CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 2 – Jake

I think the best way to describe what I was thinking is that I would just do this for a while to get some easy money and then I'd get out.  These people were asking for it anyway.  They shouldn't be gambling more than they could afford to lose.  And if I didn't take the money from them, someone else just would, right?  And if they were destined to go home a winner before I got there, then I'd justify it by thinking that they didn't really deserve the money they would have won. It sorta makes sense.

In reality, I was just stealing.  I was pulling people's cards from their minds and it was working well. I always tried to be careful not to win too much or too easily, but I was always self conscious that a high enough caliber player would be able to figure out what I was doing anyway.  So I kept trying to pay attention to each person at the table as often as possible, to make sure no one was catching on that something fishy was happening.  No one really did.

Sparing the details - because the only thing worse than a poker story is a poker story when someone's cheating and guaranteed to win - I left the casino with an easy nine thousand dollars.  I stopped there because I figured the anti-money laundering laws kick in at ten thousand, forcing you to fill out forms, and sure, I could probably just cash out more slowly and avoid them, but why bother with that?  I could always come back for more, and I was getting bored.

Now it was six pm on a Saturday night in Atlantic City and I was due to meet Wes and everyone in an hour or so at the Sheraton.  Why'd we stay at the Sheraton?  Because Wes got massive amounts of hotel points from all the travel he did for work and we could stay there without spending a dime.  I guess even having free access to money doesn't make it painless to spend.

Ever since I'd quit my job, I'd had a hard time telling everyone else about what I was going to do.  "Oh, I'll travel, I'll ski, I'll visit people, blah blah".  I would do those things, but mostly I had an ability that could earn me way more than my job did and I wanted more time to mess around with it, to learn how to do something interesting in life.

With an hour to kill and nothing better to do, I got in a cab and told the driver to take me to the nearest strip club.

I don't remember the name of the place we ended up at, but I made sure it was one that served booze, since I didn't have any on me and didn't want to deal with a BYOB place since I didn't have a ton of time. It was the type of club that was warehouse-big, and it looked warehouse-abandoned, since it was still early on in the evening. I once learned that dinner time on a Saturday can be the best time to hit a strip club, since that's when most of the night shifts start, and the place still isn't crowded. So, you get all of the girls with a fraction of the clientele competing for the attention of the hottest ones.

I sat down at a table in what looked like a particularly good location (situated between the girls' dressing room and the stage, so they almost all walked past me each time out), had a few beers, then started talking to a stripper named Foxy.  I'm fairly certain that wasn't her birth name, but not one hundred percent.

While talking to her, I picked up a few things here and there - only really what she was actively thinking at the time, which wasn't a ton, since she seemed to be high as fuck.  Eventually I tried to steer the conversation toward her, asking questions about things she liked to do, and I used those thoughts to try to direct the dialogue even more toward what she wanted to talk about.  She was way more interested in me within about twenty minutes, since I so conveniently seemed to know exactly what to discuss.

We went into the lap dance area and she gave me a dance, then another.  Then another.  She was probably mediocre at best, but whatever, I wasn't really too selective at the time because I had to get going soon anyway.  I paid her sixty for the dances and another twenty for a tip.  She grabbed my arm when I went to leave and said I had to make sure to come back later after I met up with my friends.

I said "Probably not, since we'll probably have people's girlfriends with us, but we'll see."

She insisted on giving me her number.  I followed her to the bar and she wrote "Foxy" and a ten digit number on a napkin.  Whether it was her number or not, I wouldn't know until later.  I stuffed the napkin into my pocket and headed for the cell phone check area, figuring that went pretty well since I came out of it with a stripper's number.  She was probably like an eight or so.  Maybe a seven.  Maybe less?  I wasn't sure - I was getting kind of drunk by then.

So I met up with Wes and his friends at the Sheraton.  There were no girls with them, which I knew would be the case - I just didn't want to commit to going back to the strip club.

I was running a little late, but no one cared - they already had the bathtub filled with beers.  

I talked to Wes a bit and to Johnny a little.  I think the basic idea would be to hang out at the Borgata since there are a few different bars/clubs in there that we could go to when one got boring or – more likely - when we had hit on all the (half-)decent girls available.

Once we were at the Borgata, for whatever reason Wes and I went right into hit-on-girls mode at B Bar.  It didn't matter if they were great looking - as long as they were average or so, we would try to start talking to them.  I think we were doing pretty well, making good conversation, being funny, but it wasn't really going anywhere.  At one point, while I was talking to a girl who kept thinking about getting McDonald's after the bar, Wes got behind her and started humping the air.  It was pretty funny but I tried not to react, partially because I didn't want to drop the ball and ruin my chance with this girl, but also because I thought it would be funnier if I managed to keep a straight face.

Later on I was really drunk and started talking to this girl who turned out to be not a girl, but a 38 year old woman (she actually told me - she seemed to be telling the truth).  We made out for a bit, somehow the conversation turns to how she can't go home with me (did I ask or did she bring it up out of nowhere? Who knows).  She says we can't go back to her room because, "My husband is up there.”  Oops?  I think we made out for a few more minutes before I ditched her.

We head over to the club in the Borgata.  Is it called Mixx?  I forget.  There aren't a ton of people in there, since it's still early.  But there is one guy who's got a circle of people around him watching him dance.  I immediately turn to Wes, who's right next to me and fancies himself a great dancer (I guess he's good?  I'm probably not the best judge) and tell him "Wes, show him how it's done."  Things degenerate into a dance off, which I'm pretty sure Wes won.

While wandering around the Borgata later in the night looking for something to do, we came across a group of girls, two of whom made out for no particular reason while in mid conversation with us. I consider calling Foxy, but ultimately decide against it for reasons of laziness.