Читать книгу Molly’s Game: The Riveting Book that Inspired the Aaron Sorkin Film - Molly Bloom, Molly Bloom - Страница 19

Over the weekend I drove my beat-up Jeep Grand Cherokee to Barneys. I self-consciously handed the valet my keys, super aware that my car didn’t exactly fit in with the sleek and shiny Mercedes, BMWs, Ferraris, and Bentleys.

Once inside, I forgot about my insecurities and I beelined for the shoe department. I looked around at the immaculate displays. For the first time in my life I could afford to buy whatever I chose. I was like a kid in a candy store.

“What can I help you with?” an immaculately dressed salesman asked, looking disapprovingly at the worn-out flip-flops I was wearing.

“I’m just looking,” I said, ignoring his snobbery.

“May I pull some styles for you?” he asked.

“Sure,” I said cheerfully.

After trying on ten pairs, I settled on a classic Louboutin black pump. “Are you this good at finding dresses too?” I asked him.

“Come with me,” he said warmly, as I shelled out the thousand in cash to pay for the shoes. He was nicer to me now that I was spending money.

“Let me introduce you to my friend on the fourth floor,” he said.

Her name was Caroline. Walking along with her, I felt like how my car must have felt in the lot with all of those fancier versions of what a car could be. I was incredibly aware of my own sloppy appearance. Barney’s was filled with perfectly put-together women who looked like they had never had a bad hair day in their lives. I was in jean shorts, flip-flops, and a sweatshirt, my hair was in a messy ponytail, and I had on a Denver Broncos hat, but the worst was my glaringly obvious fake Prada purse that I had bought from a vendor in downtown L.A.

“How can I help?” she asked.

“I’m looking for a dress that makes me look nothing like myself.” I laughed. She laughed too.

“Is this for work? Date? An audition?”

“With these prices, hopefully all of the above.”

“I’m going to pull some options, so have a seat.” She motioned toward the large plush dressing room.

“While I’m doing that, take off the hat, put your hair in a bun, and put on the new shoes.”

I did as I was told.

She returned with several gorgeous dresses.

“Show me each one,” she said.

I wiggled into a structured black Dolce & Gabbana. It was like a magic trick—it lifted my boobs, sucked in my waist, and accentuated my butt.

I walked out of the dressing room.

“Where did this body come from?” Caroline asked appreciatively, leading me to a three-way mirror. The dress created an optical illusion dress that made me look not only elegant, but sexy.

How could I say no, even to the price tag? This dress had transformed me as much as Valerie’s makeup application.

“So there’s your sexy, now let’s get a classic, and you’re well on your way to leaving the old you behind.”

I smiled happily.

I tried on a navy-blue Valentino that hugged my body in the right places without being too provocative.

We finished the look with a strand of Chanel pearls.

“You sure are good at your job,” I said admiringly.

She smiled. “Just give me your credit card and you will be on your way.”

“Oh,” I said, pulling out my wad of hundreds. “I have cash.”

Caroline’s face fell. I was sad. I could tell she thought I was a call girl.

“I’ll be back with the total.” Her voice was still friendly, just a little cooler. I was changing back into my clothes when she let herself into the dressing room.

“I’m not supposed to do this, it could get me fired. But I like you and I’ve seen this town destroy young girls.”

“I promise you, Caroline, I am not an escort or anything like that. I just had a really good run at a poker game. And that’s the truth.”

She smiled. “That’s very cool, and much better than the answer I feared.

“Here is my card, you call me anytime you need anything.”

I smiled back. “Thanks for being honest, even at the risk of getting in trouble.”

I walked out of Barneys with my new outfits, beaming from ear to ear.

FINALLY TUESDAY CAME, and Reardon actually let me leave work at a reasonable hour this time, so I drove home to change into my new outfit.

I was driving when my phone rang; it was one of my bosses from the club world. I was still picking up shifts when I could.

“Hey, T.J. What’s up?”

“I need you to work tonight,” he said. He sounded impatient. Everyone who works in the nightclub industry is always grumpy during the daytime hours.

“I can’t,” I said. This was the first time I had ever told him no.

“I guess you don’t value your job,” he said, his tone sharp. “There are a million girls in this town that would kill for it.”

I thought about the money I had made last week working the game, more money in one night than I might take home in a month at the club, and I sucked in my breath and said, “Well, why don’t you call one of them, because I quit.”

He paused, shocked. I politely thanked him for the opportunity and hung up.

I knew I was being reckless. There was no guarantee this card game would last, but I was going to try to push it as far as I could. And it felt damn good to quit that thankless, demeaning cocktail job.

I SHOWED UP IN MY NEW DRESS AND SHOES. I had chosen the sexier one.

“Whoa, look at you,” Diego said, taking the bags of liquor from me. “Your tips are gonna be gooood tonight.”

“Is it too much?” I asked

“No way, you look hot, mama.

“Speaking of tips, what do you want to do about that?”

“About what?” I asked.

