by Cooper, Doug
In the weeks following the night in their kitchen, she contemplated these intentions on more than one occasion. She expected things to get worse and that surely chaos would ensue with Alec retaliating at her in some way or confronting Fritjof. But everything actually became easier. The holidays were of course awkward, but once they got through those, somehow her life recalibrated, and a new order and balance resumed. Things were actually better than before. There was a feeling of relief. Everything was out in the open. Both Alec and Fritjof knew what was going on with the other. Of course being the empty housewife at home didn’t change, but at least she didn’t have to pretend any longer. She could finally move forward.
Unfortunately, Alec didn’t want to. Getting everything out in the open for him was a wake-up call. He finally became present. There was no more running away. He wanted to just forget what happened and go back to how things had been in the beginning of their relationship, before the baby. The acknowledgement of the affair had opened him up to change. Not ready to let go, he recognized his mistakes and wanted to work on the relationship. He was ready and willing to compete for her affections, but it was too little, too late. Penny no longer wanted to play that game. She was ready to move on. And it wasn’t because of Fritjof, whom Alec seemed to be obsessed with. If Penny went to the store or to yoga, Alec asked her question after question, all of which ended with the accusation that she was going to meet Fritjof. On many occasions she even saw Alec’s car pass by the location she had told him or he would be parked down the street or several rows away checking up on her. But the truth of the matter was she never slept with Fritjof again after Alec found out about the affair. Once Alec and Fritjof merged into a shared reality, she had no interest in either of them. They had become a single world from which she wanted to withdraw completely.
Fritjof reacted to her lack of interest in their relationship much the same way Alec did, like Penny was a prize in a competition. She wondered how much of their tireless pursuit was really to have her and how much was just not to lose to the other. The worst part of it all, they both became blubbering blobs of sensitivity. When Fritjof contacted her saying “he needed to talk” the night the Blues got back from a long East Coast road trip in February, she complied. He was waiting for her in his Lamborghini at their usual meeting spot by the Boathouse in Forest Park. She broke their typical protocol and parked, going to his car instead of him coming to her. She wanted to be able to make a fast exit if needed.
The scissor door rose as she approached his car. Not exactly inconspicuous, but it didn’t matter anymore. A blast of heat radiated from inside, creating steam when meeting the ten-degree air outside. She slid into the heated leather bucket seat rubbing her hands on the leather to soak up the warmth. The door closed as effortlessly as it had opened, sealing her inside. It would be the only easy part of the evening.
“Thanks for meeting me,” Fritjof said, reaching over and putting his hand on hers.
Penny didn’t reciprocate. Instead, her whole body tightened. Fritjof retracted his hand. She said, “So what’s up? You said it was important.”
“It’s just, I’m not doing so well with all this. You’re all I can think about,” Fritjof said. “It’s affecting me on the ice. Not sure if you noticed, but I didn’t exactly have the best road trip.”
“Come on, don’t you dare put that on me. I got enough shit to deal with.”
“No, no, no, I didn’t mean it that way. What I meant to say is that I just miss you. I need you.” He turned toward her, leaning over on the console.
Penny looked over at him, pulling back and resting against the door. His angular features seemed to be melting right before her. She said, “I thought we agreed it’s over. It’s not fair to you or Alec. There’s just too much at stake with the team.”
“Fuck Alec. Fuck the team. What do you want? That’s all that’s important. If you want me, you can have me. They’ll just have to deal with it.” Tears filled Fritjof’s eyes.
Penny looked away, staring at the fogged-covered windshield. “Don’t do this. Please, just let it go.”
“No, I want to hear it from you.” Penny wouldn’t look at him, but she knew he was crying. She could hear it in his staggered speech. He said, “Just say it. God damn it. You owe me that much.”
The last statement lit a fire in Penny. She looked directly at him, the tears fully flowing as she expected. It didn’t affect her. She narrowed her stare, leaning toward him. “I don’t want you. It was fun, but now it’s over.”
Fritjof was the one who looked away this time. He clenched the leather steering wheel with both hands, trying to fight the tears, but they only increased. “No, you’re just saying that because you’re afraid. You’re afraid of caring, of what people might say.”
None of it fazed Penny. This was the part of relationships that she had the most experience in: the break-up. And guys always took the news the same way. The instant they were rejected by females, they decided they needed to open up and show their softer side. She had heard enough. She cinched up her coat and adjusted her wool stocking cap down to cover her ears. “Look, I’m sorry you’re hurting. I know this hasn’t been easy, but you have to accept that it’s over. You’re only making it harder on yourself. Just let it go and turn your focus to the ice.” She hit the button to open the door and escape into the cold night air. She felt his hand on her back as she climbed out of the car and heard him calling for her until she was safely inside her Land Rover.
Starting the vehicle, she looked back at the fog-covered Lamborghini, which was still not moving. She shook her head. To be sitting in the passenger seat of a $400,000 sports car watching such a strong and beautiful man who made $6 million a year cry like a baby was a pathetic sight. No one wanted to see that. How could she respect him now? Worse yet, Alec was acting the same way. She was able to keep her emotions bottled up. She expected the same from both of them. The last thing she needed was to be force-fed a steaming bowl of sentimental soup every time she saw either of them.
