You tell her, No money. I’ll send you the ticket.
She insists, Cash. I’ve got to clear up some things down here.
No cash, you insist.
She says, I’ve got to clear up some things down here. Plus, I need to buy some new clothes. I want to look good for you, my love. Send me the cash. Load the card. Stop treating me like a child.
You tell her, We’re talking about dying here. I’m telling you I’m going to kill myself, do you hear? This is me. This is me!
Her voice is calm, controlled, carefully masking the desperation, which almost, almost, almost doesn’t come through. She says: I need the cash. Load the card with cash and I’ll be there for you. I still love you. I swear.
This is what she says, but what you hear behind her speaks a louder truth. You hear them. You hear the machines behind her. It is the diamond machine. She is there right now, banging the diamond machines in the casino in the swamp. You know what will happen if you load her card with cash. There is nothing that can tear her away from that machine when she’s like this. Whether you send her that cash or not, she will not get on a plane and leave a hot machine behind. Whether you kill yourself or not, you will never see her again. You know all this and yet you load her card with cash (three grand, a teensy-weensy test). You still have hope.
You call back 15 minutes later and she doesn’t pick up.
Twenty minutes later, you call the bank and check the balance on the card, and she has withdrawn every penny you sent.
What did you expect?
But you own three fabulous homes and two very nice cars, the monkey reminds.
He’s back.
With claws and teeth.
You run.
You get in one of those nice cars and you drive. Three hours later you stop driving. You do not know where you are. There is sand and sky on either side of the road. You get out and look at the desert. It is desolate and it is beautiful. It is not Miami. It is not home. But it is beautiful. All that sand. Cars hardly ever pass, but a car pulls up. Before you decide that it is the same white station wagon you’ve been seeing in your rearview mirror all afternoon, a short, stocky man with a very red face jumps out of it and hurtles into you, knocking you to the ground. You recover. Now the two of you are wrestling on the hot road. He is crazy. He says he wants to kill you with his bare hands. He’s got his bare hands around your throat. You hear children crying, and you think of your own boys, whom you haven’t been to see in almost six months. Has it been that long? But you have houses and cars and money and a monkey and this guy is strangling you. You reach up and put your thumbs in the man’s eyes. He growls and adds more muscle to the death grip on your neck. You strain with all your might and head-butt him. Push him off. Spring up. Lunge to your car, grasp at the door. You hear his agonized groan behind you. You hear him say, Stop, fucker, or I’m gonna shoot you. You turn, and there is a gun in his hand. You raise your hands and say, But why? What do you want? He says, Fucker. Oh, you fucker. He’s rubbing his eyes with his fist. He’s got the gun aimed at your heart. He’s saying, S is my wife.
He pulls the trigger.
What you remember best is the sudden thunder, drowning out the cries of the children, and the blow is like a sledgehammer to your chest, slamming you back against your nice car, and you collapse to your knees. You remember being on your knees. You remember trying to pray. Trying to clasp your hands. Trying to pray to Him who died for all your sins, trying to tell Him:
pleaseGodpleaseIpromiseGodpleaseIpromiseI …
You hear the crying of children again, and you see their red faces leaning out of the windows of the station wagon. They are crying, Daddy, no, Daddy, no, Daddy, no.
S’s husband backs up. He looks down at the gun in his hand. He looks down at you. At your red blood on the ground same color as the blood pouring out of his nose. His children screaming behind him. He’s sobbing into his cell phone, I just shot somebody. We need an ambulance. I shot him bad.
Again there is the sound of thunder. A gentle rain begins to fall in the desert. Against your face. The screaming of children. They are the children on the bus. Quiet down, children. Quiet down.
pleaseGodpleaseIpromiseGodpleaseI Quiet down.
You black out.
GRACE THAT IS GREATER THAN ALL OUR SIN
60.
He should have aimed for my ass instead of my heart. A gambler is more asshole than heart.
But you made it. You survived.
