Pokergeist

by Michael Phillip Cash

  “Be back at six.”

  Telly nodded and walked out into the bright Vegas sun. Squinting, he dialed Gretchen’s cell, hanging up when it went to voice mail. He grabbed a bus on Industrial heading toward Summerlin.

  An hour later, he got off on Decatur and stopped at Starbucks to buy three coffees. Then he walked the five blocks to his parents’ home.

  They lived in a neat subdivision in a four-bedroom house built in the late nineties. It was in a gated community with scores of identical khaki-painted stucco homes built so closely together they almost touched. The moderately affluent area was mostly inhabited by transplants from other states here for retirement. His parents were former teachers who had bought into the inexpensive Vegas lifestyle after living and struggling to make ends meet in Los Angeles.

  “Mom!” he called out after letting himself in. He heard whispered voices and a door slamming in the rear of the house. “Mom? Dad?”

  Harriet Martin came into the room wearing a raspberry-pink Juicy velour tracksuit. “Telly!” she cooed, her arms outstretched. “What brings you to this side of town?”

  He leaned forward to kiss her cheek, handing her the cardboard tray of coffee. “I was in the neighborhood and figured I’d check in. Where’s Dad?”

  “He’ll be right back; he went to the market.” She eyed the kitchen nervously. Telly looked at his mother. She was a tad too loud, her face flushed, her eyes darting to the other room.

  “Is everything OK, Mom?” He looked toward the kitchen alcove.

  Harriet put her arm around his shoulders. “What could be wrong now that you’re here? Come, sit, tell me what’s new in your life.”

  “Don’t you want to go into the kitchen?”

  She laughed. “No, let’s sit right here on the new couch and have our coffee.”

  “You want to sit here?” Telly asked incredulously. Harriet was a maniac about cleaning. She never even let him wear shoes in the house. He looked at her pinkish-white hair, frozen in an upswept pompadour, and her fuchsia-colored nails. Nothing new there, he thought.

  She sat gingerly on the edge of the sofa. As Telly sat, he put his cup on the glass surface of the coffee table without a coaster. “Telly!” she yelled.

  “If you don’t want to be in here, we could go into the kitchen and drink at the counter like normal people.”

  She waved her hand. “Never mind. It’s OK. Just be careful of the carpet.”

  “Where’s Mannix?” he asked. His big brother lived with his parents. He also had a sister named Gidget who was a grade school teacher in Florida. Some people named their children for family members; his parents named them after television characters. In Telly’s opinion, this was not one of their more endearing traits.

  “He’s back in Los Angeles for a commercial. It’s a small part, but the money was good.” Mannix was an actor of dubious talent. “So?” Harriet sipped her coffee, her brown eyes unblinking in her face. She was making him nervous.

  Telly watched her suspiciously. She didn’t ask about working or even about Gretchen. Something was off. His father opened the front door, his fanny pack in his hand and his face red and sweaty, as though he had just finished running a race. He was wiping his forehead with a wilted linen handkerchief.

  “Will you look who’s here? Telly!” he shouted.

  “I thought Mom said you went to the market.”

  “I did; I’m coming home now.”

  “Why didn’t you come in through the garage?” Telly asked suspiciously.

  “I walked,” Frank Martin replied hurriedly.

  “In this heat?” Telly asked.

  “The sweating is good for you,” Harriet interjected.

  “Detoxing. Very important when you reach our age, right, Har?”

  Telly looked at their faces, trying to figure out what was going on. His father sat down and took the proffered cup. “What’s new, kiddo?”

  “You guys OK?”

  “Never better; what’s going on?” Frank dismissed Telly’s concern with a wave of his hand.

  “I just wanted to let you know that…well, I’ve decided to take a job at a cab service…for now. Until something better comes along.”

  Harriet clapped her hands. “That’s wonderful!” She stood, looked at the kitchen, and said, “Oh! I just realized I left something on the stove. Let me go grab it.” Not the reaction he was expecting. They had been psychotic when he’d decided to try his hand at gambling. The expectations were always high and nonnegotiable. The fact they were so pleased with a cab-driving job in itself didn’t make any sense. Harriet fled the room. Telly noticed she had Juicy Couture printed in gothic, silver letters across the wide expanse of her butt.

  “What’s she cooking?” he asked.

  “Soup, oatmeal…who knows? Tell me, Telly, what happened to the poker?”

  Telly looked at his father’s earnest face. He still had most of his hair, and oddly enough it had never grayed. He wore heavy tortoiseshell glasses and had a very neat mustache under his long nose. With his bushy black brows, he looked like he was wearing a Groucho Marx trick nose and glasses.

  “Well, is it soup or oatmeal?” Telly stood to go into the kitchen.

  “Who cares? Tell me what’s new in your life.” His father grabbed his arm, pulling him back to the couch. Something was going on, Telly knew it.

  “You asked that already. Dad, what’s going on?”

  “Nothing…not a thing. You were telling me about the driving job.”

  “Poker wasn’t working out, so I took the cab job temporarily.”

  “You’ll get something in computers. You’re the best. This is only a setback.” His father assured him.

  “It wasn’t a setback; it was a disaster.”

  “You could go back to school. Get a business degree.”

  “And waste another hundred thousand and four years, hey—don’t you want to ask about Gretchen?” Telly looked at his father suspiciously.

  “Gretchen?” His father looked startled. “I always want to know about Gretchen. I love Gretchen,” he said loudly.

  “What’s going on here?” Telly got up and stalked into the kitchen. His mother was coming in from the back door. “Who’s staying in the casita?” He walked to the rear window to look at the small one-bedroom apartment that was attached to the house. The blinds were pulled down, and he could see that the lights were on. He put his hand on the doorknob, and his mother stopped him.

  “No! Don’t go in there. It’s a mess,” she shrieked.

  “Mom?” Telly said, his voice rising.

  Harriet pulled up a kitchen chair, her face deflated. “Don’t go out there. I promised I wouldn’t tell.”

  “Wouldn’t tell what?”

  “Gretchen asked us not to say she was here,” she blurted.

  “Gretchen is here?” Relief bloomed in Telly’s chest.

  “Where else did you expect her to go?” Harriet said. “She loves you and needed to be with other people who love you. You weren’t very nice to her. Sounds to me like things got pretty out of hand.” She had a way of making him feel like a four-year-old. “I understand you are under a lot of pressure, but I never expected to hear such terrible things from your mouth.”

  “People fight. We had a disagreement.” Telly felt himself shrinking under his mother’s scrutiny. Why did I stop here? he wondered, not for the first time.

  “Sounds to me like it was a little more than that.”

  “The gambling is not right for you. It’s not what we sent you to college for. Besides, if you needed money, you should have come to us and not that…that pimp,” his father said gravely. “You could stay in the casita instead of paying rent in that roach motel.”

  “Thanks, Dad. But the casita is Manny’s space.”

  “You could stay in my craft room for a a while, until you...�
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  “Thanks, but no thanks. Is she in there now? I want to talk to her.”

  Harriet shrugged. “Well, I don’t know—”

  Telly ignored her and opened the door, heading purposefully to the little cottage. He stepped carefully on the gravel path, trying to make as little noise as possible. He tapped on the window.

  “Gretch—open up. We need to talk.” He heard Sophie’s frantic barking.

  The blinds parted, and Telly saw Gretchen’s worried eyes through the small opening.

  “Come on, Gretchen. I need to speak to you.” He knocked again and said, “Gretch, thick.” He touched his lips with his fingers.

  She opened the door, her hand on her heart and her voice choked up, so Telly finished, “…and thin.” Telly entered, reaching out to wrap her in his embrace. Sophie jumped on his leg eagerly, and he bent over to pat her head. “Daddy missed you too,” he told her.

