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After the World Series of Poker, it seems everybody is heading for a beach somewhere. Some people are going to Cabo, some are going to Hawaii, but everybody has the same idea: Detox in a natural environment near a body of water.
Phil and I decide to go to London to play in Party Poker Millions. It’s a tough call since the next day he has to fly to Miami to film his series and I have to be on location for a month making my movie. We are homesick. We want to sit in our house, and look at the trees and do nothing. But the lure of a tournament with guaranteed TV time, and a half million overlay proves too strong. We can always detox later.
During the WSOP I discovered the Hendon Mob website and became obsessed with getting my stats up. Through my 5 cashes (3 at the WSOP and 2 at the Bellagio Cup) and by emailing them to draw their attention to a reporting error, I managed to move up the all-time women’s money list from number 27 to 25. I am positive if I grind hard enough in the next year or so I can make it to the top ten.
But now, sitting at home in my kitchen, staring out the window at the garden while my cat winds around my ankles, I wonder why I wanted to leave again so soon. I haven’t been home for almost six weeks.
I go out to dinner with my friend Geraldine. The Italian waiters are effusive and welcoming. They act like I am Ulysses back from the ten year war. Geraldine drinks too much wine, and shakes her head disapprovingly.
“Poker, poker, poker,” she clucks. “What is wrong with you? This isn’t a healthy way to live. You’re not a poker player, you’re an actress. You used to be obsessed with acting; you had dreams about a body of work. And when you weren’t acting you were home for a few months … you saw your friends, you worked out, you sat in the garden. And now … look at you. You’re sleep deprived, you don’t take care of yourself, you don’t return phone calls or work on your career. You have an important film coming up, and all you can talk about is this tournament in London. Phil’s the poker player, not you. You just took up poker because you’re competitive.”
As she rambles on about all the things I’m missing — babies, and sunshine, and walks on the beach … I wonder if she’s right. I am kind of like a junkie, but without the drugs. When I’m playing I don’t wash my hair or sleep or work out. I go all day without eating. The pictures of me on poker websites show a hollow-eyed, sallow-complected person with a grim determined expression on her face.
“The whole world is poker obsessed!” says Geraldine disapprovingly. “Even my mom watches poker. She watches it like it’s baseball. The whole thing is going to go away. It can’t last. It’s stupid for you to stop making movies. People enjoy your movies. Poker is just a game.” “Geraldine,” I say patiently. “Poker is not just a game. It’s a career.”
Geraldine snorts through her nose. “Isn’t a career something that has a future? There’s no future in poker. All you do is lose. And you’re unhappy. You’re unhappy all the time. Acting made you happy. You liked doing it. Now people only know you as a poker player. You’re losing your identity. Let Phil play poker. Stay home. Be with your friends. Miss a few tournaments. Pull back the rudder.”
I am silent for a minute. The idea of giving up poker has occurred to me fleetingly. Is poker that important? What does it contribute to society? Is it really responsible for the delinquency of America’s youth? But then again, what’s so noble about acting? Why is it a better profession to pretend to be somebody else, than trying to trick people into giving you their chips? I want to tell Geraldine that poker is a metaphor for life. If I can win a tournament, I can control my destiny.
Fortunately at this juncture, we are joined by our friend Janet. All serious conversation ceases as we squeal our hellos. Janet is wearing a new dress. “Libertine!” she says proudly. “Twenty-five dollars at Target! (She pronounces Target like all the fashionistas — with a French accent.) I zone out as Geraldine and Janet chatter about their desire to have more sex, how clever their children are; and try to plan a trip to Paris for Fashion Week.
Fashion Week! I feel like I am looking at my friends from the wrong end of a telescope. They seem out of focus and far away. I used to be obsessed with fashion, and now I just wear jeans and baggy t-shirts, grey so they don’t show spills, and baggy so they are still comfortable after 17 hours. Who cares about Fashion Week? I have a new career! One where I don’t have to look good! Or do I really? It occurs to me that my new career is just as pointless as the old one.
Janet has a new camera and, slightly tipsy now, she stands on a chair to take a picture of us from a good angle. “Tuck your arm behind your back!” she shrieks. Apparently my arm is not worthy of being in the shot. I comply and she pronounces the results worthy of Vogue. “You guys look like supermodels!” she crows.
When I get home Phil is talking to a friend of his on the phone. This kid, 23, an up-and-coming young actor, has blown through his net worth playing poker. Six months ago he had 200 thousand. Now he has only 325 dollars left to his name, and the rent is due next week. He is wondering if he should go down to the Commerce Casino and put it on the table. I shiver as I walk by the phone.
That night I have the recurring dream known as The Actor’s Nightmare. I am on stage doing a play that I did a long time ago. I barely remember the plot, let alone the lines, and have to improvise. I used to have this dream all the time. Now, I dream of straights being outrivered by flushes. Poker has taken over my life.
I go online to see if I have a gambling problem. “Do you think about gambling when you are doing other things?” demands the questionnaire. Of course. “Has it alienated you from friends and family?” Well, Geraldine’s mad at me, and come to think of it, I haven’t seen my other friends much. “Does it interfere with your job?” Hmmm … let’s see. I just let my manager go, I never call my agent, and I won’t take a movie if it conflicts with a tournament …
Maybe I am deluding myself. Instead of having a “new career,” perhaps I am actually on a downward spiral. I could be just like that kid Phil was talking to. It’s something to seriously contemplate. And I will. Just as soon as I get back from Party Poker Millions.
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