A Word from You writer’s showcase has been gratifyingly flush with submissions, and, to follow suit, Suzanne Morse fearlessly offers you a portion of the first chapter of her novel-in-progress.  Beneath the Neon is a fictionalized account of Suzanne’s attempt, as she says, “to break in with the big guys on the poker circuit and play in the World Series of Poker.”  Some parts may be true to Suzanne’s experience, and some parts may not be – but Suzanne declares you’ll never know which!  At any rate, she presents it to your for insight, constructive criticism, and respectful suggestions for improvement.

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Beneath the Neon

Chapter 1

Barbara glanced down quickly.  She held  Aª 8ª in her hands.  She’d been sitting for 40 minutes at the poker table, carefully holding her mouth in a straight line, attempting to keep a poker face, masking her frustration, methodically sliding one hand into the center after another, watching her opponents twitch and blink when they played their hands.  The air hung heavy with cigarette tobacco.  In the distance, there were the chimes of the slot reels turning and an occasional yelp from the roulette tables.  The voices in the poker room meshed and blended into jibberish all around.  Barbara had sized up her opponents.  The young, dark-haired  man across the table would blink his eyes rapidly every time he had a hand, numbly stare whenever he bluffed.  There was an older lady who played every hand to the end, calling to see what her opponent held, craning her neck every time someone bet, and an older gentleman who folded every hand, frowning, just stuffing his cards into the pile while grumbling.  And then there was the blonde boy, smiling, over exaggerating his gestures when he bluffed — silent when he held a hand.  Between dealings, his blue eyes  engaged Barbara’s eyes, and her heart skipped a beat.

Now she held her Aª 8ª, and she felt compelled to play.  She grabbed 3 black chips and flicked them toward the center of the green, felt table.  The older lady craned her neck then grabbed three black chips and matched Barbara’s bet;  the older gentleman grumbled and folded again;, and the dark-haired guy called without a blink.  2 other opponents reluctantly folded until the action rested on the blonde who already had a black chip in the pot as the “big blind.” His blue eyes glanced into hers and a sly smile spread across his lips.  Barbara felt the heat spread across her face.  He reached into his chips and threw in 2 more black chips.

The dealer spread out the “flop” – A© Jª 4ª.  “Not bad,” thought Barbara, “top pair and a flush draw.” The blonde smiled again and licked his lips.  He threw  in 2 purple chips, equaling $1000.  “He must have a hand,” Barbara hesitated, “He’s rather quiet, not doing the Hollywood stuff, so he can‘t be bluffing.  But I also have a flush draw,” she thought some more.  “I just can’t  throw this away yet.  Maybe he’s just flirting with me.” After all, Barbara had seen other men flirt with women before, using their chips to show their prowess at the tables.  And he was intently staring at her even now.  She called with 10 black chips, just enough to stay in the pot, but no more.  But her hand trembled as she placed the chips in the center.  The older woman called, leaving her almost chipless, and to Barbara’s surprise, the other man called, although did not blink his eyes.  “He must have something, I guess, but nothing serious,” she thought.

The dealer flipped over the 9¨.  The blonde grinned and threw a glance at Barbara.  He pushed his remaining stack into the pot.  Not sure of his actions, Barbara hesitated.  “Just what does he have?” she asked herself.  “Does he have top pair as I do with a smaller or a bigger kicker?  Does he have 2 pair?  He sure likes his hand.” But there were so many possibilities that he had a lesser hand, and she did have the flush draw if he had her beat.  “Besides, this is only a Satellite to win a World Series of Poker seat,” she reassured herself as she shoved her remaining chips into the middle.

The blonde then looked intently at her, smiling.  Barbara stared at the middle of the table, avoiding his sexy and inquisitive stare.  She had learned to never look intently at anyone at the table when she played, only stay focused on the center.    It robs them of a chance to read you.  Barbara had also learned to never show any emotion at the table, no matter the hand.  So she sat in her seat now, blankly staring at the center of the table, holding her mouth in a straight line, although she was very cognizant of the allure of his gorgeous blue eyes.

The older woman, for the first time, sat back, grumbled, looked down at her hand, grumbled some more, and threw her hand away.  But to Barbara’s surprise, the dark-haired man moved his chips in.  He shifted his position at the table, and fidgeted with his cards, but his eyes did not blink.  “He must have a draw,” Barbara thought.  “He doesn’t have a hand, but he’s willing to gamble all of his stack.”