  Gretchen melted into him. He felt her shudder, and he rubbed her back. “I’m sorry I did what I did, but I got lost in the moment.” He kissed her on the lips. “I missed you.”

  “I missed you too.”

  “Then why’d you leave?”

  “I got so mad, I don’t know what happened.” Gretchen said in a rush. “I was so angry.”

  “You never get mad.”

  Gretchen looked up at him, her blue eyes wide. “I know. I don’t know what came over me, but I got stuck in the anger. You know I don’t care about money, Telly.”

  He laughed in agreement. “What happened at work?” Telly sat down on the pullout couch in the tiny room. “Something had to occur to make you so upset.” The room was so small that if Telly stretched his arms sideways, he could touch the Billy Joel and Bon Jovi posters on the facing walls. “You were comfortable here?” He looked at the pile of men’s socks and underwear shoved under a lamp table.

  Gretchen nodded. “I felt safe. Your parents are so nice. I didn’t want to stay in the house.”

  Telly nodded. His parents must be going deaf, because their conversations were so loud they could be heard two doors down. “Manny’s a slob.” Telly looked at the stack of pizza boxes on the small counter that separated a tiny utility kitchen.

  “He’s a boy and never grew up. They indulge him.”

  “What happened at work?” Telly put his feet up and made himself comfortable on the couch. He pulled Gretchen into the curve of his arm, caressed her shoulder.

  She shrugged, her face downcast. “Rob wants me to come to one of his parties this week. He said if I don’t come, I won’t have a job. I don’t want to go.”

  “You should have told me.” He kissed her blond head. “I don’t want you doing that. The poker thing, it’s not important. In the end, it wasn’t even fun anymore.”

  “I don’t think driving a cab is going to be a barrel of laughs either. You took the job at George’s?”

  “I start tonight. It’s not my chosen career, but it will do for now. I don’t want you going back to Rob Couts or the bar.”

  “We need my job.”

  “No, we don’t.”

  “What if it doesn’t work out? We have to have a backup. I’ll give two weeks’ notice and finish up with them.”

  “He’ll expect you to come to his party.”

  “No, he won’t. Especially after I give notice. It won’t matter.”

  The taxi thing was too new; they couldn’t risk putting all their eggs in one basket, Gretchen argued, so Telly negotiated it down to a week’s notice. “You should have been a lawyer,” Gretchen said and kissed him. He grabbed her bag, and they headed back to their apartment.

  Harriet and Frank watched them leave from the front picture window.

  “You worried?” Frank asked, a frown on his face.

  “I’m always worried. A master’s degree in computer science, and he wants to be a poker player? I never heard of such a thing.”

  “I always wanted to be a pianist.” Frank shrugged. He was eating an apple.

  “Don’t make a mess,” she commanded. Harriet lifted one shoulder dismissively, letting the vertical blind fall back into place. “You couldn’t. We had three little kids. You always worked.”

  “What about Manny? You don’t complain about his acting.”

  Harriet clicked her tongue. “What else can he do? After his breakdown, he couldn’t do much of anything else. We’re lucky he’s getting out of bed in the morning. Gidget’s got the kids and barely makes enough to survive—ugh, forget about that husband of hers.” She shuddered. “Telly doesn’t have the luxury of following his dreams. He will have to take care of Manny when we’re gone. Besides, he has Gretchen, and it’s time he settled down.”

  “A few years ago you said she wasn’t good enough. You thought she was after his money.”

  “A few years ago, he had money. He’s almost thirty-four. She’s devoted to him. I like her now.” She went into the kitchen to get him a napkin. “Things are different. We had expectations for each of them.”

  Frank followed her and pulled up a stool to the immaculate counter. “You have to stop managing their lives.”

  “Who’s managing their lives?” she asked, her voice shrill. “Who could even try? Giddy married that man, and we were lucky they decided to live in Florida instead of return to his home in Morocco. We sent Telly to the best schools. The best schools,” she repeated, jabbing her finger for effect. She started to pull out lunch items. “You want a grilled cheese sandwich?”

