So I didn't mean to act at all, but I was. I was acting weak.
I flat called.
That's when you call the blind, in this case, five bucks. I figured it was a nice investment.
Well, low and behold, someone in late position had something, and he raised $15. It folded around to me, and I hesitated a bit, then called.
The flop came.
It didn't help me at all, in fact, it probably sucked for the other player too, but at least he had, it seemed, decent starting cards in his hand.
I looked at the flop and studied it. I looked at my cards again. I looked at the flop. I finally, after much thinking, bet $20.
He raised me another $30, throwing in two $25 chips. He was feeling me out to see if I'd hit a hand.
I called.
The turn came. A rag. A rag is a card that can't conceivably help anyone. Sometimes they end up making a hand out of the blue, but generally, a rag doesn't change anyone's hand.
I checked this time.
He hesitated, but bet a hundred. He had an over pair, my guess. Probably a pair of tens or jacks. There wasn't any color on the board (that's face cards or aces), but he still had to be worried I'd flopped two-pair or a set. It's generally thought that women don't bluff as much as men, and it's also true that it's hard to bluff a woman because she'll call you down often, even with weak cards. We are curious that way, I guess.
So I hammed it up, I put on an act. I hesitated. I rubbed my nose. I looked at the flop, pretending to study it. I called him.
The turn wasn't much, but it did pair one of the fours that had come on the flop. A pair on the board is always a threat because it means someone could have hit a full house while a second ago you thought your flush was good.
It was my turn to bet.
Here is where the acting had to be incredibly good.
I couldn't check. If I checked he'd just check behind. That would be the safe thing for him to do, assuming he thought I had a winning hand, which he did.
I know this because when I bet $300, he instantly folded.
"I know you have a monster. Your acting is terrible," he said.
I smiled and turned over my cards.
I had nothing. Blank. Shit. I'd run a total bluff from the start of the hand. I raised my drink to him (I only drink tonic with lime when I play). "Yes, I was acting," I said.
"Bravo," said the old man to my left. "Nice play."
It felt good running a bluff. It's not something you can do very often because in these types of games you will get called down a lot more than you'd expect. A lot of people in the world have a lot of money they have no problem parting with.
It ain't me. In spite of my bank account, I always play to win.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
What organized dating sites fail to understand is that the people are far more interesting in what they don't say about themselves.
~ Nassim Nicholas Taleb
Online dating works as a good filter: I don't even give some types a chance (bigots, assholes—you know—fundie Christians, creeps, obnoxious people). This doesn't mean that selected matches are automatically compatible. For that, it takes face-to-face time. Which, frankly, can sometimes feel like a job.
~ Jessica
ON THURSDAY NIGHT I met Glen for dinner.
Yes, he asked—just like I said—and, yes, I agreed. He seemed like an interesting enough guy, and I hadn't written him off yet, although I think I dreamt of Kirk last night, and he'd sent me another nice email, so this date with Glenn Burns, the Long Beach Fireman, was probably going to be the last one. Unless he knocked my socks off out of the blue. I don't know, sometimes people have bad days and deserve a second look, right?
"You look very pretty," he said.
"Thank you."
"A bottle of wine?"
"Please."
We were at an Italian place in Seal Beach. I wasn't comfortable enough to have him pick me up at home, and I didn't want to leave my car at his place. He was waiting for me outside, and he greeted me with a hug. He was a sweet man. I wouldn't be here in the first place if that weren't the case.
We began storytelling after pouring the wine.
"I had to take required leave last year. A death...in our unit."
"You don't have to talk about it--"
"No. It's part of me. I was working a fire up in the San Gabriel Mountains. This was during that major heat wave last summer. I mean, a year and a half ago summer. It was brutally hot, the Santa Ana's were blowing, and everything was dry. You remember?"
"Yes. I can't stand that weather."
"So, thousands of acres had burnt already. We were attempting to contain the fire in a valley, keep it away from a housing tract, it was a big fire, but nothing that we hadn't dealt with before. I was in charge of driving our rig, and I had four men with me. Two were from my regular unit, and two others were guys on loan. We were on a ridge, surveying the situation, radioing in observations, nothing out of the ordinary.
