by EJ McBride
'You ever had a girlfriend?', asked Clara. The question was as uncomfortable for her to ask as it was for him to answer, Clara's face wincing immediately after she asked it, as though the words had come spilling out of her mouth by accident. Regardless, she held off from apologising, just to see what Robin would say in return.
'Ever? What if I have one now?'
Robin looked at Clara, waiting to see her reaction. She scoffed, seemingly unimpressed with his show of bravado.
'OK Johnny Depp, tell me about her', she quipped.
'I said 'what if', I didn't say I had one.'
And just like that the conversation stopped, almost turning sour, the game of emotional poker unfolding in front of them before any cards had been dealt, neither one of them wanting to break their poker face and show a sign of weakness.
'It's, not easy', said Robin. 'I'm telling you this like you don't already know. I dunno, I guess there have been girls.'
Robin waited, staring into his almost empty drinks glass, as if he were hoping that the script, a prompt for what to say next might be engraved onto the bottom of the glass. He thought for a moment longer.
'The problem with relationships is that people tell you they're built on honesty, when you and I know that's bullshit.'
He looked across at Clara, not needing to read her thoughts to know that she understood what he was saying. He fidgeted awkwardly in his seat.
'I used to try and convince myself that I could live with someone even though I knew their every thought, like that wasn't an issue. I used to tell myself that it wasn't ok to read them, that it was an invasion of their privacy.'
He looked at Clara with a firm and intense stare. 'I don't know about you, but I've never been able to just switch this off', he said.
Clara nodded. 'It's like your boyfriend asking you to look after his secret diary for him without taking a peek at what he's written'.
'Exactly!', replied Robin. 'So yes there have been girls, but no there isn't one now. Relationships might be built on honesty, but it's the lies that keep them afloat every day. You take away the lies, you give everyone in the world the ability to see nothing but absolute honesty. Then what?'
'You're assuming that everyone has a hidden agenda', sniped Clara, her tone clearly referencing a crime that Robin hadn't committed yet, but in Clara's mind was only a matter of time from doing so.
'I'm assuming that the little white lies have the power to cripple a relationship when you can't use them anymore.'
Robin sat upright, took a sip of his drink before swirling the glass in his hands. 'My Mom used to worry about money when we were growing up. We weren't poor, my Dad worked for a construction company and he had a pretty good job, but Mom used to like to play catchup with the neighbourhood. We had to drive the better car, we had to have the new kitchen appliances when her friends came to visit, stupid shit really. My uncles used to joke with my Dad, tell him she was taking advantage of him. Of course, they used to think she was a gold-digger, but my Dad was a big guy and they knew better than to say that to his face. And my Mom was everything to my Dad, she was his sweetheart, ya know? So when I was like 11 years old, my Dad gets laid off. And he's faced with two options. He can tell my Mom that he's been laid off, that there's no more money, which would upset her, and make her worry, and make them argue. Or he can fix it. My Dad spent two years working two part-time jobs while he was looking for another job, and he did it all without my Mom ever knowing. He used to get up early and get into his suit, told my Mom that he had to do unpaid overtime, and then he used to go work a shift changing tyres. He'd get cleaned up in the bathroom at lunchtime, wash all the oil out of his fingernails, the grease off his face, miss lunch and then go work an afternoon shift as a cab driver. He used to avoid any calls for our neighbourhood in case someone he knew spotted him and told my Mom.'
Robin took another sip from his drink, and repositioned himself in his chair.
'And somehow in amongst all that he'd still find time to get to the job centre and spend an hour applying for jobs that paid well like his old job. He'd get home at like 8 or 9pm, changed back into his suit, kiss my Mom on the forehead and apologise to her for coming home late. Can you believe that? He used to apologise. I, of course, knew everything. And I used to sit there and look into his eyes sometimes, and I'd know he was worrying about whether he'd get another job. He was worried about what happened if me or my sister got sick. He was worried about what might happen if the washer stopped working, or the car broke. He was worried about all of the credit card debt he'd accumulated because of it. He called the phone company and stopped them from allowing incoming calls because he didn't want the credit card companies calling and speaking to my Mom; my Mom just thought none of our family gave a shit about us enough to call.'
Robin put his glass down on the table, clasped his hands together and sighed.
'You know why he did all that? Why he lied to her, every day for 2 years? Because he adored my Mom, and he couldn't bear to upset her. He didn't do it because he was too proud and he didn't do it because he liked lying to her. He did it because he had to.'
Robin ran his hands through his hair awkwardly, as if just recounting the old story was bringing back memories he'd tried his best to keep tucked away. 'That's why people need to be able to lie. That's why I fucking hate knowing what everyone is thinking.'
Clara stared back at him intently, absorbed by his story, the sudden silence appearing to snap her out of it. She leant forward and grabbed her glass, taking a gulp of the vodka lime & soda she was drinking.
'All I know', she said, 'is that I've put my trust in too many assholes who say all the right things but don't mean any of them. Call me stupid, but if I get given the option of finding out if someone is an asshole early on, or having to wait a few years to find out, I'd rather not be wasting my time.'