  Frank shook his head, throwing the apple core into the trash. “I’m not hungry yet. It’s early.” She ignored him as she set up two slices of bread and started cutting cheese.

  “And Manny?” Frank persisted, coming up behind her.

  “What are you talking about?” she asked impatiently. The aroma of whole wheat toast frying in butter permeated the room.

  “We were talking about the kids. Manny, you set different expectations for them. Make me one of those too, please.”

  Harriet started on the second sandwich. “Who knew? I thought bipolar was a retirement duplex in Alaska. Who knew?” she repeated, disappointment souring her face. “I had such plans for them.”

  “You have different standards for the kids.”

  “Telly may be the middle child, but he’s always been the most reliable of the three of them—at least until this poker business. Telly always did his homework, cleaned his room. He’s dependable, so the job is going to have to fall on him. He doesn’t have a choice.” She placed the golden sandwiches on a plate and leaned over to watch him eat.

  “That’s not especially fair.” His mouth was full.

  “Who says life is fair? Was it fair for you? Or me?” Harriet demanded. “You think I didn’t want to do whatever I felt like? There were bills to pay, dinners, shopping, homework, drum lessons, soccer practice. Life is about choices—could I get a manicure or have a cleaning woman? Or braces for Telly? Dance for Giddy? You think I didn’t know how you hated doing the lawn or painting the house? It’s what we did. It’s what he has to do. Don’t get me started on your parents, Frank—your sister did nothing for them. The whole thing fell on us when your mom broke her hip. ”

  “That’s the point. He’s not married, and he doesn’t have kids; if he wants to spread his wings, now’s the time.”

  Harriet shook her head. “You put the crazy ideas in his head, Frank. He’s supposed to work, and that’s it. He was the smart one, the responsible child. We spent more on his education than the others’. The only wings he should spread are on the turkey he’s going to make for Thanksgiving when he invites the family over. It’s what you did. It’s his legacy.”

  “He can’t have us in that shithole he’s staying in.”

  “He won’t be there for long. He made big money, and he’ll do it again. He is going to get a job. He’s not trying hard enough. Oh, I know he says
there’s nothing around. He’s doing the same thing when he didn’t want to take calculus.”

  Frank laughed. “The summer of mono.”

  Harriet smirked. “He had us all fooled. But in the end, he took calculus, got an A, and ended up taking the advanced course.”

  “But a taxi, Harriet?” Frank looked at her.

  “I know Telly. He will drive the cab, and within a week a job will turn up. Maybe he’ll meet someone in the car, and they’ll see his potential and give him a job.”

  “Like a corporate fairy godmother?”

  “Oh, Frank.” She hit his arm. “You’ll see,” she said with a nod. “Something will turn up. It always does.”

  Frank shook his head and sighed. No matter how old the kids were, it seemed he still had to worry about them. All of them. “What’s for dinner?” he asked as they wandered into the living room to watch the traffic on the street.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Clutch followed a group into the Culinary School of Nevada. He cruised the hallways, floating in the crowd, going into the different classrooms. He stood for a good twenty minutes watching a French chef slice up a radish so that it resembled a flower. There was a room for pastry, one with breads, and an auditorium where they were discussing the nutritional value of meals. The school was a hive of knowledge, and the one thing Clutch was sure of was he wanted his daughter to attend. It would be good for her. He sauntered into the administrative offices, sliding a folder with admissions information under his jacket. It disappeared with him out the door. Why didn’t I know about this before? It’s not like there are instructions like my poker books, are there? he wondered. Not that it was all his fault. It was Jenny’s fault too, he huffed. He didn’t see her making any plans for their kid.

  Clutch felt himself pulled downtown toward the courts. He hated courts. The last time he’d entered a courtroom, he had ended up serving time for almost six years. He closed his eyes and thought about that day almost forty-eight years ago. Some things get lost to time, and some things are so razor sharp they continue to cut you with their wicked edges. He could see that courtroom in his head just like it was yesterday.