Lenore handed over her passport, noticing that a TSA agent copied the information before handing it back. Jonah started fishing through his pockets. Finally, he pulled a wad of folded papers from his back pocket and placed it on the table.
‘What is this?’ a TSA agent asked. The tone was slightly less courteous, though Lenore was about to ask the same question, and probably in a harsher tone.
‘This is a photocopy of my passport.’
One of the agents unfolded the weathered papers and took some notes.
‘See, when I came back into the United States from Thailand last December,’ he pointed to the back of one of the pages, ‘one of the guys at LAX, I think from Immigration, had a problem and took my passport. They said it wasn’t valid. See, I had a valid passport, but I lost it. I found this one, which I had lost earlier, and used it because I was in a hurry.
‘The man said he had to take it because it wasn’t valid. I didn’t want to give it up because, obviously, it’s an issue when you don’t have your passport. We talked about it for a long time and, finally, I said, “Just give me a copy of my passport back. And write your name and phone number on it in case someone needs to contact you about it.” You can call him to confirm it.’
The three TSA agents looked uncomfortably at each other. After what seemed an eternity, one of them asked, ‘Do you have some other form of government-issued identification?’
Jonah shook his head and removed from a back pocket a thick stack of cards held together by a rubber band. Credit cards, business cards, scraps of paper with phone numbers, one card with a lipstick print and a phone number, some valet parking stubs, and player cards from more than twenty casinos.
Lenore whispered, ‘What about your driver’s licence?’
‘Oh, that’s a whole other problem. My Nevada driver’s licence expired or got lost. So I contacted the DMV to renew or replace it. They told me to go to one of their offices in Las Vegas, which I did. After waiting in line, the person there told me that someone in California had stolen my identity – not in so many words, but they used my name, said they had moved to California, and applied for a California driver’s licence in that name. California told this to Nevada, and Nevada cancelled my driver’s licence. Then they told me I had to go to the main office in Carson City to straighten it out. From Las Vegas, I either have to fly there’ – he gestured, indicating the obvious problem of flying without ID – ‘or make a six-hour drive.’
Fifteen minutes later, Jonah and Lenore stood on the strip of pavement outside the airport where they had been an hour before, watching buses, vans, cars, and taxis drop off passengers. A detail of Philadelphia airport police officers followed them to the nearest exit from the terminal, two of whom continued staring at them from the other side of the sliding-glass doors.
XI.
Jonah never apologised for the debacle at security, but he did promise to fix it. ‘We’re going to make that IRS meeting. I know what I’m doing.’
It was distressingly clear that Jonah did not know what he was doing when he leapt up from the bags to wave towards a car approaching the kerb. It was that gold limousine adorned with paintings of naked women.
The Beast.
‘Well, isn’t this a great break?’ Jonah asked as he hauled their bags into the back of the car. Lenore stared at him, and then at the squat silhouette in the back of the limo, saying nothing.
‘The Beast is taking care of everything,’ Jonah said. ‘He’s giving us a lift to the private airport in Millville where he’s got his plane. I’ll charter us a plane to DC from there. I know how important that IRS meeting is. We’ll be in DC tonight. I don’t care what it costs.’
Jonah got in behind the driver, sitting next to the Beast. Lenore stepped among the men’s splayed legs and the garbage on the floor to the space opposite Jonah.
After she settled in, the Beast leant forward, waved a paw, and said, ‘Good to see you again, doll. Glad to help out. Seems we’re on a real adventure here, huh?’
She sank back in the seat, exhausted. She dozed off for bits of the hour drive to Millville Airport. Some of the conversation between Jonah and their host could have been part of a dream, but she had experienced enough during this ride-along with Jonah to know better.
Beast: ‘Unless you want to continue our game tonight, I think I’m going to fly to Charlotte and give that Michael Jordan game a look-see. Listen, what do I owe you for getting me in the game? You want a piece? A flat fee?’
Jonah: ‘Nah. I’m glad it worked out.’
