Titty City & The Fresh Princess of Bel-Air

For me, what’s worse than a bad session of poker is a one that starts off really good, where you’re up a couple of bills, and then goes all to hell.  I think I’d rather have a bad session from start to finish than one that one that starts off with a promise of booking a nice win only to run into the a buzz saw.  Or the dreaded pocket Kings.

This was the Saturday night of Labor Day weekend, at MGM.  Very first hand, I limped in with King-3 of diamonds.  I figured I could risk two bucks to see if I could limp in and get lucky with a flush and win a drawing ticket.  The next drawing was less than an hour away and there were a couple of big cash prizes left, making the odds of catching something big better than normal.

The guy behind me made it $5 and a whole bunch of people called. When it got back to me, there was no way I could fold for just $3, so I called.  The flop was King high.  I led out for $15 and only the preflop raiser called.   The turn was a 3.  I bet $40 and he shoved.  He had somewhere around $100. I didn’t ask for a count, I snap called.  The river blanked and he showed King-Queen—just the one pair.  Two pair was good and I won over $130 with my first hand of the night. 

Just a hand or two later, I added another $100 when I called a small raise with Jack-10 and flopped top pair (10’s).  The turn gave me a gutshot and the river gave me trip 10’s.  That was good.

Then a guy open raised to $25 and another guy called.  I had pocket 9’s.  With all that money in front of me, I decided to call.  Then someone made it $57.  The original raiser folded but the next guy called.  I thought and thought, but couldn’t convince myself that 9’s were worth another $37.  I folded. I wasn’t sure if that was the right play or not. I probably should have just folded to the original bet. 

Anyway, the flop was Queen-high (no 9) and there was some betting.  The turn paired 7’s.  The original preflop three-bettor bet, the other guy shoved, the first guy called.  The river was a blank.  The guy who three-bet had pocket Kings, which I’m sure he dreaded when he saw the other guy turn over pocket Queens.  The guy who flopped a set of Queens had called the $25 and the $37 more, never raising (until the turn, when he had a boat).

If you think the guy with the Queens was lucky, wait for this one.  I had Queen-10 of spades and limped in, so did most of North America.  Eight of us saw the flop, which was Jack-Jack-9.  Four of us called $10.  The turn was an 8, completing my straight.  I bet $40, only the guy with the Queens from the previous hand called.  The river was the third Jack.  We both checked.  I turned my cards over and said, “I’ve just got the straight.”  The other guy said, “You’re good, you’re good,” as he showed his cards…10-8.  No, I wasn’t good.  His pair of 8’s—along with the third Jack on the river— gave him the full house. I think he didn’t realize he had the boat!  As the dealer pushed him the pot, I jokingly said, “He said I was good….isn’t verbal binding?”

I called a small raise with 5-4 hearts.  The flop was 9-6-3.  The last two of those cards were hearts, giving me an open-ended straight flush draw. I hit just the flush on the river and didn’t bet it, worried my baby flush was no good, but I took down a smallish pot for it (and got a drawing ticket).

The nightmare hand came immediately after that one. By this time I had about $340 in front of me ($200 buy-in). I opened raised to $10 with the dreaded pocket Kings.  Two players called. The flop was all hearts, no Ace. The red King in my hand was indeed the heart.  I bet $20.

A guy with a big stack, and an aggro bordering on maniac, made it $60, the other guy folded.

What to do, what to do?  Seriously, what would you do?  I called.  Should I have let it go there? My Kings were an overpair.  And I had the draw to the second nut flush.  I called.  The turn was the Queen of diamonds.  I checked, he bet another $60.  Sigh.  Again, I called.  Mistake?

The river was the friggin’ King of diamonds, giving me a set of Kings.  Too little, too late?  It sure wasn’t the Ace of hearts I was praying for.

I checked and he put out $100.  Gulp.  I think I wouldn’t have had any problem folding if I hadn’t hit the set.  I thought about it long and hard, and ended up calling.  How could I fold a set of Kings?  Well I couldn’t.  I should have, but I couldn’t.  Tell me……do you call there or fold?

He flipped over 9-8 of hearts.  Yes, 9-8.  It’s not like he had the nuts.  In fact, I was drawing very much alive.  Just needed one more heart.  It never came.

And that pretty much killed the night.  I was no longer up for the night.  In fact, twice I added $100 to my stack.  No other hands, good or bad, were particularly noteworthy.

But at least there was an interesting distraction.  Sometime after Abe arrived at the table, a young couple joined us.  They were youngish, the woman was a somewhat attractive blonde.  She was on the slim side, wearing a somewhat low cut top that didn’t really reveal anything. That’s because, ahem, she didn’t really have that much to reveal. Now ordinarily, I would never comment on the size of a woman’s breasts (or frankly, even notice them), but based on a comment she later made, it seems her lack of a big bust is relevant. 