Just lucky, is all. I am a lucky-ass gambler.
You are Roy Orbison, too.
I like to wear black.
And the cowboy hat?
I like the cowboy hat because when I walk into a casino, people know it’s me. They see the hat. They say, There goes P. There goes the bus driver. I like the hat. But I do it mostly for the fans. It’s kind of a costume.
You wore the hat when you drove a school bus?
No. The hat is new. The hat is cool. The rings are cool, too. Check out my bling-bling.
Indeed, you are among the sharpest dressers in Vegas. So is your lady friend this evening.
Yeah. She sure knows how to wear a gown.
The black cowboy hat and a beautiful woman in a low-cut gown on your arm. That’s how they know it’s you.
She is beautiful.
A different woman every night.
Yes, well, you know how it is. But this one tonight is different.
Is it a love thing?
I won’t go that far. I don’t know. Maybe. We’ve known each other for most of our lives. We split up for a while due to life circumstances, but it’s kind of working out for us now. I met her in fourth grade, you know?
Is that so?
I swear to God. We sat next to each other, but I couldn’t talk to her. She was so beautiful. I sat next to her for like a whole year. The only thing I ever said to her was, You dropped your pencil. Then the next year, we sat next to each other again, and this time I told her, That’s a pretty dress. In sixth grade, it was her who talked to me. She said, Do you like me or not? Just like that. I said, Yes. And she kissed me on the nose. Craziest thing. That made us kind of like boyfriend and girlfriend. Then we went to different junior and senior high schools. I met people. She met people. I met this dingbat and got her pregnant. Life went on. Then we bumped into each other again. And like blam—we got married and had kids. Life was perfect.
So she’s your wife?
Ah, no.
But you said you got married.
She’s just a friend. Comes to see me sometimes. When I was recovering after that guy shot me … She came and nursed me back to health.
Huh? I thought you said— Well, anyway, I hear you’re quite the ladies’ man. There are so many stories about you. Women. Violence.
Hmmm. No comment.
You are in the World Championship of Poker. You are at the final table. There’s only five players left. You are the chip leader.
All that means nothing unless you win it. I am a decent enough poker player. I should win it. It would be nice. But there are other good players at the table.
How does one get to be so good? What is the key to your success? You came out of nowhere.
Nowhere, huh? Well, for me, it’s all that I do. I do not play any other card game. I do not play the lottery. I do not play the machines. I do not play any of that one-in-a-million crap. The house has it fixed so you can’t win. Only the house wins in those games. At this game, you can win because it’s man against man. All of my money comes from this game right here. See, I am very good because my life depends on it. The life of my children. I’m good at poker because I respect it, too. I know what it can do. I’ve been there. Gambling scares me. I know what it can do.
But it is kind of a glamorous life. You live in a five-star hotel. You hobnob with celebrities. You’re a high roller. You’ve got lots of money.
You know what’s special about me? I know exactly how much money I am worth right now.
So do I. I kno
w what I’m worth.
Not like a gambler. A gambler always knows exactly how much he’s worth. It’s always in your head. It’s like your wallet is in your head. It can be very exhausting. You know that you have $1,000 in the bank. You know that you just spent $650. You know that your ATM fees are $42.50. You know that your bank fees are $72. You know that the cable, water, and phone are asking for $305. You know that you are short. You know that you have to go back into the casino and find at least $69.50 to keep everything going. Or you can stall the cable and the phone, but not the water—your wife will definitely notice the water missing, and you cannot tell her that you have gambled it away. Oh, no, no, no, no, no, you cannot do that. So you go back into the casino and lose another hundred. Now you have no choice but to borrow. Your sister lends you $200. Again. Now, after you have paid everything, you will have $30.50, which will not get you to your next payday after gas and groceries, so what the heck good is $30.50? You can go back into the casino and try to turn it into something bigger. And you do. You turn that $30.50 into $400. Now you can breathe. Now you have paid your bills, and, not counting what you owe your sister, you are worth $400, which is exactly what is in your wallet and in your head. You can breathe. Or you can go back into the casino with every cent you own in the world, $400, since every cent you own in the world is already in your wallet. See? How many people do you know who regularly have more in their wallet than in their bank account? When I was worth 20 million dollars, there were days when I had 20 million dollars in chips on the table in front of me. When I was worth $400, same thing. See what I’m saying? So you are worth $400, and if you can increase it to $1,000, your sense of self-worth goes up too. If you can hit a jackpot and increase it to $5,000, your self-worth soars to the sky. Imagine that. In two months of working at a regular job, you can earn $5,000 easy and it feels like nothing to you, but if you risk everything in the world you own, invest 10 or 15 grand, and you get back $5,000, your self-worth soars. But you’ve just invested 10 or 15 grand to make five and you’re happy?