“Tips,” he said. “The guys tip me throughout the game. I saw that they gave you some cash at the end. You’re always gonna make more when there’s chips involved. We can split if you want. Fifty-fifty.”

I thought about this carefully. I had seen the guys throwing the chips into the center after winning a hand. So logic told me that ten guys tipping over the course of many hours probably translated to a lot of money, However, Reardon had made it clear that tipping me was the way to get invited back.

“Let’s see what happens tonight and decide after the game.” I wanted to see how much he made.

“Okay,” he said, smiling.

Reardon walked in just then.

“Whoaaa,” he said, laughing. “You kind of look like a piece of ass.” That was as close to a compliment as I would ever get from him.

I squinted at him disapprovingly.

He looked at the food spread.

“Big-time!” he announced, and he tore into a sandwich. Translation: I had done well with my food selection. The truth was, I learned all of it from Reardon, who loved the best of the best, like caviar when he was hungover. I had come a long way since he had thrown Pink Dot bagels at me. All the food runs he sent me on, all of the cheese plates he ordered for the office, had impacted my awareness of the finer things.

Houston ambled in and gave me a warm hug.

I had his diet raspberry Snapple ready.

Bruce Parker was next, with Todd Phillips close behind him. He and Todd were laughing as they entered.

“What are you sickos laughing about?” Reardon said, fist-bumping. Reardon was a germophobe who opted to fist-bump instead of shake hands for sanitary reasons. Of course, his fear of germs seemed to fly out the window when it came to his sexual exploits.

“Parker just got a handy in the parking lot,” Phillips explained.

“She was cute and only wanted five hundred, I figured it would be good luck.” Bruce laughed.

“Roguish.” Reardon nodded in approval.

Just then they noticed me trying to disappear into the corner.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” Todd said.

“Molly’s heard it all, she works for me.” Reardon brushed off the apologies while I nodded and forced an easy smile.

“How does your boyfriend feel about you wearing that dress and hanging out with a bunch of scumbags like us?” Todd asked.

“I don’t have a …” I began, but they had lost interest in me—Tobey and Leo had just walked in. The guys became a little shy, and awkward, except, of course, for Reardon, who fist-bumped Leo with a gruff, “What’s happening, player?”

While the guys clustered around Leo, Tobey went over to Diego and handed him his Shuffle Master. The Shuffle Master is a $17,000 machine that is supposed to deliver a fair, random shuffle every time and increases the speed and accuracy of each game. Last week, Tobey had told the guys he wouldn’t play without it.

The next player to arrive was Bob Safai. Last week I had watched Diego deal him what the others referred to as a “bad beat.” This meant that even though Bob had a much stronger hand, he still lost. I watched as Bob had thrown his cards angrily at Diego.

Statistically, Diego had explained to me later, Bob should have taken the round. It was a “two-outer,” which meant that there were only two cards in the deck that could make his opponent the winner. When Tobey hit it, Bob had gone berserk. He had given Diego a nasty look and said something about stacking the deck for Tobey. Incidents like that made me grateful that Tobey had brought a machine to shuffle this time, and that I wasn’t dealing the games.

“Hi, honey,” Bob said now as I took his coat. I saw his eyes flick around the room; even he got a little giddy when he saw that Leo was there.

Phillip Whitford walked in with his friend Mark Wideman. Mark was friends with Pete Sampras, who allegedly played high-stakes poker too. Wideman was a good player, but he had said he would try to bring Sampras, which would be a great draw for the game.

When he saw me, Whitford let out a low whistle and kissed my hand.

I blushed and looked at the floor, enjoying every surreal moment of being the only girl among such handsome, accomplished men.

And then above the buzz of voices came Reardon’s ringing voice.

“Let’s play!!”

THEY SETTLED INTO THEIR SEATS, and the air filled with the smooth sounds of my Frank Sinatra playlist, the whirring of the Shuffle Master, the shuffling of chips, and the happy playful banter of the players.

Once the game was well under way, it was hard to keep up. Guys were reloading their chips in rapid fire and everyone was betting all their chips at once, which Phillip told me during a rare pause was called “going all in.” Even though I was a novice at poker, I was captivated. The game felt frenzied and exciting. And I wasn’t the only one who felt the energy. Diego was dealing hands at lightning speed. The guys were also making side bets on the color of the flop (the first three communal cards dealt by Diego), and they even started wagering on sports.

I sat in the corner, always watching. Occasionally I would refill drinks. The guys were so focused on the game they almost forgot I was there, except for Phillip, who kept text-messaging me with poker insights. I typed furiously on my laptop, documenting everything I was learning.

Meanwhile, Bob was giving sound bites on the real-estate market, Wideman was talking about Sampras, Tobey was analyzing poker hands with Houston, Reardon was trying to get everyone on tilt by insulting them, Phillips was dropping one-liners, Leo had his headphones on to help him focus. Bruce talked for a while about the girl who had given him a $500 hand job, and then moved on to how he had made his money, beginning with his start as a weed dealer in Hollywood.