Two Canadians, a Brit, and an American walk into a Bahamian casino. What could go wrong? To find out, keep reading. It’s a doozie.

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Michael drops into a plush seat at the Blackjack table and slaps down two-hundred-dollar bills. The bow-tied dealer pushes a large stack of chips his way.

This is his element. Not mine. “Hey, Babe. Mandy and I are gonna hit the dance floor.”

He orders a vodka/soda from an attractive bartender. She’ll keep his glass full as long as he stays at this table, which I assume will be awhile. He takes a long sip then responds. “Yep. I’ll be here.”

Mandy pecks her husband, Felix, on the cheek. “You okay if we go?”

A British accent replies. “Of course. You girls have a good time. I’ll pop back and forth. Check on you and follow Michael’s mad game.”

Mandy and I hold hands and dart between poker tables toward the Atlantis casino’s dance floor. Michael probably won’t budge for at least three hours and probably three hundred more dollars.

“Give me your purse. I’m gonna put them over that rope so they’re away from the crowd while we’re dancing.”

Mandy slips her designer bag off her toned, tan shoulder. “Here. I’ll go get us a couple of Bahama Mamas.”

“Perfect.” I lean over the velvety rope to drop our purses.

A security guard interrupts. “Ma’am nothing over the ropes, please.”

“Oh. Sorry. I thought since it was empty it wouldn’t matter.”

He tucks his thumbs inside the front of his trousers. “This area is for VIP guests and their belongings. It won’t be empty all night.”  

What a jerk. I take our purses and meet Mandy at the bar. “So apparently only VIP are allowed behind the ropes and that’s not us.”

“Whatever. Don’t let that jackass ruin our night. I didn’t come all the way from Canada to let some arrogant bouncer ruin my night.” She hands me the fruity drink. “Cheers!”

We tap our drinks and down them. “Let’s go!” Mandy grabs my hand and pulls me onto the dance floor.

Mandy’s hips sway to the beat of the techno music’s rhythm. Her sequined tank glitters as she moves. She’s in her zone.

I try to emulate her moves. I close my eyes and feel the beat of the music. A tap on my shoulder startles me. It’s the bouncer.

“These are from them.” He hands Mandy and me each a glass of champagne and points to a gorgeous couple standing behind the velvet rope.

The man looks out of place in a suit and tie. His companion wears a floor-length red gown that hugs her every curve. They raise their flutes to us and we mirror the gesture.

We laugh, down the champagne, and return to dancing. The couple eyes us. I feel exposed but also flattered. The conflicting emotions pulse through me with each beat.

Not even a song later, the bouncer returns and tells us the couple requests us to join them behind the rope. The same rope that earlier I wasn’t even allowed to rest my purse behind. Now I’m being invited to stand behind.

Before I have a chance to make up my mind, Mandy heads in their direction. I follow.

The man pours us a glass of Dom Perignon.

“Thank you for joining us. I’m Amir. This is my girlfriend, Jamila. It’s her birthday. She’s looking for a good time and it looks like you two beautiful ladies are as well.”

Jamila bites her plump lower lip and flirtatiously scans Mandy and me head to toe. “Where are you gorgeous ladies from?” She asks.

I cross my arms over my body.

Mandy responds. “She’s American, I’m Canadian. What about you?”

“We sailed here from Morocco for my 30th. Two glorious weeks.” Her red-nailed fingers daintily dip the last of the Dom Perignon from her glass.

Amir adds, “Our yacht is right at the marina if you wanna ditch this joint.”

Mandy clasps her hands in delight.

Felix appears. “What’s going on?”

Amir responds on our behalf. “These two lovely ladies are going to join us on our yacht for Jamila’s birthday.”

“Thanks for the invite, but that’s a no. These ladies have an early morning excursion.” Felix protests.

Amir and Jamila flash their disappointment and then focus their attention on two other female dancers. I get the feeling Felix just rescued us from a situation where we could’ve been trafficked from the Bahamas to who knows where. And I’m thankful.

The three of us snake our way back to Michael. He’s fortunately pushed his original buy-in. $200 down and $200 cashing out.

“Hon, I’m proud of you,” I say.

“How was your night?” he asks.

“I didn’t realize the traffic was so busy in the Bahamas.”

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