Affair With A Gambler

After dinner we drove her car back to the travel trailer. She had
refused to ride in my pick up truck. "It was far to much like small
town behavior for her," she explained. She was really hung up on
getting to the big city. She had been born and raised in this town and
wanted desperately to get out of it. She saw me as one of the never
ended stories that would get her the attention, she so desperately
wanted. None of the others had done it, but maybe this one would. I
felt sorry for her, so told her more than I otherwise would have.

"So what did you do after college?" she asked.

"I majored in art at school. I wanted to be a painter, but found out
real quick I didn't have any talent in that direction. I did have one
professor, a woman, who took a special interest in me. She recognized
that I understood composition, and even color. I just lacked the
creative fire that makes a great painter. Rather than toss me onto the
junk heap, or worse yet give me false hope, she introduced me to
photography. By the time I graduated, I was an adequate photographer
with a pretty fair portfolio."

I moved into a small garage apartment near the campus. I tried several
different things for a couple of years. On the weekends I still played
cards at the pool hall. I wasn't doing all that bad, but I wanted
freedom so I quit my job with a school picture outfit. I immediately
opened a photo studio in the town. I must have done pretty good,
because it took me three years to go broke.

I didn't go broke exactly, I just balanced the books and realized that
I had made more money on the weekends at the pool hall, than I did in
the studio working five days and dealing with customers. I probably
would have stayed with it anyway, except that in those three years I
learned to hate my customers.

Fat Charlie helped me set up the list of conventions. He also taught
me how to find the games. After a while, I figured out better ways to
find conventions, also better ways to get accepted at them. What I did
was simply set up dummy companies, then I joined a bunch of trade
associations. I got invited to their conventions, then set about
finding the games. I even organized a couple the first few years."

"How do you set up a dummy company?" Emma asked.

"All you have to do is to buy a state privilege license. Pay the fifty
bucks a year and don't do any business. It really isn't all that hard.
Once you get to be a member of the trade association, you can even
drop the license."

"Now that I know the mechanic of it, tell me about High Point. How did
you get dealer certifications?"

"I set up a dummy wholesale company. It was established a few years
ago and was supposed to buy furniture wholesale, then resell it
through catalogues. Of course there never was a business. It was never
more than a hundred sheets of letterhead stationary, and a business
license. I joined a couple of trade groups, then got myself invited to
their hospitality suites. I never even bothered to join the market
association. After a while, I discovered that the cover wasn't all
that necessary. Most of the times I found the games through the
hospitality suites. The companies, who run them, aren't all that
particular who comes in as long as they have a name tag. Those are
easy to find laying around, or if necessary to swipe.

There is even a game at a local country club that I attend once during
every market. There is too much money at the game to risk burning it
by working it more than once a year. Some of the players even remember
me from year to year. They try to force me to play again, so they can
get their money back. I never do. Once a year is enough."

"Are there a lot of games during the market?" Emma asked.

"Enough that I have never missed playing a night, when I wanted to
play."

"How much money do you usually win at the market?" she asked. A little
over a couple of grand average. I have lost some too. Not over the
long haul but on an occasional night."

"What is the most you ever won?"

"You are talking gross here, not what I actually collected?"

"Wait a minute. You don't collect all you win?"

"Lord no. Sometimes I have to take paper. Often when the fish gets
home he decides he doesn't have to pay the check. These guys get a
little drunk and think they are better players than they are. They
lose all their cash, but think 'Just one more grand and I will win it
all back'. Of course, since we are all honorable men we take their
checks. I wind up with most of them at the end of the evening. Some of
them go through my dummy account, no problem, but some of them don't.
Now there is no way to collect on a gambling account, so I have them
written for a print of mine, at a ridiculous price. When I get home, I
mail them the print. If the check clears no problem. If they stop
payment then I take a loss, but their problems are just beginning . I
sell the checks to a collection agency. One who specializes in my type
business. You know casinos and people like that. I'm afraid their
collection agents are a bit on the rough side. Since the mooch
intended to screw me, I have never lost any sleep over using the
collection agency. Fortunately, I have never run into any of them a
second time. The interview pretty much ended there. She asked me a few
more questions, but nothing of real important. I gave her a little
atmosphere about the games themselves, then it was over. We had a
drink together after the interview had ended. She told me more about
her upbringing, even some things about her marriage. We talked until
the early morning, then she left. It hadn't been strictly business,
but there had been no monkey business either.

