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#065 – Heads-Up Championship Part II – How Clonie, Topless, Messed It Up
As I drove into town Thursday afternoon, I called Clonie Gowen to ask if she wanted to come with me to Fashion Show Mall. I had two baggage errands to run. ”Me and Shannon have to get scanned for an Activision poker game but if you’re by in a half hour, we’d love to come to the mall with you.”
Well okay then.
Shannon was a no-show. No big deal; it’ll be nice and friendly by the time we’re strutting down the red carpet together.
Clonie needed to buy a shirt for the pairings party. She’s in on the road awhile – since before she was in Scottsdale when we played the final FTOPS event, then watched Robert “Miss Lulu” Williamson III finish fourth, together – and wanted something special.
I had two bags on my shoulders when we walked into the mall. One was a Montblanc bag I was given as a gift. Beautiful bag, but I own so many similar ones that I’ll never use it. I was hoping to get Paradise Pen, which sells Montblanc, to give me a credit in exchange. On the other shoulder, I had a Bally messenger bag. I bought it last year and loved it, but the zipper broke. When I brought it back to the store in Las Vegas, they were renovating. It’s a great bag – one of the bags for which I’m throwing over the Montblanc bag – but it seems silly to spend $600 and use a mangled paper-clip as a zipper.
As I tried unsuccessfully to exchange the Montblanc bag, Clonie found “the perfect top” for the pairings party. But it was over $800 and she couldn’t pull the trigger.
Clonie admitted to not being much of a shopper, and never spending that kind of money for a shirt. I walked in and out of three stores with her in 45 seconds in which she considered and rejected about 12 blouses. This includes three I pointed to. “Slutty,” “frumpy,” “obscene.”
In Bally, they took my bag and gave me a completely blank claim ticket. “How will I get this bag replaced if it’s lost?” “Oh, don’t worry,” one of them said, “We never lose anything. Besides, we’ve discontinued that model so we can’t replace it anyway.”
Then, trying to be helpful I guess, he added, “It’ll be just a few days before we get an estimate for this.”
AN ESTIMATE? The zipper fell apart apart after a month.
“Usually, customers take care of these kinds of repairs.”
I was furious, and the mood wasn’t helped by the other sales clerk telling me how much he admired the Montblanc bag. He then asked to try it on in front of a mirror.
Those guys were idiots, but I wondered who the idiot really was, as I left them my bag in exchange for a ticket that won’t get me a stick of chewing gun when I come back and the bag is gone.
When I told this to Clonie, she said, “Did those guys even work there? Maybe they were customers.”
She said this while back at the store with the $800 shirt. Gazing at the pricy threads, it looked to me like four hankies tied together. Time was getting short. The pairings party was only about an hour away. She had the clerk write it up. She pulled the cash from her purse.
When the clerk handed her the slip and Clonie saw the tax – THE TAX – was nearly $100, she double-clutched. She changed her mind, we quickly looked in four more stores, I pointed out a half-dozen blouses she deemed embarrassing, and we fled for Caesars.
“Can you drop me off at the Forum shops? I’ll find something there quickly and call you when Shannon and I are ready to go down.”
After dropping off Clonie, I stowed my car and checked in. Barry Greenstein stepped in line behind me and we exchanged hellos.
“Are you here to write about the heads-up?” he asked.
“Yes,” I told him, “and to get my money down as an alternate if someone pulls out at the last minute.”
He chuckled but added, “I assume you’re joking.”
I didn’t bother to tell him about making the final table twice in three days in the $30,000 Guarantee, or finishing 42nd in the $400,000 Guarantee after missing the first 45 minutes. The combined prize money for all three totalled less than one big bet in his regular game. And I didn’t want to make him feel “behind the curve” on my poker prowess.
When it became time for the pairings party, I still hadn’t heard from my dates for the evening. I called Clonie and she gave me the bad news: “We’re running way behind. You better go without us. I’ll see you there.”
Crushed, I told her, “Well, okay. But you better not be topless when I see you!”
