Fuming she lit the cigarette.
-What an ass, Brian told her.
-He did nothing wrong, she said.
She walked. She didn’t want sympathy, especially from someone who played with that reg all time. From someone who talked to him and treated that piece of shit like a human being.
She didn’t want to see Brian’s stupid expression, his daily pity. She had lost again. By her calculations she had three more weeks before there was no money. Well, certainly no rent, but maybe some food and a ride to a sweaty friend’s sofa. And by a friend, she meant them. Again.
She twisted her face into something like Brian’s. Let me buy you lunch. Let me give you some suggestions. Slot machines burbled around her, alive like frogs.
Lessons are extra, the reg had said. So smug. She liked it. That lesson might be worth it, after all. Not Brian’s. A week ago, she had considered hiring the reg. Maybe she could promise to pay him and get all his secrets and run away.
Let me buy you lunch. You can give me some bet sizing tips, she would say with a big smile.
But her brain also heard something else, something more like a memory: How long are you going to stay with us?
She could slip out back, secrets and rent in hand.
Instead, she slipped behind another bright machine. Hidden in light.
-Are you playing, said someone.
It wasn’t a question. A short man, grey and messy was staring at her. He looked resentful, like a flustered, squat bird.
-Does it look like I’m playing?
-I want that machine, he said.
She started to get up from the vinyl chair then changed her mind.
-Why?
Now the man, who had seemed as certain as a hungry animal a moment before, hesitated. She could see the humble shape of his skull, the signs of aging in the angle of delicate facial bones.
-I’m working, he finally said. She noticed he had a lisp or some speech thing.
-At what?
The man looked around, but it was all light and chirping frogs and crickets.
-You know. At slots.
She laughed.
-I’m an AP.
She laughed again, at whatever that meant. No one works at slots, she told him. And I could smash your brain in, maybe I should, she thought. The skin was delicate, too, around those bones. He was a zombie, she decided. There are zombies around here.
-Well, I and others work at slots no matter what you think.
This guy was funny.
-Ok have it your way.
-And I need that machine if you aren’t playing it.
I can give you some tips. Buy you lunch.
-I’ve changed my mind, she said. You can watch me. Tell me what to do.
She pushed her rewards card into the machine and bit down on the cigarette. A forest of whirlies bloomed and burst.
-I’m not sure I should do that.
-You’re not very sure of anything, are you?
She slammed on some buttons. They were thick and plastic, like from an old car. The car that would pick her up when she lost everything again.
-This…this machine is ready. See those numbers? It’s more probable now that I, that you’ll, I mean, hit the jackpot.
-Cool.
– It’s my job.
-Sure.
The short man pointed at the screen.
-Look!
-Hmm? she mumbled, a new cigarette between her lips.
-This is the bonus. You better not win it, I’ve been watching for it, he whined.
-So you do work here.
-No.
This little dude is too much.
-Maybe you should fuck off, she said.
-I’m going to get in trouble, he continued.
-With who?
-My team. My boss.
He wasn’t making any sense. No one does. Lessons are extra.
-Ok, whatever. What do I do? she asked.
-You try to hit the bonus.
-That’s not helpful.
-You keep pressing the button, he insisted.
A gurgle of whirls, an opticon of color.
-Woah. You got the jackpot, he said, depressed or shocked. She couldn’t tell now; light was everywhere. Corny trumpets sounded a gerbil’s march.
-How much? she was practically yelling.
-Just wait, the bonuses are adding up. I’m in trouble now. I’m in makeup.
Gold coins sprayed upward on the video screen. She could see the man’s screwed-up face in the reflection.
-How much did I win? she said, turning to him. What’s makeup?
But the short man had left. She watched the geyser of coins.
She smoked, hypnotized.
-Congratulations! I’m Doris, let me help you with the payout!
Jesus Christ, she choked out, surprised at how loud the attendant was. Doris was black haired and matted down like someone who’d been up all night. Her dried blood smile was toothy and beige.
Doris fussed with the machine. She seemed to be offended.
-Sorry, uh, Doris? How much did I win? she asked, calmed by a fresh cigarette.
-Looks like five figures. Congratulations.
-Huh.
-You’re not happy?
-Excuse me?
-Just saying. I’ve been on a pretty dry run myself, said Doris.
She took another drag.
-You’re right, she said. This is great, underlining the word.
-It is, insisted Doris.
Doris put a card in the machine and pulled it out. It snapped back, attached to her neck with a clear plastic coil.
-It is, she repeated. Doris counted out hundreds, right into her hand, then stood nearby while she smoked her cigarette in astonishment. It took a whole minute for Doris to frown and leave.
-Bye Doris, she mumbled at the machine.
