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Blackjack--Cohen
- 1. Alex ?Cohen ? ? Blackjack There are 52 cards in the deck. Everyone knows that. However, Emilio Jones knew that a deck was more than just a certain number of cards. He knew that it depended on how the cards were dealt, or more specifically, how he dealt them. If, for example, he dealt himself a queen of spades and an ace of diamonds, he knew that no matter what else he dealt, he would win. However, for Emilio, the point of the game was to make other people lose. Ironically, Emilio didn¡¯t even like playing blackjack. He thought it was cheap and played on honest people¡¯s emotions by giving them hope and the belief that they could win. And he was right because every game in the MooseHead Hotel and Casino was rigged so that Emilio (as a dealer, not a patron) would win most of the time. Blackjack was easily Emilio Jones¡¯ least favorite card game. His favorite two-person card game was gin rummy because he grew up playing it with his mom¡ª150, down with 10, Aces high/low. Lately, however, he had been unable to play due to Gloria Jones¡¯ impending surgery. What had started out feeling like old age targeting her leg transformed into some large, Latin-sounding medical term that required a risky spinal fusion surgery to return to normal. Emilio didn¡¯t really understand much about it, aside from the low success rate of the surgery. Although the surgery was scheduled for two weeks away, he got a call as he was putting on his maroon uniform. ¡°Mr. Jones?¡± asked a female voice that managed to be both chipper and dismal. ¡°Yeah.¡± ¡°I am calling to inform you that your mother¡¯s surgery has been moved forward to 8p.m. tonight. The doctor had an emergency of his own and had to¡ª¡± still go to work
- 2. Cohen ?2 ? tonight, Emilio thought to himself as he tuned out the nurse. There is no reason to be nervous. ¡°Oh, I better tell you, it is a med school student that will be operating on your mother.¡± The nurse mistook Emilio¡¯s stunned silence over the phone as an invitation to keep talking. She was a chatty one. ¡°You know, doctors and surgeons don¡¯t become good all of a sudden, they all need practice. Some need more practice than others, of course, but I¡¯ve heard that this kid is top of his class. Anyway, I just thought you would want to know that. Your mother will probably be fine. Have a nice night!¡± Understandably, this made Emilio uncharacteristically anxious. It¡¯s a strange thing about Emilio Jones: when he gets anxious, his thoughts race to preposterous lengths. Fortunately, he still had the presence of mind to realize that cards needed to be dealt, and that it was his job to deal them. As befits the Employee of the Month, Emilio showed up to the casino at 7:30p.m.¡ªhalf an hour early. However, his most recent regular had already beaten him to the table. Samson McGregor had been playing at Emilio Jones¡¯ table all week, mostly because it was snowy and cold outside and he had a convenient room in the hotel on the third floor above the casino. The reason he had this hotel room three floors above a casino was because his wife, Wendy McGregor, had kicked him out a week and a half ago for smoking cigars. For Wendy¡¯s asthma, smoking was doubly as deadly. Samson had quit for the seven wonderful years of their marriage, but an ill-timed visit from an old college friend coupled with immense stress from work had forced smoke back into his lungs with a tenacious vivacity. That was two months ago now. For a couple weeks,
- 3. Cohen ?3 ? Samson had tried to hide it from Wendy. When that didn¡¯t work, he tried to just smoke outside and only on the weekends. When that didn¡¯t work, he started smoking in his study. When he started doing that, Wendy kicked him out. In any case, Samson had been at Emilio¡¯s blackjack table for the better part of a week trying to drown the sorrow of his life in monetary losses. It wasn¡¯t helping. Every now and then when it was just Emilio Jones and Samson McGregor at the table, they would stop playing cards and just talk. They were what scientists called ¡°associative friends.¡± Neither would call the other up for a drink but they were perfectly comfortable sharing their secrets with each other over the felt-top safety of their blackjack table. Tonight, before they started sharing their secrets, Emilio Jones felt a distinct buzz in his pocket. 