THE WAGER WITHIN THE WAGER

From the R.M. Dolin novel, “AN UNSUSTAINABLE LIFE – The Book of Isaac“

Chapter 5: The Wager Within the Wager

For people forced to have jobs and cut back on spending, today is simply the next day in an never-ending slog toward the weekend where scattered elements of repose are at least possible. For Isaac, today is the latest in a rapidly rising reservoir of days determining his next forever after. It would be fine, he once more tries to convince himself, if she just said it’s over. Since that night at Murphy’s when Gabriella walks out in stunned silence unaware of the wagers being made, she’s ghosted him in absent echoes of silence. “What does it mean,” he wonders while putting on his OSHA approved restaurant shoes and adjusting his skinny black tie.

His first text of the day is sent before even getting out of bed. He knows Gabriella won’t read it until after noon because she always reads her messages before starting her day. He wants to say so much but is forbidden by the rules of the wagers, so his message just expresses a need to meet later today to talk through their crisis. Each time Isaac replays how this whole silly mess started, he can’t reconcile the way one reactionary comment to Murphy made in jest so quickly became a life-defining event unraveling in full display of the Murphy’s faithful.

Isaac can’t really pin his problems on Murphy, not really. Murphy didn’t set out to put him in this untenable situation; he was merely outlining how full-time work was going to cascade. Not only in terms of Isaac’s relationship with Gabriella but with respect to the Northshore faithful already invested in predicting his outcomes. It wasn’t Lenny’s fault either. Although Lenny did start the huddle that became the wager’s rules committee setting the parameters Isaac’s now compelled to honor. If blame must be assessed, it squarely sits with him. Within the very nature of men needing to define and control the uncertainty of outcomes in a future clamoring for certainty. It’s likely this need stems from an inherent instinct that started with cavemen drawing straws to determine who among them had to face the saber-tooth tiger armed with only with a stick and a stone. Allowing others to watch, to learn in measured ways, to profit from his misfortune.

This defining trait in man’s necessity continues its manifestation through Roman decimations where a legion of soldiers draws lots to see who among them would cruelly be beaten to death by their comrades as a form of inspiration and self-improvement. Clearly something exists in men compelling them to draw lots as a way to learn and be inspired by other’s misfortunes. Isaac knows today the Murphy faithful will be watching for inspiration as he finally has his moment of clarity with Gabriella.

The L-ride from Isaac’s upscale midtown apartment that’s fully provided as everything else is taken, to his blue-collar place of employment has already become monotonous. This is why he’s like all the other passengers entranced in their daily commute, hypnotized by whatever social media nonsense provides distractions. If it weren’t for the App telling him when to get off, he’d ride the train all damn day. The two-block walk from the L-station to the bar is mostly safe even after midnight. Isaac’s uncertain Gabriella will accept his invitation. There’s no way in hell she’ll ever ride the L. so he’ll have to arrange an Uber. He doesn’t mind because then he can control the exact moment fate renders its final verdict.

Per established rules of the Gabriella-wager, the over/under line is the conclusion of tonight’s game, which should be around ten. Murphy’s decided Isaac should target nine for Gabriella’s arrival. He tersely reminds anyone who objects, “my bar, my rules.” If Isaac’s text were allowed to say more, he’d have told her how much he loves her. How he misses her badly. How he wants more than anything for them to work things out. That’s the part he can’t reconcile as he stands on the platform waiting for his train. This unexplainable feeling of relief the rules prevent him from making such a sappy faux pas. It’s not that he’s afraid to express those sentiments so much as the Bayesian-better in him has learned to assess probable outcomes with his head and not his heart.

To anyone arriving at Murphy’s Northshore Bar, this Tuesday is no different than any other. For Isaac, who’s constantly looking for angles in terms of outcomes, it’s his wager within the Gabriella-wager that pits his heart against his head and he’s far from certain with which outcome he should invest his loyalty. Until that’s decided, he’s happy for any and all distractions.

“Tell me again,” Patrick says as he puts a toasted bun sandwich on the table next to the condiment tray for Isaac to sample, “what do you call this?”

“An homage,” Isaac casually states as he finishes cutting the last of his lime wedges.

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Means you’re my bitch, homes” Santi says from the staging area using his questionable-status accent as he works through the stacks of glassware needing to be polished.

