LE GRAND CASINO'S exterior displayed the triumphant, ornate architecture of royalty, a palace of gold. They passed a number of sleek foreign cars parked at the entrance and showed their passports at the door. (Citizens of Monaco, Lindsay informed us, were forbidden to gamble in the casino.)386Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZPEsuPOVyi
The atrium was adorned in gold; it had marble columns and sculptures in glass enclosures, and the double-height ceiling was open to the second floor. It was just like being at the opera, not a casino. (The person who designed this casino, Lindsay explained, also designed the Paris Opera. They had to get some liquor in her fast.)
They paid their way into a private gambling room that had frescoed ceilings, lavish molding, and sculptures and paintings everywhere. The attire was jacket and tie for the men, gowns and cocktail dresses for the ladies. All of them except Lindsay were wearing black cocktail dresses----Nicole Richie's and Rihanna's were strapless. Lindsay, on the other hand, opted for something gold and more conservative.
Lindsay always covered up more than the rest of them. Mischa thought she knew why.
They were now among Monte Carlo's elite, the world's elite----fellow thespians and athletes and speculators and Fortune 500 CEOs, wagering staggering sums of money, most simply for the fun of it.
"Roulette," said Nicole Richie. "You can't come to Monte Carlo and not play European roulette."
The European roulette wheel had thirty-seven individual pockets, numbers 0 through 36. Half the numbers were red and the other half were black. The gambler simply had to guess in which space the bouncing ball would stop. He placed his bets on a board. He could bet on individual numbers, on a block of two or four numbers; on the first twelve, second twelve, or third twelve; on numbers 1 through 18 or 19 through 36; on an odd number or even; on a black number or red. The payout varied with the degree of risk. Winning on an individual number obviously had the bigger payout, thirty-five to one, whereas betting that a number would be red, for instance, was only a two-to-one payout because he had a fifty-fifty chance.
Nicole Richie took a seat and put down fifty thousand euros, which drew the attention of the other three players and a small crowd behind them. Each of the players----an Indian in a tuxedo, a thickset Italian with a beard and pontytail, and a young woman who appeared to be American----looked at Nicole Richie, trying to place her. A movie star? An heiress?
The croupier---the dealer---gave Nicole Richie fifty yellow chips, each of them representing a thousand euros. Nicole Richie placed five of them on the number 5.
A straight bet. A bad bet. Horrible odds. The Indian bet reds. The Italian took 1 through 18. The American placed a corner bet, centering her chip at the intersection of squares 31, 32, 34, and 35.
The croupier spun the roulette wheel clockwise and said, "No more bets." He dropped the ball into the wheel in the opposite direction of the spin. The ball bounced against the tide as the wheel spun, at last landing in the pocket for 19.
"Nineteen, red," said the croupier. The Indian doubled his money. Everyone else lost. Nicole Richie lost five thousand euros----roughly six thousand American dollars! That was a trimester of boarding school in England for Mischa when she was a kid in London.
"Place an outside bet," Mischa said to her. "Bet a column, or odds or evens or a color."
"Bor-ing." Nicole Richie put another five chips on 5.
"You have less than a 3% chance of winning," said Lindsay.
"Oh, humbug, Lindsay. Let her play," Rihanna said.
"No more bets," said the croupier.
Their drinks arrived. Cosmopolitans for each of them. Mischa's alcoholic palate preferred vodka to Champagne, as the bubbly went to her brain too quickly.
"Eleven, back." Good news for everyone but Nicole Richie.
"You can't keep putting five thousand down on one number," said Mischa.
"You're right," Nicole Richie winked at her. She put ten chips down on the 5.
"No more bets."
Nicole Richie raised her glass to Mischa in a toast.
"Twenty-two, black."
Nicole Richie put another five down on 5.
"No more bets." The ball tripped and danced around, ultimately settling in the pocket numbered 6.
"Six, black."
"I'm getting closer," said Nicole Richie. Mischa was sure that was great consolation after having lost twenty-five thousand euros in the space of ten minutes.
The Italian put two chips put two chips down on square 5 as well and smiled at her, his eyebrows, dancing. But then he put five chips on reds to cover his stupid inside bet.
"No more bets." The croupier did his thing and the small ball did its little jig.
"Thirty-four, red."
A crowd had begun to gather behind our table. The blonde American, throwing money away on thirty-seven-to-one odds, dripping five thousand euros a pop on the number 5.
Soon, Nicole Richie had depleted her fifty thousand euros and laid out another fifty for the croupier. People behind them mumbled. Mischa doubted it was flattering talk.
This was classic Nicole Richie, always seeking a competition, always sizing herself up against others, never shrinking from a dare. This, Mischa knew, was what she wanted from this weekend, something wild and risky.
Mischa stood behind her. Rihanna was talking with a tall man who looked Spanish. Lindsay was knocking back her next Cosmo and lightening up, now cheering Nicole Richie on instead of explaining the crappy odds to her.
"Sticking with five, then," Mischa said, her hand on Nicole Richie's shoulder. It was her money. Who was Mischa Barton to tell her what to do?
"I'm sticking with five." Nicole Richie reached back and patted Mischa's hand.
But it didn't get any better for her.
"Seventeen, black."
"Twenty-four, black."
"Seven, red."
People began to applaud with each bet Nicole Richie placed. Mischa didn't know if it was encouragement or ridicule, but she had drawn quite a crowd.
"You think I'm crazy," Nicole Richie looked back at Mischa.
Mischa bent down and kissed Nicole Richie's cheek. "I think you're terrific."
"Love you, sweetie." Nicole Richie was down to her final ten chips, her last ten thousand euros. She put five down on 5.
"Fourteen, red."
The crowd reacted with audible disappointment. Mischa had been wrong. They admired her spirit, if not her strategy. They were doing the same thing the four vacationing actresses were doing on this trip, living vicariously through others, watching this woman take wild chances.
Down to her final five chips. "Do I change?" she asked me.
"Do you believe in it?"
She paused. "I believe in us."
Mischa leaned down to her. "Then bet on us. The four of us."
"Mademoiselle?" the croupier asked.
Nicole Richie looked at me and smiled. She bet her last five chips.386Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡotrMksa2lp
On the number 4.386Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ8LCrZcwC4D
Another audible reaction behind Mischa. What was she doing? Why change now?"386Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ0ZhjFJbCPU
The roulette wheel spun. "No more bets." The ball danced one last time for the four celebrities.386Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡXQW9DkocTI
The crowd went up in a roar.386Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡo9Dl1h8YXv
"Four, black," said the croupier.386Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡKYDyeobITe
