Now, as he approached the end of his week-long trip, Jack realized that he wasn’t going to wake up and find that everything was fine. And, he was finally able to put his finger on exactly what was bothering him, why he couldn’t move on.
He realized that his journey was over, cut short prematurely a year earlier on that horrible night. Sure, there was plenty of time left, years and years left to live. But, he was a man without direction, without purpose. He had nothing left to move towards, nothing left to accomplish, nothing left to love, nothing left to live for.
As he pulled into the tunnel beneath the hotel, Jack understood the significance of the moment. It was a new year, a fresh start, a hopeful beginning. But, as much as he understood that he had to move forward with his life, he also realized what he could never forget.
A full year removed from the tragedy, he was still a broken man.
Chapter Seven
“Good evening, Amanda.”
I know that voice, Amanda realized as she looked up from counting the chips on her table and her brain connected the sound in her head to the face of the man in seat seven. Try to say something, she thought to herself as she gazed into the eyes of the man in her dreams, the man she thought she would never see again, the man she had finally erased from her thoughts during the past week, her mind preoccupied with the death of her mother.
“Good evening, Sir,” she managed to reply nervously. “Welcome back to the Borgata.”
“Thank you, Amanda,” he flashed that pleasantly sad smile. “It’s good to be back. How are you.”
“I’m fine,” she replied politely, finally able to focus on something positive. “Is there anything I can get for you tonight, Sir.”
“No, I am good, Amanda. But, you can stop calling me Sir,” he smiled again. “My name is Jack, Jack Anderson to be precise.”
Jack, Amanda thought to herself, an appropriate name for the man in seat seven, kind of like Jack Kennedy. I wonder if his given name is John, or Jackson, or just Jack. God, I really love his smile, her mind suddenly drifted to things that didn’t really matter.
“Okay,” she smiled back at him and extended her hand. “It’s nice to officially meet you, Jack Anderson. I am Amanda Lee.”
“It’s nice to officially meet you, too, Amanda Lee,” he replied politely as he took her hand in his, the touch of which awakened Amanda’s senses as she made love to him in her mind.
“So, how long are you going to be in town,” she managed to put her thoughts aside as he thankfully let go of her hand.
“I am actually going to be here for a little while,” he answered vaguely. “I am staying at the hotel.”
“That’s good,” Amanda replied as her body again tingled at the thought of her dream in his room. “I hope to see a lot of you around here, I was really impressed with your play.”
“Well, thank you, Amanda,” he said with a smile. “Do you play?”
“I play a little bit, but nothing like you,” she subtlely complimented him. “I decided to learn when I became a dealer, but I play mostly one-two.”
“That’s good. All dealers should play, it helps them to understand the game better and control their table. Where do you play?”
“Mostly at Harrah’s, because it is so close by,” she enjoyed the ease of their conversation. “Like I said, I don’t play much anymore. I’m just too busy with school.”
“What are you studying?”
“I am getting my Phd in Substance Abuse Counseling,” she looked at him for approval. “I’ll be done in May, and then I can take a huge pay cut and get a real job,” she half way joked.
“This is a real job, Amanda,” he smiled. “But I know what you mean. At least you will be doing something that you love and are passionate about. The money doesn’t really matter.”
This man really does get her, she thought to herself. But, the money does matter, at least it does when you don’t have any, something he wouldn’t understand.
“I am looking forward to it,” Amanda thought about her departure plans set for immediately after graduation. “I’m ready to leave this town.”
“Atlantic City isn’t that bad,” he replied unknowingly. “I think it gets a bad rap.”
“Try saying that after twenty six years,” she responded with a smile.
“Ah, my world weary twenty six year old Doctor,” she enjoyed having him tease her as she wondered how old he was. “There are good and bad things about everywhere in the world, at least in Atlantic City, the warts and the scars are right there in front of you, unlike other places that are all pretense. I think she has a special kind of character.”
Amanda had never really thought about Atlantic City in that way, and definitely had never never applied a feminine pronoun to her hometown. No, she thought of Atlantic City as an old, run-down, decrepit, dirty old man, the morally challenged town that had destroyed her mother.
“I guess you could call it special, although I might choose a different descriptor,” Amanda carefully measured her words. “But trust me, there is plenty of pretense in Atlantic City.”
“You are mistaking the city for its inhabitants, Amanda,” he paused to give her a chance to think. “Take away all of those people for a minute and you have a beautiful beachside town, full of landmarks and history, aware of the ups and downs in the past, hopeful for its future.”
How idealistic, Amanda thought to herself as she wondered how to answer without appearing crass or disillusioned, not wanting to scare him away.
“Jack, you should join the Greater Atlantic City Tourism Bureau,” Amanda smiled as she decided to be herself. “You would be perfect for the job.”
“Very funny, Amanda,” he laughed. “Who knows, maybe I will need a job soon.”
“Not with the way that you play poker, Jack,” she responded, disappointed to see customers arriving at the table, their conversation cut short. “Good luck tonight.”
“Thanks, Amanda from Atlantic City,” he smiled as he teased her. “I hope you have a good night as well.”
* * *
It’s my birthday, Jack thought to himself as he looked across the table at his young opponent decked out in his cliched poker player’s uniform, sunglasses and a hoodie, the IPod cord running from his ear. You should just fold and give me a gift, he thought as he rechecked the pocket kings in his hand and waited for the response to his $50 bet, just large enough to take down the pot, but small enough to get away from the hand if he sensed strength.
“I raise,” his opponent announced as Jack deflated slightly, knowing he could not continue in the hand, the ace on the flop a suitable conqueror to his pocket kings, his read that the villain had an ace the correct one. “Make it two hundred.”
“I fold,” Jack announced again, the night not going quite as smoothly as his last time in Atlantic City two weeks earlier. “Nice hand.”
“Thanks,” his young opponent replied as he raked in the pot before seeking information. “Did you have pocket jacks?”
“I had nothing,” Jack smiled while lying in response, not falling for his trick. “You have an ace?”
“I had it,” his opponent answered coyly, although Jack knew he was telling the truth this time.
Some nights are like this, Jack thought to himself as he looked down at his chip stack, higher by about $400 from when he started but not building quite as quickly as he had planned. Just keep grinding through it, the cards will come eventually, he reassured himself.
“So, where are you from,” the overweight businessman to Jack’s right asked as the dealer dealt the next hand.
“I’m from South Florida,” Jack replied as he tossed deuce seven into the muck, the worst hand in poker. “How about you.”
“I’m from Philadelphia,” he responded as he called a raise. “Just down for the weekend.”
Jack waited for the flop to come and the man to fold to the inevitable continuation bet before continuing the conversation, pleased to make friends with the man to his right
who would be providing most of his profit for the night.
“So, what do you do for a living,” Jack killed some time between hands.
“I own a car dealership on the northeast side of town,” he replied as he took a swallow of his bourbon and coke, easily identifiable by its aroma and Jack’s heightened senses. “How about you?”
“I run a resort,” he halfway told the truth as the dealer dealt the next hand. “Your business must be as tough as mine with this economy.”
“It’s a little slow, but we are surviving,” he replied as he looked at his cards. “I just can’t get anything tonight.”
“It will change,” Jack replied, referencing both the cards and the economy as he looked down at pocket jacks and tossed in a raise before temporarily shutting down the conversation so he could concentrate on his hand. “Good luck to you tonight.”
Everyone folded to his raise and Jack collected a small pot, again out of rhythm with the table. As he stacked his chips, Jack eyes scanned the room for a better table and accidentally caught the eye of Amanda at table four, his new friend from Atlantic City. As he returned her smile, he was surprised to find his car dealer friend had noticed.
“She is something else,” he warned Jack. “Beautiful, but cold as ice.”
“She is beautiful,” Jack replied absentmindedly, although he had not really thought about it until now.
Yes, she really is beautiful, Jack thought to himself, the kind of woman he would have been interested in before Brittany. Smart, funny, ambitious, independent, and yes, stunning. Long auburn hair tied up haphazardly as if she didn’t care, yet somehow still sophisticated in appearance. Perfectly shaped, dark brown eyes that complimented her olive skin and spoke volumes about what she was thinking. An incredible figure she couldn’t hide beneath her dealer’s uniform, so noticeable, impossible to conceal.
“The action is on you, sir,” the dealer interrupted Jack’s thoughts.
“Oh, sorry about that,” Jack responded as he quickly checked his cards before throwing them into the muck.
“Get back in the game, Jack,” the fat man to his right smiled and chided him. “As they always say in poker, women are the rake in life.”
“Yes, they truly are,” Jack agreed to the poker colloquialism with a smile, although he never quite understood what it meant.
The rake in poker is the percentage the casino takes from the pot, Jack thought to himself. Why would women be considered the rake in life?Maybe the analogy is valid with regard to some antiquated view of women as the stereotypical gold diggers, femme fatales out to manipulate men and bleed them dry. Sure, some women are still like that, but shouldn’t the man be to blame for pursuing this kind of woman. Maybe the male ego is the rake in life, Jack settled on a new saying, knowing it wasn’t catchy enough to stick.
Jack could sense that Amanda certainly wasn’t this kind of woman. No, she was surprisingly unpretentious, especially considering her beauty. Straightforward almost to the point of bluntness, honest in both her appearance and her conversation. Wanting to make a difference in the world, to leave it a better place. No, Amanda definitely wasn’t the rake, she would undoubtedly contribute to and enrich any man she was with.
But, she isn’t Brittany, Jack felt guilty as he came to his senses, and she never will be. No, he shouldn’t even be thinking about another woman in that way, Jack scolded himself for permitting those thoughts to seep into his mind for he first time since her death. It just isn’t right to betray her memory like that.
“The action is on you, Sir,” the dealer once again had to prompt Jack’s action.
“I fold,” Jack replied without looking at his cards, knowing that his mind was elsewhere. “Gentlemen, have a nice evening, I think I am going to call it a night.”
* * *
As she watched Jack leave the room, Amanda’s heart sank as she wondered why he was leaving so early.