At last, the dealer turned over the last of the 5 community cards.  To Barbara’s relief, it was a 2ª.  She had made the flush — the highest flush possible.  The blonde still seemed content with his hand as he flipped them over instantly, revealing an A¨ K§.  Barbara then smiled shyly, shrugged her shoulders, and turned over her Aª 8ª, acting as if she didn’t know what she was doing, and had gotten lucky.  She had found that, as a young woman, if she played well but acted ignorant,  she could surprise her opponents better, and never obtain their wrath when she won.  Sometimes, when she’d lose, the men at the table would feel sorry for her and throw her some extra chips.  The young man tapped the table with his hand, smiled, and shook his head.  “Nice hand,” he mumbled.  “You sure got lucky there.” The dark-haired gentleman wasn’t as happy.  He threw his cards into the center of the table, and slammed back in his chair, covering his forehead with his hand.  His cards showed a Qª 10ª.  “I would have to make the fuckin’ flush,” he muttered as he stormed off.  The dealer counted out the winning chips from the center , and returned a few extra chips to the blonde.  He’d had had more chips than Barbara, but the hand had almost left him broke.   The dealer then shoved the mound of remaining chips to Barbara.

Only 5 hands later, while Barbara was still stacking her chips, Barbara looked down on the A¨ Q©.  The older woman threw in her remaining chips.  Without hesitation, Barbara re-raised, counting out 15 black chips.  The man in the big blind, hesitated, lifting up the corners of his cards, peering at his hand,  lowering the corners again, pondering, looking at the chips in middle of the table,  then repeating the cycle again.  He rocked back and forth in his chair a few times, then sighed, and eventually threw his hand away.  Barbara turned over her hand.  The older woman craned to see Barbara’s cards, then flipped over a pair of black 10’s.  The man in the blind tapped the table and nodded.  “He must have had a smaller pair than hers,” Barbara thought.

Now it was entirely up to a five-card race of community cards.  Since the woman was all-in, there would be no more betting.  If Barbara won, she would eliminate one more player in the tournament.  If she lost, it would only cost her $800 to match the woman’s remaining chips.  The dealer began spreading out the five cards.  First came the flop — 7© 4© 9§.  Not good for Barbara.  She needed an A or a Q within the next 2 cards.  Barbara shifted in her seat, and glanced up from the center of the table, catching the stare of the blonde man, who had been watching her play.  She felt slightly flushed although she turned her gaze back to the center of the table.

The next card was merciless to the old woman — a Qª.  She smirked and cussed under her breath.  The last card was the 2ª, winning the pot for Barbara.  As she scooped up her chips, she felt the blonde’s eyes drilling into her.

Two hands later, he went all-in with another player with a pair of 5’s, and lost all of his chips.  The blonde then got up from the table, and brushed past Barbara.  “Maybe we can meet again later,”  he said to her as he walked past.  He disappeared in the other room  where they spread live games.  Now there were only 7 players remaining at their table.  And Barbara turned her attention to the game at hand.

Another boring 30 minutes passed.  Barbara began methodically folding her hands despite the compulsion she felt to play.  Whenever she felt restless, she would pick a black chip from her stack and twirl it around in her hand.  4 new players had joined the table.  One, a fat, balding man who would lean back in his chair and never really look anyone in the eye.  Another was a thin, brunette woman who barely played a hand.   She would sit quietly at the table, resting her chin in her hands and fold hand after hand.  There was a young hotshot that bluffed a lot, but folded on the turn if he was beat.  Then there was an Asian man who played rather wildly.  He had double the  chips as Barbara did now.  She watched them battle over the chips, quietly waiting for another chance to pounce.

Barbara glanced down at her hand — 4¨ 4©.  She was in the big blind.  All the opponents folded to the hotshot  who raised the pot with 16 purple chips.  The Asian man hesitated, snickered for a moment, then folded.  Barbara knew that he was trying to steal the blinds, and she did have a pair.    “It’s gonna cost me $6000 more, but I’ve already committed $2000,” she analyzed the situation to herself.  Besides, this  guy was just so arrogant and annoying.  So she called, leaving herself  a chance to get out on the Flop if nothing happened.

The dealer laid out the Flop.  To Barbara’s amusement, she was staring at  the Aª 4ª 9¨, giving her a three-of-a-kind.  And she got a clever idea.  She leaned back in her chair and tapped on the table, waiting to see what the hotshot would do.  She figured he held an Ace and would bet.

