Pokergeist (10 page)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

I
t was weird. The street had that familiar look, yet it felt foreign and small, like a kid’s playset. They’d had a pretty big house in their day, during the glory years. He was playing the poker circuit, winning big money. Jenny and his kid had a nice little setup on the north side of town. It was a big house back then, but now it seemed run-down, just short of shabby. The stucco was cracked; bird droppings plastered the tiled roof. The window in their entry had a crack in the corner that had somehow never gotten fixed, and the aluminum had turned black and moldy-looking. Jenny’d let the lawn go, and instead of the green oasis he had paid for, there was a field of dusty gravel, weeds poking through in clumpy knots.

The sidewalk was jagged, the driveway a mess—Clutch wondered what the hell she had done with his winnings. The living room was dark, the olive shag carpet spotted with pet stains. “Damn dog,” he cursed. He looked around but couldn’t see an animal anywhere.

Jenny was sprawled across the couch, her feet dangling off the end. She had put on weight, Clutch noticed. An ashtray overflowing with butts, a half-empty bottle of Southern Comfort, and crumpled magazines littered the scarred coffee table.

Clutch wandered around the room, his fingers stirring the dust, stopping when he came to a picture of Ruby. It was her third- or fourth-grade class picture in a cardboard frame that warped slightly. The picture had faded over time; his daughter’s face looked sallow from exposure to cigarette smoke. Picking it up, he smiled at his daughter’s sweet, tomboyish smile. She looked like him, only pretty. His calloused finger touched the apple of her cheek, her blue eyes knowing, even at eight. Her ash-blond hair was in a sideways ponytail that he might have even made for her that day, or maybe not. It didn’t matter much anyway. Clutch sighed. Who remembered that stuff, anyway?

Jenny coughed deeply. She was sitting up, staring right at him, her face sour. Clutch turned to look at her and realized that she didn’t see him. She was fully dressed in a sleeveless shirt and rumpled black pants. Reaching down, she picked up the half-empty glass and took a quick swallow.

Oh yeah,
he thought.
That’s why.
She hadn’t kicked him out, he remembered. He’d left.

“Ruby,” she called loudly, her voice a rusty scrape. “Move your ass. It’s going on ten, and I have to get to the lawyers.” She pulled herself unsteadily to her feet. “Lazy piece of…Ruby, I ain’t got all day.”

Clutch’s eyes followed her as she left the room, anticipation building at the sounds of his daughter getting ready.

“Ruby!” she called again.

“I heard you,” Ruby called back. It was a woman’s voice, not a child’s. Clutch walked to the stairs, his foot on the bottom rung. If he’d had a heart it would’ve been beating furiously in his chest. It felt like ages since he’d seen her. She was an adult now—almost seventeen. Divorce had made her grow up fast. That, and the twenty-seven-year-old she had hooked up with. He hated Roy with a passion that bordered on insanity.

Ruby appeared at the top of the stairs, her hair an interesting shade of blue, her light eyes ringed with dark circles. Her skin was so white, it was translucent. She wore some kind of black spandex shorts with ripped denim over them. Her top was a Band-Aid with spaghetti straps, her bared shoulders covered with colorful tattoos. She was wearing short dark boots and a ring in her nose that connected to her earring with a chain.

Clutch swallowed convulsively, looking at the alien that was his daughter. He hoped she wasn’t still involved with that creep, Roy. He was a bad dude. He glanced behind her, satisfied that no one was following. Clutch came close, looking at her eyes. At least they looked normal.

She looked like a homeless person. He shook his head. He should have taken his kid when he’d left. He tried to remember why he didn’t. His occupation didn’t jibe well with family life. He couldn’t do the whole picket fence thing. He lived on a reverse schedule. He needed to sleep during the day and made his living at night.

“I told you to wake me,” Jenny said.

Ruby sniffed. “Your screaming kept me up all night.”

“I wasn’t screaming; I was talking to your father’s slut.”

Ruby shrugged indifferently. “I don’t know why you insist on fighting with Daddy’s girlfriend.”

Clutch’s ears pricked up—Ginny and Jenny in a fight?

“I didn’t start it; she did,” Jenny spat. “Three weeks after Clutch died, that bitch filed a lawsuit for the money. There was no will; her fancy lawyer claimed we were married on paper only.”

“They were as good as married,” Ruby pointed out. “Dad loved her. I know he did.”

“Clutch didn’t know the meaning of that word. You always gave him more credit than he deserved. He was the most self-serving bastard that ever lived,” Jenny spat.

Somewhere in the region of Clutch’s chest, a small spark stirred, making his shriveled heart protest with the abuse from his ex.

Jenny dismissed her daughter with a wave of her hand as she disappeared into the downstairs bathroom. “Screw her and you too,” she added maliciously.

Ruby threw herself onto the couch. “She’s really OK, and she needs the money.”

“So do we,” came the curt reply.

“You could split it. That way, we all get some of it.” Ruby got up to go into the kitchen. She pulled out a skillet. “I’m making eggs; you want some?” she called out. No response. Ruby took out a few stalks of asparagus, cutting them into small pieces; then she added a neat pile of tiny, perfectly chopped chives. Clutch admired her knife skills. She whipped eggs, put in a pinch of salt, and expertly flipped her omelet. Clutch clapped with stunned appreciation. Ruby paused, looking around the filthy kitchen, her eyes weary.

Where did she learn that?
he wondered. Pulling out a stool, she sat at the counter eating her eggs while leafing through a brochure.

“All you’re doing is making the lawyers richer,” she said without looking up as her freshly showered mother entered the room. Clutch looked at her. He noticed that she cleaned up nicely, but he still didn’t like her. Jenny was mean.

“She’s not getting anything.”

“That’s not what my father wanted.”

