Page 103 of The Irresistible Distraction

I’m not sure exactly what the exchange rate is, but the side conversions are hilarious, far more entertaining than if we had just been playing for money.

When Brody first suggested this, there was a lively debate over exchange rates that was both insanely arbitrary and absolutely unreproducible. The first set of chips was free, but everything else necessitated constant mini negotiations going around the table.

Judge Benson exchanges three sessions of pro bono office hours (that will apparently be hosted at the diner or The House, which Brody capitalizes without explanation) . . . for twenty chips.

Reuben and Mario promise to cater at least two events at cost, for thirty people, and they bargain directly with me (because I have the largest pile of chips at the time).

It is chaotic.

And so, so fun.

Because I wasn’t sure what else to put in, I initially exchanged chips for things like framed photos, thinking I could at least barter away some of the prints I already have on display, but I eventually also added things like free catering (at cost of groceries) for one event. It’s something I’ve been considering for . . . forever, that we’d go beyond just taking large take-out orders and start bringing food to local events, potentially allowing for expansion into a market currently monopolized by the Lake Arrowhead Country Club. And on a whim, I added a photoshoot, at the time and location of the winner’s choosing. Though up until now I’ve only done portraits of people I’m close to, it feels like a natural potential extension of where I’m at in my development as a potential, maybe, one day photographer.

According to Brody, we can keep the vouchers we’ve won and set them aside, as long as we keep coming up with new “favors and labors” to put in, if we want to continue playing. Brody has put in vouchers for things like lessons (anything from physics to law—he promises he’ll even help you apply for college or graduate school), taekwondo sessions (because he never told me this, but he’s apparently a second-degree black belt), but also promises of a helicopter ride (something he assures us he can still arrange), a week at someplace called Yellowstone Club (which I’ve never heard of but which some of our wealthier guests find very exciting), and access to Club 33, which includes a VIP Disneyland tour, an apparently inaccessible series of experiences mere mortals rarely hear of.

“Since the annual fees have been paid for, I might as well get something out of it,” he tells us, as some of the parents Brody’s invited google furiously on their phones, trying to figure out what they can offer to keep playing.

Though there are a variety of prizes here that I’d love to win, this last is probably at the top of my wish list. Sebastian’s at an age where Disneyland is still cool. I won’t have many more opportunities to take my son there, and the three times we’ve gone felt rushed and frantic.

Whenever there’s a break at my table, I take photos. Individual shots have felt rushed, since I’m clicking during the downtimes, but I’m already confident there are several keepers: shots of Judge Benson enjoying a cigar, of Walter trying to show off a one-arm handstand, of Brody in the midst of it all, the Sexy Tourist with all his swagger, but also small glimpses of sadness that remind me he likely misunderstood my earlier reticence, that I could have reassured him better . . . and sooner.

I go over and lay a hand on his shoulder, and he looks down at me. “Later, I have a lot to debrief with you, and it’s all good, I promise.”

Instead of looking relieved, Brody’s face assumes his unreadable expression, and we’re interrupted by the dads, who are worried about getting home by some predetermined deadline.

At the three-hour mark, it’s clear that Brody’s the most experienced player here. Though I’m winning at my table, I’m also betting against maybe-stoned Walter, Brandon, Travis, and Jeffster (three fathers who are drinking more than they’re betting), Mario (who mostly seems excited to have been invited), and Dee (Mario’s date, who keeps sliding her hand along Mario’s thigh).

All the heavy hitters are at Brody’s table, and he’s . . . taking them to school. Eric, an engineer from New England, who’s here for just a couple of weeks and who I don’t even know how Brody befriended, is out first. Reuben loses all his chips next, followed shortly afterward by Eric’s wife, Natasha, also an engineer. A couple other people I’ve barely spoken to before. Though Judge Benson gives it the good old college try, he doesn’t last much longer.

“This feels like a setup,” Mario complains afterward, grinning, glued to his girlfriend and eating his body weight in popcorn.

“A setup that means I have to teach a kid named Sebastian . . . C++?” Eric asks. He takes off his glasses and rubs them.

Since I hadn’t realized that’s what Brody had traded for, I almost intervene, but Brody beats me to it. “You mean you get to teach Sebastian C++. I promise, you will never have another student as curious as he is. He’s only ten, so who knows how many career directions he might try along the way, but honestly, you’re going to have a blast.”

I’m not sure exactly how Brody’s going to hold Eric to this, but the fact that we’re now about to go head-to-head is the bigger, more pressing problem.

It’s manifestly Brody’s world here, and somehow we’ve all signed up for the ride.

I take my seat across from him and Reuben sits between us, relishing the opportunity to play dealer. Everything I know about poker has been learned from the few times I had longer dental procedures, where I had to go down the mountain to specialty offices who handed me goggles and a remote control. I’d watch poker tournaments where announcers explained everything from the odds to the terms while they drilled and installed a crown.

Brody has a more technical and mathematical understanding of the game, something underlined by the way he skillfully shuffles the cards, performing a variety of tricks as he looks towards me and raises an eyebrow before handing the new decks to Reuben, who will act as our dealer.

I shift in my chair and try to pull the dress back down my legs, unsure what weird gremlin gave Brody the idea of mandating a dress-up code for poker night. And yet, as with many of his seemingly odd flights of fancy, this all seems to be working. I’ve never seen Judge Benson quite so relaxed, and this is a man who’s been coming to the diner after golfing eighteen holes for at least a decade.

By a few hands in, it’s clear this is a war of attrition. Brody can read all my tells and he’s also getting better cards.

When I draw pocket aces, which I’m pretty sure is the best hand possible, I try not to react. It’s before the flop, which means anything can happen. I pull the dress down again and try to wave Walter, who’s definitely hovering, away.

“There’s an entire videogame system over there,” I remind him. But though a few of the dads drift over, everyone else is having too much fun grazing and watching.

“All in,” I tell Brody.

Because he has more chips than I do, this won’t take him out. He smirks and without looking at his cards—the smug bastard—calls my bet.

I’m about to flip over my cards because that’s what they do on TV. There’s nothing left to do, right? When you’re already all in?

But Brody stops me, raising his hand.