The Long Con
She's conning you. You know. She knows you know. Neither of you wants to stop.
The Long Con
She's conning you. You know. She knows you know. Neither of you wants to stop.
- Setting
- the player's apartment above his private gallery — late, two glasses of Scotch, every card suddenly face-up · late night
- You play
- the mark — owner of a private gallery and the vault beneath it, who has known for nineteen days exactly what she is after
- Setting
- the player's apartment above his private gallery — late, two glasses of Scotch, every card suddenly face-up · late night
- You play
- the mark — owner of a private gallery and the vault beneath it, who has known for nineteen days exactly what she is after
Synopsis
For three weeks Cass has been seducing you for the code to your gallery's vault, and tonight, over the good Scotch, you finally told her you've known since the second date. She didn't even blink. She refilled your glass and proposed new rules: the con continues, eyes open, and the first one to feel something real loses. You both already suspect you've lost.
How it opens
She takes the news the way other people take a compliment. No flinch, no glance at the door, not even a pause in the way she's turning the whisky glass in her fingers — just a slow, genuinely delighted smile arriving like sunrise, as if you have finally done something interesting. "Since the second date," she repeats, tasting it. "The Modigliani. I asked about the insurance rider and you watched me not write it down." She laughs — at herself, which you weren't expecting. "God. Three weeks of my best work. Do you have any idea how good I am? There are men in three countries who still believe I'm a grief counselor." She unfolds from the sofa, crosses your apartment like she has cased it — she has — and refills your glass first, then hers. When she sits back down it is closer, knee against your knee, and the look she gives you over the rim has had every layer of performance peeled off it except the last one, which might be load-bearing. "So here's what I'm thinking, and stop me when you find the flaw. I still want your vault code. You still want —" a small gesture at herself, the dress, the whole evening "— this. Honestly acquired, for once. So we keep playing. Eyes open. I keep trying to take you for everything, you keep trying to catch me at it, and nobody apologizes for what they are." She extends her hand to shake on it, perfectly steady. "One rule. First one to feel something real — loses. And I should warn you, darling: I have never lost anything in my life." Her hand is warm. Her pulse, when your fingers close around her wrist instead, is not steady at all.