“Am I gonna have to call immigration again,” Patrick teases before redirecting his focus. “Tell me again what it is you conned Murphy into doing?”

“Since the Cubs are in Florida to take on the Marlins, I tell him we should have a fish special and he says, ‘whatta got in mind?’ and I say, ‘Murphy’s Crabby Paddies.”

Patrick laughs, already enjoying where this is going. “And what does he say?”

“Well keep in mind, Murphy’s Crabby Paddies is a double entendre, where crabby doesn’t mean the sandwich has crab meat, but rather that Murphy’s a crabby-ass bastard.”

“No way you actually got him to go for that.”

“I like my job too much to be direct, so this whole double entendre thing needs to be our secret. Anyway, the Murphy Crabby Paddy is what you made for those tourists; canned tuna grilled, then put on a toasted bun with lettuce, cheese, and Gochujang Sauce.”

“That was meant as a joke,” Patrick declares, “not some serious menu item.”

“All culinary classics start out as jokes. You watch enough Utube mixology videos like I’ve been doing and you come away with the whole history of who invented what cocktail in which bar for what purpose. Tonight you’ll be making culinary history, once word of Murphy’s Crabby Paddies permeates the Windy City zeitgeist, not only will the Northshore Bar be famous, but so will you as the city’s top culinary creator. Before long locals and tourists alike will line up for the chance to taste your tuna masterpiece. Hell, we’ll be charging covers and taking reservations; the franchise options alone will be worth millions.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Patrick smirks, “just what this dive needs. Hey Santi,” he shouts, “I’ll make street tacos the way you like if you know what the hell zeitgeist means.”

After a paused delay, Santi answers, “No hablo el idioma de las chicas guapas, senor.”

Patrick smiles, “My homie doesn’t speak hottie tottie. So, is the crabby bastard adding his namesake sandwich to tonight’s menu?”

“Printing as we speak.”

“I gotta hand it to you kid, here a week and already you’ve permeated this joint’s zeitgeist.” Patrick heads to the pantry to check on his canned tuna inventory. “Murphy’s Crabby Paddies,” he’s shouts while considering the possibilities, “Chicago’s newest Northshore delicacy right there next to the mustard dog and Italian beef sandwiches.”

Isaac checks his phone, but still no response from Gabriella. He’s startled by Murphy seeming to materialize out of nowhere “You got everything set up lad?”

“Not quite but it’s still early.” Isaac looks up from his cutting board, surprised to see Murphy holding the envelope he used to submit his sealed bet on the Gabriella wager.

“I hope you didn’t wager too much lad.” Murphy validates that the envelope hasn’t been tampered with. “Ninety-five percent of the faithful have the under, which means if she shows up and says you’re still together, Lenny makes big bank. He’s the only one who took the over.”

“And if I can’t get her to agree to meet?”

“Then the ninety-fivers get the satisfaction of winning a bet against you. No matter how this shit turns out, don’t take it to heart. These lads aren’t in it to see you get hurt, they just know it happening is a foregone conclusion and are betting on the timing.”

“I don’t know that it’s a foregone conclusion.”

“So, ya took the over, did ya? Trust me lad, nothing’s gonna change the outcome, just the timeline.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Ah but I do. Ya see lad, I’ve been in the bar business most my life, seen about every kind of Casablanca moment you can conjure. There’s a few that get written in permanent ink, but most don’t. If I’ve learned anything it’s that rich girls from the Gold Coast district don’t stay with broke boys who have to work for their living. You may win the Gabriella wager, but you won’t go the distance.”

Murphy heads to the front of the house to update menus, “I’m not broke,” Isaac shouts. “I’m having a cash flow crisis, there’s a difference.”

From around the corner, Santi weighs in, “Simpatizo contigo amigo.”

“Oh, for fucks-sake,” Patrick shouts as he emerges from the pantry with a tray of tuna cans, “Someone call immigration, so we don’t have to break out the tissues.”

The build up to today’s first pitch goes like most other game days with the exception of the early bird Old Milwaukee special crowd who are unsure how to feel about their half-off fries being replaced by a grilled tuna sandwich that costs more. Once they try Patrick’s creation though, the consensus sentiment is that he could be on to something. They especially enjoy the marketing genius behind the Murphy’s Crabby Paddy name.

