Gambling does pay, actually
The house always wins? Not this time, sucker.
#24. Casino
Monaco at night looked like a 1950s vision of the future, all gold skyscrapers and broken dreams.
A taxi was escorting me there from Cannes – with its tall French girls in Panama hats sauntering past posters of Golden Age stars, chartreuse trees and vintage lampposts jutting into the aqua sky – and towards the stucco façade of the Monte-Carlo Bay & Resort.
Its entrance was perfectly polished, lightly peppered with luxury Lamborghinis, no doubt a calculated ruse on the hotel’s part to say, Hey, you, put on your fancy pants. Even the bellboy had veneers.
The lobby smelled sickly, like a taxi cab’s air freshener. Ironic, given Ubers are entirely banned. You can book one for thirty seconds down the road, outside of city limits, but believe me, your driver won’t be happy about it.
All the hotel furnishings were felt with gold trim. It was very glamorous – or it would have been, in the seventies. The suite was so dated, you could still order porno on the TV. I think I saw Linda Lovelace in one of the promos.
I tip-toed down hot terracotta steps to the bustling pool fringed with palm trees. A sign read, private cabana, €500/day. I found a vacant old sunbed tucked in the corner. The menu read, strawberries, €34/plate. I ordered a tap water.
Kids splashed boisterously alongside languorous glamour models. The lifeguards were relaxed: the last thing the women there needed to worry about was buoyancy. There were more fake tits and plastic boobies than an avian taxidermist’s.
After a day of lounging, I met my wife for dinner. I thought about gambling on my meal, letting the waiter choose for me. Living loose and fast.
I’ll have the beef, I said.
The charming Old Town, the Monaco-Ville, felt like a toy village. Apartments with striped awnings loomed over the sea, piling on top of each other, almost tumbling down the mountain to reach the glistening blue. Old money and new rubbed together. I watched a vintage sports car pass the marble palace gates and trundle through a wooden door, closing automatically behind it, a digital interface reading 0, then -1, then -2. That’s a whole new level of rich, I thought. I was getting insecurities I didn’t even know I had.
Not to worry – we’d soon make our fortune in the Casino de Monte-Carlo, I reasoned. Neon sports cars posed outside a gothic exterior, like Dracula’s castle if he were a premier league footballer.
Inside the palatial entrance, ceiling friezed with gold in beautiful Greco-Roman style, like a cathedral, I guessed that gambling really does pay after all. Past the threshold of granite pillars, slot machines flashed and dinged, enticing me in, calling me to riches beyond my wildest dream.
And just €18 (each) to get in.
I wondered if this gambling establishment might be ripping me off, but then the dour lady behind the till gave us each a €10 ticket for the slots – for free!
I edged over to the machines and picked one – lucky red – feeding my voucher into it. Confused, I mashed the buttons and pulled the arm. I lost. I lost again. But then, on the third spin, slamming my eyes shut and yanking as hard as I could, I also lost.
My wife had been hovering over her chosen machine for minutes, deciding which button to press to maximise her chances. ‘What do you think I should do?’
Screw it, I thought, and slammed max bet. The faces rolled around. Seven. Seven. Another seven. Ding, ding, ding, ding! I won! I’d taken ten Euros and made it into thirty Euros!
‘The house always wins?!’ I hooted at the machine. ‘The house always loses, sucker! Aha!’
I was elated. What a wonderful feeling it was. It’s alright, this gambling stuff, I agreed, to myself. I should do it more often.
And with that thought, we entered the grand hall. No more the childish slot machines with their whizzing and beeping. We were ready for the big time – poker, blackjack, baccarat, craps. Then, I remembered, I don’t know how to play any of those. Roulette would have to do.
It was like walking into a different era, everyone dressed to the nines, the women beautiful, naturally. Yes, it was undeniably glamorous, at first, but the sheen dissipated like the vapours of the alcohol trodden into the art deco carpet. On reflection, it was just a big, wooden hall, like a school assembly, or the Natural History Museum, people murmuring quietly over the exhibits.
I selected a roulette wheel and strutted over, crushed blue suit over white trainers and a crisp white t-shirt, Ray Bans tucked into the v-line. There’s no denying, I was the shit. I cocked my hip against the table and shuffled my chips.
‘Move!’ barked the croupier. ‘You’re blocking the camera.’
Older men hopped from table to table, flipping €1000 chips and walking away without even bothering to watch the wheel spin.
Jasmine placed a bet – €20 on black. She won. Her eyes lit up like a Porsche’s headlights, jaw hanging in ecstatic surprise. A few more spins like these, and we’d doubled our money in just ten minutes, from €100 to €200. Think about the ROI on that (100%). I waste my days eking out pennies for PowerPoints, when I could be doubling my money in minutes.
I dashed to the counter and withdrew €50,000 from our life savings. Red. I put it all on red. A flash of the wheel. Eyes slammed shut. I dared not look. I peeped. Red. It was red! I’d just won €50,000! For nothing! I did it again! On red. And won! And again and again and again and again, riding out this incredible wave of luck a further five times until I had won, no longer €100, but in fact an enormous 1.6 million Euros.
Or this, I assume, is exactly what would have happened, had Jasmine not insisted we quit €100 up. She was overjoyed to have won so much. I was resentful that I hadn’t won more. I wanted to go back and spend the night there, ideally by myself.
Yes, I could definitely do it again. Many, many times in fact. Probably best that I don’t.
It was intoxicating, strutting past the stick-thin models of Monaco-Ville in my Hugo Boss suit, wallet stuffed with hundred Euro note. I had really made moolah in just a few minutes. Accounting for the cost of entry, and the ATM fees, and the taxis, and the hotel and flights, I was only £2,139 down.
Back at the hotel, we celebrated, splashing our winnings on one small plate of strawberries - each.