I’m going to refer to this woman as “Serena” (and definitely not because she reminded me of tennis star Serena Williams) and her boyfriend as “Mel.”  It didn’t appeared they were married inasmuch was there was no wedding ring on Serena’s left hand.  Mel didn’t say much, but Serena was one of those people who couldn’t go longer than 10 seconds without words flowing out of her mouth.

The dealer at the time was a guy who fancied himself as a ladies’ man, at least before he got married. Hopefully he doesn’t still fancy himself that way.  Serena got the dealer’s attention, to be sure, and he asked the couple how they met.  Mel explained that he had met this hot woman (Serena) at a poker table.

The dealer asked him what his line to her was.  Serena explained that she actually came on to him.  “I gave him my number.”  She seemed a little embarrassed to admit it.

The dealer and Serena then got in a discussion of other women, with Mel contributing very little.   This may have started because, behind her, but in front of the dealer (and me), the Slut Parade was in full flow.  She must have noticed said dealer noticing (and perhaps commenting on) some of the ladies passing by.  She turned to look herself.

She seemed to enjoy looking at them too.  Someone expressed surprise at that, and she said, “I like hot girls!”  It wasn’t clear to me if she meant she liked them to look at or if perhaps she was interested in doing more than just look at them.  But in response to her comment about liking hot girls, the dealer said, “Yeah, as long as they’re not hotter than you.”

Serena objected.  “No, I don’t care if they’re hotter than me.  I like them.  I’ll point them out.  I’ll see a woman with really large breasts and I’ll go, ‘Hey look….titty city over there.’”

Can you imagine?  I was there to hear that.  Of course I laughed.  And Abe asked her, “Exactly where is titty city?”  Good question, Abe.  Sounds like a place I might want to visit.  Hell, sounds like a place I’d want to be mayor of.  But Serena assumed it was a rhetorical question and didn’t respond.

Serena had a skin condition which was briefly discussed.  And then Mel said, “Actually, there’s an interesting nipple story….”  But Serena quickly cut him off. “No, no, that’s not appropriate.”

As frequently happens when I run into this type of woman, she turned out to be a total luckbox.  Soon she had had a huge pile of chips in front of her. There was one hand where, in the blind, she had 8-6.  There was an 8 on the flop.  I can’t remember if she bet or called a bet.  But a 6 hit the turn and she put out a big bet, and was called.  When another 8 hit the river, she Hollywooded it up.  She let out a huge gasp of breath as if that was the worst card in the world.  This time she checked.  Her opponent put out a big bet.  Serena was all too happy to announce all in.  Her acting job had worked perfectly.  The guy called and she won a huge pot when she flipped over her hand that had gone runner-runner boat.

She was clearly an experienced player, but she kept making hands like crazy. At one point she made a bet that no one called.  “No one wants to play with me?”  I said, “They way you’ve been running?  Can you blame us?”

She was entertaining and this is the kind of woman I love to run into at the poker table—for blogging material.  So finally, I had to ask her where she was from.  She mentioned a town in the Midwest as her original hometown, then said that they now live in Los Angeles.

Now, in Vegas, just for simplicity sake, people will say they live in Los Angeles if they live anywhere between Santa Barbara and San Diego.  So I asked, as I always do, “What part of L.A.?”

She said, “Bel Air.”

I wish that Abe had had his cell phone camera recording me at that moment.  According to him, I had the greatest reaction he’d ever seen.  I was beyond shocked.  I know my mouth was totally agape.  Per Abe, the look on my face was priceless.    

I stammered, “Bel Air?”  Yes, yes, Serena assured me they live in Bel Air.

I said, “Well, what are you doing playing 1/2 No Limit if you live in Bel Air?”  She didn’t answer.

You see, Bel Air is the wealthiest part of Southern California.  Forget Beverly Hills.  Forget Malibu.  People who live in Bel Air look down at residents of Beverly Hills, as if they were living in a slum.  You can’t just be a millionaire to live in Bel Air.  You have to be a billionaire to live there. Well, I suppose you could be a live-in maid or a nanny and live there. 

I explained this to Abe, and the new dealer said that there are some less expensive areas of Beverly Hills.  But I said, no, Bel Air is not like Beverly Hills.  There are no less expensive areas to live in.

I don’t know exactly why I found it so unbelievable that Serena and Mel lived in Bel Air, but I did.  I guess they just didn’t seem the Bel Air type.

Soon after this revelation, Serena and Mel left.  On their way back to Bel Air, no doubt.  I had had a frustrating nite of poker, having a $400 swing (going from up over $200 to losing around $200).  But at least I met the Fresh Princess of Bel Air.  And learned of that magical land, Titty City.