O’Connor nodded. McKennah was ashen faced. “Fine, yeah. But oh, man, I can’t believe that. I just reacted.”
“You’ve got your moves down,” O’Connor told him.
“Tae kwon do. I just do it for a sport. I never thought I’d actually use it.”
“I’m glad you did. All I could see was that guy’s eyes and I think he was about to pull the trigger.”
Diane came running out — word had spread quickly — and she hugged her husband and asked how he was.
“Fine. I’m fine. Just…I’m not even shaken. Not yet. It all happened so fast.”
A police captain arrived and supervised the arrest. When he was apprised of the circumstances the somber man shook his head. “Gives a new meaning to the term ‘reality TV,’ wouldn’t you say? Now, let’s get your statements taken.”
Shaken, Aaron Felter walked into the bar and found O’Connor and Diane, McKennah and Glickman. He ordered a club soda.
“Jesus. How are you all?”
For a man who’d almost been shot, O’Connor admitted he was doing pretty well.
“It was my idea to use cash. I thought it’d play better. Man, this’s my fault.”
“You can hardly blame yourself for some wacko, Aaron. Who was he?”
“Some punk from L.A., apparently. Got a history of petty theft, the captain tells me. He had a partner but he got away.”
They talked about the incident and O’Connor recounted McKennah’s martial arts skills. The young actor seemed embarrassed. He repeated, “I just reacted.”
Felter said, “I’ve got to say. I’m sure this fucked you up some, pardon my French,” he said, glancing at the women.
“I’m so offended,” Sandra Glickman said, frowning, “you motherfucking cocksucker.”
They all laughed.
Felter continued, “Are you cool going ahead with the show?”
McKennah and Glickman said they were. O’Connor said, “Of course,” but then he caught something in the producer’s eyes. “That’s not really what you’re asking, is it, Aaron?”
A laugh. “Okay. What I want to know is: If we go ahead with the show tomorrow, how are people going to react? I want your honest opinions. Should we give it some time to calm down? The dust to settle?”
“Which people?” McKennah asked. “The audience?”
“Exactly. Are they going to think it’s in bad taste. I mean somebody could’ve gotten hurt bad.”
O’Connor laughed. “Excuse me, Aaron, but when have you ever known a TV show to fail because it’s in poor taste?”
Aaron Felter pointed his finger at the man.
“Score one for the old guy” was the message in his eyes.
The Thursday finale of Go For Broke began with a description of the events of last night. But since Entertainment Tonight and every other quasi news program in the universe had covered the story, it made little sense to rehash the facts.
Besides, there was poker to be played.
With the same fanfare as yesterday — and five sunglass-clad guards nearby — the play among the last three contestants began.
They played for some time without any significant changes in their positions. Then O’Connor got his first good hole cards of the night. An ace and jack, both spades.
The betting began. O’Connor played it cautious, though, checking at first then matching the other bets or raising slightly.
The flop cards were another ace, a jack and a two, all varied suits.
Not bad, he thought…
Betting continued, with both Glickman and McKennah now raising significantly. Though he was uneasy, O’Connor kept a faint smile on his face as he matched the hundred thousand bet by McKennah.
The fourth card, the turn, went faceup smoothly onto the table under the dealer’s skillful hands. It was another two.
Glickman eyed both of her opponents’ piles of cash. But then she held back, checking. Which could mean a weak hand or was a brilliant strategy if she had a really strong one.
When the bet came to McKennah he slid out fifty thousand.
O’Connor raised another fifty. Glickman hesitated and then matched the hundred with a brassy laugh.
The final card went down, the river. It was an eight. This meant nothing to O’Connor. His hand was set. Two pair, aces and jacks. It was a fair hand for Texas Hold ’Em, but hardly a guaranteed winner.
But they’d be thinking he had a full house, aces and twos, or maybe even a four of a kind — in twos.
They, of course, could have powerful hands as well.
Then Glickman made her move. She pushed everything she had left into the middle of the table.
After a moment of debate McKennah folded.
O’Connor glanced into the brash comedian’s eyes, took a deep breath and called her, counting out the money to match the bet.
If he lost he’d have about fifty thousand to call his own and his time on Go For Broke would be over.
Sandy Glickman gave a wry smile. She slid her cards facedown into the mush — the pile of discards. She said, for the microphone, “Not many people know when I’m bluffing. You’ve got a good eye.” The brassy woman delivered another message to him when she leaned forward to embrace him, whispering: “You fucked me and you didn’t even buy me dinner.”
It was quiet enough that the censors didn’t need to hit their magic button.
But she gave him a warm kiss and a wink before she headed off down the Walk of Shame.
About twenty minutes remained for the confrontation between the last two players, O’Connor with $623,000, McKennah with $877,000.
The young actor was in the button spot, to the dealer’s left. He slid in the agreed-on small blind, ten thousand, and O’Connor counted out the big, twenty.
As the dealer shuffled expertly the two men glanced at each other. O’Connor’s eyes conveyed a message. You’re an okay kid and you saved my hide yesterday, but this is poker and I wouldn’t be honest to myself, to you or the game if I pulled back.
The faint glistening in McKennah’s eyes said that he acknowledged the message. And said much the same in return.
It’s showdown time.
Let’s go for the bump.
The deals continued for a time, with neither of them winning or losing big. McKennah tried a bluff and lost. O’Connor tried a big move with three of a kind and got knocked out by a flush, which he should’ve seen coming.
A commercial break and then, with minutes enough for only one hand, the game resumed. A new deck of cards was shuffled. McKennah put in the small blind bet. The rules now dictated twenty-five thousand at this point and O’Connor himself put in fifty.
Then the deal began.
O’Connor kept his surprise off his face as he glanced at the hole cards — cowboys, a pair of kings.
Okay, not bad. Let’s see where we go from here.
McKennah glanced at his own cards without emotion. And his preflop bet was modest under the circumstances, fifty thousand.
Keeping the great stone face, O’Connor pushed in the same amount. He was tempted to raise, but decided not to. He had a good chance to win but it was still early and he didn’t want to move too fast.
The dealer burned the top card and dealt the flop. First, a two of hearts, then the four of hearts and then the king of spades.
Suddenly O’Connor had three of a kind, with the other two board cards yet to come.
McKennah bet fifty thousand. At this point, because he himself had upped the bet, it wouldn’t frighten the younger player off for O’Connor to raise him. He saw the fifty and raised by another fifty.
Murmurs from the crowd.
McKennah hesitated and saw the older actor.
The turn card, the fourth one, wasn’t helpful to O’Connor, the six of hearts. Perhaps it was useless to McKennah as well. He checked.