I could tell that on some level, that pleased Beth. I nodded my agreement.
“This is boring. Go for a walk with me so we can catch up,” Beth suggested.
◊◊◊
We ended up playing some blackjack for about an hour. I lost a couple hundred euros, while Beth was only down a little. I thought that I should get my entrance fee back after losing money to the casino.
“Want to send my brother into orbit?” Beth asked.
“More than I already have?” I asked. “Not really.”
“Come on. I bet there are some stalkerazzi lurking out front. Let’s get our picture taken. It would send both my dad and brother into a fit if I were to be connected to you,” Beth said a little too gleefully.
“I’ve about reached my limit with that bunch after this morning.”
“You should have punched a few of them. You might be a national hero if you did.”
Frank would have killed me. Somehow, I let her drag me to the front of the casino.
Yep. Bad idea.
There were about twenty of them, and they all lost it when we stepped out. There ensued an actual shoving match that almost turned into a fight to get the best angle for a picture. I put my arm around her waist, and she stood on her toes and kissed my cheek.
“Have you moved on from Princess Erika?!”
“Lady Beth! Lady Beth!”
“Give him a proper kiss!”
All that rang out in rapid-fire.
Talk about tossing a raw steak into the middle of a pack of hungry wolves. After a minute of that, I decided that not having Paul with me was a mistake and pulled Beth back into the casino. The idiot at the door had watched the entire scene and wanted to charge us to come back in. The icy glare Beth gave him made him step out of the way and wish us luck.
I was sure that by the end of the day, I would be a household name in the UK.
◊◊◊
Chapter 7 – Boorish Behavior Sunday March 26
By mid-afternoon, both Ashley and Harry had been moved to the featured table with several well-known pros. This table received the lion’s share of the TV coverage. Ashley was there because she was an amateur player and the last woman in the tournament. Harry was visibly the most obnoxious player left, which TV loved.
I never really got it, but several reality shows featured snarky, outright mean, ill-tempered Brits. They tended to say whatever was on their mind with no thought to how it would sound. Harry fit into that mold as he pointed out that one pro was no longer a kid, despite what his nickname implied. Harry told another that he hadn’t won anything in years, and winning one big tournament didn’t mean he knew how to play.
The field had shrunk to eleven. Two more out, and they would have their final table. Both Ashley and Harry had been bleeding chips; Harry, because the pros had figured out his aggressive game and picked off a couple of his bluffs. Ashley woke up with trips and forced one of the pros into going all in. He hit a straight on the river to take most of her stack.
Harry was on the button, immediately to the left of the dealer. He looked at his cards and bet three times the blind—a standard bet when you feel like you have a decent opening hand. The ‘Kid,’ in the small blind to his left, called. Ashley, after thinking for a few seconds, called as well.
Since everyone else had folded, the dealer raked the pot into the center of the table. He then laid out the three cards of the flop: king of diamonds, king of clubs, seven of clubs. Harry briefly checked his hole cards and made a pot-sized bet. For your average player, that was a declaration bet; more typical would have been half-pot or a little less. He was announcing he had a huge hand.
The ‘Kid’ looked at his cards for a minute, shook his head, and casually folded. He looked over in time to catch Harry’s smirk, which Harry didn’t try to hide even for a moment. Harry promptly redirected his smirk towards Ashley.
“Well, am I bluffing now, or not?” he asked with a grin.
Ashley looked at him, frowning.
“I’m not sure,” she responded.
Ashley rechecked her cards as she appeared to be deep in thought. After a bit, the dealer reminded her, “Ten seconds.”
Ashley looked startled but passed the dealer a minute time-extension card. If anything, Harry was all but bouncing in his seat with joy. It was hard to tell if he finally really did have a good hand or just loved needling Ashley. We’d seen him act this way in both instances.
“What’s the matter, little girl? Can’t make up your mind?” Then he paused and said, “Could you ever?”
The looks of the other poker players at the table were priceless. Most European casinos had instituted a 30-second-clock system to speed up play and to prevent the overlong ‘thinking about it’ moments that slowed play down too much. Each player got a limited number of cards they could turn in for one-minute extensions. But even then, pauses could only be extended so long.
