KID CUPID 

by John 
Vorhaus

They crested the final ridge of the Alcata Mountains in late afternoon, and drove down into Cimarron Valley as the last red light of a glorious sunset battled Cimarron's prized neon gaud for their hearts and minds and eyes. 

"It's beautiful," said Hope, and Roger didn't know if she meant the city, or the sunset, or the neon, or the prospect of spending their long Valentine's weekend together, here in Cimarron, the town that put fantasy on the map. 

From out of nowhere, a silver Lincoln Continental flashed past them. From out of nowhere, words formed in Roger's mouth. 

"Let's get married," he said.

"What, here? Now?"

"Yes here, yes now. Why not?"

Why indeed? Hope looked into Roger's eyes and saw love there. Had she been watching the road, she might have noticed the vanity license plate on the back of the Lincoln: KID CUPID. She might have pointed it out to Roger, and he might have called it a sign. As it turns out, they didn't need a sign. Hope said yes.

Twenty minutes later, they were in the drive-through line at Cousin Ricky's Qwiky Wedding Chapel and Slot Parlor. Cousin Ricky conducted the wedding ceremony through a loudspeaker hidden inside a plaster Elvis. "Do you, Roger, take her, Hope, to be your lawfully wedded whatever for as long as you both shall last?"

"I do."

"And do you, Hope, take him, Roger, likewise and for sure?"

"I do."

"Then by the power vested in my by the department of motor vehicles, I now pronounce you husband and wife."

"Wait," said Roger, "don't we need a blood test or some thing?"

"You got blood?" said the disembodied voice. "You pass the test. Kiss her, bub."

Roger kissed Hope long and hard. She kissed him back, just as long, just as hard. The car behind them honked its horn even longer and harder, and Cousin Ricky urged them on their way. It was a busy night for nuptials in Cimarron.

They took a spin down the world famous Cimarron Strip, gawking at each grand gilded palace of sin: the Empire Casino, the Orion, Cloud Nine, Sneaky Pete's and the rest. Ahead on the left loomed Cimarron's newest, the huge and fabulous western-themed Fort Cimarron Hotel and Casino, its twelve-story wooden Indian blowing friendly smoke-signals of welcome from atop the fake-wood stockade. 

"Let's stay there," said Hope. She didn't know why. Something about the place just seemed to draw her in. Roger parked their car not far from a silver Lincoln Continental with KID CUPID vanity tags. He didn't notice the Lincoln, or its tags. He only had eyes for Hope. He walked her to the casino, loving her forever, and knowing that nothing would ever come between them. 

He bought her a drink in the Cowboy Lip Saloon, while Hope read a counter card explaining how cowboy lip is a condition caused by years of packing chewing tobacco between the cheek and gum. Hope thought it was an odd thing to name a bar after, but she hadn't been in Cimarron long, and didn't know its ways.

They sat at the bar and listened to a girl group play country songs. "This one's dedicated to all you lovers out there," said the lead singer. "Happy Valentine's Day, and thanks for spendin' it with us." She kicked the band into a torchy version of Patsy Cline's Crazy, and Roger thought it was an odd choice for a lovers' special, but he didn't know Cimarron either.

Just then, an excitable young man with cherub cheeks rushed up to the bar beside them. "Give me a tequila braindeath, Al," said the young man. 

"Coming up," said the bartender, whose name, by the longest of coincidences, happened to be Al.

Hope couldn't help asking. "Excuse me, but what's a tequila braindeath?"

"My own special blend," said the animated young man. "Two parts tequila, three parts personal magic." 

"Magic?" asked Roger.

"Uh-huh. Wish I could tell you more, but I can't. Thanks for asking, though." He thrust his hand at Roger. "Cupid's the name, Phil Cupid. My friends call me Kid."

Hope and Roger introduced themselves. Then, "Cupid," said Hope, "that's an odd name."

"Yeah, well, Cimarron's an odd town. So tell me, what brings you kids here? See the shows? Nickel slots? Play a little poker?"

"Actually," said Roger, "we just got married." 

"No kidding?" said Phil. He didn't seem at all surprised. "Married? On Valentine's Day? What a novel concept! I wish you all the best. Al," he said to the bartender, whose name had not changed, "drinks for the happy couple."

"No," protested Roger, "we couldn't."

"Don't worry about it," said Phil. "I'm feeling fortunate. There-but-for-the-grace-of-God sort of fortunate, if you catch my drift. I just saw the most incredible thing in an Omaha game."

"What's Omaha?"

"A kind of poker. Each player gets four cards, and everybody bets. Then the dealer turns up three cards in the middle. That's called the Flop. Those are common cards. Everyone can use them. You follow?" They followed. "Then there's another round of betting, then the dealer turns another card. That's called the Turn. Why? Because you turn it, I guess, or maybe because it turns your hand around. I don't know. Am I talking too fast? Are you taking this all in?"

