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divorce. You’re lots of fun,” Candy said as she placed the money in her matching silver purse.
    â€œWe’ll always have Vegas.”
    Candy put the cash in her purse and started to take her dress off. With her standing there naked, Quincy had an epiphany: for twenty years he had paid to be with a woman he no longer wanted, and he was about to pay for a woman he could never have.
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    Quincy checked the two jacks he had in his hand. Candy had done her job and relaxed him, but the night was far from over. He tapped on the table with his fingers as signal for the dealer to hit him.
    The dealer flipped over the card, and before he knew it, Quincy was up ten grand and the envy of the entire table. It was just as well, he could have been down ten thousand and that would not have mattered. Quincy was wired differently than most people.
    He either had to be the richest guy in the room or the poorest. Quincy had an either/or personality; no room for moderation. Quincy avoided contentment at every turn. His inner circle did not consist of people who were satisfied with being able to pay their rent on time and take an occasional vacation. He enjoyed the company of people who wanted to purchase a Lear Jet or an island.
    Quincy checked his cell phone and noticed that Gregg had called, probably to discuss one of the pending deals.
    Gregg remained in a constant state of worry. The Culver City deal was scheduled to happen on Monday.
    Quincy was not about to waste a Wednesday night worrying about something that would not take place for several days. He was too busy trying to live in the moment. Quincy took a sip of his drink and tossed some more chips onto the table. Gregg can wait. And Karen could too, for now. Besides, she would suggest a prayer and a fast for an occasion like this. All Quincy needed to close the deal was a cranberry and vodka and a modest game of blackjack.
    â€œYou are being too kind to him, Dan,” a white woman in a blue evening dress said to the dealer.
    â€œI guess it’s my lucky night.” Quincy took a sip of his cranberry and vodka.
    â€œNot mine; half of my kid’s college tuition is on the table,” she replied.
    Quincy had seen the woman before. She seemed to know the dealer on a first name basis and she would beg him to go easy on her and let her win once in a while. It seemed like a pathetic sort of friendliness; one side always asking and giving, the other side always taking.
    Lost in his train of thought, Quincy was unaware he’d won until he saw the dealer push more chips toward him. The woman’s head dropped in despair. She began to comb her fingers through her hair, as if she were searching for loose change.
    â€œI think I’m going to quit while I’m ahead.” Quincy gathered up his chips and walked away from the table. He turned in his chips and checked his voice mail. There was a message from Karen.
    â€œQuincy, I don’t know where you are, but please call me,” she’d said.
    Quincy felt the buzz of the alcohol, but still had good control over his faculties. Thursday he would fly back to Los Angeles with a divorce to finalize.
    This had been a long week, and one that he still could not completely wrap his head around as he entered his hotel room and laid across the bed on his back. As he stared at the ceiling, his BlackBerry started to vibrate. He had a dinner planned tomorrow with his prayer partner, Jamal. They’d met at last year’s Men’s Retreat and were assigned to be prayer partners by Pastor Dawkins.
    They barely spoke, but, occasionally, Quincy would take the young man out for dinner. He liked Jamal and thought he had a lot of promise. Quincy wanted to cancel the dinner, but Quincy had given Jamal his word. His father taught him that when a man gives a person his word to do something, no matter how small or insignificant it may be, it better be a matter of life and death that causes him to not make good on