A Poker Story
-I like to go to bed with strangers.
-Really? Me, too.
-Well, how strange are you?
-Strange enough.
That was how we first talked with each other, at a poker table in Bellagio Poker Room in a desert in the western part of the United States. It was July. That means almost two months ago when the ambient temperature was in the 115-120 degrees Fahrenheit range for the whole damned month. She had a low-cut blouse almost down to her navel. She didn't wear a bra. She was on my left. Whenever she leaned forward, I and the whole table could see her enormous nipples which were bigger, I swear, than my thumbs. I was afraid I was developing a cross-eyed problem by the time the session was over because I kept glancing to my left. She must have liked my visual inspection because twice she leaned over and whispered into my ear, "enjoy the view of the pyramids?". I was red-faced at the first time, but I didn't say anything. But when she repeated the question the second time, I had the answer ready for her, "yes, but I would like to know if the pyramids are for real or just an optical illusion because of silicone enhancement." That was when she came up with the follow-through that she liked to go to bed with strangers.
She burst out laughing, uproariously, with abandon, then squeezed my arm, the left one of course, and looked straight at my eyes, that forced me to look back at hers. I could swear her eyes were twinkling, like stars in a Christmas night. Then she said while continuing laughing, "That was , ha ha, cute, ha ha, real fucking, ha ha, cute, 'Strange enough' ha ha, oh my, what's your name, young man?"
-Young man? I'm older than you! How old are you? 45, 47?
-What? Don't tell me you're in the 50's.
-Try the 60's.
-Fucking no way, get out of here! I want some ID.
The dealer, a sour and dour and ugly old hag, told her to mind her language and tone down her voice. The Pyramid Lady shot a glance at the dealer, quickly said, "Sorry!" and then tugged my arm, and leaned over, this time her cheek touched mine, "come on, show me the ID".
Smilingly, I fished my driver license out of my wallet. She grabbed it. She stopped smiling and stopped speaking. She studied the driver license and looked at my face and back to the picture on the license, and then gave it back to me.
"Well, how old is he? Tell us!" A woman, dignified-looking, matronly, and quiet as a church mouse all evening, sitting at the end of the table, four spots away from me, said. To that inquiry, the Pyramid Lady touched my arm and asked, "Should I?" I then replied that I didn't care.
She announced to the table, studiously avoiding the gaze of the matron, that I was no liar. That prompted congratulations from several players. Then she asked, quite loudly, "you said you were strange, but are you also good, if you know what I mean? My name is Sally, by the way." I shot her a retort, "Good enough, but don't take my word for it."
By that time, I could tell that men at the table were quite envious of me because Sally was quite attractive. Her cleavage was not the only asset she had; she had clear, unblemished skin, chiseled facial features, white teeth, and great luminous eyes---and she seemed to be fond of me and enjoyed flirting with me. Didn't I mention that she was also drinking wine, some kind of red? She was quite tipsy, at least she appeared so. She slurred her words and spoke loudly. But remarkably, she was winning big. She was aggressive and she knew what she was doing. Men at the table kept calling her bets, to their chagrin, thinking she was bluffing. She even check-raised me twice. I folded both times. She then cheerfully announced that I made the right decision. I didn't say a word, just stonily nodded my head, and told myself to get into the "Zen" zone where simultaneously concentration, detachment, and equanimity mixed, meshed, and flowed.
She inquired about my profession and why and how long I was playing poker as an avocation and if I had any interest to pursue it as a vocation because I had "qualities" as a poker professional. I replied that there was no way that I could turn pro when I couldn't beat a woman, and a drunk woman at that, at the game. She chuckled and boasted that few players, men or women, could beat her. That sounded like a challenge to me, and I loved challenges. I bought more chips and stayed focused. All amorous and amatory thoughts and stirrings, if there were really any, were squashed; all flights of fancy went out the window. This was not the first time I met an Amazon woman. My first four wives and numerous past girlfriends were full-fledged members of that tribe. It seemed that I attracted women of that disposition. They smelled blood and zeroed in for a kill. But I was a survivor and a learner, albeit a slow one. I had resilience and I had resources. Poker was making me stronger. Nietzsche was right. What didn't kill me would make me stronger.