And yet it’s different for you. You’ve got money.
Has to be 50 million dollars passed through my hands over the years at the tables. Maybe 100 million. Where is it? My wife, my ex-wife, the woman in the gown tonight, she thinks the money is cursed. Maybe she’s right. It’s evil money. The devil’s money.
But you’re successful.
I invested my whole life. My whole family. And what did I get back? A hotel room and a bank vault full of poker chips.
The presidential suite of a five-star hotel. A bank vault full of money.
It’s still just a hotel room, not a home. And they’re still just poker chips, the wallet in my head says. Six million eight hundred thousand six hundred and twenty-two dollars worth of poker chips.
That’s a lot of money.
Last month it was close to 12 million. I had a real bad couple of weeks. I was patient. I played only the strongest hands, but still I got beat. That’s why I need to do well in this tournament.
But it’s still a lot of money.
It’s just chips as long as I can count them. As long as I can count them, I can still play with them. I can still put them on the table. I can still risk them. Why can’t I invest that money instead? Why can’t I do something safe with it so that it gets out of my head? Why can’t I? This is what my accountant wants to know. It’s my gambling money, see? And gambling money has only one purpose—to be gambled. It will increase, it will decrease, but it will always be in play as long as it is in my head … Right now, I am good. Right now, I am strong. But I don’t know how much longer I can resist withdrawing all the chips and dumping the whole bunch of them on black just to see what would happen. Every single day I walk past that roulette wheel. Do you know how much money I would make if I hit? I would be back up close to 12 million. I would be rich.
You are rich.
I’m not rich. All I got is chips.
You are rich, and from what I’ve seen, you are the most disciplined gambler who ever lived. You do not make a bad bet. That is the secret to your success. You are patient. You wait them out. You manage your chips. You do not chase. You wait until the cards come to you. That’s why you are at the final table. That’s why you are the chip leader. That’s why you are rich. You should write a book. I’d buy it. We all would.
Thanks for that, my friend. Am I all that? Nah, I don’t think so. Wow. But it’s just luck, really. All I am is lucky. And I’m not rich. I’m just a bus driver in a cowboy hat, is all. But tonight, whether I win or lose in this final round, I don’t care, I’m going back afterward to my hotel room to sleep with my wife.
I thought you said she’s your ex-wife.
True. But as long as she’s in my head, she’s just like the chips. She’s still in play. I still got a chance. Her fiancé can kiss my ass. Well, sorry, I gotta go. I gotta get back to the table. They’re calling me.
Not a problem, thank you for your time. This was great. Just great. Well, ladies and gentlemen, you heard the man himself, the man in the black hat, the one they call the bus driver, our current chip leader, P. The odds-on favorite to win the whole darned thing. He’s one of the nicest guys here, and his humility, you gotta admit, is as great as his skill. But despite everything he says, folks, I’d trade my little old life for his any day.
PART III
Man in the Black Hat
How is individual transformation to be achieved? There are some bad habits among individuals such as smoking, drinking liquor, meat eating, and gambling. These bad habits not only degrade the individuals but also inflict hardships on their families. These bad habits have to be given up for the individual to manifest his inherent goodness.
