Story: Andy Meisler    Illustration: Bruce Sereta

“Your assignment, Mr. Meisler, should you choose to accept it, is to take these crisp Andrew Jacksons—$200 worth—to explore the history, rules and romance of the grand old game of roulette.” Which is why I am strolling through The Mirage on the Las Vegas Strip looking for The Wheel. In this tropical pleasure oasis with bright colors, tuneful slots and a jungle of greenery, I find an empty seat at a roulette table. The dealer, Nina, is smiling.

I buy $100 worth of chartreuse-speckled chips. My tablemates include a guy who looks like Hulk Hogan’s older brother. He agonizes over every bet. Next to him is a colorfully dressed woman of about 60, who reminds me of my condo association vice president. She bets the numbers of her granddaughter’s birth date, hitting many more times than statistically probable. She yells “Yippee!” a lot.

As for my future fortunes … well, before I sat down and committed any color chip, I poured over a couple of books on how to play roulette, one written by a mathematician, the other by a professional gambler. There is no way I was going to the tables unprepared. The first few chapters on the history and forms of roulette were helpful. For instance, the game was first played in France at the turn of the 19th century and first installed in the famous casinos of Monte Carlo in 1863. There are two different kinds of bets in roulette - “inside” where you place your chips on the middle of the board to play numbers 1 - 6 of the red and black numbers at a time, and “outside” where you place your money on the larger squares in hopes of hitting red or black, odd or even.

My head is spinning, not the wheel. So, after studying the first couple of chapters, I’m ready to rock ... and roll! Since I perused “gambling professional” John C. Steele’s book, “Roulette Secrets Revealed,” I’m prepared to play his system. (What is it? Buy your own copy.) By the time The Mirage’s Nina ended her shift, I’d steadily and scientifically turned my original hundred bucks into $75.

So far, my mojo ain’t working. I need a mentor. A roulette role model. James Bond, maybe? Who would know better than a good friend, Ken Crosby, a world-renowned 007 expert who is actually the “James Bond Geek” on the Comedy Central game show “Beat the Geeks.” “Sorry, Anderson,” as he calls me. “JB never played roulette. His game was baccarat.” He offers to log onto his computer and search for the word “roulette” on the Internet Movie Database. He reads, “Rushing Roulette,” “Suburban Roulette,” “Sexual Roulette…” Time out! This calls for a change of venue and a change in attitude. A single thought intrudes: Be yourself. I do not write books on the mathematical probabilities of roulette. I am not John C. Steele nor Sean Connery, Roger Moore, or, even Pierce Brosnan.

I retrieve my Bentley from Valet Parking – okay, climb into a cab – and take the short ride to Bellagio where croupier Tina is minding the wheel. My fellow players: a sweet, tea-drinking Orthodox Jewish gentleman and a dead ringer for a young Veronica Hamel. I place two powder blue chips on Red in honor of my crimson 1992 Integra. I play Black, in honor of my eccentric Uncle Julius’ beloved 1950 Oldsmobile. I play Odd, in honor of my eccentric Uncle Julius. I bet my wife’s social security number. I try Elvis Costello’s birthday. My college dorm room. My waist size for much of the late ‘70s. That’s the ticket!

The head clears. The breath quickens. I’m fascinated by the spinning numbers, the quirkily bouncing ball, the lights caroming off the fine wood surrounding the shimmering wheel. Two hours pass. And I’m just smart enough to quit while I’m ahead. How well did I do? That’s between my tax accountant and me.

The fun quotient, however, was priceless.