Beast: ‘What about you? I wouldn’t be in this game if it wasn’t for you.’
Jonah: ‘I’ve got this meeting with Lenore. It’s important to her – and me. Taxes, you know.’
Beast: ‘Yeah, taxes suck. But you’re going to show up after the meeting at least, right?’
Jonah: ‘I suppose. If it’s still going. If I can get there. If there’s still a seat.’
Beast: ‘I’ll have my plane fly to DC and pick you up. Wait. How about this? Why don’t we all go to Charlotte in my plane? Tonight. Now. We can play in the Michael Jordan game, and then my plane will drop you off in DC in the morning.’
Jonah: ‘That might work, but I don’t know if we’ (gesturing in Lenore’s direction) ‘can take a chance on cutting it that close.’
Beast: ‘Can’t you just write a cheque and make this disappear?’
Jonah: ‘Is that what you’d do?’
Beast: ‘I’ve never paid taxes so I don’t know what I’d do. But I’d start by telling the government to suck my sweaty, uncircumcised dick. And I wouldn’t need a fuckin’ meeting in fuckin’ Washington to give them that message. But you just won a fuck-ton of my money, so what do I know, right?’
The Beast kept hammering away at Jonah how simple it would be if they all flew to Charlotte. ‘We’ll just lock up our seats. Give ’em a little smell of our money. Then you pop back to DC, circle-jerk with the IRS, and return to the game.’
‘Theoretically, it seems like it could work out,’ Jonah said.
‘Everybody wins this way.’ The Beast started laughing maniacally. ‘God bless the IRS!’
XII.
The car stopped. Lenore opened her eyes. They were apparently at the airport, but not any part of an airport Lenore had ever seen. They were on the macadam, adjacent to a runway. A jet, clearly the Beast’s, awaited. It was gold, painted with nude women, strategically covered by contrails, on the side.
The Beast stepped out first, bounding towards the aircraft. Jonah got out, waiting for Lenore. Reluctantly, she followed.
There was no terminal in sight, no office where someone would book a flight or rent a plane or whatever was involved in private air travel.
‘So . . .’ Jonah began uncomfortably, ‘what do you think? If we all go to Charlotte, we can skip the hassle and expense of chartering a plane. We can fly from there to DC late tonight or even early tomorrow morning.’
‘Jonah, you’re going to do what you want. If you come with me to this meeting, you have an almost unheard of opportunity to fix a situation that sends others to prison and haunts them financially for years to come.’
‘And all that is important.’ Jonah grabbed Lenore’s arm, pulling her away, so the Beast wouldn’t hear him. ‘See, I just won a half-million dollars from this guy. It looks bad if I quit—’
‘Quit? He got arrested and banned for life from the casino for committing sexual assault. You didn’t quit the game.’
‘Look, there’s clearly a lot more money where that half-million came from. This guy is such a terrible poker player, you can’t believe it. How about this? I bet you that I win $50,000 from him just while we’re in his airplane. If I don’t win $50,000 by the time we’re wheels-down in Charlotte, I won’t get off the plane. We’ll fly straight on to DC.’
The Beast somehow heard and approached them, calling out, ‘He’s right. I don’t know the first thing about Open-Faced Chinese Poker but I was going to propose playing him for
$1,000 a point on the flight.’
Lenore held her ground. ‘If I got on that plane with you, it would conflict with my professional responsibility, which now is solely to get you to that meeting with the IRS tomorrow morning.’
‘You’re right,’ Jonah said. ‘Of course you’re right. You’re looking out for my best interests and I appreciate that. Got to get to DC ASAP. That’s the most important thing, right?’
The Beast, now standing across from Lenore and Jonah, chimed in. ‘How about this? Jonah gets on the plane with me. We stop by the Charlotte game before he hops back on and meets you in DC. My driver will take you to DC right now. You’ll be there in time to enjoy a leisurely evening at a fine hotel, Lenore, on me.’ It was the only time the Beast called her by name, and it made her skin crawl.
