody did drink a toast to me, standing up when Dexter stood up in a sudden silence brought on by a roll of drums and a crashing chord from the orchestra.
I was speechless and just barely knew enough to stay seated myself and nod and try to smile when he looked at me-
-and he broke his glass, just like story tapes, and everybody imitated him and for a while there was crash and tinkle all over the room, and I felt like Ozma just
after she stops being Tip and is Ozma again and I had to remember my makeup very hard indeed!
Later on, after I had gulped my stomach back into place and could stand up without trembling, I danced with Dexter again. He is a dreamy dancer-a firm, sure lead without ever turning it into a wrestling match. During a slow waltz I said, "Dexter? You spilled that glass of soda water. On purpose."
"Yes. How dld~ you know?"
"Because it is a sky-blue dress-or the color that is called 'sky-blue,' for Earth, although I've never seen a sky this color. And my shoes are silvered. So it couldn't have been an accident. Any of it."
He just grinned, not a bit ashamed. "Only a little of it. I went first to your hilton-and it took almost half an hour to find out who had taken you where and I was furious, because Papa would have been most vexed. But I found you."
I chewed that over and didn't like the taste. "Then you did it because your daddy told you to. Told you to entertain me because I'm Uncle Tom's niece."
"No, Poddy."
"Huh? Better check through the circuits again. That's how the numbers read."
"No, Poddy. Papa would never order me to entertain a lady-other than formally, at our cottage-lady on my arm at dinner, that sort of thing. What he did do was show me a picture of you and ask me if I wanted to. And I decided I did want to. But it wasn't a very good picture of you, didn't do you justice-just one snapped by one of the servants of the Tannhäuser when you didn't know it."