'Farewell, My Lovely"
movies from the 1940s know as “fi lm noir.” Examples are The Big Sleep and Double
Indemnity. Chandler created a unique writing style by using sharp, lyrical similes. “He
looked as inconspicuous as a tarantula on a slice of angel food.” The italicized phrases
below represent quotes from his works.
She was a blonde; a blonde to make a bishop kick a hole in a stained glass window. I had seen her on television, and she was even more breathtaking in person... the Miss America of sharks. She gave me a smile I could feel in my hip pocket. It was the type of look that made me happy to lay down and submit. Why did she have to be at my first final table? I'll tell you, pal, I felt like chum.
It was the LA Poker Shootout and I was one of only two amateurs who had made it to the last six seats. I belonged here like a pearl onion on a banana split. The other lucky sucker was sitting straight-up, sweating under the lights and cameras. As opposed to Miss America, his smile was as stiff as frozen fish.
Despite conventional advice about drinking and playing, I was relaxed from several shots of Irish single-malt whiskey. Even though I’m only an occasional drinker (the kind of guy who goes out for a beer and wakes up in Singapore with a full beard), I figured it was better than being petrified like “Mr. Fish Lips.”
As the final table progressed, Miss America went on a feeding frenzy. She made quick work of Fish Lips and two of her fellow pros. When you thought she was bluffing, she had the goods; and when you folded, she showed a bluff. I stayed out of the way and ordered another shot. The whole table was on tilt, but all I could think about was that she smelled the way the Taj Mahal looks by moonlight.
It came down to three of us: the blonde, another pro named Cozy Cole, and me. Cozy was a retiree from Florida who eventually decided to hit the tournament circuit. He had gotten bored playing 1/2 NL at the St. Petersburg dog track and figured life was too short… especially for him. Nonetheless, he was very wily and not to be underestimated.
I was dealt Big Slick suited and lead out strong. Miss America folded, but Cozy had no problem calling. Even though the flop came all rags, he made a large bet. What does this old coot have? He sat there motionless as if carved of stone. I expected pigeons to alight on his shoulders. Maybe I should check his pulse and call 911? If I make a move here, I could be the dead one, and dead men are heavier than broken hearts. I decided to lay it down, never knowing if he had me.
Several hands later I was dealt pocket rockets. I slowly looked up, and Miss America’s nostrils were slightly flaring. I had noticed her doing this before when she was getting ready to move a lot of chips. Perfect, she probably has a good hand! I limped in and she made her big raise. I calmly called. Down came the fl op, and when seeing it I leaned forward slightly. It was 10-Q-A. Unless she was holding K-J, I was in great shape. When I looked up, she was staring at me and I began to sweat like a piece of banana cream pie at a weight loss convention.
She bet big and John Philip Sousa marching tunes started to go off in my head. If she has A-K I am going to bust her. I smooth called again. The turn was another queen. I now had a full house of aces over queens. She checked and I went all in. There was no hesitation… she called immediately and turned over pocket queens. My only hope was an ace on the river, which never came.
When I busted out in third place I felt like I was the page from yesterday’s calendar, crumpled at the bottom of the waste basket. Remember that sometimes the only thing worse than not getting cards is getting cards. To the Miss America of sharks, all I could say was “Farewell, My Lovely.”
Michael Rome can be found on his poker philosophy website at www.romepoker.net. Zeke Flatten is a screenwriter and producer whose credits include the recent poker murder mystery entitled Misdeal. For more information, go to www.misdealmovie.com.