She felt the bills. She rubbed and patted them like a pillow on that sofa. Firm, comforting. Mine, though?
It was early in the morning when she returned to the poker room, winding through the blinking games.
Had she seen Doris between the blinking machines? Two black eyes of envy?
The short man was standing at the poker room entrance.
-That’s a good choice to play poker, he said.
-If you say so.
-When I was pro I made one hundred and three dollars and hour I would have made 200,000 a year if I didn’t have to travel. It’s hard not having a house and you have to take the train and have no girlfriend.
-That’s not easy.
-I think it’s easy.
She laughed. Nevermind, she told him. Why is everyone impossible, she wondered.
-I’m going back to poker, he said firmly.
-Thanks for the help, she said but thought: why are you standing here?
-Poker is way better. You play against the players, not the house. You can win.
She hadn’t considered it that way. What other tips do you have? she said.
-I made eighty nine dollars per hour last week. You have to buy in for fifty big blinds, it’s the only way to win. I made seventy five dollars hour when I played with the half stack when I was a pro.
-I thought you made a hundred.
-I’d have to check my records.
A voice crackled out over a bad mic: Open seating, one two.
-Sounds like a problem, she said, putting out her cigarette. But why only fifty big blinds? How much is that in dollars? she continued.
-Blinds are whatever the stake is. You buy in half so they can’t push you around.
-Huh.
-You go all in a lot, he said, motioning something with his arms.
-You mean with aces?
-No, you know, good hands, big cards. You get Ace King as much as seven deuce after all. They raise and you go all in. Get it?
She had seen others do this but thought it was a mistake.
-Thanks, she said. She stepped toward the poker desk where the floor had spoken into the mic. The short man stepped beside her. She stopped, then he stopped.
Then the short man hurried to the desk and spread some twenties out. She waited for him to sit, then did the same, only with one of the hundreds from the payouts. The outlandish wad disturbed her. This kind of money needed to be more secret.
There were so many things that needed to be secret. Secret knowledge. Secret behaviors. She had called the QUIPS ladies poker group for help when the losing started to hurt.
-We help fight for women’s rightful place in poker.
-What’s our rightful place?
-The right to play unmolested by bad behavior and misogyny.
Ugh. She hung up. She wished the men hated her. What she wanted was respect.
Respect because she played well.
Actually, she thought, that’s wrong too. I don’t want respect from these clowns: I want to win.
And to beat that fucking reg.
Lessons are extra, sweetheart.
Are you coming back tonight? My husband and I kind of need you to be gone.
-Do you want a seat? We have an open seat, the floor said, trying to get her attention.
She was put at the only one two table running. The reg was there, she noticed right away, as well as the little man.
-Hey, said Brian.
-Oh. Hey, she replied. And Brian, too. Christ.
She looked at the Reg. He was everything a tough player seemed to be. He was a little bald and a little grey. He wore a button-down shirt without a tie, as if he had just gotten off work. He had a little figurine with him, perhaps a memento from some huge game or an affair. He didn’t drink at the table like the others, but had a paper cup of black coffee.
Because he was serious, she thought. She needed a little figurine.
It was weird buying in for the minimum, she thought. She had all this money from the hand pay; normally she’d buy in for the whatever the others did.
She waved off the dealer who indicated she could have a hand. Normally she would take the first hand dealt to her, but why not do it like the Reg? He always waited until the blinds passed him for some reason. He was cool.
She watched Brian. He played his hand but the Reg now raised to eighteen dollars. The Reg was fearless, she thought, always putting in big bets. Brian looked regretfully and flicked his cards before flashing them to her: Seven of hearts, eight of diamonds.
-Wanted to see a flop, he lamented.
-Show one, show all, the reg ordered. He knew all the rules, all the angles. Dangerous.
-I’m sorry they are already in the muck, the dealer muttered.
-No, they are right on top, the Reg said, leaning over as far as his stomach would allow. Right there, the reg pointed.
The dealer sighed and flipped them over. The reg nodded and everyone nodded.
-Good fold, someone said. The dealer nodded and made a very serious face.
She liked the tension but wished they’d let you smoke in the poker room.
Soon she took her first hand, putting in the minimal two dollars. Damn, she realized, that wasn’t the plan the short man had mentioned.
The Reg raised. Like clockwork this guy. He can’t be beat. Jack ten seemed like a good hand, but the eighteen dollars was a lot. She wished she had discussed this with the short man a little more.
Fold. The reg pushed his cards quickly into the muck. Infuriating. He didn’t even want to have the cards near him. He didn’t seem to care what they were at all.
The depression was coming back, already. She had forty-eight dollars on the table now. Brian played a hand, as did another behind him. Now the Reg raised to twenty dollars.