"Next thing you know, the wind shifted. I mean it was sudden. A huge wall of fire materialized--seemingly from nowhere--there was nothing we could do except try to outdrive the spread of the fire, there was no time to do anything else. I was driving, and I left the scene. I don't know what happened, but a man got left behind."
"I'm sorry."
"I was at fault for not checking immediately, but in all honesty, we started trying to locate him right after I had driven a short distance. I don't know what happened; maybe he'd walked away from the rig to piss or something. I panicked when I got behind the wheel because the heat was already intense before I even turned the ignition."
"Wow. That's terrible."
"There was an investigation. Of course. Anytime a death occurs. But this particular case, I was worried I might be written up. I'd left a man behind. I had to take time off and get some counseling. I can't believe I'm telling you all this. I feel like I can trust you. I still feel horrible. He had a wife. Two kids. The funeral was sad. I felt like I'd killed him. Survivor's guilt, my therapist, said. I'm sorry. This is depressing talk for a date."
"It's okay. I see that you are still dealing with it."
MY BROTHER-IN-LAW IS A SCHMUCK sometimes, but—like I said—he's a decent and attentive father. He's given good life lessons to his kids. Last summer, I think it was the Fourth of July (a horrible day to go to the beach in Newport, FYI) I was listening to Ray give surfing advice to Zack and his son's surfing buddy.
"Boys, listen up," he said. He put on an air of wisdom. "When you go out to surf, you go out as a pair, and you come back as a pair. You understand?"
"Like that bumper sticker, Eddie Would Go?" Zack asked. He looked at his father for approval.
"Yes, like that. Eddie didn't come back. Don't come back without your friend."
Nobody got lost at sea that summer, but the lesson Ray spoke to his boy resonated with me. Not that I do any extreme adventure sporting, well, I scuba dive, so that can be dangerous, but I'm reasonably cautious... And hell, the worst thing that can happen in a casino is an old lady spilling her hot coffee on you, but still, I took Ray's lesson to heart.
Being partners with someone meant that you never came home alone.
WHEN I KNOW A POTENTIAL RELATIONSHIP is not going anywhere, I like to be as firm and up front as possible. I slipped a bit with Mickey back in Hartford, but I wasn't going to let that happen again, not with my future dates, case-in-point, my date with the fireman.
He awkwardly started to talk about the future, "Jessica, I'd like to..."
"No. Look, Glen. I think you're a good guy. But it's just not right for me."
"You don't think that--"
"No. I know there's potential for you out there. Hell, tons of women are dying to date fireman."
He frowned.
I'd used a bad choice of words...
"Good luck," I said. I didn't linger; it is never a good idea to give a guy false hope. Pull the cord like stripping a bandaid and move on.
/> CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Porn is in the eye of the beholder.
~ Adriano Bulla
I sometimes wonder if my best friend is a cliche.
~ Jessica
AUDREY KELLY is my best friend. She's got the same birthday as me, August, 5th, but she was born in 1983. I told her when we first met that 8-5-83 wasn't lucky or special, and she said 8-5-85 was a Chinese curse and the Year of the Bat.
As it turns out, 1985 is the year of the Ox and '83 is the year of the pig. She shut up about Chinese curses.
Audrey is a model, actress, part-time bartender, wanna-be tattoo artist, and has done some (regrettable -- her words) porn movies. I watched one once (she insisted) and it was kind of sad. She was only nineteen and trying to make a buck. But, after we had a besties crying session, we watched it again, and mocked the whole thing. We got drunk and told each other we'd love each other forever, no matter what. Thick, thin, fat, skinny, rich, poor, unwanted pregnancies, whatever came. Sort of like a marriage, without the sex--and a higher likelihood we'd still be together in twenty years.
Audrey isn't stacked with cash like me, but she never takes advantage. I pay for lunches, drinks, trips to Maui, shit like that. She'd do the same for me if she'd hit it big in a Hollywood movie, sort of like one of my favorite hip-hop artists did with his childhood friend.
