After school, I decide that my self-imposed two-week sentence is enough. And being the gambler that I am, I’m willing to take the gamble on playing again. Yes, there’s the Mr. Lackey issue, but I know I’ll be fine if I stay on the low-stakes tables. He’s never dealt that game before so there’s no reason for me to think he’ll be dealing that tonight. Besides, leaving right after school gives me an hour or two window. I can’t imagine him having to be at work for an evening shift by three-thirty.
I can’t get there fast enough. I feel giddy, like being on a diet for two weeks then getting a big slice of red velvet cake. I’m so excited that when I park I run into the yellow concrete bumper, and it jolts me back into consciousness. Calm down, I tell myself. I know better: I’m in no state to play poker, and I decide I must get some composure before I go in.
I sit in the car, take deep breaths, and I hope that I see Nate. Hopefully he’s working. Two weeks has been too long, and I realize now that I like him even more than I realized.
I want Nate.
I want poker.
I want a big win.
I take off the boot, toss it into the back seat, and check myself in the mirror. It’s one of my better hair days, and I hope Nate is able to see this.
I know that it’s basically an all-in situation, and I’m not even at the table yet. I take my waded up ten bucks, two dollars made up of quarters, dimes, and nickels (how embarrassing), and stick it all in my back jean pocket. I take a few more deep breaths, and enter the smoky, adult version of Disney World.
It’s that feeling, again. That feeling of being somewhere exotic. The two-week hiatus makes it that much sweeter.
I see Nate before he sees me. But when he does see me at the front sign-up counter, he stops mid-conversation with a dealer. He holds his finger up to the dealer, and I read his lips when he says, “Hang on just a second.” He doesn’t wait for acknowledgment from the dealer. He doesn’t take his eyes off me and walks my direction.
“Well, hello.” He says smiling through his words.
“Hi, there,” I say.
We’re mutually happy to see one another.
“Long time, no talk.”
His soapy, clean smell cuts through the casino smoke. I step closer to get more of it. “I know, I’m sorry. I’ve had so much going on.”
His smile grows bigger.
“I’ve missed seeing you around.”
“Well I’ve missed seeing you too.” I put my hands in my back pockets.
We stare and smile, then smile and stare some more.
“Do you need a table?”
“Yeah. 3-6.”
“What, no high stakes today?”
I pull my hair behind my ear.
“Oh, I may make my way over there later. We’ll see,” I laugh, “I need a warm-up. I’m a little rusty.”
He turns to a worker in a suit and says, “By all means, Rick. Let’s get the lady warmed up. 3-6.”
Rick looks around the room. Then says, “Right this way, ma’am.”
I know that Nate knows this is not the end of our encounter, so he walks off confidently, knowing we’ll talk again before I leave.
I sit down, super excited to be here but wishing I was on the high-stakes table. Because sometime today someone will take down a big pot that could be mine.
I take out my money and try to make sure the change doesn’t make noise as I stack it neatly in one dollar stacks. I don’t look at anyone until it’s traded out for poker chips. I mean, four quarters wager the same exact way a dollar bill does, right?
I’m the only girl at the table, and none of the players look familiar. A couple of months ago I would have let that intimidate me, but not today. In fact, this is to my advantage because they think I know nothing. I will do everything in my power to let them think this of me, because, after all, the “less I know,” the better.
I decide to play it up, just a bit. For fun.
I throw an ante out, knowing that it’s not my turn for the blind.
The dealer retrieves it, and tosses it back to me.
“Miss, it’s not your blind, yet. I’ll let you know when.”
The guys all look around at each other and crack smiles letting each other know, in the silent-poker-form-of-communication, that I’m ready for the taking.
I play a few hands without betting. I laugh on the inside when I ask my neighbor, “What makes a flush, again?”
He leans my direction. “It means all the same suit. Like all diamonds, all hearts; you’ve got to have five of the same suit.”
“Ohhh.” I nod my head in understanding. “Thanks. I always get a flush and full-house confused.”
I take down a few decent pots, and my dumb-blonde-poker-player persona is working nicely until we change dealers, and the dealer calls me by name.
“Hey, Chandra.”
The players look at each other. They’re all asking themselves how the dealer knows my name. Needless to say, my hamming it up comes to an end. This isn’t a bad thing, though, it keeps them guessing, in other words, I’m still a mystery and that’s exactly what you want to be to your opponents. A mystery.
We’re deep in the middle of a hand when I look up and almost pee myself.
I don’t know when he got here, but he did.
Mr. Lackey.