LITMIR.BIZ

       Chapter 7

      I woke in the cool, dark morning before the sun and before my alarm, luxuriating in my sheets and letting my thoughts roll over the events of the night before. What a strange new world I had stumbled upon.

      By the time I had finished cleaning up at the Viper, it was nearly 2 A.M. I had locked the doors behind me and run to my car with my purse tucked protectively under my arm. I drove home singing songs at the top of my lungs.

      Blair was still out when I got home. I ran a hot shower, trying to calm myself down, but when I crawled into bed, I was still amped. I started making lists in my head of all of the things I could do with my tip money. Pay next month’s rent. Buy some new clothes, pay my credit-card bill. I might even have enough to save a little.

      I finally fell asleep.

      When I climbed out of bed I immediately checked my sock drawer. The stack of hundred-dollar bills was right where I had left it.

      I went to the kitchen to make coffee. According to the clock, it was barely 6 A.M., but the news was too good to hold in. I had to tell Blair. I had to tell somebody, or I was going to explode. She’d had a late night, so I knew I better have some coffee in hand.

      “Why are you so happy?” she grumped, accepting the mug with her eyes half closed. I was about to burst out with the whole crazy, unbelievable story when the caffeine kicked in and reality sharpened into focus. Even though she was my best friend, and we told each other everything, I couldn’t tell her this. It was my secret to carry, not hers. If she slipped up and told someone and it got back to any of the players, I would lose their trust.

      I decided then and there not to tell anyone, not even my family, about the game. I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize my place in that room. “No special reason,” I said, attempting to dim my enthusiasm. “It’s just a beautiful day and I don’t want you to miss it.”

      “Can’t handle you right now. Shut my door.” She groaned, and rolled over.

      “Sorry,” I said, stepping into the hall.

      I GOT TO THE OFFICE early that morning, as I wanted to prove that the game wouldn’t impact my performance. I spent an hour cleaning and organizing Reardon’s desk and sorting files.

      When I finished catching up on my work, I checked my phone. Seven new messages! My heart lurched. Usually that meant Reardon was raging about something. Not today, though. Today my in-box was full of messages from the players, asking me when the next game was, or commenting on how much fun they’d had. They also wanted to secure their seat for next week. I did a little happy dance.

      Reardon didn’t make an appearance until ten.

      “Hi!” I said brightly, handing him his coffee and the mail.

      “Someone looks happy,” he said, with a wink.

      I relaxed a bit; thank God, he was in a good mood.

      “How much did you make?”

      “Three thousand!” I whispered, still in disbelief.

      He laughed. “Told you this would be good for you, stupid.”

      I beamed.

      “Everyone loved it,” he said. “They won’t shut the fuck up. They’ve been calling me all morning.”

      I tried not to look too eager.

      “We will have the game every Tuesday.”

      My face lit up and I couldn’t control the huge smile spreading across my face.

      “Don’t let it fuck up your work,” he cautioned.

      Then he looked at my feet.

      “And go buy some new shoes, those are fucking disgusting.”

      FOR OUR SECOND GAME, Reardon stipulated that all the players bring $10,000 for their initial buy-in and a check for any additional losses they might incur. Over the course of the week, as he fielded calls from people who had heard about the game and wanted to play, I listened carefully. I then created a spreadsheet for all the current and potential poker players.

      I wanted to figure out how to be irreplaceable. I still had a lot … well, everything to learn about the game, but I knew a few things about human behavior from my time at the restaurants and watching my dad work. I knew that men, especially men of the social class and status of the cardplayers, wanted to feel comfortable and attended to. I upgraded the supermarket cheese plate to a swankier version from a Beverly Hills cheese store. I had memorized each player’s favorite drink, favorite snacks, and their favorite dish from the high-end restaurant we usually ordered from. Those little details were sure to go a long way.

      When Reardon gave me the finalized list of players I was to invite for the second game, there were nine of them, most repeats from the first game, and I set out to learn all I could about every one of them.