The Beast started peeling from a huge wad of bills but Jonah pushed him away. ‘I swear. I’ll lock up my seat in the Jordan game. Play a little while, at most, and then fly to DC and meet you at the hotel. I’ll even write the address of the meeting on my hand so, worst-case scenario, I go there directly from the airport tomorrow morning. But get me a separate room at the hotel – all business, right? I’ll do everything humanly possible to get there tonight. Tomorrow morning at the absolute latest. Promise.’
The Beast added, ‘I swear on my honour it will happen. We’ll move heaven and earth to get Jonah to your meeting.’
Lenore sighed, the decision having been made. ‘Fine.’
Jonah said, ‘This is a great plan.’
The Beast enthusiastically agreed. ‘It’ll be a real adventure.’
Jonah bear-hugged the suitcase full of gold and followed the Beast towards the plane. ‘I’ll see you in DC before you know it.’
XIII.
Lenore stood outside the limousine as Jonah and the Beast walked towards the waiting jet. Jonah appeared overburdened with baggage, despite travelling with no possessions but the clothes on his back.
A door to the jet popped open and a stairway descended. Jonah dragged the suitcase behind him. At the top of the steps, he tried to wave back at Lenore but his hands were full. It came out as a shoulder shrug, concluded with a lopsided grin.
A flight attendant pulled up the stairway and closed the plane door. The limousine driver asked Lenore, ‘Am I driving you to DC? It’s about three hours, four if we run into traffic in Newark or Baltimore.’
‘No,’ Lenore said as she ducked into the back seat of the limo, shovelling away the litter on the floor at her feet: food wrappers, newspapers, a bath towel, water bottles, drink cups. ‘Take me back to Philadelphia International.’
*
Her phone buzzed from inside her purse. It was a text from an unknown number, though the sender’s identity was obvious.
SEE U IN DC 2MORROW, YEA?
For once, Lenore did not respond to Jonah. Instead, when she stepped out of the limousine at Philadelphia International, she dropped her phone in the first trashcan she saw, and flew home.
And on the Eighth Day
by Shelley Rubenstein
The story, names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this piece are all true. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead (especially dead), places, or actual events is entirely intentional.
An abhorrent roar emanated from the Superior’s office. It was a sound of rage like no other, staggered intermittently with violent thudding and crashing noises. It was only when Isidore heard the words, ‘It’s rigged! It’s all rigged!’ that it became apparent to what this was referring.
‘Great timing,’ he sighed, clumsily attempting to mould his trembling hand into a fist. Slowly and purposefully, he primed it into position, a fraction away from the most foreboding of doors. Just as he’d garnered the necessary momentum to bring knuckle to gopher wood – a perennial favourite in these parts – he heard another almighty roar. The Almighty’s roar, to be precise. The Good Lord was pissed off.
The job had really started to get to God over the last century or so. He sorely needed an outlet, a diversion to provide a little escapism from the daily grind. Because He could never be wholly off duty, He wanted this pastime to function as a channel whereby He could walk among His children unnoticed. If He truly experienced what it felt like to be a mere mortal, without them becoming aware of His identity, then it surely would help Him become a better Omnipotent One.
Thus, contrary to popular belief, poker was not invented in New Orleans, Persia, or France. Mankind does love to take credit for everything. No, poker originated in The Heavens during a lull, post-Creation, post-Flood, and amid a brief period of harmony. One Sunday evening, several centuries ago, God decided to invite some of the gang over to His place to test drive a new card game He’d been working on. He also had a cracking recipe for guacamole He wanted to try out. This became the first home game in history.
He’d striven to create a platform where everyone would have parity – saints and sinners, angels and demons, even men and women. They’d leave their baggage and millennia-old disputes at the door. If, throughout the course of the game, ancient quarrels should incidentally be resolved as enemies were converted into comrades, then job done.