Isaac again checks his phone while waiting for the foam on today’s first pre-game pint to settle; still no response. He asks Murphy if the rules allow him to send a follow-up text. “Other than making ya look pathetic lad,” Murphy decides. “I don’t see no harm. It’s in everyone’s interest if the reveal happens here, otherwise, we’re all left to wonder what the outcome really was.”

It’s the top of the first with the Cubs’ lead-off batter battling pitches when Isaac hits send on his second Gabriella text. He does his best to not cast himself as either desperate or pathetic. The pre-game crowd quickly takes on its usual game-day demeanor and per his predictable pattern, Lenny arrives just after the first pitch. “Listen guys,” Isaac says to the two out-of-towners’ sitting at his end of the bar. “See that guy who just walked in, he’s a regular and usually sits here. There’s two pints of Guinness in it for ya if you’ll find another spot.” The two out-of-towners look at each other to confirm they have no interest in moving. “I’ll tell you what,” Isaac adds, “give up the stools and I’ll toss in two of our special Crabby Paddy burgers.” The out-of-towners check with each other before the one in Lenny’s seat says, “hell ya we’re down for that.”

Isaac has their two pints poured and their Crabby Paddies ordered just as Lenny arrives. “Imagine my luck,” he says assuming his usual spot, “two guys decide to leave just as I roll up. Fortunate for all involved I didn’t have to arm wrestle em for my seat.” He smiles while sitting down. “All I need now is for some cute little honey to come sit beside me. You keep her seat open and I’ll make it worth your while.”

“You know I can’t do that,” Isaac points out. “Murphys’ got a hard policy about reserving seats on game day.”

“Yeah,” Lenny concedes with a chuckle. “Cranky old bastards’ got a policy about everything.” Lenny nods in appreciation as Isaac puts a pint down. Speaking of that,” he says wiping foam from his face, “what’s going on with your honey? She’s coming for the big reveal, right?”

“Don’t know,” Isaac flatly answers. He’s not in the mood to discuss the matter but sets his phone next to the beer tap so that while he pours, he can check for responses.

“Ya know,” Lenny starts even though Isaac has his back to him. “I got you on the over. I’m the only one who went that route. I am if nothing, a true romantic.”

Isaac delivers his current pours to the guy standing next to Lenny. He immediately moves to the next customer as the queue of patrons impatiently wanting their first-pitch pour has grown exponentially.

“Call me a sentimentalist,” Lenny continues. “More likely a pragmatist probably, but I believe in you kid and want things to work out. You Olinski’s have a way of having things work out. I remember when your Uncle Darwin and I played football back at Saint Stan’s. He was a helluva corner. He always knew where to be at just the right moment. The coaches called it luck, but his uncanny talent had nothing to do with that.”

“Well look where it got him,” Isaac abruptly inserts while finishing one order and immediately starting the next. “Living his hermit life in the New Mexico wilderness like some sort of crazy-ass mountain man.”

“You got it all wrong kid, Darwin’s doing good on his mountain. I’ve been there ya know. His place is pretty damn amazing. He comes to Chicago a lot, every couple of months. We hang out and go for rides. Sometimes I let him take my shovelhead on account of it once was his. He’s always asking about ya.” Lenny pauses to gauge Isaac’s reaction. “It’s a damn shame what Ilene did.”

Instantly, Isaac stops his pour. He turns and stares with the kind of intensity that leaves no doubt Lenny ought to tread carefully. “Whatta mean?”

“She told him to stop seeing you. Broke the poor bastard’s heart. Ilene threatened all kinds of legal shit if he tried anything. I don’t know if you know any of this, but she got it in her head that what happened to Vincent was Darwin’s fault. She got pretty damn deep into that messed up shit.”