It's true, a Sicilian rapper, Russ, signed a huge deal with Columbia Records and slapped some money on his buddy.
I think that's the kind of shit real friends do with each other, share and watch each other's backs.
I still think Audrey will make it big and she'll end up making me look like a pauper--ha, ha--if anyone knows Ron Howard or Quentin Tarantino--you know the deal: Hook a sista up!
"What the fuck?" she said to me after giving me a hug. She had a way with words, too. No punches pulled among best friends.
"I know. Sorry." I hadn't called her back in two weeks. All of our communication had been short text messages and a few Facebook Messenger back-and-forths.
"Goddamn, bitch, if I wanted to be neglected and ignored, I'd get a man," she said. We both give each other a decent amount of shit; it's how we tell each other 'I love you.'
"I have a strap on in the trunk," I deadpanned. I pointed back to my car and looked her in the eyes.
"You do not," she challenged.
"I do."
"If you actually have a strap-on in the car," she said. "I'll let you fuck me with it. In the ass."
I laughed, giving up the fact I was joking, but next time I'll be prepared.
WE GOT A TABLE at a Brentwood restaurant.
"What are you ordering?" I said. I read the menu; she waited.
"I don't know. What do you feel like?" Audrey asked.
"I'm not sure yet," I said while I browsed the menu for something tasty, but not heavy on the carbs and calories.
"I can't order until you order," she said.
I ordered a salmon salad with a balsamic vinaigrette.
"I'll have the same," she told the waiter, "except with Blue Cheese."
"It's great to be with you," I said.
"Same."
"I apologize it's been so long. So, tell me about you and him." The 'him' in my question was her long time boyfriend. "I hope you're being smart and not allowing..."
"We are off again. We were on again a week and a half ago. That's why I'd tried calling you, sorry. I'm not co-dependent." Audrey played with her fork and shook her head. She stopped fidgeting when our waiter walked up to the table.
"Ladies, would you like another round?" He was handsome--no, beautiful--tall, dark, Latin, probably part Caribbean, dark skin, perfect teeth, and a sexy-as-hell voice. He was making some guy a lucky guy, I'm sure. I still flirted with him, I mean, what's the harm?
I looked at Audrey and raised my eyebrows.
"Are you getting another?" she said pointing to my wine glass.
"Sure," I said finishing off my glass. "Why not?"
"Me too, then."
I made the piece sign to the waiter, indicating two more drinks. He smiled and went to fetch our drinks, like a good bitch. Don't get your panties in a bunch, this is LA, and we joke around...and don't worry, I'll tip the fuck out of him if he keeps flirting with me. I sometimes wonder about certain gay men--the hotties that flirt with me--if they'd be monsters in bed--or if they'd be too uncomfortable with the vag...
I'll have to find out someday...
Maybe...
Back to Audrey. "So, let's hear it," I said preparing myself for an onslaught of words.
Audrey started yapping and didn't stop until after we'd eaten our salads. Check that. I'd eaten my salad, ordered a third glass of wine, and she'd barely touched her food. It's impossible to talk and eat at the same time and she hadn't stopped.
I guess this what made best friends best friends.
I'd actually thought about asking Bobby (the sexy waiter), for a steak knife to slit my wrists. But I didn't think Audrey would have appreciated that kind of joke. The server didn't look like a Bobby to me...so I guessed he probably had an ethnic name that Westerners couldn't pronounce. To make things easier on his customers he used 'Bobby.'
That was my story, anyway. Why did it matter?
Oh, I had a gay-man-converted-sex-fantasy going through my mind. Me and Bobby McGee. Hell, I had to do something, I'd tuned-out Audrey after about forty-five minutes (the point where she'd started to repeat herself).
OUR FRIDAY LUNCHES always turned into movie nights with a sleepover at my place afterward. It's a tradition, and we take turns picking the movie.