It certainly wasn’t because he was losing. She had watched as his chip stack had grown slowly but steadily throughout the evening, monitoring his progress and his visage, wanting to be sure he was the man she imagined and not another cheap imitation.
And, what a man he was turning out to be. He handled both winning and losing gracefully, the bad beats not affecting him at all. He was a valued member of any table, courteous to the other players, empathetic to their losses and encouraging in their victories. He was also kind and generous to the dealers, treating them as important members of the community rather than as menial peons meant to be castigated, blamed, and abused for some jerk’s losses.
Immediately, the dealers noticed. Her friend, Karen, had already asked Amanda about Jack, whether she knew anything about him or if he was available. Feeling an unexpected surge of jealousy and possessiveness, Amanda had smiled secretively and kept the information to herself, laughing at the subsequent teasing from Karen.
Maybe he has a dinner date, Amanda thought to herself as she fantasized about a romantic dinner with him, a bottle of wine, the lights dim, his secretly touching her leg under the table as they kissed. I certainly hope he doesn’t have a date, Amanda’s thoughts turned to the hundreds of women that would throw themselves at him in the casino.
He doesn’t seem like the type who would go for that, Amanda decided as she absentmindedly dealt another hand. No, just from her limited conversations with him, Amanda already knew he would seek more than just surface relationships, meaningless one night stands of no interest to him. Already, their conversations were full of give and take, her watching his reaction as he listened to her, thinking about his response, and then giving a well thought out rebuttal to whatever she had said, his intelligence on display at all times.
Maybe he is an Attorney, she fantasized, well trained in the repartee of debate, an able listener and communicator using his superior intellect to defeat his opponents. Or, maybe he is an Entrepreneur, a shrewd negotiator able to secure the best deals through his charm and persuasiveness. Or, could he possibly be a Professional Gambler, utilizing all of his analytical skills to calculate the odds and defeat the unsuspecting opponents at the table.
I don’t know who or what he is, Amanda thought to herself as the dealer behind her tapped her shoulder, indicating the end of her down. I also have no idea what he is doing in Atlantic City, although I am certainly glad he will be here for a while, her mind focused on future conversations as she moved to the next table.
Jack Anderson, she thought to herself as she tapped out the next dealer, you are definitely an interesting man, a man that I am going to get to know.
Chapter Eight
It was odd to have so much time on his hands after having been so busy for years, but Jack slowly found a routine in Atlantic City.
His day would start early with a morning workout at sunrise, the run along the beach a great way to clear his mind, the cold mist of the ocean an effective stimulant to start his day. He would then head back to the hotel for a shower followed by a healthy breakfast and a cup of hot coffee, all serving to warm his body and awaken his senses.
He spent the mornings following the stock market and reviewing the hands from the night before, studying the cost benefit analysis of these zero sum games, looking for any leaks in his approach. After confirming his strategies and approach for the day, Jack would settle on a restaurant for a light lunch, primarily a diversion to kill some time.
He then returned from lunch in the afternoon for a short nap before waking in time to watch the stock market close and to prepare his mind for the nightly battle at the poker table. He spent an hour meditating and clearing his mind, a poker zen warrior, poised and mindful, planning for how he would react to varying scenarios and different players, visualizing a clear mind and calm spirit.
He also spent the last hour before making the trip down to casino looking forward to his social life, his nightly conversation with Amanda at the break table forefront in his mind. They had slowly become friends, their schedules intertwining, their thoughts on similar pag
es. She was honest, independent, and intelligent, traits that Jack admired, and their conversations had range, but not beyond what He was comfortable discussing.
Jack sensed a kindred spirit in Amanda, an old soul who somehow shared his sense of loss and hopelessness while at the same time displaying the fight and tenacity that he had lost. He admired and liked her, but his feelings for her went no further than that, her youth and his damaged soul solid barriers to further engagement.
And, so it went, and before long, Jack had spent two months in Atlantic City, a fixture in the poker room, a man without a home. He didn’t really think about where he was going to go, who he was going to meet, what he was going to do. He just lived day by day, sticking with his schedule, no one knowing where he was or what he was doing.
Slowly, he returned to the place where he felt comfortable before he met Brittany. Scheduled, uncluttered, antiseptic, and dispassionate, his mind distracted by routine, his heart safe from harm.
* * *
Amanda was not going to let him get away with it tonight. His dodging, deflecting, maneuvering, changing the subject, anything he could do to not let her in.
She and Jack had become friends over the last couple of months, getting to know each other better by the day, his daily arrival promptly at 6:00 a welcome routine in her life. He was kind, thoughtful, funny, considerate, and a wonderful listener, everything she had hoped he would be. It had gotten to the point that she hoped the break table wouldn’t fill at all, the lost income a welcome trade for a full half hour of conversation with him.
They talked about so many things. Her school work, poker, the stock market, people, their shared love of baseball, pretty much anything that came up in daily conversation.
But, nothing personal. She knew he was hiding something, something he didn’t want her to know, something he didn’t want to share. Could he be married, maybe going through a difficult divorce?
Broken Man Page 6
