Wednesday, May 19, 2010

Betcha

I sat in the chair and looked at him, he seemed to like when I looked at him. He talked faster when I looked at him. He said, "Look Tom. I'm never going to ask you where you got it, I don't care. This isn't a personal thing." And I thought, "Wow. I'm in a gangster movie. Tough guys, henchmen, locked room and all." He said, "Are you going to make a fuss?" A fuss.

I looked around the room. It was gold. Gold carpet, furniture, fixtures. He was wearing a blue suit. A nice one too. It flattered him. It would have looked nicer if he was wearing a tie. I wasn't wearing a tie, but then I wasn't wearing a suit either. I had on a navy blazer, charcoal pants, a blue button-down shirt and cordovan loafers. I was comfortable. Which was nice, since I had just lost three-quarters of a million dollars on the outcome of a football game played by a bunch of kids who forgot they were supposed to be in the tank. Or maybe they never were in the tank, I don't know. Point is, this asshole, my friend Matt, told me they were in the tank, lied, and now had all my money. And when I say all my money, I mean all the money I took from my business. And when I say my business, I mean the clothing business my ex-wife's family owns. So it was nice that my socks weren't too tight and my shirt collar wasn't cutting into my neck and my blazer was cut well enough so that I could move my arms. The chair I was sitting in was also comfortable in, I assume, a hotel ballroom furniture way. I didn't really notice.

What I did notice was that three out of the four other people in the room were not sitting comfortably in hotel provided arm chairs. Two were flanking the door, arms crossed, like bouncers at a nightclub, one was pacing in front of me, talking incessantly about why I was going to give him my money and why he was OK with taking it. The fourth person in the room was draped over one of the chairs like a raincoat, in fact, that's what she looked like. A nice beige Burberry coat, expensive, classy, but functional. Beauty but built with purpose intended. She looked bored out of her skull.

"Tom listen." Matt said. I listened. "I want you to know that I really do like you. I'm not bullshitting. I think of you as a friend." I snorted a bit, "Matt," I said, "Four hours ago I would have said you were the best friend a guy ever had. Right now, I'm just not feeling it." I took a deep breath, "You know what kind of position you've put me in? Wait. Yes, you do. You do because I told you what would happen if I lost this money. You said I'd double it...triple it...hell, I'd never have to worry about money again. You lied to me Matt, and now I'm pretty much screwed." Matt blanched. "You're not screwed. You're far from screwed. Look. I know you. You'll come out alright."

"How exactly am I going to come out alright?"

"I know you will. I can tell. In fact, I'll bet you a thousand bucks that you'll be back here in six months, loaded with cash. I'll buy you a drink and we'll have some laughs. Trust me Tom, In case you haven't noticed, I'm pretty good with the odds."

"So I was a sure thing."

"You were a mark Tom, yeah. It's my job to find 'em and take their money. Usually that's it. But you're different Tom, we got along. We're a lot alike..."

"Alike? You're a con man, a gangster... You've got henchmen for Christ's sake!" I waved my arm at the doors, "I sell suits."

"You take risks, you're a gambler, just like me."

"I bet on football, I play cards for nickels in a buddy's garage."

"I have an envelope in my pocket says that's bullshit. You lost money, don't lose your self respect. I know where you got this money, remember. You made a bet once that paid off, remember how that felt? Tom. Look at Irina. Did you ever wonder where I met a girl like that? Doesn't speak a word of English? I won her in a poker game Tom. I bet. I won. You lost this time, you'll maybe win next time."

"I'm not the kind of guy who wins Russian models in poker games Matt."

"You are now. She's your consolation prize. Way to go." He turned and snapped his fingers, "Irina! You're with him." he pointed at me. Her eyes barely registered me, but her eyebrows raised a bit, then fell back. "She'll help you over the hump...or not." He said, "Point is, I tried. Now you take care Tom. I'm sure I'll see you around." He turned and started walking to the doors. Irina rustled a bit when he passed her, but he stopped, shook his head and jerked his thumb at me, then kept walking. At the doors he stopped again, turned and said, "Now stop being such a baby." His buddies pulled open the doors and followed him out as he walked through. They closed without a sound. The Russian woman's head turned almost imperceptibly towards me, her right eyebrow raised expectantly.

"Well," I said, "I hope you don't eat much."