This short story has been read and approved for posting by SR. Any resemblance to actual living persons is purely coincidental. No one was harmed in the making of this little story, although the dignity of a few surely did suffer.
The game: Poker
The stakes: Fashion humiliation
The players:
The Author: Sylvain Reynard
The Handsome Neighbor: Sir
Professor Emerson set his sights on
Sylvain. He had seen the man tug on his
collar and avoid eye contact with good cards.
He’d also noticed that Sylvain hadn't bluffed once. He either folded, or had decent enough cards
to justify his bets.
Sir was just happy to have made it
to the next round. He’d made
some
blunders, and had just lost another hundred and a half to
the
watchful author.
Sylvain was not aware of his tells,
but he noticed that The Professor
was
watching him for signals so he began to monitor his own body
language. When Sir dealt him two fives and two aces he
didn't even look
at
his cards until Gabriel had made his bet.
"I'm in for forty," The
Professor murmured, making his total commitment only fifty dollars including
the ante. He had yet another small pair
of fours, but it was a minor gamble to test the waters.
"Call," Sylvain said. He too was happy with any victory at the
moment.
"Two hundred," Sir
announced. He had the other two aces and
his
competitors'
thrifty wagers had given him the opportunity to make a big splash.
Professor Emerson blurted the word Mother very loudly before stopping
himself and smiling weakly at his neighbor.
He knew that the frail-looking fellow was willing to bluff big, but to
raise the stakes as the last bettor was a statement. He analyzed Sir long
enough to make his neighbor nervous. Slowly, Gabriel placed his cards on the
table and glared at Sylvain, willing him to make his decision.
SR knew he was going to call. This hand would cement him as the
chip
leader, but Gabriel's recent scrutiny had him second guessing every
decision,
or at least looking like he was second guessing every decision. It
was
his only solution to blur whatever it was The Professor was looking for.
"All right," he confirmed finally,
counting out two hundred dollars in chips. "I'll do it."
Sir proudly flopped his pair of aces
onto the table, but when SR did
the
same with a shrug and three cards still in his hand, it was clear that the
French Canadian was going to lose another big hand.
Sylvain collected the chips as well
as the cards and organized both. From his perch at the bar, Robin declared that
while the next man out might not opt to keep his new pair of shoes, he would be
wearing his sweet new footwear as soon as he could go bowling.
Three ten dollar chips made a white
clover in the middle of the table
and
SR sailed Sir's cards over them like spinning UFOs. SR dealt himself a stupendously dreadful hand
and waited to see how the other two felt about their cards.
Sir was getting mighty low on chips
but bet half of them with a
crooked
smile. The Professor raised him the rest
of his own chips. Sylvain
promptly
folded, not wanting anything to do with the next few seconds.
"I think I have you, sir,"
Sir hinted to Gabriel as he pushed the rest of his chips into the sizable mound
on the table. When he showed everyone
the quartet of deuces he possessed, The Professor almost screamed in rage. Instead, he snorted like a bull and glared
savagely at Sylvain's cards.
Antonio brought him another Scotch,
which The Professor accepted wordlessly before he looked down at his own
dwindling pile of chips. He and Sir each
had about four hundred dollars left while SR sat behind stacks so high that he
looked like a kid hiding in a fort.
Gabriel acquired the deal again, and
with it came good luck. He won a close
contest with the other two men and a three hundred dollar pot. Sir dealt himself an abysmal hand and watched
as The Professor won another three hundred dollars from SR.
Sylvain dealt the cards feeling
hopeful that he would get something going.
He was rewarded with another two pair, nines and kings, but The Professor
had three threes and the momentum began to shift his way.
"The ante is now twenty dollars,"
Gabriel told them as he shuffled the cards.
SR threw in his ante, then matched
the sixty dollar pot with his bet. He
had a pair of tens and didn't want to commit just yet. Sir followed suit, but he’d already lost with
a couple of fours. He also only had
about a hundred dollars remaining.
Professor Emerson called as well and won the two hundred forty dollar
pot.
On Sir's deal he received two pair
which earned him a hundred dollars back from The Professor. On Sylvain's deal, he won two times that from
the same opponent.
"Don't count the little guy out
yet," Robin bellowed and began rooting for the mousy man to win it all.
"I never do," SR muttered
as he watched Gabriel shuffle the cards with a practiced hand. The Professor was not satisfied with the chip
lead Mr. Reynard still had, but he had gained ground and smiled as he dealt
himself a pitiful pair of twos.
Sylvain
watched Gabriel’s smiles with interest.
He noticed that The Professor seldom won when he was smiling. SR also stopped tugging his collar and his
hair, or doing anything with his hands except touching cards, chips and glasses
of Scotch.
Gabriel dealt Sylvain a full house so
sweet that Bob Saget might as well have been the face on the jacks that looked
back at him. He bet a hundred dollars
and counted on the other two to raise it.
A pair of kings was given to Sir so
he matched Sylvain's bet. He was feeling
good because that was only about a quarter of his pile.
"One twenty-five to me?" The
Professor queried. For a minute, he
looked like he was going to bet to throw off the stink of his crummy hand, but he
unceremoniously dropped his cards and finished his drink. Sylvain knew one of his tells.
SR turned his cards over,
embarrassed at such a good hand. Gabriel
was simply happy that that he didn't have decent enough cards to even consider
a bet.
Sir's deal was next and he shuffled
the cards while they listened to Robin sing All
Of Me along with the track playing in the surprisingly acoustic room. The
song always made SR think of Steve Martin.
