“Quatorze... rouge... pair...” announced the croupier.The chips were swept up, Melissa’s included. She didn’t mind that. f******n. Not bad. No... too bad at all. Not as good as it could have been, of course. But then, you can’t win ‘em all!Her gold-shimmering gown catching all eyes, Melissa rose from the table. The Maitre nearby bowed deferentially. The elegant figure glided through the salon. Quentin, Melissa knew, was playing Baccarat. He might be some hours yet. No matter. They always gambled. ”“Well, I buy steaks and potatoes about every two weeks.”“That’s not quite what I had in mind.”“I’m not much of a home cook. I am pretty good at camp cookery though, but that doesn’t use too much in the way of fresh stuff either.”She chuckled at me. “It can. Fresh is good for you and tastes better, too.”“When I go out to eat, I eat salads and fruit like yesterday at lunch. I really don’t care enough about cooking to do more. Maybe more importantly, I don’t have the ability to cook from. More

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