High Stakes Games

Photo by Michał Parzuchowski

My husband was later than usual coming home.

At the end of my home-office day, at this newest questionable RV Park, I sat out under the awning, sipping wine, waiting. Our usual Happy Hour was unusually late. But I wasn’t going to let myself stew about it too much and allow my imagination to boil over so that a fight would ensue, but as the time ticked away, squelching an over-active imagination was becoming more difficult. Did this lateness have anything to do with any of the babes I had seen at the restaurant bar? Was he becoming too fixated on those enhanced boobs to pay attention to time? I couldn’t help but wonder.

When Marty finally came walking up just past dusk with a sheepish look on his face, I was relieved to see it was not a look of guilt.

He bent to kiss me, getting a cheek, and said, “Sorry, Pet, we were playing poker and I forgot to check the time.”

I looked at him. Took a deep breath and said, “Go get a drink and come back out.”

I realized my feelings were edgier than what was warranted. I felt rather like one does when seeing a child walk toward a road without looking while cars are speeding by, and you’re screaming for the kid to stop. When he or she doesn’t and is soon to be hit by an oncoming vehicle, the feeling of fear is astronomical. Then when the car swerves and misses the brat, that fear plunges with relief at such a rapid rate that you want to spank the urchin just for making you go through that emotional roller coaster. But it doesn’t stop there. The emotional ride continues as you think about the “what ifs,” and you want to punish all over again.

Of course, my feelings weren’t exactly of that caliber, but emotions are emotions, and whatever degree is above or below one’s norm for that moment is still distressful and hard to manipulate.

I didn’t know if I was upset because of the playing poker part, or if it was something else I didn’t want to delve into, like jealousy of him spending time with the boys rather than with me when it was our time, or suspicions of Priscilla, one of the babes who hung out at the bar that Marty had goo goo eyes for. Not that I thought Marty would go off with Priscilla, but something was not helping my peace of mind at the moment, and I wasn’t exactly sure what that was. I just knew I didn’t like the mini emotional roller coaster I had put myself on, or Marty put me on, although his part of that was yet to be determined.

I needed to give him the benefit of the doubt since I spend most of my time sequestered in the trailer doing my job, and he doesn’t have a job to go to while we travel. He just makes an occasional phone call to check on his semi-dormant business back home, otherwise, nothing. Therefore, if he’s found friends to play cards with, why not let him have his fun. We’re not going to be here that much longer, and what difference does it make if he comes home a bit late one evening of the week we’re here. So far. If it’s more, then I can think about getting bent-out-of-shape, I quickly reminded myself.

Photo by Clay Banks

Marty came out of the trailer cautiously holding a glass full of whiskey and water and sat down beside me. He looked at me over the rim of his glass as he took a sip.

“FYI, the reason I’m late is because I’ve been cleaning the guy’s clocks all day, and I wanted to let them recoup some of their losses. You don’t ever say ‘I quit’ when you’re ahead in a poker game, you know. That’s unsportsmanlike!”

I looked at him over my own glass rim, sipped the red stuff, and then asked, “Are we talking big bucks, pennies, or match sticks here?”

“None of the above, actually.” Another sip. “We play for quarters or beers. I don’t want to drink that much during the day, so I opt to play for the quarters.”

“And how rich does that make you by now?” I queried.

“I think I’m up $55.00.”

“Woo!” came the sound from an attempted whistle. “If you keep going, you could almost pay for our stay here.”

Marty smiled. “That’s a goal! But I’m not sure if I want to spend each and every day at the bar playing cards.” Although he had, so far, I mentally whispered.

“See what you mean, darlin’? However, what else are you gonna do? It’s not like you’re able to wander downtown to check out the gift shops or clothing stores or do the grocery shopping, now is it? This place is pretty remote.”

“Good point,” he replied, then looked down at his drink. He kept staring into the glass, but then started to wiggle his lips around as if he was trying to formulate word structures, and finally said, “There’s another game going on I just found out about and don’t quite understand. And I certainly don’t agree with it.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“You know when you asked me about Priscilla earlier today and why she was walking with another guy who was not her husband?” I nodded. “Well, I found out who she was with, and why.”

I waited.

“You don’t know the guy, but it seems there’s this card game that has Priscilla, plus a few of the other women here, as stakes.”