Gabriel looked down at his cards with
a frown. His face displayed a deep scowl, something he’d trained himself
to do when a particularly good hand came his way. Sir was also pleased with his cards but his
joy was written all over his face.
Mr. Reynard was a statue. He was dealt another phenomenal hand, a
flush. All of his cards were clubs, or puppy
tracks as his friends from school used to call them. He felt himself sitting rigidly and willed
himself to relax. He then tried his hand
at acting and ran his hand through his hair as if he were unsure how to
proceed.
It was The Professor's bet and
Gabriel was particularly frustrated that he happened to be first. He couldn't bet big, but he didn't want to
win a small pot either. He casually
tossed in one hundred fifty in chips and was delighted to see SR just as
casually raise the bet another hundred and a half.
Sir was stunned. The bet was three hundred to him which was
damn near all he had left. He was
sitting on three sevens so he shoved all but a half dozen chips into the pot. A second later he shoved in the rest and blew
out all his breath.
He stood up like Robin had when his
entire game was at stake.
"Turn 'em over," The
Professor spoke solemnly. He was certain
that his three queens were going to win him a pot worth nearly a thousand
dollars.
Sir
displayed his hopeful sevens but Gabriel didn't draw out his suspense. He turned over his triplet monarchs but did
not revel in the look of shock on his neighbor's face.
Sir gazed up at the pair of hideous
costume cries for help that would garner a second look even in Hollywood. He swallowed drily and was suddenly very
happy when he realized he still had a choice.
Sylvain waited quietly until The
Professor remembered the final detail of the hand and turned to him. When SR laid his second full house in as many
hands on the table, understanding was surprisingly slow to register on The
Professor's face.
Gabriel suddenly looked sick. He had successfully seen another competitor
dismissed, but he was now far behind in the chip count.
Robin cheerfully addressed Sir. "Choose
your proverbial poison, my fellow Goodfellow." The snarky man’s voice
shook Gabriel from his daze, and only when his attention was turned towards Sir
and his impending decision did SR scoop up his winnings very quickly.
"It's a tougher choice than I
thought it'd be," Sir lied as he paced the pedestals. "I predict that my biggest chagrin will
be in undressing the display models...and it certainly wouldn't take long to
remove the few items that belong to the gentleman in the printed Speedo..."
"Technically, I think that's a
thong," Robin clarified.
"Yes, well, that might have
just done the trick. I think I will be
much more comfortable in the more elaborate of the ensembles."
"So that's your choice
then?" The Professor grumbled, not
taking his eyes off the last mannequin.
"The Bieber?"
Sir answered by approaching the
featureless statue and removing the Casio watch.
He chose to change in the washroom,
wanting to model his new wardrobe with a good entrance. The unicorn-embroidered cowboy boots were too
big, but Sir was happy that it wasn't the other way around. The Justin Bieber shirt was horrible, of
course, as were the bandannas he wrapped around his wrist with difficulty.
The pants, however, he liked. They were a soft pair of Superman pyjama
bottoms and they appeared completely unworn.
Sir didn't say anything to any of his companions, but he planned on
keeping them. Those and the Casio watch.
When Sir walked back into the room,
he put his other clothes on the nearest bar stool and spun so that his grey and
maroon plaid jacket whirled around like a party dress.
"Oh shit!" Robin cried.
"I think I picked the wrong one!"
Everyone laughed, even Antonio.
"You look like a vaudeville
refugee," Sylvain uttered, earning
a nod from the self-appointed bard who promptly walked over to the table to
address the two men left sitting there.
"Gentlemen, I think you should
consider changing the game."
"What do you mean?"
Gabriel huffed.
"With just the two of you
playing, and a stud game at that, the bluff goes completely out the
window. All you'll do is win the
ante. And most likely you're going to
bet while he folds, and he's going to bet while you fold. This will go on for
about an hour before you come to the same conclusion." Robin looked at SR, who arched his eyebrow.
"He's right," Sir put in,
fiddling with his drawstring. "There's not much room left in this game for
strategy."
"What do you suggest we
play?" Sylvain was curious and game
for a change-up.
"Texas Hold-'Em," Robin replied
as though it was the only logical answer.
Gabriel was not opposed to the idea.
It was still a stud game with no draw cards, but it did have three rounds of
betting. It could potentially make it
that much easier to boost his chip count.
"I'm fine with that," The
Professor agreed. "But we should
start fresh, with equal chips."
The brash request was met with
immediate objections from both Robin and Sir, who had become very emboldened in
his new pyjama pants.
“That isn’t fair,” Sir protested.
“That gives you more chips without having to win them from Mr. Reynard.”
Robin raised his eyebrows. “If I
didn’t know better, I’d say you were sliding back into the Fourth Circle of
Hell, Dr. Emerson.” His Dante reference
was met with an ice-cold glare from The Professor.
"Actually," SR leaned in
so The Professor could hear him. "I'm all right with that."
"What?" Robin was flabbergasted. "Sylvain… Mr. Reynard, don't you see
what he's doing?"
"Don't do it!" Sir
pleaded.
"It's a completely new
game," Sylvain said evenly.
"Besides, it's what happens in professional tournaments." He stood up and moved to the chair Robin had
occupied. He faced The Professor and began
to divide the chips.
Gabriel couldn't believe his
luck. He knew Sylvain was fair to a
fault and he was about to cash in on it.
There was no way he was going home in that ridiculous ball-hugger.
Robin watched Sylvain's resolve and
shrugged his shoulders. "Well then,
you chaps need a dealer, and I volunteer."
TO BE CONTINUED...