8:15. He was getting a phone call. While casino protocol strictly prohibits employee use of cellular devices, it mentions nothing about controlling rampant imagination. Which, coincidentally, Emilio Jones is very bad at. As the buzz in his pocket persisted, his thoughts began to run much more wildly than his exterior would ever exhibit. Oh God, what went wrong? It¡¯s only been 15 minutes. How much can you screw up in 15 minutes? Yeah but with a new surgeon, I suppose he could mess up literally anything. Maybe his hand slipped and just sliced her spinal cord in half. Or maybe that receptionist is calling me back because she wants to flirt¡ªthat would almost be as bad. No the surgeon screwing up your mother¡¯s surgery would definitely be much worse. What would that be like? I came to work with a family and then I leave as an orphan. ¡°Hey Milo¡±¡ªflash of the badge¡ª¡°¡¯Milio. Whatever,¡± another man at the table interrupted Emilio¡¯s runaway train of thought. ¡°Dja think ya could show some love to da
- 4. Cohen ?4 ? rest o¡¯ da table here? I¡¯ve lost¡ª¡° four hands in a row, thought Emilio. That must have made the casino almost 150 bucks. Well, at least my supervisor will be happy. The man kept talking. His story doesn¡¯t matter. ¡°I don¡¯t really like playing blackjack at all,¡± Emilio blurted out. ¡°I never really liked it.¡± ¡°I hate this game,¡± replied Samson. ¡°I don¡¯t know why I keep playing.¡± Truthfully, blackjack was the only card game that Samson McGregor knew how to play. ¡°Same with me¡± agreed Emilio, even though he knew why he was playing. It was his job after all. ¡°You see boys, I actually love this game¡± interjected Jeremy Royce. Up to that point, it had been only Samson and Emilio and a few other random people who would sidle up to the table for an hour or two until they realized that Emilio was much better than them at a game that he didn¡¯t care about. But when Jeremy Royce joined their table, the game changed immediately. Jeremy was a racecar driver from down south. Down there, racecar drivers were revered much like how professional athletes are treated everywhere else. They had a certain weight of personality to them that the ordinary, Southern pedestrian admired. But true admiration was usually reserved for the big time racers of the Daytona 500 and the like. Jeremy Royce was becoming known only for his third place finish in what everyone except him called the ¡°Chattanooga Chase.¡± Whereas the Daytona was a huge, 500 lap race between all the top racers in the bottom half of the country, the Chattanooga Chase was a 150 lap free for all race for any wannabe with an engine. Regardless, Jeremy Royce
- 5. Cohen ?5 ? felt on top of the world. It was with that inflated, celebrity ego that Jeremy decided to take a personal, celebratory vacation to the MooseHead Hotel and Casino. Neither Emilio Jones nor Samson McGregor had noticed him approach. So when he abruptly inserted his vocal needle into their vein of catharsis, both Emilio and Samson¡¯s bodies reacted violently and physically in a shudder of surprise. In being caught off guard, Samson McGregor reacted with the automatic ¡°huh?¡± After taking a generous gulp from his gin and tonic on the rocks, Jeremy Royce went on as if he had not completely disturbed two men lost in conversation. ¡°Yes, I love this game blackjack. It¡¯s so simple and yet so complex. It takes five minutes to learn and a lifetime to master. I think that¡¯s what¡¯s at the core of a real good card game. A simple concept and a complex execution, right? So many other things are the exact opposite, which is a damn shame.¡± He took a sip from his drink, still not noticing the stunned silence of his surrounding company. ¡°So, Emilio, my good friend, deal some cards!¡± He said this to Emilio Jones, who was definitely not his good friend on account of them having met no more than three minutes ago. The only reason Jeremy Royce knew Emilio¡¯s name was due to the golden plastic nameplate he wore on the cheapest tuxuedo the MooseHead Hotel and Casino felt comfortable loaning him. As Emilio Jones dealt a new round of blackjack, Samson McGregor noticed Jeremy¡¯s accent, which started a whole different conversation on Jeremy¡¯s favorite subject ever: racing. And then, inevitably, Emilio Jones had to ask about car crashes.
