Devil In A Red Dress

Devil in a Red Dress

"You only wear a dress like that if you want the rest of the table to think you’re playing with Daddy’s money."

I’m curious if that quote from "Tilt" applies to $1/$2 No Limit Poker or not, because she played every bit the part of a real life angel from above in that red dress. Or does the devil send his beautiful temptresses in plunging scarlet robes? Either way, I'll get back to her in a second. It was early January, I had forsaken the blustery cold of a Michigan weekend to take part in the first live poker ever dealt in Nassau.

Apparently, the good people at a well-known online poker room had talked the Bahamanian Government and the owners of the very tony Atlantis property into throwing one of those big No Limit Tournaments like you've seen on TV.

I'm sure that four months later they're still picking up the pieces. The ballroom at the Atlantis was crawling with every big and no-name poker degenerate eager to get a piece of the action – the first action allowable under law in Nassau.

What better place to separate Trust Fund Dollars from the wallets of well-heeled tourists than the Bahamas? If you can afford the French Dip Sandwich and Fries at $22 a pop, then you're probably the type of guy that doesn't mind getting popped himself for a couple racks on a Friday night.

I'm no shark, but even I could whiff the gathering cloud of schooling fish. We just had to wait for the tournament tables to be bagged and tagged to get some cash games going, and that was taking longer than expected.

It was taking so long to get some action that my road dogs G-Rob and Al started to get fidgety.

"How much from here?" G-Rob was gesturing with his empty six ounce water bottle at a trash can about thirty five feet away. "Ten to one?"

"I’ll give you three to one," I offered, "From right there."

"Weak. Al? Ten to one from here? C’mon…"

Al took a look at G-Rob, the empty bottle, and the trash can in succession. I can’t be sure, but I think he even licked his finger and raised it above his head, not that the trade winds were gusting through the ballroom now emptying steadily from tournament action. "Ten to one. Let’s see it."

I’m not sure G-Rob played sports as a kid. A natural lefty, he raised the bottle above his head and tossed a dart that skipped its way to the goal, glancing harmlessly off the trash can in the process.

"Didn’t your dad ever teach you to step into your throws?" I was cracking on him to be sure, but he certainly didn’t make his bread in high school throwing middle relief with that noodle attached to his shoulder.

Al, like myself, was a catcher growing up. We’ve got virtual howitzers popping out of our sleeves, but as I had long since retired mine, I let Al take his crack at the can. "Do I get ten to one from here too?" G-Rob nodded, and Al popped the cap off the water bottle and tipped his head back to slug it down to throwing weight.

I really believe the difference was in the ounce of water Al left in the bottle as ballast. Well, that and he doesn’t throw like my little sister. Thunk! The bottle was dead-on, and was thrown with enough heat to rock the can on its heels just a little bit in the process.

"You got action on this?" Some dude and his buddies wandered into the fray as they watched G-Rob toss Al his bones. "What’s the game?"

After a little preliminary negotiation, it was decided that one of the guy’s crew was going to get a shot to sink a bottle from the same thirty feet. G-Rob, knowing how difficult the throw was with an empty bottle, was smart enough to bet the Don’t Pass line this time. Dude drained the bottle, capped it, and stared the can down to get a feel for the necessary arc and velocity.

He went for the lob. Bad idea. Instead of hitting the can, he two-hopped it to the pole. Everyone in the vicinity went nuts. The losers groaned, the winners celebrated, and we caused a hell of a scene.

Enough of a scene, in fact, that a rather well-dressed local who was wearing his papers on his lapel felt obligated to shut our little game down. That’s right. The Bahamanian Gaming Control Board put a stop to our side action on the spot. I asked the gentleman if the Board would like a piece of the action to allow us to continue, but apparently the game wasn’t approved by the government, so we were stuck.

Stuck waiting for a new table of $1/$2 No Limit to open up, that is. I had gotten us all on a list, and instead of being seated at a game already in progress, we waited as a group to be seated together. Hopefully we'd manage to get seated sometime before they rolled up the sidewalks for the night. You can say a lot of positive things about Nassau, but say them before midnight please. They're closing up shop.

11PM hits, and they finally give our group the call to the post. While Al's wife went out into the lobby to fetch Al and G-Rob, I was directed to the table. I was the second to arrive. Already in the 5s was Jenny. Polynesian, young, gorgeous, and showing enough décolletage in that red dress to where I knew I was going to have a problem staring. I took the 7s, hoping perhaps Ralph Sampson or Refrigerator Perry might take the seat between us to obscure my view. It really was my only chance. She was riffling chips in her right hand, and her left hand was doing that sliding-up-and-down-the-nine-inch-stack-of-chips-I-made thing. Where was I again? What’s my name? Umm...

"We can go heads-up if you’d like, how about it?" was her introduction to me. Uh… I think I mumbled something back to her about waiting for my friends or something smooth to that effect. Coherent conversation is not my biggest asset when it comes to being (effectively) alone with a good looking woman.

The players were mercifully starting to populate the table, and once we had a quorum, the cards were in the air.

Over the course of the first few orbits, I’m bleeding some chips away slowly on some dubious calls. I give a few to G-Rob, and quite a few to Jenny when both re-raise my aggression on some flops I missed wide. I was down $40 from my original $100, and bought myself back up to a full stack while slapping some idiot sense into my head to play tighter.

Something must have worked, but it didn’t hurt that the deck started hitting me over the head either.

Pocket Aces in the hole, and I’m geeked. I push a raise (to $15) and Jenny follows me into the pot. QQJ on the flop. She checks, and I push all-in.

Whoops. She calls immediately.

Now, this isn’t like you see it on TV where they flip the cards and you get to see how far ahead or behind you are. I never actually got to see Jenny's cards in the hole, but they were either KQ or AQ, of that I’m almost absolutely certain. The minute she called, I knew I was behind.

The turn, however, brought a beautiful Ace. "I hope that’s my help right there," I said, even though I was pretty sure that she didn’t have me beat anymore. The river was something irrelevant, and I flipped over my Aces and apologized for sucking out…

…Well, actually, the apology went something like this:

"Hey Jenny? I’m sorry for sucking with that Ace and all, but to tell you the truth, my ex-wife was named Jenny and she really made that divorce of mine hell... and I’ve got to tell you that taking money off a woman named Jenny is actually quite emotionally satisfying. But still, I’m sorry about sucking out and all."

Al's wife told me she was laughing. I couldn’t focus on anything above her collarbone.

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