Don't think I was rude tuning-out the continuation of her story about Danny (the on-again-off-again boyfriend). It's been the same story for five years. There's nothing about their relationship I haven't heard.
Audrey doesn't need my advice (she knows what I think--Danny is an asshole-- but she does need my love, which she has). If you can listen to your friend tell you the same story, about the same man, about the same problems, every six to ten months for five years, well, they should have an awards show or something.
It was my turn and I picked a movie with Leonardo DiCaprio.
If anyone knows...
I know, the joke is getting old.
Let me give you the short list and get it over with:
Leonardo, Will Smith, Russell Brand, Brad Pitt, Adam Levine, David Beckman, Aston Kutcher, Jake Gyllenhall, Dave Franco, Michael B. Jordan, Chris Pratt, Ryan Gosling, and Charlie Hunnam.
Of course, Edward, too. Robert Pattinson. Go Team Edward.
Oh, and Chiwetel Ejiofor. Goddamn! That man is sexy. I mean, goddamn. Anyone have his four-one-one?
Anyway, back to reality, the movie was great, and we went back to my place. After talking like high school girls until two am we fell asleep with Haiku curled between us. Olive slept at our feet--yes--I have a massive bed, just for this purpose.
The group snuggles were therapeutic, but I knew I was missing Kirk, too. I dreamt of him again.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Sex pretty much cures everything.
~ Chuck Palahniuk
The world can be right. At least for a few moments.
~ Jessica
AUDREY WAS GONE when I finally woke up. I think I remember her kissing the top of my head and telling me she loved me. The pets were gone, too. Haiku was probably hunting mice or some other disgusting creatures. I'd left him clawed so he could be an outside cat if he wanted, although I'd taken care of other things. No baby Haikus. Olive was fixed too, of course, the last thing I needed was a litter of anything.
Midori was probably at the beach with Olive, they both liked to go for long, contemplative walks, which was something I need to do more of myself. The house was quiet. I made coffee and ate an egg.
I DID LIKE RUNNING THE HEAT if I could help it, even on extra cold days, which wasn't too common, but they did happen. I'd rather wear a sweater or start a fire. I was cool, but not cold. I missed Kirk, enough that I fantasized
about him walking in the door, giving me a hug, kissing me, touching me. Memories of his scent and touch became real. That got me warmer. I took off my sweater, which brushed against my nipples, and the fire inside me ignited.
I ran a bath. A big bubbly bath, the kind girly-girls enjoy and had fantasies about, usually imaging themselves at a nice hotel. I liked having a hotel sized bathroom and tub at home.
Lucky me.
Don't hate me because I'm member of the one-percenters.
I'm a generous and decent progressive, honest.
I lit three vanilla candles, turned off the lights, and played a soft R&B music mix I'd created. Sade, Usher, and some Russ, an eclectic, getting-busy-mix. Sexy. A memory and libido trigger, too. As I undressed for the tub, I remembered the gift Kirk had given me back in Hartford.
I imagined Kirk mounting me as I slid the glass into myself, smooth, hard, and controlled by the one person who knew exactly what I needed, me...
I hadn't made it to the tub--that wetness would have to wait--I was all wet on my own. I began to sweat lightly, my body responding to the fantasy I was concocting in my mind.
"Concocting," I whispered. A sexy word...
My pussy was slippery and engorged--men aren't the only creatures who have erections--and my nipples were hard, too. My face flushed, hot and sweaty. I was on my back, on the bed, with my feet propped up on the headboard. I moved the decorated phallic glass piece into my soft, pink flesh with a steady rhythmic stroke.
If you've never tried a glass dildo...just saying...
It's a sensation different than you might expect because glass seems so hard, unyielding, sturdy, and robust. When you first look at it--so unforgiving--it doesn't seem like it would feel so wonderful.
But hard and slick mixed with soft and wet vag work well together if the hardness is smooth. Otherwise, poor Bella could never have fucked Edward. I think vampire cock is what a glass dildo replicates.
Fifty-Two Pickup: Aces (Jessica Rogers Book 1) Page 8