| OCR Text |
Show 94 felt corrupt and in an awful movie. Will it be this way only. Hall has thought: the camera? Controls above glass for her entire visit? Or will I approach? Will there be touch? Words? "What's that?" another worker who Hunt decides to name 'Lew Jacobs,' up from his own monitor for coffee asks Hall. "Just a player," Hall says. "Where?" "Blackjack." "Table?" "104." "Why the eyes?" Lew: You don't know this woman's eyes! Hall thinks. Not like I do. You haven't seen them pool. You haven't seen them coil out, like a pinwheel, her amazing eyes when she's entered. You don't know brown and green. "Lew - you watch your console; I'll watch mine, okay?" Hall says. He hates Lew's kind of driven competition. Hall knows obsession, too; yes; once, when he and Jewel were in the Toledo Art Museum, surrounded by Phoenician glass -- Jewel's daughter, Christi, on the floor at their feet, cross-legged with a sketchbook and a box of pastel crayons -- Hall admitted: If I had the nerve, I would light myself on fire every day for a living. But that intensity was not, J_s_ not Lew's. Hall watches Jewel play blackjack -- so close to her mouth. Hunt bends and kisses Leah; she doesn't stir; she carries Hunt's touch into sleep. But Hall watches Jewel. He watches Jewel lose. Jewel win. He sees her sometimes scanning the casino space to discover her benefactor. Hall remembers intimacy: |