"Are the hands ranked like regular poker hands?"

"Uh-huh. Pair is low, royal flush is high; you get the drill. Anyway, then you bet again, and then there's one more card turned."

"Is it called the Turn too?"

"No, it's called the River. Don't ask me why. Anyway, so all the players have four cards in their hand, plus the five on the board. That's nine to choose from, and best hand wins, but here's the gimmick: You have to use two cards from your hand and three from the board. No more, no less."

"It sounds like fun," said Hope.

"Omaha? It's madness, really. But anyway, it so happens that the ol' Fort Cimarron here has a little bad-beat jackpot. If you have four of a kind or better, and you get beaten by a higher four of a kind, or by a straight flush or royal flush, you win the jackpot. Which right now stands at a cool twelve thousand dollars."

"Twelve grand," whistled Roger. "That's a lot of nickel slots."

"Tell me about it." Phil pointed out across the casino toward the poker pit. "And I just saw a guy over there fold one away."

"A jackpot? How?" By now both Hope and Roger were hanging on Phil's every word. There was something positively spellbinding about the kid. Even Al the bartender was listening in. 

"He started with a pair of nines in his hand, plus a couple of bricks -- bad cards. There was a nine in the flop, and also two tens, so he had a made full house, but the way raises were flying all around him, he figured someone for a higher full house. A king hit on the turn, and he figured he was probably beat two ways, by higher full houses. When the raises kept coming, he couldn't stand the heat, so he folded. Naturally, the river card was his case nine."

"He'd have had four nines," said Hope. "Did someone else have four tens?"

"No."

"Well then how--?"

"So happens the nine-ten-king were suited. Someone held queen-jack for the straight flush. Man, that poor guy would've won the jackpot."

"What'd he do?" asked Roger.

"Threw a big fit. Ranted and raved, and blamed the other players for raising him out of a live jackpot draw. Like it was their fault. Then he went completely on tilt, steamed away all his money, and busted out of the game."

Hope shivered involuntarily, and reached for Roger's hand. "How awful," she said. 

"Wait, there's more. Turns out the guy was playing with his case cash."

"What's that mean?"

"Means all the money he had in the world was in that game. He's living in his car, taking sink baths in the men's room. Real sad case. To top it all off, he just got out of prison last month."

"No! What was he in for?"

"Around the table they said breaking and entering, but you can't trust Omaha players. They're a lying lot." 

"Just like you, Kid?" asked Al.

"Me? Hell no, I'm an honest thief."

"Don't let him hot dog you," Al told Hope and Roger. "The Kid here is the best card mechanic in fifteen states. He can manipulate a deck and never even touch it."

"Shh, Al," said Phil, "you're spilling all my secrets." 

"Is Cupid your real name?" asked Hope. "I mean, it seems like an awful coincidence, it being Valentine's Day and all."

"Hey," said Phil, "Valentine's Day comes around once a year whether I want it to or not."

Just at that moment, a huge security guard hurried by, hustling some poor joe before him in a hammerlock. 

"That's him! That's the jackpot guy!" said Phil. He called out to the guard, "Hey, Chick, what'd he do?"

"Tried to rob the jewelry store," answered Chick as he hauled the hapless loser through a set of steel double doors.

"Can you beat that?" asked Phil. "Guy folds away a twelve thousand dollar jackpot, steams off the last of his bankroll, and then, to top it all off, tries to get well by robbing a casino jewelry store. What a world, eh, Al?"

"What a world, Kid. 'Nother braindeath?"

"Thanks, no. I've got to get back to the game. God, I love Omaha." He smiled at Hope and Roger. "What about you kids? Give it a try? Twelve thousand dollar jackpot."

"Let's do it, Roger," said Hope. "It sounds like fun."

"What the hell," said Roger. "When in Rome, eat Roman Meal."

"That's the ticket," said Phil. As he led them off toward the poker pit, he threw a wink back over his shoulder to Al. Al just polished a glass and smiled.

Hope took to Omaha like a debutante takes to champagne. She'd played a lot of home poker, and had the native gift of card sense which led her to push good hands and fold her losers. Roger was no less gifted, but he kept getting seduced and abandoned on the river, so that within two hours he was stuck three hundred dollars, while Hope was about half that much ahead. 

Curious thing, the more Hope won, the worse she felt, for there across the table was the love of her life, getting his kiester waxed. He was being a great sport about it, though. Hope admired his character, and glowed warmly: she'd made a good choice in Roger; she just wished she could help him win a hand.

Roger was starting to worry. Even though Hope was winning, he felt bad about not holding up his end. Taking a bath in a poker game was no way to kick off a marriage. Still, there was hope, and best of all there was Hope. While he had her, he had everything. 

