The Legend of Joel Riggins part 11: Poker Night
by Daniel Beadle - Tuesday, October 2, 2007
Joel’s new home is a two-story house on East Street with two bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a furnished basement. The house serves as the ideal setup for Friday’s poker night: No mothers, no wives, no girlfriends… in short, no female nagging of any kind. Just a place for a bunch of good old boys in their mid twenties to pretend that college never ended. The poker game itself would take place on the kitchen table, and the chumps that lost a hand could retire to the kitchen for a gravity hit, or the front stoop for a cigarette.As the players slowly arrive, Joel sits on the edge of his recliner chair, controller in hand, playing Madden NFL. His opponent, Rizzo, sits on the other side of the TV room. Jack Lyons and Fontana sit on the couch in between, watching the artificial football game, and occasionally flipping through the stack of FHM magazines on the coffee table.
“SHIT!” screams Joel, at the top of his lungs. Rizzo laughs, and the game continues. “So as I was saying, Lyons, I woke up this morning naked next to a sock. I had no memory of the night before, but once I saw that sock… I new I had to have smashed one out before passing out.”
Jack is laughing at the story, as he interjects: “’Smashed one out’?”
“Yeah, y’know, the ol’ knuckle blaster. A little ‘hammer down now’.” Joel shakes his fist in a masturbatory motion. “Took the ol’ smash nap.”
Jack and Fontana laugh. Fontana, the rotund Italian townie, and childhood friend of Jack, speaks up. “So what happened with your Jeep today? Lyons was telling me you two were driving around without brakes.”
“Yeah, you like that one? We crashed into a tree in his girlfriend’s backyard. It’s okay, though. I got a rental this afternoon.”
“Hey, Riggins!” shouts Larry from the kitchen. “Where the hell is Donnie? You said he was bringing the felt table and chips, right?”
“Yeah guy. I don’t know. He shoulda been here by now.” He looks at Jack. “I’m gonna order some pizzas. You guys want some pizzas?”
Suddenly, Donnie comes crashing through the door. “’Cause she gotta… GREAT ASS!!!” he screams. It’s a line from Heat by Al Pacino, but few outside of his circle of friends would get the reference. Donnie arrives with a metallic briefcase filled with poker supplies, and a felt tabletop for the occasion. He sets up shop as the players congregate in the kitchen.
You know Joel, Jack, and Donnie. But the other players are:
Rizzo, a man with a wife he loves and two jobs he hates.
Fontana, the Italian townie-turned Philadelphia park ranger.
Larry, the seven-foot tall married man with no personality.
And Hines, a fat man with no sense of humor.
As the boys gather around the table, Donnie catches up with each of them: “Hey Fontana, how’s government life treatin’ ya, you fucking loser? And Hines, what’s this I hear about your sister bangin’ every guy in town? Riggins, you still scraping the bottom of the barrel with your sex life? Hey Lyons, your girlfriend is a down-syndrome whore that even I wouldn’t want to fuck more than once. Larry, you freak. Nice to see that your posture brings you down to our level.” He looks at Rizzo. “Rizzo! You’re married!”
There is a long pause.
“…And that’s the punch line,” says Joel.
“Alright Donnie, we know you’re an asshole. You don’t have to prove it,” says Jack.
Donnie laughs. “You fucking homos.”
“Can we play some poker?”
And so it begins. It’s a game of Texas hold ‘em, with a rotating dealer. The boys throw in their cash upfront, and convert them into chips for the duration of the game. Beers are downed, stories are swapped, and the players bust each other’s balls at every opportunity.
“See you an’ raise, Larry. You guys watch the game Monday night?”
“It sucked.”
“Guess someone had his money on Boston again…”
“Hey Riggins, what’s this I hear about you banging a homeless girl?”
Joel shakes his head, ashamed. “Yeah, it happens.”
“How’d she look?”
“She was thirty-five, and not a day under. I fold.”
“Raise,” says Rizzo. He tosses some poker chips to the center of the table, and two of them go rolling toward Joel.
“Oop, wagon wheels. I hanker for a hunka.”
“Okay, I call.”
“All in,” says Donnie.
The game continues, the blinds raise. It isn’t long before Jack and Fontana are chilling out in the TV room, watching episodes of The Soup, and talking about the directions their lives have taken.