'So what about you?', Robin asked, gesturing toward Clara.
'What about me?'
'I told you mine', Robin stated with an air of impatience at Clara's hesitation to share her life story with him.
'Yeah you did', replied Clara. 'It's not as if I asked you to'
The couple stared at one another for a moment, neither one flinching. Clara sighed, put her drink down on the table and folded her arms.
'OK, what part of my train-wreck life would you like to know about?'
'I dunno', said Robin. 'I feel as though I know nothing about you. What about your Mom and Dad?'
'What about them?', snapped Clara.
'Jesus', sighed Robin. 'If this is the response I get I guess I'll...'
'My Mom and Dad are dead', said Clara, interrupting Robin and halting his sentence dead in it's tracks. His expression changed subtly, anger fading and a look of sympathy taking it's place. 'I'm sorry', he said.
'No I'm sorry', replied Clara. 'I mean, it's complicated. They're not dead, I don't think. But they're dead to me'
Robin tutted, shaking his head as he took a sip from his drink.
'You can disapprove of my choice of words all you like', said Clara. 'My Mom and Dad never understood me, they didn't know how to deal with someone as 'special' as little old me. My Mom hated me, and my Dad changed after my brother died'
Robin raised his right eyebrow.
'As in actually died', said Clara, her voice becoming momentarily choked as she spoke of it. 'He was kidnapped and murdered when he was little. They sent the sick fucker who did it to jail, but families never really get over that'
Clara's eyes welled a little, her mind racing with the memories of her brother, the only fond memories of her childhood that she possessed.
'I guess I never really got over it either. I ran away when I was in my early teens. It was easier to just not be around my Mom and Dad. And you know what the best part of it is? They never came looking for me. Never even reported me as missing. Me leaving was the best thing that ever happened to them. Some kind of relief. So for me, there's no amount of lying my Mom or Dad could ever do to conv
ince me that they ever loved me.'
Robin opened his mouth, his lips forming around the unspoken sentence he was about to speak, when his phone beeped loudly. He glanced down and picked it up, flicking his thumb across the touchscreen to read the reminder that had flashed up, before leaning forward in his chair and looking above the railing they were sat next to, out across the casino. In the distance, a crowd had gathered as several people began taking their seats around a poker table. Robin jumped to his feet, dusting down his suit and fixing his collar.
'Come on', he said to Clara, reaching out his hand to take her's. 'This is us.'
Clara placed her hand in his as he gently puller her to her feet, her clutch bag in one hand and half finished drink in the other, the pair began walking over to the poker game.
'You ready?', Clara asked, quietly wiping a tear away from her eye.
'Absolutely', replied Robin. 'With your good looks and my talent, this should be a walk in the park.'
'Sure thing bucko', said Clara. 'Why don't you go take a look around, let me get on with the real work?'
Tony Jepsom had already taken his seat by the time the pair arrived at the table. They had read in an agency report that he was in his mid to late twenties, although the apparently large amount of money he was winning from poker clearly wasn't being spent on self-grooming. He wasn't overweight as such, but he also didn't look in particularly good shape. His muzzle had been at the point of 'designer stubble' several days ago, and he'd clearly been happy to just let his facial hair grow without boundaries ever since. He wore a baseball cap, the name of one of the chip manufacturers emblazoned on the front, one of the many money-spinners a professional player like him could enjoy. He was famous for often wearing sunglasses, which at this point were resting on his baseball hat, pointing up toward the sky. Clara had been contemplating how tough it would be to get an accurate read if he was wearing shades, and was relieved to see that, for now at least, she wasn't going to have to bother. He wore blue designer jeans and a black sweater, a gaudy designer watch on his right wrist and elastic bands on the other, something Clara thought would be quite the ironic statement were it not for the fact that she didn't think he had the intellect to make one.
She approached the table, stopping to speak to the steward who had been left in charge of ensuring everyone who was playing at the table was supposed to be there.
'Good evening Madam, may I see your invitation and ID please?'
Clara handed her two cards, one a small plastic card with a QR code printed on the top. The steward took her smartphone, scanned the QR code, and a photograph of Clara appeared on her screen alongside the name Mrs Jayne Benson. The second was a photographic ID card, doctored to include Clara's photograph and the correct name.
'Thank you Mrs Benson', said the steward, pulling a seat out at the table for Clara, who sat down and made herself comfortable. 'Would you like another drink?'
'Yes, please', replied Clara as she surveyed the table, scoping out her competition for the evening. She began by looking across at Jepsom. She'd planned on waiting to read him until the game was in motion, but figured there was no harm in having a quick 'look'. She smiled across the table as they made eye contact.
'It's a pleasure to meet you Mr Jepsom', she said. 'I don't feel worthy to be playing at the same table as you, I do hope you don't take too much of my money this evening.'
He smiled a wide smile, reaching across the table to shake her hand. 'The pleasure is all mine.'
Clara continued to smile as she shook his hand, her eyes focused intently on his.