After the incident with Fritjof in Forest Park, things quieted down for about a week, then the text messages from him started again and the incessant questioning from Alec commenced. Penny decided she needed to clarify things once and for all. Since she viewed them as two parts of the same dysfunctional whole, she treated them as one, delivering the same speech to both on separate occasions. She said, “I think for everyone’s best interest, we should put all the drama on hold until after the season. I’ll stay at home to avoid causing speculation but will sleep in a separate bedroom. In public, we’ll all play the appropriate roles of husband, wife, and teammate and friend. The most important thing is for the Blues go as far as possible in the playoffs.” She appealed to their competitive sides while allowing their egos an easy way out. Both begrudgingly conceded. A draw was never a satisfying outcome but seemed to be acceptable in this situation.
With the Blues winning the Central Division for the first time in over ten years, the city rallied behind the team and had high expectations for the playoffs. As so often is the case, the communal success quelled their individual personal dissatisfaction. Regardless how toxic the situation was, all three recognized it was working and nobody wanted to be the one to blow it up. Once they got to that point, the rest became an easy rationalization. They all became martyrs, sacrificing their happiness for the benefit of the team and city. Subjugating three enormous egos was not an easy feat, but when the stakes were as high as they were, it somehow seemed to work.
The fever heightened as the Blues, who were the second seed in the conference, breezed through the conference quarterfinals with a four to one series victory over San Jose, and were to face the Los Angeles Kings, the eighth seed who had upset the top-seeded Vancouver Canucks, in the next round. With the upset of Vancouver, the Blues were the top seed and would have home ice advantage all the way through to the Stanley Cup finals.
In the opening game o
f the series in St. Louis, the Blues and Kings were locked in a one to one tie late in the third period. Alec had been masterful in allowing only one goal in twenty-four shots. Fritjof had scored St. Louis’ lone goal on a one on two breakaway. Penny was in the press box, readying herself for the probability that she might have to interview both players at the same time. Despite all the team success and the drama moratorium they had been enjoying, she had never had to deal with both men at once. Even though in her mind she had merged them into one situation, she had been able to keep them separate physically.
With just over two minutes to go, the Kings fired a shot from the left wing, and it was redirected by a Kings player in front of the net. At the last second, Alec was able to adjust and knock away the puck before it crossed the line into the goal. The puck bounced around in front of the net. Alec dove on the puck. Kings players pushed Blues players; Blues pushed Kings. A pile of bodies ensued. “Sandman” by Metallica blared through the speakers. As the referees peeled away the bodies, a fight broke out at the bottom of the pile. The fans cheered. A penalty on the Kings would give the Blues a huge advantage and almost-certain victory. But as the referees cleared the melee, it was clear that the two involved participants wore the same-colored jersey. It was Alec and Fritjof. Penny watched, horrified. On top of Alec, Fritjof delivered two punches, both glancing off Alec’s helmet. With the other bodies cleared away, Alec was able to roll Fritjof off him and counter. The music stopped. A lull fell over the crowd. The Kings players skated back. The Blues looked at one another, unsure what to do. Even the referees froze. Everyone just watched in disbelief as the two teammates rolled around on the ice, trading punches. Finally a referee blew his whistle. The other officials descended to break up the fight, which they had to thwart three more times once both men were back on their feet. Several Blues players intervened to separate the two, eventually removing Fritjof from the ice.
A lengthy discussion between the referees followed. The press box buzzed with confusion. No one had ever seen two members of the same team fight each other. They turned to Penny for answers as to what could trigger Alec to fight with his own teammate. Penny sunk in her chair, pretending to be as shocked as everyone else. Other reporters crowded around, peppering her with questions. She reached for her phone in her pocket, faking an incoming call to escape to the hallway, which was equally abuzz. People rushed in both directions to get back to their seats to see what would happen. Once they recognized Penny, a frenzied crowd of strangers swelled around her. At least the press box was confined and she knew everyone there. She slid back inside.
On the ice, the referees assessed both players with major penalties. Since there was less than five minutes in the game, the Blues had to finish regulation three against five. If the game went to overtime, they would begin with three players until the penalties expired. Since Alec was goaltender, the Blues were allowed to keep him in and remove another player in his place.
When play finally resumed, the once-raucous crowd was reduced to a murmuring, confused mob. The Kings needed less than a minute of the power-play to score a goal and go ahead two to one. The crowd booed. Whether it was more out of disappointment or embarrassment was unclear. They had seen the Blues give away some games over the years, but this was unprecedented for any team. The Kings easily added another goal in the final thirty seconds when the Blues pulled Alec for an additional skater, to end the game three to one.
