The poker player

He was a player.

Not in love or video games, no, he was a money kind of player.

A gambler.

He was a loving, caring young man, always there to make me laugh and cheer me up after my dull days at work. We got together in high school: I never really understood what he saw in me, since all the girls seemed to gravitate around him, Marcus, the kind of athletic and popular boy at the time. But he chose me, and suddenly we became a bright couple, we loved each other, and nothing else mattered.

After graduating from our respective schools, we moved in together very quickly, but it seemed fair to both of us. His degree in Business Management only allowed him to get a part-time job in a clothing store at the beginning of his professional life, which he was fine with. I was working forty hours a week as a telephone counsellor. We shared our weekends as lovers: We would walk hand in hand, go shopping together, or just sit on the couch in front of the television, interspersed in big plaids.

He discovered online poker shortly after we moved in.

He had always liked betting, whether it was soccer, basketball, or horse betting, winning small sums from time to time, so I didn't mind that much. It was after all his money, he could do whatever he wanted with it as long as he paid the groceries and the rent.

I was surprised at his determination to learn this game.

“Do you understand, Marie ?” He said to me with eyes burning with passion, and I remember having trouble distinguishing if that look was meant for me. “It's not just a game of luck. There is a lot of it, it's true. The randomness of the cards. But everything else is just technique. When do you have to play your hand ? When can you go all in ? Do you have to raise the bet ? Everything has to be calculated, no mistakes have to be made. Do you understand, sweetheart ?”

I understood. I didn't have the temperament of a gambler, I didn't have the earning power or the fighting spirit necessary in these very special fields. But I understood the passion, and when it embraces you in its warm arms, it is then impossible to escape it. And I could see that my man was being held captive by it. Marcus spent a lot of time working on his game, reviewing odds tables, following great poker players on the internet. He played at reasonable limits, following a very strict bankroll management system.

Every other night when I came home in the evening, he would wait for me at home: The house was bright, the meal was cooked and the table set. And every other night I would find him bent over his screen, with more than ten poker tables in play simultaneously. We lived as a couple, and as long as he did his share of the housework, I didn't mind, as long as he did his share of the housework.

Time went by quickly, and soon we had moved in a year ago. I had gained some responsibility in my job and Marcus was still working in the same store, with the same contract. Within a year, his game had improved significantly and he was earning about fifty euros a week.

“It may seem ridiculous, this amount, for a gambling game,” he had once told me at the table with a serious air, “But when you know that I started playing games for fifty cents, I've come a long way, Marie. I think I can do it.”

“Do what ?” I had answered, concerned

“Become a great player. This is just the beginning, and I still have some work to do before I get there. But I really think I can do it.”

The following week, he won six hundred euros by winning first place in a tournament.

It all seemed to accelerate from there.

He started playing games on real tables, with bigger bets. He joined a club of enthusiasts, made new acquaintances.

I didn't know where I stood in relation to his passion for poker. Certainly, his efforts had paid off, and quite well. He kept telling me that this was just the beginning, that one day if he kept going, we would never have to work again. Thanks to his bankroll management techniques, the only money he had lost on the bad nights was the money he had won with the game. From an outside point of view, I could not help but notice the success of the man I loved. But like everyone else, I was warned of the risks of gambling. I know that those games are addictive, that they are dangerous. You feel like you're managing the situation and the next thing you know you're up to your neck in debt.

“I'm scared, Marcus,” I told him, sitting in the passenger seat on the way to a tournament, “What if one day it all stops ? Your victories, the money ?”

He smiled tenderly, removed one of his large hands from the steering wheel and placed it on my thigh in a reassuring gesture, his eyes fixed on the road.

“Don't worry about it, sweetheart.” And I saw his sweet smile become proud and fierce. He seemed confident. Never has he looked so much like a winner in my eyes. “None of this is going to stop.”

I felt an icy shiver running down my spine.

When I arrived at the casino, I was surprised by the calm and reassuring atmosphere of the tournament room. There was  about fifteen poker tables set up throughout the room. Each of them was surrounded by six chairs, reserved for the players. There were a good number of people, men and women. Some of them seemed barely of age, others were definitely retired. I could saw dealers in uniform gathering around the tables. I looked at my watch: The game was about to start in ten minutes. A group of people recognized Marcus, and he greeted them with a wave of his hand.

“I'm going to settle in.” He laid a kiss on my lips. “You can look at the game outside the circle around the tables.”

“Good luck, my love.”

The game started. I saw piles of colorful chips passing through hands, changing owners all the time. Knowing only the rudimentary rules of poker, it was difficult for me to follow the game. Marcus looked serene: He stared blankly at his opponents, and the stack of chips in front of him grew visibly larger as the hours went by and the players who were eliminated left the tournament.

Time seemed to drag on and on.

“This is the first time I've seen you here. Are you supporting a particular player?”

I turned to a man who was staring at me, smiling. He must have been in his fifties, and his hair lacquered in the back was grayish.

“Hi. I’m Marie.” I reached out my hand to him, that he shook with assurance. “Yes, I've come to look at my companion. I have a feeling that he's doing quite well.”

I pointed to Marcus with a gesture of the head. The man’s eyes widened.

