(no subject)

Georges de Frayville, an acquaintance from Paris called me last night. He was staying at the Wynn.  Would I like to come over for a drink?  You bet I would!  Besides greeting a familiar face from the good old days, Georges (French spelling) used to be one of our top poker clients.  Aristocratic and snooty - meaning rich rather than classy - Monsieur de Frayville had the delightful habit of throwing oodles of fresh money after a few losing chips.  

 

 Driving across town, I thought of the gentleman who had built the great palace.  While I deeply admire Mr. Wynn, I try to steer clear of his casino.   Not because of any defects in the place, but because - until yesterday – it had not been very lucky for me.   Well, let me amend that slightly: could management not have shelled out another $100 or $200 on butter dishes to go along with the rumored $2.7 billion spent on everything else?  I mean, here in the lap of the utmost luxury imaginable, a patron in the breakfast room (breakfast being a 24/7 affair in Las Vegas, the meal might just as well be lunch or dinner) is served the most common supermarket butter, wrapped in difficult-to-open frozen paper patties.  Really, Gentlemen, no Parisian restaurateur with an eye for quality would commit such a faux pas.  While I am at it,  I could add a few ideas concerning valet parking and the upgrading of a not very interesting wine list, but I’ll wait until Mr. W- calls me personally before getting to those.

 

 Unfortunately, Georges did not want to play poker.  An inveterate gambler, Monsieur de Frayville is one Frenchman who prefers games of chance to ones that require a little thought, a touch of patience, some discipline, a wee bit of psychology and a modicum of self-knowledge.  Nor was he about to buy me a drink.

 

 “Come on,” he said after we had exchanged two Gallic cheek-kisses.  “Direct me to the baccarat tables.  I want to show your compatriots how to play a French game.”

 

 Since Georges had flown into town several days ago, I was sure he knew very well how to find every table in the house.  Once he fell into a gaming induced trance, I made my way to the poker room.

 

 I’ll say this about Las Vegas’ newest mega resort: there’s plenty of action.  Over a hundred players were occupying seats at the various poker tables.  A bit wary due to my recent lack of luck, I opted on the side of prudence by sitting at one of the more modest games.  Let me tell you, when it comes to low stakes no-limit Texas hold ‘Em at the Wynn, the blind structure, for some unaccountable reason is small blind: one dollar, large blind: three dollars.  Now when a player is used to one-two or two-five tables, those three-dollar chips can cause no little confusion.  Some of the players take them for ones, others for fives.  If you choose to make a ten or twenty dollar bet, someone, often the dealer, is likely to request you make it easy on everyone else by betting nine or twenty-one dollars.  A few of the more seasoned participants have learned how to skirt this problem.  Instead of announcing the amount of a bet they tell you the number of chips the are wagering.  “Call your bet, and raise twenty-four chips.”  Yeah, great! 

 

 Happily, even a mathematical dunce like me can figure some things out.  After about an hour and a half I began to catch on to the table of threes.  Down from two one hundred dollar

buy-ins to six little pink chips ($18), the bloody Wynn curse was at it again.  Damn that Georges!  Couldn’t he have gone to Caesar’s or the Mirage?

 

 Suddenly, confirmation that miracles will never cease to exist was happily revealed.  The player directly on my left raised my $3 big blind to $9.  Since  four other players followed, I willingly threw two more chips into the pot. All I had was the jack of hearts and the six of clubs, but what difference did that make?  I was playing the money, looking for a five to one payout with no concern for the card odds. 

 

The flop was six-ten of diamonds and the six of hearts.  A player betting 13 chips or $39 was called for a like sum by the man on his left, and by me for my remaining nine bucks.  That put $60 in a side pot, leaving $77 in the main pot ($81 minus a $4 rake).  The turn was the three of clubs and the river was the jack of spades.  Both of my adversaries were looking for diamond flushes that did not arrive.  After tipping the dealer two dollars, I had $75 in front of me.  On the very next hand I held two nines.  Still $125 behind, I limped in behind three other limpers.  The flop was six-eight-nine in three different suits. Out came the big blind with a $30 bet, followed by a lady on my right.  Afraid of a straight, I simply called.  A six turned over giving me a full house.  Big-Blind bet $42, followed by Madame, then by me which put me all-in.  The river was the queen of hearts.  Big blind went all-in, about $250.  By now I was sure that he held either two queens or two sixes.  Wrong!  When Madame threw her cards away (God alone knows why she followed), Big Blind proudly displayed a ten and a jack, giving him a straight to the queen, and giving me $220 after rake and tip.  Winning three of the next ten hands, I was $465 richer than when I had arrived.  That was thirty-seven times my money back from the initial jack-six of the big blind that brought about my change in fortune.  My fifteen minutes of happiness had finally arrived. (Not fame, Mr. Warhol, happiness.  Pure joy is what a poker player experiences during such a rush).

 

I looked for Georges but he was nowhere to be found.  His room did not answer.  Not that I cared.  He said he would be staying in Vegas another couple of days.  Now that the Wynn has become my casino of choice, perhaps I will look him up when I return to play tomorrow.