—Sri Sathya Sai Baba
61.
Missy would not say that she was addicted. Not exactly.
An addict looks shady. An addict dresses in shabby clothes and has a tattoo. An addict hangs out with a tough crowd. An addict lives in a real gambling place like Las Vegas or Atlantic City, not sunny Miami.
An addict does not wear Prada.
An addict does not have a purse full of platinum cards, an Ivy League brain, and a supermodel’s face and body.
At least she used to have a supermodel’s body, back in her 20s and 30s.
But two children, dedication to her career as an executive editor at a publishing house, and a difficult divorce had limited the time she could spend at the gym. In truth, the long hours at her favorite South Florida Indian casino had limited the time she could spend at the gym. So she had put on thirty or so pounds, but it didn’t look too bad on her, and her face still looked good.
For forty.
No, Missy was certain that she was not an addict. She found that gambling (small-stakes gambling, such as they had in South Florida) relaxed her. The steady ping-ping of the machines was soothing. The frantic up-and-down turns of fortune got her mind off the stresses of work and being a single mother. But lately she found herself spending more and more time at the casino. She found herself frustrated by her cell phone, which seemed to almost always go off just when her machine got hot, or when her machine had gone cold and she was in deep contemplation about which hot numbers to switch to. The calls from the office were a nuisance that could be handled later. The calls from the kids, however, were now being handled with:
“I’m at the office. I’ll call you back later.”
Or, “Can’t you kids take care of it yourself? I’m in an important meeting.”
Or, “I’ll be there in an hour. I’m stuck in traffic.”
—and her hand shielding the mouthpiece from the ping-ping.
Money, for the first time in her life, was becoming a problem. Not only was she beginning to have trouble paying her regular bills, but whenever something broke and needed repair or her ailing parents, whom she supported financially, called on her, she found herself stalling for time or getting creative to come up with the funds. She would borrow from her ex-husband and say it was for the kid
s—the boy, 15, needed sports equipment, the girl, 13, needed strings for her violin. Or she would liquidate a stock. Or she would apply for more credit, which always came because she had a stellar credit record.
Four weeks ago, the bottom seemed to fall out.
A heavy tropical storm had blown through South Florida and torn off a small part of the roof of her four-bedroom Coral Gables home. It was a minor patch job. The deductible was $3,000, but the repair itself was only $2,000. Missy could not come up with the money. She could not believe it. She was maxed out on everything. She had to choose between borrowing from her ex again or applying for more credit. She did both.
The cost of her ex’s gift/loan was her spending the night with him in his old bed. She woke up feeling sad and used, and then had to deal with the children, who were already beginning to show signs of having happy fantasies about a reunion of their parents. She felt so low and so depressed that after her ex left, she called in sick and went straight to the casino and blew every penny that he had given/loaned her.
Fortunately, the additional credit came two days later, the roof was repaired, and a few hundred was left over—all of which went to the casino, too.
But then with fifty cents that she scrounged up from the ashtray in the car, she won $10,000. See?
That was four weeks ago. Now Missy was seated at the machine again and down to the last $100 from that $10,000 that she had won, ignoring her ringing phone (the children again) and trying to convince herself that she was not addicted to gambling. She watched, helplessly, as her total went from $100 to $20. She kept pushing the PLAY button. The machine was not hitting anything. Now it was down to $5. When it got down to $1, she said to the black man in the big black cowboy hat sitting but not playing at the machine next to hers, “Can you watch it for me while I go to the ATM?”
This was not desperation, Missy convinced herself. She had a good job. Tomorrow was payday. The money she had blown had been won anyhow, so it was not like she was spending her own money. She was spending their money. The money she was about to withdraw, now that was her money, so she would be more cautious with it because she was not addicted to gambling. She was just having a good time. She was just relaxing. Her cell phone went off—the kids again. So annoying. Missy cursed and turned it off without answering it.
All or Nothing Page 15