“Hey Lyons! You see this yet?” Donnie shouts from the kitchen. Jack enters, and sees Larry, Rizzo, and Hines gathered around Donnie’s cell phone. The homemade sex video plays on the screen.
“It’s like a porno!”
“You see, Lyons, when I’m bangin’ a chick, I’m usually thinking: ‘how can I share this experience with my friends?’”
Jack looks at Donnie, “How generous of you, Donnie. You’re such a thoughtful guy.”
“I keep telling you, Lyons. I fight for the good guys now. Speakin’ of which…” He looks over at Joel, who’s grabbing some beers from the fridge. “Hey Riggins, Jamie’s bringing her friend over here in an hour or two. I gave her this address.”
Joel walks back toward the group. “Ooo. A couple of sweethearts, eh?” He nudges Jack. “Looks like the Diddle Bug is coming out tonight, right Lyons?” Joel begins flicking his fingers around at waist-level, in a tickling/fingering motion. Jack stares blankly at Joel. “You know, Lyons, we’d both get a lot more out of this is you actually reacted to the Diddle Bug.”
“Joel Riggins everybody,” says Donnie.
* * *
Ten minutes, and a new hand, later: “Gimme two.”
“Ha! I knew you were bluffin’!”
“Yeah, well, the Diddle Bug’s interferin’ with my concentration.”
“I gotta see these shirts that Donnie ordered,” says Fontana.
“Yeah guy,” says Joel. “He got them professionally done. Ordered them in bulk, too.”
Donnie enters from his momentary absence, carrying a pink T-shirt in his hand. “Here it is. I keep them in the trunk of my car.” He holds up the T-shirt. In large, black italic letters, the front of the shirt reads:
I "HUNG OUT" WITH J.R. AND D.S....
Donnie turns the shirt over. On the back, it reads:
...AND I LIKED IT.
“I had these made up so we can give these out to the girls we bang.”
The gang is amused and surprised. Fontana is particularly tickled. “It’s like you’re celebrities or something.”
“That’s right, guy. We’re gonna own this town someday.” He looks down at the shirt. “Just imagine two girls at a gas station or something, running into each other, and they both have this shirt on.”
Fontana laughs. “Yeah, that’ll happen,” he says doubtfully.
“It will, guy. It will.”
* * *
The night wears on, and the boys take a break by doing gravity hits at the kitchen sink. Donnie is surfing around online on Joel’s laptop, cell phone in hand.
“I gotta say, I’ve done such disgusting things to my girlfriend,” says Jack. “I’ve done everything.”
Donnie looks at him cynically. “Oh really? Have you punched her in the face while you were banging her?”
“No.”
“Then you haven’t done everything.” He continues surfing, then stops at a Boston escort site. He flips open his phone, and begins dialing.
“So get this, Lyons,” says Joel as he takes a hit. “Baker’s parents are out of town this weekend. Now, I haven’t actually talked with Baker, but I’m calling all sorts of people, and we’re gonna have a huge party over there tomorrow night.”
“And Baker doesn’t know?”
“He will when he gets there.”
Donnie continues his conversation with a hooker: “So listen, there’s seven guys here. Would you have a problem if we blew eight loads on the floor in front of you? Hello?” He hangs up. “That fucking whore.”
“Hey Donnie,” says Jack. “I couldn’t help overhearing. If there’s seven of us, where would that eighth load come from?”
“Don’t overanalyze it, Jack.”
* * *
The poker game tapers off, and the winnings are dolled out. The boys hang out on the front stoop, cranking cigarette butts like Ray Liotta, and laughing at yesterday. Joel emerges from the house. “I set up the beer pong table in the basement. So when those girls arrive, we can get ‘em warmed up with that.” He nods at Jack. “You stickin’ around, Lyons?”
“What time is it?”
“Eleven thirty.”
He scratches his head. “I wish we had something more to do…”
Right on cue, local coke fiend Brian Rix arrives, his pockets filled with fun. “What’s up, kids? You partying tonight or what?” He produces a sandwich bag filled with cocaine. “It’s gonna be a real shit show.”
NEXT: GROW UP AND DO SOME COKE