I continued being friendly with her and appeared receptive to her jokes and comments. She asked me if she could buy me a drink. I said yes if only it was hot green organic tea and two bags. She mocked me as being weak, fussy, and unmanly. I just smiled. We continued talking. She told me she was a Jill of all trades and a Mistress of a powerful man.
-How powerful?
-Oh no, I couldn't tell you. If I do, he'd kill us both.
-Really?
-Yes, really.
My drink arrived. She asked me if she could taste it to see what the hell organic green tea would taste like. I smiled once more and said that I would share a bed, but not my foods and drinks. I began winning small to medium sized pots from other players. Cards were running in my favor.
She then reached for my hand and grandly pronounced that she was into palmistry.
-You've got great lines here. Great longevity line. Great love line. A lot of wives and concubines (the matronly lady was evidently listening, "Is he an emperor or what? What kingdom he's ruling?" Sally shot back, "Somewhere far away, too far for you to travel, an old lady like you!"). What we're having here? Oh, my goodness, I can see that you're going to have an exciting romantic adventure ("With you, obviously", the matron chimed in again, "Why not, isn't that right, honey?", Sally winked at me and then turned to the matron and winked at her).
I said nothing. I just smiled like a village idiot. I had learned from my defeats and close encounters with devastation and destruction. Ego was a terrible thing to have, a sharp double-edged sword.
She continued holding my hand, pressing, squeezing, and caressing it, preparing herself for a kill while uttering nonsense in a mellifluous, cadenced voice. She finally let it go, deciding that the groundwork had been thoroughly laid out ("Had enough? ", the matron delivered another shot. Sally held her tongue this time, obviously and incongruously deep in contemplation).
My stack of chips kept on growing, like mushrooms after a monsoon rain. It now was the second biggest at the table, behind hers. I had close to three grand in front of me, a big sum at the $2-$5 no limit hold'em game we were playing. Normally I would have quit playing, and gone home with a satisfying, drunken, delirious, intoxicating feeling of triumph. But I stayed on. I had a premonition, an intuitive feeling. I believed in fate and magic. They came about an hour later in a form of contest between Sally and me. I had a pair of red sixes in my hands. Four players limped in front of me. I normally just limped also, but somehow an inner voice told me to raise big. I made it $50 to go. She instantly made it $120. Everybody folded back to me. Annoyed, I first wanted to fold as well, as there were no pot odds. But that inner voice again. It told me to stay and fight. I had a lot of chips in front of me and she had about five grand. I turned to her, fishing for information, "what you've got? Aces?" The dealer told me not to talk, to speculate about hands while the game was in progress. House rules. I looked at Sally's eyes. She didn't look back. She closed her eyes. A death mask of cultivated tranquility registered on her face. It cost me $70 more to call her. I could throw away the additional $70 on top of my $50 raise. I had thrown away much bigger amounts than that, many times, over and over again. The only think that irked me was that I would have to muck my cards if a 6 didn't hit the board. I hated to lose to this tough, bitchy, greedy Amazon woman, but what the hell, I could afford it. I was winning. I would still have a substantial profit after this $120 loss.
The flop came out a red Ace and two black sixes. What a beautiful sight! The sweetest sign since my son emerged into the world, whole and healthy, with all his fingers and toes in place. There was a supernova inside me. I was sure that there must be at least one as well out there in deep space. Heaven and earth collided and celestial music rang in the universe. I was trying to breathe normally, but I couldn't. My heart was racing. Boy, was I a weak man!
