The Poker Report

2-20-02

"A Small Piece of Truth Since 2001"

Before poker on Tuesday I came across the email address of an old friend. We haven’t spoken in over two-years, and with good reason. I wasn’t sure if I found her email by accident or intent but guessed I’d be pretty good at this kind of a thing if I ever decided to pursue it.

Sheila and I worked at the Heartland Cafe together back in 1994. I was living in a cheap apartment and moving a pound a week. She had braided hair and I called her chicken legs. In 1996 we lived in Seattle off a bottle of gin her brother had left in the freezer. I was dating her best friend but my girl always had a date with the snowman, my girl was always looking for something to put up her nose. Sheila was out of work and sometimes we would take horrible temp jobs downtown handing out Subway coupons. So Sheila and I sat around broke with that bottle. And when that wasn’t enough we went for runs in the park. People can live like that.

I moved in with Sheila and my girl in Chicago in 1997 after not-quite making it in Hollywood. I had got engaged to my girl over a cell phone while running errands for Mustang records. Mustang tried to charge me six-dollars for the phone call. I told them to bill it to Madonna. The three of us took the Law School Admissions Test. They decided to go, I decided against it.

One day in 1998 while Sheila and I were jumping on her couch in our pajamas above Loyola’s Downtown campus we agreed we would dump our partners. I told my girlfriend it was over. I couldn’t hang the distance. Sheila got married instead.

I had twelve Sierras in the fridge by the time Ben, Jon, and Jensen showed up Tuesday. Cooney wasn’t coming on account of the rain. Donahue was at the Olympics. He comes from an Olympic family. We all cracked beers and I dealt the first hand of Texas Hold’Em. I pulled aces in the hole five times in a row. I had pink chips to my ears quick. And I said, "Should I write Sheila?" But no one was listening.

At eight o’clock the rain had stopped and Andrew Miller came by looking like he had stolen a watch. Abby showed up with her Ogden eyes and Wendy had finished her meeting down at Yahoo. Seven players made us all legit, one night only. Andy called seven card high low and I pulled fulls and eights. We were letting the cards talk. My cards were having a conversation. Wendy called some Scrotum, someone else said Five Card Baby Jesus. But mostly it was Hold’Em.

Playing Hold’Em is like eating well. You play tight and aggressive. You eat fruits and vegetables. The rest is triglycerides and bluffing, marketing bullshit. If you got a low kicker you better watch out. If your cards can’t go the distance narrow the playing field.

It only takes three of a kind to beat Ben’s two pair. Jensen cashed out five cents short. Abby won a game of baseball with five aces, an unbeatable hand. Abby’s unbeatable sometimes. When I lost I lost small but when I won I won big. Fruits and vegetables, three beers, keep it simple. Sometimes things get complicated and you’ve got to make a decision. Then there is no right and wrong.

Last night people left early. Andy Miller stuck around and the two of us had a drink and I broke out some old photos. The blank spots in the albums are pictures I’ve thrown away. I found a picture of me when I was twenty years old with long hair holding my hands over my head framing the Hollywood sign. "Ben, Wendy, and I are going to L.A. this weekend," I told him. "I’m going to be on television. I’m famous, you just don’t know it yet."

Andy wondered why the game broke up so early but Ben had lost twenty-five dollars and seemed depressed. If Abby had pushed him harder he’d of dipped another ten. She could have buried Ben for good if she had a meanness to her. Abby wears five aces the way mashed potatoes wear gravy. Ben ended up giving six dollars in cash to John on a bad Clue bet and John wasn’t even feeling good to begin with. I finished way up, thirty-five dollars to the good. A monster victory really, considering the circumstances, and how little time I had. Andy said maybe I should wait before I sent that email. I told him you’ve got to think in miles, thousands and thousands of miles.

In the morning I did the obvious, then I had fish for lunch before heading down to school. Her response was short and inquisitive. She’s doing immigration for the fifth largest law firm in America. I sent her something vague, something about fog around the knees. I said things are going well. She said things are going well too. Well that settles that. It usually takes me a day to put the table away anyhow.

Stephen Elliott

Editor

The Poker Report