It was a different amount, what did it mean? Before, she would have been even more likely to fold, but she like how she was thinking about the amount now. It was different. He had a different hand. Instinctively she glanced at the small man but only stared at her emptily.
She picked up her cards again. An ace and a king of different suits. This was a good hand but a drawing hand. She’d learned that from Brian the first time they’d met.
And the reg could have aces, especially now that he was raising to twenty.
The little man’s advice stuck with her, though. She pushed the forty-eight dollars past the line. Strangely, she found herself mumbling all-in so quietly no one heard. She was rich now, why should this be so nerve-wracking?
The dealer threw a disk in front of her. That’s the all-in disk. Shameful. Her heart pounded. She was all in without aces. She felt her throat needing to swallow. Her face itched and she touched her nose.
Stop that, she thought.
The player next to her chuckled foolishly, mucked his hand and thanked her; another told her good luck. Brian and the other player gave up their cards, shaking their heads.
Only the Reg remained to act but he was on his phone. The dealer tapped the felt in front of him.
-How much is that, the Reg asked when he looked up. He had not looked at her though, not gotten the read. Her palms were wet and she wanted to adjust her seat.
The Reg shrugged, and without leaving the phone, tossed a chip into the pot. This meant call, she knew. He didn’t even bother to put his chips in.
She liked his arrogance, but was sad she was about to lose. She’d just gotten the slot money and now was already wasting it on the little man’s foolish strategy.
The little man had been so wrong. She was all in with just ace-king and the Reg had to have a big pair. A wired pair, she recalled from the kitchen game night. The husband had called it that. Thank god she had the money from the handpay, but it still felt terrible. Fifty dollars was going to be gone already.
The Reg hadn’t even looked up yet. He must be so sure. I’ve got this stupid girl again, he’s saying.
The dealer pulled in the chips, and dealt a single card face down, pushing it under the pile. Absently, she wondered why they always did that. Did they always do it like this? The world grew quiet. Then, all the community were on their backs.
Seven four four nine jack. She couldn’t focus on the suits, the nicotine must be hitting at last.
That’s it, no ace or king. She tightened and curled the cards in her hand.
Now the reg, for the first time since taking all her chips last time, looked up and at her.
He made a mildly disappointed face and shook his head.
A moment passed.
-You don’t want to show? he asked.
No, I don’t want to show, she thought.
The Reg shrugged. Okay, he said, and turned over his hand before going back to his phone.
She looked at it carefully. There is a queen. The other is a queen, too, no doubt.
-Ace queen high, the dealer declared in someone else’s voice, like he was running a carnival.
Huh, she said, too quiet to be heard. She looked at the board. Why did he turn it over? How did he win? Did he have a flush?
The dealer was focused on her. She was supposed to do something.
-What does he have, she asked, not recognizing her own voice.
-Ace high, he repeated for her. He raised his eyebrows with a touch of mock drama, bored but still polite.
-Okay, she said, and turned over her cards so quickly they bounced. For a second, she thought they might not be legal if they flipped over.
Okay? She thought. What kind of stupid response is that?
-Ace King high, the dealer declared, now more wearily. That takes it, he added with emphasis, as if he wanted this hand and all the poker hands in the world to be over. He pushed all the white and red chips, a massive, unfathomable pile, into her area of the felt.
-Nice hand, said Brian, well done, well played.
He tapped the table for some unknown reason but she knew enough to be irritated by it.
-Excuse me, she said, not even knowing what she was doing until she was outside the room and lighting up among the machines.
-How’s it going? The honking voice of the little man.
-Awesome. I just won a huge pot.
-Awesome, he repeated with uncertainty.
-Awesome, she said again. I guess he’s not so bad, this little fucker. He’s following me, thouigh.
-Hey, he said, I have something to ask you.
Oh man, she said to herself. Here it comes.
-I need to get home but the taxi is nineteen dollars and they probably want a tip. When you leave, will you split a ride with me?
-I don’t think so, she said, but here is ten. For the lesson.
The little man beamed.
-I know all sorts of things about poker, just ask me.
She smoked a little more while he stared at her and said some of those things.
He ended by saying Thanks for the ride money, then turned and hurried off.
Then he came back.
-I don’t have any records, he confessed. He looked glum and old.
-Okay, she said.
-I lost my computer but I didn’t really keep any records anyway.
She nodded.
-I hate lying, he said.
-Me too, she said. I don’t have to go back to anyone’s place now and I don’t have to tell anyone a story, she thought.
She stuffed the cigarette half-finished into a clear glass ashtray, sitting like a giant chip among the slot buttons.
The little man was gone when she walked back to the poker room. Her chips were on the table, the table with the Reg and Brian and it was all no big deal. She could do this all night and probably all month long. Lessons are extra.