“Marcus ? Yes, you could say that. We play games together from time to time with the club. He's very gifted, he's progressing fast. I'm Richard, by the way. Nice to meet you. If your man keeps playing the game like this, he's got a good chance of winning. Well, nothing is done though.”

“I’m glad for him. By the way, how much could the winner possibly have ?”

“Let's see... The entry fee for the tournament was one hundred euros. With the number of participants, the winner should be able to collect within twelve thousand euros, something like that.”

I couldn’t hold back the hiccups of surprise that came out of my mouth. I stared at Richard, gawking. I saw an amused gleam through his eyes as he replied :

“That’s the game.”

Soon, four hours had passed, during which Richard stayed with me as a game commentator, trying to explain to me that Marcus' moves were very precise and thoughtful, and that he didn't threw money, or should I say random chips on the table as it made me feel like it. The last players were taken out one by one from the gaming tables, eliminated. At the end of the fifth hour, there were only four players left at the same table, including Marcus.

The atmosphere in the room was electric, everyone seemed to be holding their breath.

“He is trying a big move, he's going all in.” says Richard as Marcus moves all of his chips forward on the table. Noticing the distress on my face, he added : “He doesn't really have a choice: it's either all or nothing at this point.”

Suddenly, Marcus crushed his point on the table. He stood up abruptly, swearing between his teeth.

He was out of the game.

***

I drove on the way back. I saw him fidgeting, constantly raising his arms in despair as he brooded over the game:

“It was nonsense, a monumental stroke of luck. Do you know what the odds were of that happening ?” Without waiting for my answer, he continues: “I had a pair of sevens. At the flop I find a new seven, and two kings that gives a full, you know ? There was almost no combination to beat me. At the turn, a poor two that brings us to nothing, and at the river falls an ace. What were the chances that this moron had a king and an ace in his hands ? Six percent - (he hammered his words into the dashboard) - li-te-ra-lly six fucking percent. A shitty superior full, that's what it was.”

“I feel very sorry for you. But I mean, you still came in fourth, that's great. You won four thousand euros, it's... it's just huge. I can't believe it.”

“It's not enough. I can do more, much more. I have to do better.”

Weeks went by. Marcus, eternally dissatisfied with his skills and progress, bought a second computer screen so that he could double the number of tables he played online. He now spent most of his nights there, too focused to say a word to me. We would pass each other in the morning before leaving for work, but I could tell by his pale face and heavy eyes how exhausted he was.

“Marcus...” I whispered one Friday morning, about to leave, keys to my car in hand. “Don't you think you're being a bit too hard on yourself with this game ?”

He stared at me for a moment with an ominous air, then slowly shook his head.

“This is not a game to me. It's much more than that, and I hope you can understand that. I'm doing this for us. I'm doing it for you.”

“But I don't need that ! We both have jobs, you don't need this much...”

“Not me,” he said offhand, “I quit three weeks ago.”

The seconds following this confession seemed to last for hours. In shock, I was as petrified. Three weeks. Three weeks, during which he hadn't gone to work. He had to go to his clubs, with Richard and the others, without telling me. He who was so caring, we who were so in love. His hard look softened when he saw the tears rolling down my cheeks. He walked towards me, both hands forward in a gesture of surrender, cautiously, almost as if I was going to attack him, when he was the one who had just thrown a bomb between us.

“I can live on poker. I can manage to pay the rent, and the groceries, and everything else. But I have to play more. I have to make it my main activity. And I could make a lot more money than with this...”

“Why didn't you tell me ? Did you really think it was the best solution ? Hiding this from me for three weeks, pretending you were going to work so as not to arouse suspicion ?”

“Marie, I...”

I turned away from him, feeling a heavy sob coming to lift my chest. I rushed to the car, mumbling that I was going to be late, turned the key and crushed the accelerator pedal with my trembling foot, starting as fast as I could.

I wasn't even mad at Marcus, I was mad at this stupid game that was stealing from me the one I loved, and stealing his time from him. I didn't want to be rich like he promised me, I just wanted to grow up with him, to grow old with him, without having to put up with this unhealthy obsession, which made his eyes dance with glowing flames and turned his pretty smile into a carnivorous grin.

***

When I came back home that evening, my apprehension at the idea of seeing Marcus was quickly replaced by the surprise of seeing him absent. I found a note on the living room table:

Hi, sweetheart. I decided to leave you alone for one evening to let you think about all this. If you have any problems, you can find me at the casino. Xoxo, I love you.

I realized with the passing months that you can't come between a person and their passion. I hardly ever saw Marcus anymore, who spent days and nights in front of his screen, at the poker club or at the casino. We didn’t go out on weekends anymore, he no longer took my hand, no longer came with me under the plaids. Not that he didn’t want to, I knew it, but he didn’t have this time to give me anymore. His absence made me suffer considerably. I knew he would succeed, I knew he would make it, I had great confidence in him and in his abilities. I loved him and I hated the game for destroying our relationship like that. I also realized that sometimes passion rhymes with obsession. Marcus was the one who allowed this to happen in the first place, he was the one who took his momentum to jump head first into the burning, bottomless throes of gambling.

Months would go by and the situation would get worse. It took me a while, but I realized that I didn't have to go through all that.

Yes, he was a player, and a pretty good one.

That's wasn't the game he was going to lose this time.

It was me.

(This story was originally written in French. I tried to translate as best I could, but I am not fully bilingual)