As the genesis of poker evolved, God found it fascinating to observe how each player’s endemic character traits were unwittingly brought to the forefront. They seemed incapable of concealing their true feelings when involved in a big hand. Even though this was managed with ease in everyday life after death, they were rendered powerless at obscuring their vulnerabilities.
And it was good that the game of poker frequently acted as a microcosm of society, aiding The Lord to do His work.
God considered poker to be a great success, a leveller – a chance to unwind and be like one of the guys. After the weekly game, He felt His batteries recharged, ready once more to face the onslaught of another week reigning over man and beast which, quite frankly, was getting to be exhausting and a tad repetitive.
The Sunday night game quickly became the highlight of God’s week. He’d devised a rotating list of players so no one felt left out. For it’s important to note that, even though this was His night off, He was inherently benevolent, and keen to set a good example to others on the off-chance that poker caught on.
There was one name, though, that was a firm fixture on the guest list: Barry. God loved playing with Barry. He felt like Barry was the only one who really got Him. Barry was certainly the only one who never threw the game if he thought God would get mad at him if he bust Him out. If anything, he strove to suck out on God wherever possible. Barry had, let’s call it, a ‘playful’ nature. You might know Barry by one of his many other sobriquets – King of Babylon, Abaddon, Evil One, and the one he favoured most, Satan. His true name though, largely because God knew it really wound him up, was Barry, for this was deemed the most diabolical of all monikers.
It was Barry who’d started the craze for bringing card protectors and lucky charms to the poker table. He’d regularly try to big up his evil by placing a mini fire-breathing demon atop his cards, psyching out the other players. He used this demon to encourage his opponents to worship at the altar of Beelzebub, yet another ridiculous name he was trying to popularise. Unfortunately, this failed to intimidate anyone and merely elicited ridicule. It did, however, galvanise their enthusiasm to address him as Barry, or, to really pique him, they’d address him by the loathsome hypocorism, Bazzer, wherever possible. And so, from the offset, he’d be on tilt. And hilarious it was to behold.
The other core members of the Sunday night crew pretty much proved God’s theory of playing to type, their personalities oozing into every hand. Noah constantly overplayed pairs; Abraham would rather sacrifice his own hand lest he beat God; and Jonah’s attempts at bluffing were cringe-worthy. He found the women were the trickiest to play. With their fair and calm matriarchal demeanours, Sarah and Esther were consistently the big winners. They were also the most pleasant to be around, should they hit a losing streak.
God always made sure there w
as balance between the genders. It bothered Him greatly that the game on earth in the present day had such a low ratio of female players. That didn’t mean to say it wasn’t tricky getting women along to the game even back then, and He often had to invite Eve along to make up the numbers. Annoyingly, if Eve was playing, that meant He had to invite Adam, which inevitably led to constant bickering between the two as she couldn’t stop herself from using her feminine wiles in the most audacious fashion.
The Sunday night game continued for many years, but God’s enjoyment was curbed as He became aware that the others had a predilection for soft-playing against Him. He missed the gratification one feels when victory is earned by the refined skills of the experienced card sharp. He’d explained repeatedly that this was the one time and place everyone should treat Him like an equal, but He couldn’t blame them for their apprehension. Sure, He had been known to get a bit smitey when riled, but that was all in the past.
Following the success of poker and its many variations in the 1990s, God graduated poker from ‘bricks and mortar’ to the online platform and thus internet poker was born. It was the perfect device! It brought together His people from all over the earth, among whom He could sit without any awareness of who this mystery player really was. It wasn’t long before even He forgot who He was at times. He truly relished those moments when He didn’t have to behave with the lofty sense of decorum one would naturally expect from The Creator.
O how much pleasure He derived from witnessing players from various nations putting aside prejudices and befriending one another. His belief in poker’s ability to act as a conduit for peace-making grew, as His flock would organically sit down together over a game of cards and play it out. He wanted to spread this message and increase poker’s popularity and decided to implement a cunning plan.
He Played for His Wife and Other Stories Page 14