The next morning ,after about six hours sleep, I secured the inside of
the trailer. Then I hooked it up and left for home. I arrived home and
forgot about Emma for six weeks. I didn't really forget about her, but
I also didn't give her any conscious thought either. She kind of
lingered in the back of my head.

After a month and a half I received a copy of her article in the mail.
It was about seventy percent accurate and thirty percent bullshit. It
turned out to be more a profile of me than a news story. I found it
interesting in an offbeat way. She described me as a dark and handsome
man. That was pure bullshit. At my very best, I am average. Average
height average weight and dark. I could pass for half the men in the
country. I liked it that way. I wanted to wear my hair long and have a
beard, but those things stick out in a person's mind. I wanted more to
be quickly forgotten by the trout.

Emma gradually slipped from my mind over the next year. I found myself
back in High Point for the next market. I called her newspaper to
speak to her. I had to call her beeper to leave my number. Since I was
in a pay phone, I called back to the paper and left a message with her
unit's secretary. "I'm back and will be in the usual place at the
usual time. E. E. Edwards." The message read.

I worked for a couple of nights before she showed. I actually didn't
think she would but sure enough she was sitting in Alex's restaurant
waiting for me. "Is this seat taken?" I asked.

"I'm waiting for someone, but he is late so go ahead and sit down
sailor," she said with a smile.

We talked for a couple of hours. She filled me in on how her story had
been received. The big city publishers had allowed her to write some
Sunday supplement pieces after my article, and she had enjoyed it. She
still had hopes of moving on to bigger and better things.

I returned with her to her apartment, we made love that night. I saw
her a couple of more times before the market ended. Neither of us made
any pretense about writing or calling . It just wasn't necessary. A
good thing had come to an end, so be it.

I received a note from her six months later. She was giving me her new
address. She had finally gotten a job on a large metropolitan
newspaper. She had moved to Jacksonville Florida. The next I heard was
a couple of months later, when I returned from dinner at a local
restaurant. She was sitting on my doorstep with her bags around her.
She had two weeks between her new job in Washington D .C. and her old
one. She hoped I didn't mind if she spent them with me. She rushed on
to promise that she wouldn't be any trouble.

"Where did you get this neat place? When you said you lived in a
trailer I thought it would be in one of those depressing little parks.
The taxi driver had to really search for this place."

"Where else I won it in a poker game," I admitted.

"It isn't really a trailer is it?" she asked.

"Come on inside and see for yourself."

"Damn it is a trailer," she said as she entered the little box .

"Of course it is, I never lie to a beautiful lady," I replied.

"But the outside looks like a fishing cabin," she commented.

"The man who lost it had a wooden shell built around the trailer. It
has a shed roof and walls of cedar paneling."

"I don't know anything about that, but it looks like a small rustic
cabin. God I'm glad I came. I have really missed you." she said.

She was good as her word she wasn't any trouble at all. The first
night we didn't leave the trailer. The second, after a day in bed we
drove to a fishing pier. We sat on one of the weathered benches and
drank coffee. We talked about everything from her job, to my sort of
work.

Over that first weekend I ran a booth at an art show. I wanted to
cancel but Emma wouldn't hear of it. She forced me to continue with my
normal schedule.

"Besides, I have never sat all day at an art show. It should be
interesting. I might even get an article out of it." she admitted.

At night we walked the beach. We did it hand in hand like kids. We
talked and she told me of her dreams. She wanted so badly to be a big
time journalist. I wanted it for her, because I wanted her to be
happy. We made love in the shadows that night. The second day of the
show she got bored and went shopping. The only thing she bought during
her eight hours shopping was a tee shirt. The shirt read, "I may be a
slut but I ain't lonely." She was anything but a slut. I loved her. I
thought at the time that she loved me.

