Q: Time to get myself captured. (c)
Q: Drastic measures were the only way.... We agreed we had to take these guys down ourselves. It was up to me, the wily poker player, to plan a way to do it. (c)
Q: In other words, it was dueling shrinks at dawn. (c)
A totally unbelievable story of Mad Maud, 'a silent socialite', a heroine, a killer, a poker player.
Q: The improbability of this case on all fronts is mindboggling, starting, of course, with the crime itself… (c)
She blames Sklar Burt. And she has lots of outstanding reasons. (Though blaming her mom who disliked her female kid and seemed to have been horrible with her finances might have been also fitting. Then again, her mom's dead. Due to Burt.)
Burt's an effing joke, what with all his 'truthfully', 'candidly', 'honestly'... Just what the reader needs to remember that people who lie often love overusing these words.
'Galactic betrayals', fraud, revenge, mischief and best-laid plans are lovely plot drivers.
Even though I sort of don't particularly care about poker or socialites or debutantes or most of the heroes and settings, it's still mostly me and my boring pet peeves, not any kind of problem with the book itself.
Q:
Their wasteful lives were both a caution and a source of anger to him. (c) It just feels as if all those people had their whole lives squandered on unimportant things: revenge, fighting between each other, games, bigamy, drugs, all kinds of unsavory stuff. What was all that for? Did it bring any good to any of them? Who would care about all that weird shit? Maybe that was the whole major plot point? I don't know... But it all seems so pointless and wasteful. Maybe I'm too pragmatic or even utilitarian for my own good.
BEWARE OF SPOILERS LURKING AHEAD!
Q:
“You wanna talk about balls? This lady climbed three flights of a rust pile fire escape to play in poker hell with Satan and his crew almost every night of her life. That takes balls. She may be nuts. But she may be smart nuts too. You know all the stuff you have to avoid if you’re planning to kill someone. You gotta think about DNA, cameras, cell phone records, eyewitnesses, getting rid of the body. It’s a lot to plan. No…if you really want to get away with murder these days, do it in plain sight and play crazy. Gonna be hard to prove Grandma Moses wasn’t nuts when she did this thing.” (c)
Q:
The world is nuts, all right, full of people who think they can get away with all kinds of shit.
And do. (c)
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The cards are my dangerous friends. (c)
Q:
Where there’s smoke, there’s fraud. (c)
Q:
... she can’t help wondering if there are places on earth where dinner parties are canceled when the guest of honor gets shot. (c)
Q:
Poker has its own moral universe. Lying is called bluffing. Deception is the norm. I entered that amoral sphere without actually realizing it until it was too late. At first, poker was simply good theatre: Every hand a scene, every player an actor. Time flowed differently at the tables. Playing poker was the only way I was able to forget my problems for long stretches of time. I didn’t understand how profoundly the game was changing me until the change was complete. (c)
Q:
On the Internet I wasn’t Maud Warner, an old bag in curlers and fuzzy slippers sitting in front of my computer with a bag of potato chips and a Coke. On the Internet, I was “BluffaloBill237,” a disaffected, unemployed construction worker, who was mad, bad, and dangerous to play with. I amassed so many fake chips I figured this game was definitely for me. It wasn’t long before I started playing for real money. I was very lucky at first and made enough in cash games and in tournaments to quit my dumb office job and play poker all day. (c)
Q:
All this poor guy knows is that a critically ill patient is asking for his wife, and there seems to be two of them in the waiting room. (c)
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...I was truly happy for the first time in my life. I didn’t think about money!”
“One should always think about money, no matter how happy one is... (c)
Q:
When I first started playing poker, I used to get very upset if I made a bad mistake, or if the cards were cruel and I got beat holding the best hand. I’d go “on tilt” for days blaming myself or fate if I lost. A loss would obsess me and taint the new game I was in until one day I had a simple revelation. There is no point in dwelling on dashed hopes or what might have been. I knew I had to clear my mind, learn from my mistakes, make peace with fate’s little merry pranks, and forge ahead. The great truth of poker—and of life—can be summed up in two words: “Next hand.” ...
When I stopped blaming the cards in poker, I stopped blaming fate in life. When I stopped punishing myself for my mistakes in poker, I stopped punishing myself for past mistakes in life—including the one that has landed me here today in my newfound role as a killer. (c)
Q:
Later I came to realize that one of Sklar’s main talents was convincing people their lives were going to be great. He understood that most people believe what they need to believe, despite all evidence to the contrary. Voicing heartfelt wishes is a tool con men use to jimmie their way into people’s trust. (c)
Q:
People will be rewarded for interrupting their busy lives with a very good show. (c)
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Happy families have individual memories. Unhappy families have collective amnesia. (c)
Q:
... Mummy’s desire to cast herself as a constant victim, to get attention by placing herself at the center of every tragedy, no matter how far removed, turned out to be valuable information for Sklar. I know he filed away that story, along with other things I told him, like a spy amassing a dossier on a country he intended to invade. (c)
Q:
These were the formative events of my mother’s youth, tattooed on her psyche forever, enabling her to elevate victimhood to an art form. (c)
Q:
“Do you have a good lawyer?” Lydia says to Jean.