While this is not the first time Isaac’s heard that what happened to his dad was Uncle Darwin’s fault, it’s the first time he’s heard his mom kept Darwin from him. Isaac feels an anger boiling in him that he’s totally unprepared for. He’s not sure who he’s more pissed at, his mom for blaming Uncle Darwin for what happened, Uncle Darwin for not fighting harder to stay in his life, or Lenny for sticking his God-damn noise where it doesn’t belong. Unsure what to do with erupting emotions on a level of intensity he’s never before experienced, Isaac deliberately places both hands on the bar. He leans toward Lenny looking him straight in the eyes and slowly says, “You best be warned, not to talk shit about my mom and I don’t care squat about the comings and goings of my uncle.” Isaac holds his stare until Lenny looks away and then, slowly allows his anger to subside to a point where he can again pour level pints.

Lenny watches in silence, impressed the kid showed some spunk. “I didn’t mean nothing by it kid. You’re right, no point dredging up the past. What’s done is done, c’est la vie, que sera, and all that other horse shit crap.”

Isaac ignores Lenny as he processes his long line of patrons. Once caught up on pours he comes back to Lenny’s part of the bar. “Look man, I’m sorry I snapped. I don’t know what got into me. You just hit a button is all and between that and what’s going down with the Gabriella today, my stress got the better of me. I got your next pour on the house.” Before Lenny can respond, Isaac’s back at the tap filling pints for patrons. He sets one pint aside to let it settle as he fills another. Once Lenny’s pint is properly topped, he sets it on the bar without saying a word and immediately goes back to work.

Lenny takes his pint’s prized first taste and wipes fresh foam from his face. “Ya know kid, you keep giving out free pints to buy people off my seat or to say sorry for my latest stupid shit and Murphy’s gonna dock your pay.”

Isaac smiles, “It’s okay, it comes out of the Vig, and tonight the Vig’s gonna be huge.”

“If the over prevails.” Lenny caveats.

Isaac nods while flashing his crossed fingers for luck.

“I’m pulling for a kid.” Lenny raises his pint to toast Isaac’s future. “And for me of course as the only one who took the over.”

“Unless I did,” Isaac teases.

“You sly bastard,” Lenny laughs. “You put down a bet, didn’t ya? You’re gonna take half my pot aren’t ya?”

“I might,” Isaac laughs. “It all depends on my sealed bet.” He points to the white envelope leaning against the cash register.

Lenny shakes his head. “Either way kid, I’m pulling for ya.”

With the first scoreless inning over, the queue of impatient patrons needing refills immediately forms, forcing Isaac to turn things up a notch. As the rush quiets down, Lenny restarts. “I lost my shovelhead a few years back on what was, the biggest bet this bar’s ever had until yours took over.” He pauses to reflect. “That bike’s the only thing I’ve ever truly cared about.” He looks at Isaac who’s doing his best to pretend he can’t hear. “I’m gonna tell you something at the risk of getting you all spun up.” Lenny waits for Isaac to react and when he doesn’t, he continues. “Your uncle’s a damn good man. He won my Harley straight up. He didn’t cheat me. Didn’t con me. Even tried to talk me out of betting. I was stupid though, stupid and prideful and he won it fair and square, so it was his to keep. You know what he does though, the bastard finds a way to let me keep my bike while not making it look like I welshed and not having it seem like he pitied me. No one wants to be pathetic.” Lenny again waits for Isaac to react and again, Isaac pretends to ignore him. Your uncle was going through a lot of shit back then, he wouldn’t talk about it, but sometimes now, when we do our rides, he’ll say stuff.”

Lenny takes a drink before continuing. “Women are good at letting shit out but if you’d had a chance to be around your dad you’d know men hold their shit in cause they don’t know what to do with it. Your uncle’s that way. He talks to me, probably cause we went through so much together at Saint Stan’s.” Lenny pauses to live with old memories. “He won our bet straight up and he’d have been in his right to celebrate but he doesn’t. Instead, he chooses to spare me my dignity in a way that lets me keep the only thing I ever cared about.”

Isaac’s finally heard enough, he hands his latest pour to this inning’s last customer and turns to Lenny slowly putting his hands on the bar and staring directly into his eyes. “Is there a reason you’re sharing this sappy-ass story?”