The hotshot eagerly fell for her trap.  He bet $10,000, piling the chips up in one large stack to intimidate her.  Barbara sat quietly for a moment, glanced at the hotshot, then slowly and methodically reached into her stack and called.  She felt that this hotshot had one more bet in him on the turn.  If he was bluffing, then she’ll bet on the end and take the pot.

The dealer rolled over the next card — the 6¨.  As Barbara decided to check, the hotshot was already grabbing at his stack. He grabbed his remaining chips and pushed them to the center of the table.  Barbara knew now that he had an Ace and that she had him.  She grinned as she pushed her stack to the center.  The hotshot threw his cards face-up on the table, grinning with pride, revealing  an A¨ 4ª.  Barbara rolled over her pair of 4’s.  The hotshot then slapped the table and cussed under his breath.  The dealer turned over the 2ª to end the hand.   Barbara scooped in her growing number of chips.

Barbara began to anticipate winning a seat to the World Series.  The tables were thinning out rapidly and there only remained 6 players at her table.  Barbara folded hands again.  Her stack was large enough for her to  wait.  Barbara’s experience in other tournaments had taught her to be patient when others became desperate.  And she had won trophies with this knowledge.  Barbara folded a pair of 7’s when the brunette had reraised her.    She began to feel confident.  Her 5 years of  playing smaller limits at the Palace Station, and steady playing in the small Orleans tournaments were paying off.  She was almost playing with the “big” guys and girls.  As the players thinned out, her pulse quickened and tingles began to flow up and down her spine.  She concentrated on the game now, aware of the clacking of chips and the swiping of cards across the table.   This was Barbara’s life — beneath the neon lights of the 24-hour town.  She would play in the evenings until wee hours of the morning, and sleep when others were slaving at their daytime jobs.

Barbara looked down onto Kª K©.  Several of her opponents folded.  Barbara decided to raise immediately to secure her hand.  She counted out $30,000 in chips in front of her.  The next person folded.  The wild Asian was in the big blind with $10,000.  He reached for his stack of chips, then stopped.  “All in,” he said as he waved his hands out toward the center of the table, implying that he was committing all of his chips.  Barbara committed her remaining chips without thought.  She rejoiced at the thought of winning his huge stack.  She actually wanted him to commit.  She just hoped her hand would stand up through to the River.

The two of them then flipped over their cards.  Barbara revealed her kings.  The Asian’s hand consisted of A§ 10¨.  The only card that Barbara did not want to see was the ace.  The dealer began the five-card race.  The first three cards came –  J¨ 3ª 5§.  So far so good for Barbara.  It was looking good for her to win a seat — a dream that she’d had for the past 2 years.  Barbara wanted to be the first woman to win the World Series of Poker.

But then came the turn card — A©,  the worst card possible for Barbara.  Her heart sank.  There would have to be more satellite play before she could reach her goal.  She numbly watched as the dealer ultimately rolled over the 5ª to finish out the hand.  Barbara got up from the table and nodded to the Asian.

As she walked away from another satellite tournament empty-handed, she fought back the tears of watching her dream go south once again.  But she was determined to keep playing.  She bit her lip and set her face and walked confidently from the room.  For now, she would play some live games.

Barbara ambled over to the live games.  The night was young and there were tons of games.  Barbara could play a live limit game as well as she played tournaments — a distinct advantage in this Las Vegas city.  Many pro tournament players could not adapt their style enough to accommodate live play.  Live poker games required a different finesse than tournament poker did.  So Barbara found profit in playing these live games.  She could replenish her bankroll and keep right on trying.  But then there was the exasperating wait.  The list for live poker was very long — over a hundred names on the list for a  $5-$10 limit-holdem game.  Barbara signed up for numerous games to shorten the wait — smaller limit holdem games, seven-card stud lists, and even to play in a small omaha hi-lo split game.  Barbara had a varied background.  She had never limited herself.  She had diligently studied the subtleties of the various poker games spread in Las Vegas.  Seven-card stud was the original poker game, an offshoot of five-card draw.  There was the most popular Texas Holdem games.   Then there were fancier games such as omaha, omaha hi-lo and stud hi-lo, where the highest and lowest hands won the pot, and even a crazy game called razz that rewarded the pot to the lowest-ranking hand only.  Barbara hoped she’d be called for Holdem, but she was ready to play in any variation.  Playing poker was making money, and she played it as it was her duty.  The hardest discipline for Barbara now would be to wait.