“Screw lawyers. I need a cartel killer.” (c)
Q:
“The most interesting thing about this woman…? She plays poker.” (c)
Q:
I may be able to tell her the truth one day, if the two of us wind up together in some old age home, reminiscing in our rockers. But for now, she has to believe I’m off my rocker. (c)
Q:
She proceeds to recap the whole Sunderland bigamy saga, and how Jean Sunderland has become Burt Sklar’s latest financial victim in a scheme reminiscent of the one he used on my mother. I know all the things she’s telling me, and a great deal more. (c)
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My harmless guilty pleasure in tracking him amped up into an obsession. I was attracted to the thing I most despised, which made me very dangerous. (c)
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It was all I could do to keep a straight face. (c)
Q:
That night, I cried more than I’d ever cried in my whole entire life. So many things made sense now. By morning, I’d managed to regain my equilibrium. I was cool and focused, with the strategic mindset of a poker player about to enter a big tournament. (c)
Q:
Collusion at the poker table is very difficult to spot if the colluders are clever. Their covert signs and signals are invisible to the untrained eye. The main thing to watch out for is any sign the players know one another. It’s vital that colluders never reveal they are friends so the fish will not suspect he or she is being targeted. (c)
Q:
... I outlined my plan of revenge. I didn’t give them specifics. But I did tell them it would involve violence. They both agreed and consented. (c)
Q:
I made it clear that once my plan was in motion, I’d never be able to contact either one of them again. It was absolutely vital that no one suspect we were all in on this together. (c)
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I said the magic words: “Don’t fold.” (c)
Q:
He knows he’s a great salesman. So why couldn’t he sell himself to the love of his life? (c)
Q:
His father always told him that politics makes strange bedfellows. But in this case, these bedfellows make even stranger politics. (c)
Q:
Packer thinks this revelation belongs squarely in The Land of Daytime Television. But the fact that Danya, the bigamous Mrs. Sunderland, is being wholeheartedly supported in her claim by Jean, the legitimate Mrs. Sunderland, is what catapults this astounding confession into the realm of the Planet Surreal. (c)
Q:
I find this odd, given the way I was brought up—going to church, obeying rules, curtsying to everyone in sight, and all that sort of thing. I keep waiting to feel a debilitating gash in my psyche, but so far, I’m cool with it. (c)
Q:
I have to wonder if long exposure to Sklar had somehow acted as a catalyst for the dormant sociopath in me—much like exposure to a carcinogen suddenly causes cancer in people who are genetically predisposed.
Or did the game of poker embolden me? Poker is mental war. You must be willing to die in order to win. I’ve been on the front lines for years playing against my “enemies” in tournaments, living and dying on a regular basis at the tables. Did poker somehow inspire me to war against my enemies in real life? I wonder… (c)
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I confess I don’t recognize my face in the mirror anymore—and it’s not just because I’m older. It’s because I’m not the person I once thought I was, or would ever be. (c)
Q:
“You are your own worst enemy—in poker and in life.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“It means that if you don’t know yourself very well, you’ll always lose. Believe it or not, that is the single most valuable lesson I ever learned from poker.”...
If the cards have taught me anything, they’ve taught me this: No matter what kind of hand we’re dealt in the beginning of our lives, who we become depends on heart, guile, and a little luck. ...
If I’ve learned one thing in poker and in life, it is: Never underestimate your opponent. (c) She must have gotten a helluva lot of lessons from poker. More than some get from some unis.
Q:
However, finding a jury of my “peers” is going to be a challenge. I’d say I’m relatively peerless when it comes to the highs and lows of life. (c)
Q:
I’ve lived it all from the top down, and now from the bottom up. (c)
Q:
I wish I could explain to them that too much money can be as damaging as too little; that neurosis, dysfunction, and addiction can flourish just as easily in wealthy homes as in poor ones; that money is a matter of luck, and class is a matter of character. (c)
Q:
When you bluff in poker, you’re essentially telling a story that you hope your opponent will believe so that he or she will fold their hand. You have to make your story convincing, or else your opponent will call you and you’ll be out. (c)
Q:
If you bluff you can’t falter. You must tell a story your opponent can believe and make him believe it. It an odd way, you must believe the story yourself. And you can only do that if you believe in yourself. (c)
Q:
People don’t like their preconceptions challenged and that’s what I’m banking on here. (c)
Q:
Eyes out on stalks, all she can say is, “You’ve got to be kidding!”
Not kidding, I say to myself.
Bluffing. (c)
Q:
And, candidly, honestly, truthfully,” I say, echoing Sklar just for fun, “I don’t remember a damn thing after that.” (c)
Q:
My invisibility makes me invincible. (c)
Q:
I took all the facts and twisted them around to suit my story. (c)
Q:
Sex and money, the dynamic duo ... (c)
Q:
Let’s face it, it gives a girl a lift to wear nice clothes, no matter what the circumstances. (c)
Q:
A murder trial makes a nice change from the hurly burly of feeding the overstuffed. (c)
Q:
“No! No! NO! What gun? What contract? What defense? What the FUCK!?”
His head snaps around. He glares at me with an expression I once saw in a horror movie where this guy’s prom date morphed into a life-size insect just as he was about to kiss her. (c) I love it.
Q:
The bluff was my specialty, in poker and in life. But then, all poker players lie—just to keep in practice. (c)
Q:
The Internet is Santa now. Click and get. Who knows? Maybe there will be reindeer drones one day. (c)
Q:
You need luck and a lion’s courage to win that tournament. You also need to be great at bluffing. If you bluff, you can’t falter. You must tell a story your opponent can believe, and make him believe it. In an odd way, you must believe the story yourself. And you can only do that if you believe in yourself.
... who knows? With a lot of bluff and a little luck, I might win. (c)
And a lovely afterword:
Q:
Fiction is the greatest bluff there is. Writers are abetted by imagination, our own, and that of the reader. Imagination is the most powerful deck of cards the universe. It has no limits.
If you are reading this, it means you have played the entire hand with me. If you have enjoyed the book, I thank you as a writer and a poker player. If not, I can only say: Next book, next hand. (c)