We went from an art show at the beach, to hanging around my trailer
again . Every night after dinner we drove to the fishing pier. We sat
talking early into the next morning. The second weekend, I drove her
to a convention. I worked most all night at the tables. When I arrived
home, I forced her out of bed to join me for breakfast. When we
returned to the hotel, we made love then fell asleep. She would wake
me up at three in the afternoon by crawling back into the bed. She
would then force me to hold her. It is a fine way to sleep with a
woman in your arms. It is also a fine way to wake up.

The day she flew out from Charlotte N.C., I drove her to a jewelry
store. I would have bought her a ring but I knew she wouldn't accept
it. Instead I bought her a string of pearls that cost a quarter of
what I had won at the convention.

The convention had been a Realtor's regional meeting. It had been held
at the coliseum in Charlotte. The game was in a motel room across the
street. I returned to the game the night she left. I thought I would
have lost my ass, since I wasn't concentrating but it must have been
my lucky day. I made enough to pay for our trip and even the pearl
necklace I had bought her. The truth is, she wasn't any trouble at
all. At least not until she left. I realized then that something had
been missing from my life. It took my two weeks with Emma to show me
what was missing..

Something had developed during those two weeks. I had an overwhelming
desire to call her. I fought it successfully for a week, but finally
gave in one lonely night . "Em, it's Ed how are you?" I got it out,
before I realized I was talking to an answering machine. I started
again and left a message. "Hi Em, it’s me Ed. I just called to let you
know that I miss you and you are welcome here anytime." She never
returned the call, so I forgot her again. At least as much as anyone
could ever forget Em.

The next year, she just showed up on my doorstep again. We talked long
into the night. She was all excited about her job and the good work
they were finally letting her do. She brought me clippings to read. I
read them, then we talked about her stories until the sun came up.

"You know Ed, you are causing me a problem," she stated flatly.

"How so, I thought I was giving you plenty of space. Whatever the hell
that means." I replied.

"You are, but every time I go out with a man. I compare him to you.
Frankly the ones I have met so far haven't done very well. They either
don't measure up in the obvious ways, like looks and manners, or they
fail in the confidence department. You have no idea how insecure most
men are. I am having a hard time finding anyone to go out with. D.C.
is such a party town, I need an escort almost every night."

"Well I'm glad you can't find anyone like me. I always thought I was
one of a kind."

"I actually found one guy I thought would match up. I made the mistake
of going to bed with him. God what a disaster. Not only was he a lousy
lover, but he wouldn't leave me alone afterward."

"You poor baby, that will teach you to sleep with strange men," I said
half jokingly.

"You sure choose the right word for him. He was a strange duck," she
admitted.

"We made love, or just walked on the beach for those two weeks. The
fishermen missed her on the pier. She always spoke and was so
beautiful, I know she must have brightened their long nights.

When she left, I was tempted to call her again but fought the urge. I
let her be and returned to my own life. Of course my life wasn't the
same when she wasn't in my little shack.After she left I began having
problems of my own. The new anti-drug laws were pinching me. Any
transaction over ten-grand cash, had to be reported to the government.
It was a new law and it hurt me. I had been sending money to my south
seas account for years. Now I had to send it in smaller amounts. The
government finally put a computer system in that traced the sender of
funds out of the country. I began stockpiling cash in a safety deposit
box. It was a lousy way to handle money, but I had no real choice.

I would on occasion drive up to see Fat Charlie. On one of those
occasions I lamented the amount of cash laying in a safety deposit
box. He suggested that I buy wholesale diamonds with the money. They
at least would keep pace with inflation, where as the cash wouldn't.
He gave me the name of a reputable merchant in New York, I filed it
away never intending to use it.

Six months later, I got a note from Emma she had moved on to the big
apple. Those were her words, the big apple, more bullshit. I let her
settle in for a couple of months then called her. It took three days,
but I finally got her to answer her phone. Actually she picked up
during my third message. I had never told her why I was calling. I
don't like my business recorded.