Barbara walked to the railing and leaned upon it, glancing about the room at all the players.  She stared at the women dolled up for a night out in Vegas, gingerly grasping their chips to avoid breaking their nails, sweating under their make-up, their perfume mingling with the cigarette and cigar smoke.  She observed the men in jeans and t-shirts barely tucked in or not at all.  Some wore cowboy hats.  Others wore caps.  Some players wore shades in the dimly-lit room.  Barbara had heard them say that they covered their eyes to avoid being read.  Some players hooked walkmen to their ears, avoiding the distractions all around them.   Other women dressed in t-shirts and jeans. That was Barbara’s preference.

She had dressed down tonight, sporting a black t-shirt displaying whales mingling with dolphins in an ocean on the front and dolphins on the back tucked into black jeans.  It was more comfortable that way.  Although she wore a poker watch she had acquired at the indoor swap meet.  Its face contained a spade royal flush. Barbara collected watches and carefully selected which one to wear to events.  This poker watch seemed appropriate for tonight‘s event.  Barbara wore a splash of make-up — blush patted on her cheeks, mascara brushed across her long, beautiful lashes, and shadow on her eyelids.  She noticed the smoky haze accumulating in the room and remembered that she hadn’t smoked in awhile, so she whipped out her pack of Shermans that were stuffed in her front shirt pocket, stuck one in her mouth, and lit up.

As she continued to gaze at the people in the room, she noticed a blonde, young woman, probably close in age to herself, in her late twenties, leaning on the railing not far from her.  Barbara inhaled deeply on her cigarette and stared at the woman for awhile.  The woman was more smartly dressed, sporting a blue polo shirt and dress pants.  Her eye make-up was dark, contrasting against her light blonde hair, accenting her large, expressive, blue eyes.  Her cheeks and lips were ruby red.  Her nails were perfectly polished red.  The waves of her blonde hair fell down past her shoulders.  It was as if she had walked out of a glamour magazine.  Barbara’s stare seemed fixed on her.

Finally, Barbara turned to watch a large hand in a nearby Holdem game. It looked to be $20-$40 Limit Game.  There were several hundred in red chips in the pot, and the flop read Kª 7¨ 7ª.  There were 2 players — a dark-curly-haired man and a guy wearing a cowboy hat.  “One of them probably has the flush draw,” Barbara thought as the bets played out.  “The other one has to have the trip 7’s.”

“Excuse me,” a soft, sexy, silky woman’s voice interrupted Barbara’s thoughts.  Barbara turned around and was face to face with the young, blonde woman.  She stared into Barbara’s face with her expressive blue eyes.  “I ran out of smokes.  You wouldn’t be open to sharing one with me, would you?” she asked.

“Of course,” Barbara said, shoving her hand back into her pocket, and pulling out her pack.  She pulled one of the long, brown cigarettes from the pack, and fingered in her shirt pocket for a lighter.  She handed the cigarette to the woman and  lit the cigarette for her.

“Careful with that one,” Barbara then commented. “That smoke is a strong one.  These cigarettes are pure tobacco.  None of that artificial crap.” She pulled her own cigarette out of her mouth and displayed it proudly.  She watched as the smoke slowly rolled off of it.  “Of course, the good news is that it doesn’t burn up as fast.  You get your money’s worth.”

“Is that so?” the other woman replied.  She inhaled deeply, held in the smoke, then slowly blew the smoke from her nostrils and mouth.  “Yeah,” she said, “now that’s a smoke.  How do you know all that?  That’s pretty impressive.”

“Aaah, I had a poker buddy explain this all to me at one time,“ Barbara replied.  “I didn’t know what to think until I tried them myself.  And so they tasted good.  I then asked around in the poker room and confirmed the guy’s story.  I’ve been smoking them ever since.”

The woman flashed a sly smile.  “You sure know a lot about cigarettes.  Hope you’re as good at poker.”  Barbara said nothing, only smiled.  She felt her face becoming flushed.   The two of them leaned on the rail, smoking, staring out into the mob of bodies in the room.

“So,” Barbara piped up again, “where are you from?  I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before.”

“Do you mean where am I originally from or where do I hang out now?”

Barbara glanced at her again, and caught the woman’s stare.  “I guess I mean both,”  she replied.

“I’m from Washington State.  A boring place.  Rains all the time.  But now I’m hangin’ right here in Vegas.  Doesn’t rain much here.  Nice and dry.  I haven’t been here long but you’re gonna see more of me.” The woman blew out two heavy puffs, then drew Barbara in again with her stare.  “And you?”

“I’ve been here for awhile,” Barbara replied.  She drew in a heavy drag, held it, then slowly exhaled, watching the smoke drift up in the air.  “I grew up in L.A. though.”