Penny had been dreading a possible collision of the Alec and Fritjof worlds in an interview after the game. She never imagined it would happen before. For her postgame recap, she stood in front of the net where the fight had occurred. “Blues fans have been treated to several firsts this year. First division title and playoff series win in over ten years, but no one expected what transpired on the ice tonight. For the first time in NHL history, two players from the same team were penalized for fighting…with each other. It happened with a minute fifty-one left in regulation with the score tied one to one. After a save by Alec Baudin, a pileup occurred in front of the Blues net. As the referees cleared away the bodies, a fight broke out at the bottom of the pile between Baudin and Blues star center Fritjof Stridh, leaving both teams, the referees, and this capacity crowd of nearly twenty thousand in shock. It took several attempts and intervention from many of the Blues players to quiet the fracas. In the end the Blues were left at a three-to-five disadvantage for the remainder of the game, resulting in a three-to-one loss in this crucial game one of the conference semifinals. We’ll have to wait and see if the NHL levies further penalties and how this will affect the team for the rest of the series. When I asked Blues coach Ken Hitchcock if he knew what caused the fight, he said, ‘Your guess is as good as mine. I’m just as stunned and embarrassed as the fans. I’d hate to see all the good we accomplished this year be overshadowed by one unfortunate incident.’ So there you have it. I’m Penny Market, reporting live from the Scottrade Center, where a Blues team squabble has left everyone red-faced.”
Unfortunately the fallout from the fight didn’t stop with that one game. The clip made its way on every national sports show and went viral on the Internet. The Blues became the punchline to a myriad of sports jokes. To avoid another incident, the League levied a full game misconduct and suspended both players for game two, which the Blues lost five to two. Just when things were dying down and everyone was hoping to move on in game three, someone leaked the story about the affair. What had been a sports blooper became a full-on celebrity gossip frenzy. All the tabloids descended. The Blues lost game three, four to two. The love triangle was fodder for all the TV late show monologues. Penny was nicknamed the Bluesy Floozy. The station put her on administrative leave to dampen the hysteria. But it didn’t matter. The story became a storm. Nothing could slow or stop it. It just had to run its course. The Blues lost game four, three to one. The season was over. Alec escaped to Vancouver to visit René. Fritjof fled to Sweden. Penny didn’t leave the house for two weeks. The station informed her they would be terminating her contract based on a morality clause. Her worlds had not only collided; they had exploded. She knew that she also needed to get out of St. Louis—for good.
To decide where to go, she taped a map of the US on the wall. With a red marker she crossed out all the cities with hockey teams. The less the locals knew about hockey, the less likely it was that they would recognize the Bluesy Floozy. She also wanted to eliminate any possibility that, when she got a job, she would ever have to cover either of them coming to town as well as the chance of them getting traded. The choice was an easy one. Go to the one city in the middle of a desert with zero professional sports teams: Las Vegas.
Dow Jones Close: Closed
Chapter Thirty-Five
Date: Saturday, October 12, 2013
Dow Jones Open: Closed
Les was counting cards and had been for quite some time. I just didn’t see any reason to alert the pit bosses. It was their responsibility to identify and deal with the counters. Besides, even though Les was steadily winning, it wasn’t like he was backing up a truck to cart away his haul every time he sat down. And contrary to popular belief, counting cards isn’t illegal or cheating. It’ll never land you in the pokey, but it might get you banned or flat bet at the blackjack tables. The casinos, similar to a bar or restaurant, can refuse service to anyone, whether it be because a patron is rude or too drunk (which is usually the goal, so that rarely happens), or if the casino feels the patron has an unfair advantage over the house.
It’s usually easy to spot counters by how hard they concentrate and watch all the cards that are played, how they vary their bets, and when they diverge from the basic strategy. To count cards, most use a high-low method, where they count every two through six with a value of positive one and ten through ace as negative one. Seven through nine has no value. The theory is that the more cards between two and six that are played, the higher the count will be and the greater the odds of getting tens and above. Of course
the house has the same increased chances of getting the high cards, but because blackjacks pay three to two, and players can split and double down for twice their initial bet, the players have a greater advantage. There are other considerations, but no point in boring you with those details here.
I’ve flipped so many cards over the years, I don’t even have to add up the totals anymore. It just happens naturally. One look at the table and I instantly know the count. It’s more visual than linear. It’s like when people are amazed by how quickly I can add up the player hands. The thing is, there’s no math involved at all. After seeing the combinations over and over, I remember the results for clusters of cards rather than adding up the individual ones. One look at a 4-K-A-A-5, I know that it’s twenty-one and negative one on the count. So when I see people not speaking to anyone, staring intently at each card, often with their lips moving as they adjust the count, and increasing their bets as the count ticks up, I know they’re counting. Occasionally pressing the bet when the count is high might just be a lucky coincidence. But doing so every time is a dead giveaway, and when players are formulaic about the increase, like betting two units at a count of two, four units at three, six units at four, and eight units at a count of five or more, or just raising their bets one unit for each increase in the count, I want to reach across the table and smack them upside the head. The best counters, you’ll never know, and they will even intentionally tank hands and not be so obvious about how much they raise their bet.
The order and rules of counting are what attract most people to it. There really is no thinking or feeling involved at all. The cards tell you everything you need to know. Counters just have to memorize the rules and follow the math. The pit bosses only get involved when the players go against conventional logic, like splitting tens or doubling on a hard twelve, because I have to call out those hands. If the players weren’t on the pit boss’ radar before, they are from that point on. Whether they’ll be asked to leave or not all depends on how much they win.