I checked. She promptly put in $300 with authority. I asked her again, "what you've got? Ace-King?" Dead silence from her. The sour and dour old hag dealer chastised me again, "No talking, please, otherwise I'd have to call the floor." I sighed. I closed my eyes for a few seconds, trying to calm my wildly beating heart. I opened them and looked at her eyes. She was looking straight at me intently. I sensed a barely concealed mirth and merriment on her part. She thought I had Ace-Queen suited and I was afraid that I was behind to Ace-King. I then resorted to playing with my chips. My fingers kept touching them and counting to $300 while looking at her face for signs of tension and the pulse on her neck reflected in her carotid arteries, and straining for the sound of her breathing. It was, of course, all an act, designed to lure her into a false sense of security. But I didn't want to over-act.. After a minute, I called her bet and pushed $300 into the pot. A red Queen showed up, diamond, the same shape as the red Ace. I promptly looked back at my hole cards, pretending to check if I indeed had Ace-Queen or two diamond cards. I then checked again. Sally tersely announced "all in" and pushed all her chips forward. I made a face. I made a grimace to indicate my pain. I was being nasty because she was nasty and greedy. She showed me no kindness. She wanted to get all of my money and yet she was flirting with me. This woman had no heart. All she cared about was money and power. She could have bet between, $500-$1,000, leaving me with some money if I missed the last card on the river. I looked at the other players at the table. We could hear a pin drop. They all looked at me, feeling both sorry for me and yet perversely wanted me to call so they could see what hand she had. I looked at a her, a picture of greed and confidence. She had one of four possibilities: Ace King, Ace Queen, two diamond cards and she was semi-bluffing, Queen-Queen, and the best scenario: Acea-Ace. It never occurred to her that I had an immortal pair of sixes in my hand.
I asked the dealer to count her bet although she had me covered. It was recognized right away the traditional stalling technique to save face and gain me a few extra seconds while I was thinking. The dealer said, "$4,260". I counted my chips. I had exactly $2,500 left. I said, "what the hell." and pushed my reminding stack of chips forward past the betting line, and I stood up. I noticed that all the men at the table also stood up. Only she and the matron remained seated. Two guys kept asking me, "what you've got, man?". I said nothing. I looked at Sally. She looked back at me, smiling faintly. I didn't smile back. I was trying to contain an expression of disgust and contempt. The dealer dealt the last card, an inconsequential 3 of spade.
She didn't turn over her cards. Neither did I. The dealer said, with her smoky, husky, nicotine-laced voice, " show the cards, please". I addressed the dealer, "she goes first. I called her." The dealer looked at Sally and said, "the gentleman was right. Lady, please show your cards". As soon as she said that, Sally triumphantly turned over two black aces. The matron said, "shit" and looked at me, full of pity. I looked at Sally coldly. I tried not to show daggers in my eyes. I lifted one card, 6 of diamond. She gasped. Her hand went up and covered her mouth. She was an experienced player. She knew. She was sorry that she let her greed overwhelm her judgment. She must have felt like a complete fool. I then slowly, very slowly, turned over the other card, 6 of heart. The table exploded. Everybody at the table except Sally was overfilled with joy. As I scooped my chips and stacked them in order, I heard, "slow-rolling", "Hollywood", and "acting" emitted from the mouths of the players at the table. I didn't look up.
Sally stacked up her remaining $1,760 chips and in a subdued and feeble voice asked me if I wanted to join her at the sports bar for a drink. She had difficulty got the words out of her mouth. I was tempted to say, "what's wrong? the cat got your tongue? what happened to the smooth, slick flow of words?" Instead, I said:
-No, thanks. I have a headache. Some other time. Will you be here tomorrow? I'll stick around for a while. I'm running good.
The truth was that my head was clear. I didn't want my drink to get spiked. I didn't want to get robbed in some motel room. I wasn't going to be back to Bellagio poker room for a while.
Everything was crystal clear to me; everything was full of clarity. All the stars were in the right alignment. I felt blessed and in tune with the universe. I looked at Sally wobblingly walk to the cashier. She still had a winning session. But I was positive she was having a bitter taste in her mouth because she was greedy. Gordon Gekko was wrong. Greed is not good. And Don Juan Matus, the Yaqui Indian teacher of Carlos Castañeda, was right. "Be moderate. Eat one quail at a time, not two."
Sally should have left when she was way ahead. She should not have been too greedy to go after all my chips. I was thinking about Gordon Gekko and Don Juan when the matron spoke:
-Nice hand, "young man". I'm glad you took the money from that bitch. Hi, my name is Sarah.
I gave her my routine, practiced lines:
-Roberto is my name. Poker is my game. Glad to make your acquaintance. You come here often?
Wissai
August 29, 2013
canngon.blogspot.com