'I fucking hate playing these tourists', he thought. Clara fought back the urge to say something witty, fully realising that her usual trick of saying something to scare him wouldn't go down well at all, instead just smiling back, reading what she could, learning anything that might help her.
Chapter 07
Aware that she was going to be at the table for some time, Clara made herself comfortable, and began scrutinising her opponents, looking for some kind of weakness to exploit. It was an intimate game, Clara being one of only two other players, not including Jepsom. A previous conversation with Boal had lead her to believe that the Agency had paid a hefty price-tag to get her into the game, and the small number of players compared to the large crowd of spectators who had arrived to watch the game seemed to prove that. The table was long with plenty of space, ample room in fact to have squeezed another 5 or 6 people in should they have wanted to. Clara was sat almost directly opposite the dealer, Jepsom to her right, sat just beyond the corner of the table so as to be facing the dealer and all of the other players, and the remaining two players were spread out to her left. Both were men, and appeared to be polar opposites of one another. The first guy looked to be in his mid to late thirties, overweight and unhealthy in his appearance. He had light brown hair with a receding hairline, and wore round glasses that didn't complement the natural roundness of his face. He sported a beer-belly, a scruffy looking striped polo shirt over the top, clearly no effort made to dress up for the occasion. Clara shifted her position slightly toward him and made eye contact, choosing to ignore the lurid thought he had about her, and instead focusing on making an introduction.
'Hi, I'm Jayne'
Using his left arm, he hoisted himself up out of his seat, the weakness of his underused arms showing as it shook slightly from his bodyweight as he leant forward to shake her hand.
'Shaun', he said, before sitting down and beginning an awkward silence. Clara read him momentarily, realising that he didn't feel confident speaking to women, and whilst sexually attracted to her, now felt under enormous pressure at the fact that he would be playing against a female. She figured she could easily use this to her advantage later, but decided to dig a little deeper.
'Where are you from Shaun?', she questioned.
'Virginia', he replied, before employing the same 'stare and stay silent' strategy he'd previously been using.
'Wow, Virginia. Long way', said Clara, fumbling about inside her own head, looking for some way to keep the conversation flowing.
'What brings you to a game like this?'
'I'm a professional player', he said, glancing toward Jepsom, who remained oblivious to the fact that he was even talking.
'Yeah, well I'm like semi professional ya know? I won a tournament to get into this game. I mean eh, I won a big tournament and it paid out a big jackpot, and so I used the money to get into this game. I figured it would be good to try and push myself, and when I heard Tony was playing here, I figured I could use some of my winnings.'
Clara smiled as he talked, nodding her head in agreement.
'Uh, like a small portion of my winnings', he continued. 'I've won so much over the years that a trip like this, it's nothing ya know?'
Clara read him as he rambled on, picking out little snapshots and painting a picture of the man she was talking to. He was single, she figured he probably always had been, his continued lack of female companionship making him more awkward around women every day. He played poker online, and had won a couple of small tournaments, mainly no prizes whatsoever although the occasional $500 jackpot. He lived with his Mom, and this trip had been paid for, like the gaudy gold watch around his wrist, using a combination of life savings and credit cards.
Clara, realising that she had all of the ammunition she needed on Shaun, switched her vision to the gentleman sitting to his left.
'And you are?', she quizzed.
The man smoothly lifted out of his seat, reaching across the table with a firm but gentle handshake, holding eye contact the entire time.
'Bill Sanderson', he said, 'It's a pleasure to meet you young lady.'
Clara stared into his eyes, reading him in a split-second. He was attracted to her, and whilst Clara didn't exactly ooze confidence, she knew she was a pretty girl, especially this evening and in this setting, so an older man finding her attractive wasn't exactly surprising. But his thoughts actually appeared quite sincere to her,
almost throwing her off balance. He was an older man, mid to late fifties, but had grown old incredibly gracefully. He had a chiselled and defined face, a head full of salt & pepper hair with a matching beard, groomed to perfection but without looking fake. He wore a grey suit and a blue shirt, and although Clara couldn't tell who the brand was, it was clear that it was both Italian and custom tailored. Whoever she was dealing with, he had the funding to warrant his seat at the table. He had deep blue eyes and a smile that, try as she might to look for something seedy or underhand in his mind, seemed to be backed up by a pretty clean conscience. Clara smiled back, his endearing character taking her by surprise.
'Good evening ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to the Hocus Pocus casino.'
A man in his mid to late fifties had appeared, dressed in black tie, microphone in hand, addressing the crowd of about fifty spectators who had gathered around the table to view the game.
'We are absolutely thrilled this evening to be joined by the current World Poker Tournament Number 2 ranking, Mr Tony Jepsom', he said, gesturing across to Jepsom as the crowd applauded. 'We've got a wonderful evening of poker ahead of us, and remember ladies and gentlemen the bar and lounge are both open so please enjoy yourselves. And now, if our players are ready, let the game begin.'
The man clapped, the crowd joining him in a half-hearted applause, signalling to the dealer to begin the game. The dealer introduced herself to the table and began dealing out the opening hand of the game.