“Then he should have been responsible and made a will.” Jenny made a cup of black coffee. “He left us high and dry.”

“He paid the support until he died.”

Jenny gave her a dirty look.

“Well, he tried. He hit a bad patch; you can’t blame him for that.”

“Good girl.” Clutch came up behind her. Ruby shivered, a chill going through her slender body.

“Yeah, he was father of the year. I’m not sharing his winnings. Anyway, why do you care about Clutch’s bimbo?”

“She was always nice to me, even when Dad stopped talking to me.”

Jenny made a rude noise and said, “Oliver Henderson owes me.”

Clutch winced when she said his real name. Nobody ever called him that except for Jenny. He hated her even more for that.

“If you don’t stop this senseless battle over the money, there will be nothing left,” Ruby told her, pointing her fork at her to stress her words.

Jenny eyed her daughter. She had given her nothing but trouble since she’d hit puberty. She was a daddy’s girl, and when Clutch stopped talking to her over that guy, she thought their relationship wouldn’t be able to be fixed—and it wasn’t, in spite of all the times that Ginny called and tried to make it better.
Interfering bitch,
she thought. “If you like her so much, why don’t you go and stay with her? Let
her
pay your way.”

Ruby looked up, her eyes sparking with hostility. “Don’t think she hasn’t offered.”

“All you care about is that stupid cooking school. Trust me, you’re not even that good.”

“At least she’s offered to help with my tuition.” Ruby closed the brochure she was looking at. “Ginny says Dad would’ve wanted me to go.”

“He didn’t speak to you for a year!”

“It was my fault.” Ruby stood next to the trash, dropping the folder into the pail. “He was trying to teach me something.”

“All your father cared about was the game. Not you, or me, or even that woman—”

“Ginny,” Ruby said helpfully. “None of this is her fault. She didn’t break up your marriage.”

“She helped,” Jenny sneered through her teeth.

Ruby laughed contemptuously. “Believe me, Mom. You didn’t need any help.”

Jenny reached across the counter and slapped Ruby across the face. “It’s a short ride from here to the homeless shelter.”

“Homeless shelter?” Clutch said out loud. Both women stopped, looking around the room. Somehow it broke the tension.

“My rules, remember? You don’t have Clutch to run to anymore.”

“I didn’t run to him the last time,” Ruby said softly.

“That’s because he wouldn’t talk to you while you dated that junkie.”

“We broke up.”

Jenny grunted as she poured her coffee into the sink. “You didn’t break up. He went to jail.”

“Jail, humph. Good,” Clutch said with a smile. He hated that guy.

“None of that matters. I’m clean now. I wish Dad could see that.”

“He was so busy with his life, he didn’t know you ruined your own.”

“You know that’s not true.”

“What did he ever do for you?” Jenny demanded. “Oh, I don’t have time for this! He didn’t sit up with you at night; I did. He do homework? Make you dinner? Don’t think so—he did nothing. The best thing he ever did was drop dead so I could finally get my share…the one I deserve.” She threw her hands in the air. “What’s the use? It’s my money. I’ll see it burn before she gets it.”

“Those men who came, the ones that Daddy owed…”

“Fuck them. Let them go to Clutch to collect.”

“It wasn’t his fault either,” Ruby said to Jenny’s back as they walked out of the house. “He refused to speak to me when I quit school.”

Jenny spun, her face a mask of hatred. “He should have been here. Nobody is getting that money but me.” She pointed to her chest, another one he’d paid for. “I’ve been robbed!” she shouted.

Ah,
Clutch thought, the lightbulb going off in his head.
That’s what Sten meant.
“No, Ruby’s been robbed—her future stolen from her,” Clutch said to himself.

“That home wrecker will get nothing, I swear. She won’t see a penny, unless it’s over my dead body,” she swore.

“That could be arranged.” Clutch surged forward but felt himself being held back in a merciless grip. “Let me go!” he screamed at Sten. “This is my house!”

The sentinel had a habit of showing up and interfering with Clutch’s plans.

“Not anymore, Clutch. This isn’t your fight. It’s theirs. You deserted this boxing ring years ago.”

“I didn’t desert them. I was trying to make a living.”

“If you start to believe your own bullshit, Clutch, you’ll never get anywhere,” Sten laughed.

“It’s true!” Clutch responded.

The door slammed. The women and Sten were gone. Clutch walked into the kitchen, fishing out the pamphlet that had held his daughter’s interest. It was an application to the Culinary School of Nevada. Ruby had ambition; he felt stirrings of pride. He’d always said she was a smart kid. Took after him. He tucked it under his arm and left.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

T
elly rubbed the beard from his bleary face. Putting on the Vince shirt Gretchen had bought him for Christmas, he slipped on his shoes and walked into the living area. He pulled his wallet and a small wad of cash from his pocket. Looking down at the coffee table, he noticed that the money was gone. His heart started to race. He dropped to his knees and crawled around on the floor, lifting the skirt of the couch to search underneath it. Frantically, he moved his hands on the matted carpet, cursing under his breath when he found nothing. His mouth went dry. Had he dreamt the whole thing? No, Gretchen was gone, and he still had about seven hundred dollars. He pulled out five hundred and left. As he walked past Cheryl’s apartment, he quietly slipped it under the door.

He grabbed a bus on Maryland Parkway, getting off a block from George’s Cab Service.

“You scored a perfect one hundred on the test, Telly. You’re lucky you came in today,” George told him as he handed over a stack of papers.

“Really, why?” Lucky was a word Telly never used to describe himself.

“Starting next week, all drivers have to be approved by the NTA. You would lose a week waiting for the approval to go through. We got a fight tomorrow, and I have to fill the vehicles. If you want, you can start tonight.”

“What time?”

“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...”

“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?”