- 6. Cohen ?6 ? ¡°Oh, I¡¯ve been in plenty of crashes.¡± Jeremy Royce looked at his half empty drink and tinkled the ice on the side of his glass before continuing. ¡°Some worse than others. But of course, that¡¯s the case with everything, right?¡± Tinkle, tinkle, drink. ¡°I think the worst crash I was in was a few years back down in Texas.¡± Emilio Jones¡¯ phone rang again. 8:49p.m. It¡¯s been almost an hour now, definitely enough time to really do some harm. I can¡¯t believe I let an inexperienced, little jerk like Mr. Surgeon operate on my mom. Emilio was returned to the present by Jeremy Royce fidgeting with his drink again. Tinkle, drink, drink, gulp. And Jeremy continued with his story. ¡°So this race was some county¡¯s annual nighttime charity race, and I decided to do it just because I¡¯m such a good guy. But this race, it was around lap 350 that I started dozing off. Long night with the ladies doesn¡¯t make for a good race, if ya know what I¡¯m sayin¡¯.¡± Jeremy nudged Samson McGregor with his elbow as he said that. Samson had never been elbowed before and immediately decided that he hated it. Jeremy, oblivious yet again, ordered another drink. ¡°Thanks doll. Anyway, next thing I know I hear a screeching and a God-awful crunch and my car is flyin¡¯ through the air. I can¡¯t see nothin¡¯, just feel when the car lands and it flips over and over and glass is everywhere and my head is being rattled around like a baby¡¯s favorite toy. I probably puked at some point too.¡± Someone got up from the table. ¡°Can¡¯t handle the gritty details, brother? Well, who needs ya then.¡± Truthfully, the man had just lost about $300 and had no clue what Jeremy Royce was blabbering on about.
- 7. Cohen ?7 ? ¡°So, where was I?¡± Samson and Emilio just looked at each other. This man was set on talking. What else was there to do but listen? ¡°Oh yeah, so when the car finally stops and they are able to get me out of that wreckage, I remember my only thought being that broken glass, reflective at night, sort of looks like freshly fallen snow, shimmering in the sunlight on a crisp winter day. That was the most profound thought of my life. I ain¡¯t got no idea what it means. I think that¡¯s supposed to be like a meda...meh¡metta¡fuh¡um¡¡± ¡°Metaphor?¡± ¡°Yeah, metaphor. A metaphor for, like, snow melting or something. But I don¡¯t really like thinking about that kind of stuff. I just race, man. My life is all about going fast and getting to the finish line. Ain¡¯t nothing else to it. But anyways, that¡¯s why I don¡¯t do charity races anymore.¡± Drink, tinkle, tinkle. ¡°Say, what¡¯s metaphor mean anyway?¡± As Emilio Jones dealt the next round of blackjack, his phone rang for the last time that night. However his mind, like Jeremy Royce, did not stop racing. *** Here is what could have happened: Samson McGregor could have sat with Jeremy Royce and Emilio Jones at the table until he lost more than seventy-five hundred dollars, gone back to his smoking room on the third floor, lit a cigar (or cigarette if he felt like it), and sat up until the sun rose, thinking about his life and where it had led him. He could then decide to give Wendy a call and see if she would take him back if he stopped smoking. Then, on his way to the
- 8. Cohen ?8 ? hotel telephone, he could pass his ashtray with the still lit cigar (or cigarette if he had felt like it), take a puff and be reminded why he had left the house in the first place. He could then sit in the hotel chair, light another cancer and wait until he turned his insides to smoke; waiting for the moment that he would collapse, alone and friendless, as his body turned to ashes from the inside out. Jeremy Royce could have finished his drink and retired to his fifth floor hotel room. A few days later, he could have come down with the symptoms of pneumonia, which he could have contracted from the glass of his drink not being clean. If he was afraid of hospitals, or didn¡¯t have medical insurance, the pneumonia could turn his body into soup in a matter of weeks. After his shift, Emilio Jones could have finally been able to check his voicemail messages. They could be completely unrelated to his mother¡¯s surgery. They could be from one of his other friends inviting him to a poker tournament and could he get beer on the way over? And then, ¡°Nevermind, we got the beer.¡± Emilio could then immediately delete those messages and rush over to the hospital where he could find his mother laying safely in bed, reading Breakfast of Champions, her favorite book of all time. He could have then pulled up a chair and talked with her until either the sun came up or they both fell asleep. But just because those could have happened doesn¡¯t mean that they did.