The Kid had relinquished his seat in the game, and watched the action from a spot on the rail. He envied Hope and Roger their love. Despite his name, Phil Cupid had never known romance, unless you count his life-long love affair with cards. Still, he didn't wish the young couple ill. In fact, he wished them nothing but the best. 

What turned out to be their last hand started softly enough, with Roger betting out on an A-7 suited in spades and a pair of queens. Hope called with two kings, double suited in spades and hearts to a 10-9 runner. They caught a couple of raises along the way, and the bet was capped before the flop. Phil Cupid watched the action intently. There was sweat on his brow, but no one seemed to notice.

The flop brought joy to both Hope and Roger, a king for her and a queen for him, plus a jack which two-flushed the board in spades. Raises all around them suggested made straights, but with their flush and full house draws, neither felt inclined to pitch it in. On the rail, the Kid half-closed his eyes, looking for all the world like a guy trying to pull a rabbit out of a hat that wasn't there.

The turn card was a queen, and Roger went quietly berserk. Four of a kind! He could barely stand to look at the board. He bet. Hope raised with her full house. When Roger re-raised, everyone else folded, except one demented optimist who still hoped his straight would stand up. Hope capped the bet. And the river card came...

A king! 

How small are the pivots upon which the large movements of our lives turn. Hope was so caught up in the hand that she'd forgotten all about the story that lured her into the game in the first place. She looked across the table at her new husband, and her heart overflowed with love. The pot between them was huge. He could get well on this one hand. And he'd never have to know...

Roger bet out. The optimist called. Hope threw in her hand.

Maybe it was a puff of wind, or a random blast of air conditioning. Maybe there was some higher force at work, like the secret ingredient in a tequila braindeath. If Phil Cupid knew, he wasn't saying. For his money, he was just leaning on the rail when Hope's cards flipped over. Two kings, sitting there for all the world to see.

"Two kings?" screamed Roger. "Hope, you folded two KINGS!"

"I know, sweetheart," Hope blushed as she admitted: "I wanted you to win."

"But you had four of a kind. So did I! We would have won the jackpot!"

"Oh." Hope's face fell. "I forgot about the jackpot."

"Forgot about the jackpot?" His face twisted with rage, Roger hurled his cards at the dealer. As soon as they hit the other discards, his four queens died, and the optimist with the straight backed into the pot of the night. Roger stood and stormed away. Hope followed, and caught up to him between two banks of slot machines.

"Roger," she said, "come on, sweetie, it's not that big a deal."

"No big deal? Honey, you just folded away twelve thousand dollars."

"So? It's only money."

"Only money?" Roger stared at his new bride, dumbfounded. How could she call twelve thousand dollars "only money?" Might as well call the Pope just some guy in a big hat.

Phil Cupid watched from a discreet distance. He seemed anxious. For his money, everything turned on what happened next. 

"Come on, Roger, honey, just let it go, please." Hope was almost crying.

"Excuse me, Hope, but it's a little tough to let go of twelve thousand bucks."

"Roger, please--"

"No!" Roger stared at his wife coldly. She stared back. In one frozen moment, each saw the other as they truly were. Some couples go through their whole lives without a moment like this. Kid Cupid held his breath.

At last, Hope broke the silence, whispering hoarsely, "What are you going to do, Roger? Rob a jewelry store?" Roger stood speechless. Sudden fury boiled up in Hope. She spun on a heel and stalked away, squeezing through an overflow crowd around a craps table. Roger watched her go. And as he watched her go, he found he couldn't watch her go.

"Wait! Hope, wait!" he called, chasing after her. He caught up to her and grabbed her by the arm. 

"Let go of me, Roger!"

"No!" He paused, collected himself. "I'm wrong," he said. "Look, I'm totally and utterly wrong. No money in the world is worth more to me than you, and there's nothing like losing lots of it to prove how true that is. Forgive me, Hope. It'll never happen again."

And it never did. Hope and Roger survived that fight, and they survived ones that followed, large and small, the sort of cleansing spats that healthy couples have. They survived largely because on day one of their marriage each was illuminated to the other in the harsh light of adversity. Beneath their love now lay honesty, and honesty is a rock. They lived a long and happy life together. They never played Omaha again, but that's probably not a bad thing.

And in the Cowboy Lip Saloon, Al the bartender brought Kid Cupid another tequila braindeath. 

"Too bad they didn't win the jackpot, huh, Kid? They were a nice couple. Seemed like they coulda used the money."

"I think they could use the lesson more."

"What lesson is that?"

"Well, two, actually. One is this: money is only important to people who don't have anything important in their lives."

"And the other?"

"Don't play Omaha. It's madness, really."

"Amen to that," said Al.

Kid Cupid finished his drink and wandered out into the cold and lonely night. He climbed into his silver Lincoln Continental and drove out of town. Somewhere in the Alcata Mountains, he turned off onto a side road and vanished in the dark. It was as if he'd never been there at all.