"Well you do actually exist. I thought for a while you were a figment
of my imagination," I said with a small laugh.

"Of course I exist, I just have to be careful who I talk to these
days. Now what is an old country boy like you doing calling into Sin
City?" she asked.

"Actually I am going to do more than call. I am going to come for a
visit. I hoped you might recommend a good hotel for me," I suggested.

"Sure how about the hotel Emma. When are you coming? I can't take any
vacation, but we can spend the evenings together. That is, if you
aren't on business," she said.

"Actually I am on business, but not the usual kind. I'll explain when
I arrive. I plan to leave on Wednesday and return on Sunday, if that
isn't too long?" I asked,

Emma sounded excited when she said, "Are you kidding, I might not let
you go home at all. I think you will love the city. You may even want
to stay. Besides I have reached the top. I can afford the baggage of a
roommate for as long as you want to stay."

"Well, I guess I will see you on Wednesday." I was impatient for
Wednesday to arrive. I drove to the bank on Tuesday. There I removed
the cash for my diamond purchase. I left twenty-five thousand in the
box for a bankroll. I took the remaining seventy-seven thousand with
me in a gym bag.

Wednesday morning, I packed seventy thousand inside a money belt,
strapped it on, then drove my old Ford pickup to the airport. I
boarded the plane a little after noon. I was a nervous wreck all the
way to New York. I took a cab from the airport to Emma's apartment.

The door man recognized me from Emma's description and led me to her
apartment. The apartment was small, but she didn't need much room. I
found a coffee pot and coffee on the kitchen counter. I had the pot
made and drank twice before she arrived home at seven. She rushed into
my arms. We kissed for a long time. That time, like never before, her
kiss sucked the air from my lungs. Then the kiss sucked the air from
the whole apartment. When we broke the kiss we were both gasping for
breath.

We never made it out of her apartment that night. I knew then that I
really did care about this woman. Over the past few years we had spent
very little time together, but I knew I could love her if I gave in to
it. I fought it as hard as possible and succeeded in leaving Sunday
with a pocket full of diamonds. I left New York alone and hated it.
She didn't want me to go. It was the very first time she had ever
clung to me. I asked her to come with me, but she asked me to stay. I
couldn't and she wouldn't so we parted.

For the next three years, she took vacation twice a year. On her
vacations she would visit me. Over that time we tried to change each
other's mind. She, of course, had the most convincing argument. She
had lived in a small town, but I had never given the city a chance. I
explained that I had never given cancer a try either, but was pretty
sure I wouldn't like it.

To compound her argument she brought with her, a check from a New York
art dealer. The check was for five thousand dollars. Three years
before, as an excuse for the trip and to write it off my taxes, I had
taken some prints to a gallery. I left them with the manager on
consignment. Everyone once in a while I would send more, and she would
send me a check. Emma took care of the business in New York for me. It
was the excuse we both needed for semi-regular phone calls.

Since Emma knew I didn't need the money, she allowed the manager to
stockpile the sales till she came to visit. The owner of the gallery
in effect got an interest free six month loan. Emma got the
opportunity to bring me large checks every six months.

I had never returned to New York after that one and only trip. The
diamond merchant and I worked out a deal. I would mail him a money
order for five thousand and he would send me stones worth that much. I
had them appraised in Charlotte to make sure I wasn't getting screwed
to badly. As long as the price offered me by the diamond stores was at
least what I paid for the stones, I never complained. Once I had been
offered less at a diamond merchant in Charlotte. I took the stones
across town and was offered five percent over my investment for them.
I didn't sell of course, I also never returned to the first dealer
again.

Even with the cash I allowed to accumulate in the safety deposit box.
I had still accumulated over a hundred grand worth of stones. I had no
idea of their actual value. I had paid over a hundred for them.

A few years ago I got a call from Emma. She was on the move again,
that time to Atlanta. She was going to take over editing a smaller
newspaper. She was looking forward to the editing job. She gave me her
new address. She then insisted I come to visit her. I waited a month
for her to settle in, then went to visit. My visit coincided with a
convention of home builders.