“Stakes? What does that mean, exactly?” I asked, leaning forward, my interest keen.

“Well, first off, the wives of some of the guys I know are phenomenal to look at, right? You’ve seen some. They’re almost as if they were cut from Penthouse centerfolds. I mean it’s amazing. At least the ones I’ve met. Anyway, it seems that some of the guys have this little thing going — a game, with cards and an X number of hands only. The stakes are pretty high to get into the game. And I guess that money, which is a lot more than quarters, let me tell you, goes to the woman of that particular night, and whichever guy is the big winner gets to take the woman home and have sex, or whatever. I don’t ask. I only assume that it’s sex. Hell, for all I know they could be baking cookies!”

Cookies?

He took a gulp of his drink then continued. “I was asked to join in, but I’ve made it very clear that I’m not interested. Anyway, I don’t get it! Why would husbands stand for that? Big money or not.”

By this time, my mouth had dropped open.

“Why indeed!” I finally said, too dumbstruck to expound.

Photo by Briona Baker

After a few moments reflecting on what I’d just heard, I asked, “But if it’s the big winner of the day that gets the girl, then that would indicate the end of the day is the eventful time, and I saw Priscilla and escort this morning. What’s with that?”

“I asked about that,” Marty said. “It seems that there can be ties, so when that happens, each guy who ties draws a card. The highest card drawn wins that evening, and the other has to wait until the next morning. And, I guess, that’s what you saw. It was the low card-drawer with Pricilla this morning. Today is one of the other women’s turns, I was told.”

Or noticed.

“God! This is so bizarre!” I stated. “Do you think we should just pack up and get out of here? Things just keep getting weirder and weirder!”

“I know you don’t like it here much, but I’m playing cards with some pretty nice guys, whose wives are not involved, and so I know it’s not all weird and bizarre. You’re not a prude, and this doesn’t affect us. In fact, it’s not much different than being in a neighborhood where there is wife-swapping. Remember our old Bradbury Street neighborhood?” Marty asked, reminding me of our house before last where our neighbors two doors down invited us to a party only to have us find out that we had been invited to a house-key-including-partners swap.

I smiled, “Yeah, we’ve never left a party so fast in our lives! Before or since!”

We both laughed.

Marty said, “See? There are those who think and do things differently than we do. Always will be, wherever we go. We’ve been to places where there have been nude beaches. Didn’t mean we had to conform and go nude ourselves. Although you certainly didn’t mind stripping down at the nude beach near Puerto Angel, I may remind you.”

I grinned. “And you didn’t mind watching me and the many others who were conforming!” I chuckled at the memory of Marty’s gaping mouth and darting eyes.

“Okay! You see? That’s not a good reason to leave before our week is up. You’ve been really productive, haven’t you?”

“Well, yeah,” I confirmed, not adding that it’s because of not wanting to leave the RV to simply wander around this off-kilter place, which left me nothing else to do but write.

“So, what difference does it make to know that other people are into kinky sex games. It’s not like a virus. I don’t think it’s contagious!”

I smiled at the news flash. But then wondered how long one has to be around such things before it becomes contagious.

I already had a semblance of supper started, so it didn’t take long to finish getting it prepared and eaten before we began our traditional evening walk.

The moon was getting a little bigger, therefore a little brighter. The night was still and warm!

I told Marty that I wanted to show him the path I’d found earlier in the day. Not that I wanted us to go on it at this time. It was a little too dark. But it was a destination, instead of just the usual meander.

As we approached the mouth of the little lane, we could see a bright glow of light in the distance.

Photo by Wilson Ye

“Maybe that’s where they brew the beer! Or there are other RVs or palapas hidden away,” Marty stated, while I nodded in agreement since I had had the same thoughts — at least about the brewery part. Regardless, it was evident there was something in the jungle that required lots of illumination since it wasn’t just a meager light bulb or two that we could see.

“Guess I’ll just have to ask Wes the bartender. Maybe he’ll let us see the operation.”

When we returned home, the evening ended the same as it had since we arrived at the park, phenomenal sex, and then satisfying sleep. Must be something in the air with so much emphasis on sex, I thought before drifting off. We were not much different than Priscilla and cohorts, except we were keeping it between husband and wife, my mind noted before my eyelids snapped shut.

Read another excerpt from The Mysterious RV Park.