“Not boring there,” the woman snickered.  “You got sunshine and beaches and crazy people, and, oh yeah, all the movie stars.   I thought about living there.  I decided on here, though.  More excitement for me.”

“I prefer it here, too.  I can play poker for a living,” Barbara replied.  “Although they do have some good cardrooms lurking around over there.”

“A pro,” the woman sounded intrigued.  She stared at Barbara, for a long moment, then raised an eyebrow.  “So you play for a living.  You must know a thing or two.”

“I do,” Barbara answered, “but I don’t show it at the table.  You’re better off catering to the mens’ egos.”

The woman laughed then.  “And they have them, don’t they?”  The two of them laughed, and gazed back out into the crowd, relishing their smokes.    The hand at the $20-$40 table had long since ended, but there still seemed to be a lot of action at the table.  A large stack of red and green chips had collected in front of the man with the cowboy hat.  “He must have won that pot,”  Barbara thought.

“So have you played long?” the woman asked.

“I’ve been playing for five years.  Small stakes but I’ve squeaked out a living.  I mostly play $1-$4-$8-$8 at the Palace Station.”

“Not bad.  Not bad at all,” the woman smiled and stared at Barbara.  Barbara felt as though her eyes were drilling a hole into her head, and lighting a match somewhere inside.  “I’ve played my share of Holdem and Stud in Washington.  They have some public cardrooms there.”

“So you’re going to give it a go out here.”

“I’m gonna give it a try,” she sighed.  “I just finished a stint at college, but I didn’t like all the hoops I was jumping through, so I quit.  I’d like to just play for a living.”

“I know what you mean.  Play for yourself.  You don’t answer to nobody but yourself,” Barbara said.

The two sat quiet again.  Barbara finished her cigarette, flicked the butt toward a nearby ashtray, then pulled out a second one, and lit up.  She wanted to coach this woman, tell her that the stakes are high in Vegas, that it wouldn’t be easy to maintain a living at poker, but she couldn’t.  She didn’t want to run this woman off.  And it was unsettling because she didn’t know why.  So she did what she had learned to do best — keep her mouth shut.

“My name’s Kathy by the way,” the blonde spoke again, and offered her hand.  “I’m Barbara,” Barbara replied, and softly grasped the extended hand.  The hand felt warm, soft, and smooth.  The woman smiled again.  “I suppose that we had better remember these names as they may be famous someday.”

Barbara smiled.  The thought tickled her.  Yes, rich and famous.  All because of poker.  That would be nice.  The woman had finished her cigarette, so Barbara pulled out a second one and offered it to her.  “Would you like another smoke?”

“Don’t mind if I do,” she replied and took the cigarette.  She stuck the brown stick in her mouth.  Barbara pulled out her lighter and lit it for her, her hands shaking slightly.  She looked back into the crowd to avoid the alluring blue eyes gazing at her.  “You got very pretty red hair, you know that?  Did you get it from your mom or your dad?”

Barbara exhaled sharply and blushed.  “Actually from my grandmother,”  she answered .  “She had the strawberry blonde hair.  She told me about her lovely hair but there was also one problem.  Her hair turned all white by the time she was 25.”  Barbara’s red hair was darker and flowed down past her shoulders.  “I’m waiting to see if mine will turn all white.“  The two women smiled at each other again.  Barbara quickly turned to the crowded room and went silent.

But Kathy wasn’t giving up the conversation.  “And I suppose the green eyes are from your grandmother, too?”

“No, they’re from my father’s side of the family.  I got green-eyed cousins everywhere.”  She managed to look into Kathy’s blue eyes.  “My mother’s a blonde…like you, and…she’s got blue eyes…like yours.”

“So does mine,” Kathy replied.  The two quietly dragged on their cigarettes, playing with the smoke, staring into one another’s eyes for a long moment, then they turned to watch the chips fly back and forth between the players at the nearby poker table.

“You waiting on a game?” Kathy interrupted again.

“I’m waiting on numerous games.  Even omaha.”

“Aaah, a well-rounded player, too,” Kathy commented.  “I stick with holdem mostly.  Although I can play a mean game of stud.”

“Holdem is definitely my favorite,” Barbara replied.  “I guess it’s gonna be a long wait.” She sighed.

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Suzanne – I like that what you start the book with isn’t just a female poker player proving her skills and pluck against an array of men who may be alternately threatened, insulted or attracted by her prowess at the poker table.  You also give us something perhaps more interesting:  two women at different ends of the game, sizing each other up.