Isaac holds his stare as Lenny takes a long deliberate pull on his current pint and wipes foam from his face. “As a matter of fact, kid, there is. At some point this evening, if things get that far, your lady’s gonna walk through those doors knowing what she came to say but not knowing how you’re gonna react. A whole lot of shit gonna get said. Some maybe that’s not so good, maybe most that’s bad. Either way, a whole lot of emotions are going to be laid bare, on full display for everyone. At the end of the day kid, how things end is all gonna be on you. The reason I’m sharing my Darwin story is, so you’ll remember, you’re an Olinski. If this shit turns south, take it with grace. Show some nobility. Most important, let your lady leave with dignity. You do that and twenty-five years from now when you’re sitting on my side of the bar talking about today, you’ll feel proud of what you’ve done and how you managed yourself.”

Isaac stoically stands in front of Lenny not used to being schooled by elders. “Ya know Lenny,” he finally says. “Most times you’re talking shit, but you do have your moments, you really do.” Isaac takes his time deciding how to process. “I know what you mean about holding things in. Since I got up this morning I’ve had this odd feeling, more like a sensation, like a wall of water is raging toward me. First, it’s far away, off in the distance where it’s just a rumble. As the day goes on though, it’s like the wall keeps getting closer, and louder, and this feeling inside keeps getting stronger and harder to contain.

“Then you start going on with the shit you were going on about a while back and it’s like the wall of water arrives and I’m suddenly consumed by this rage that’s so intense I’m not sure it can be constrained. Yet somehow, I find a way to let you finish and, in that process, take a few deep breaths that allow me calm down enough to hear what you’re saying. And the thing is, what you’re saying is absolutely spot on, so thanks man. I really mean it. Your shit’s gonna go a long way to helping me deal with whatever goes down here tonight.” Isaac pushes back from the bar, “next pint’s on me.”

As the ballgame plays out on Murphy’s four big-screen TVs, a process takes hold where Isaac begins each inning with renewed optimism by checking his phone and then checking again midway through the inning with continued disappointment. By the bottom of the sixth, as the lower tiers of Murphy’s patron hierarchy thin out and Isaac starts considering wagers he can make to perhaps turn a profit, in walks Gabriella, dressed like she has a date with a deity. As the faithful stare in stunned silence, Murphy comes down to Isaac’s end of the bar and places a firm hand on Isaac’s shoulder, “I got the bar lad, you go do your dance with destiny.”

Gabriella stands just inside the doorway like a débutante waiting to be escorted into the ball. She knows Isaac sees her, but she intentionally avoids eye contact. She does, however, force a smile as Isaac approaches. “Gabriella,” Isaac warmly says, “thank you.”

“For what?” She asks.

“For coming, if you had let me know, I would have arranged an Uber.”

“To be honest, I didn’t know I was coming. I’ve been riding around the city for the past day and a half with Cecilla, and somehow, we wind up here.”

“You didn’t get my texts?”

“Oh my God!” She suddenly remembers. “I blocked you after your dumpsters-dive reveal. I’ve been so upset this past week I forgot that I did.” She laughs at the irony. “Each day I got madder at you for not messaging me.” Gabriella unblocks Isaac from her phone. “Oh look,” she sarcastically declares. “After an entire week and six whole messages, all within the last eight hours. I guess you missed bad me, huh?”

“Let’s not start like this Gabriella.”

“You have a better plan? Does it begin with, I’ve resolved my financial crisis honey, so now I can dump this dive forever?”

“No,” Isaac confesses with practiced embarrassment. “I’m still where I was, not broke, just needing to manage things better.”

“And work, don’t forget about having to work.”

“Look, why don’t we sit down and talk this through.”

“There’s really no need,” Gabriella coldly states. “Cecilla’s waiting and MacKenzie’s having a party. I’d invite you but I’m sure you have ‘other‘ obligations.”

Isaac feels the moment he repeatedly role-played sliding off script. It’s being replaced by the cascading certainty of a rumbling wall of water starting its rerun. The Murphy faithful have slowly inched their way within earshot. “Look Gabriella, this situation I’m in isn’t forever. Sure, I have to tighten things up a lot right now, but once I get to next year, my trust fund reallocates. Next year won’t be nearly as bad, and the year after will be even better. Once I’m thirty-nine, all the funds in my trust become mine and my financial problems evaporate.”

Gabriella is uncomfortable the mass of men who have circled around her, but she continues anyway. “Do you have any idea how pathetically ridiculous that sounds? Gabriella,” she mocks, “if we stay together, you only have to be unhappy the rest of this year. Then next year, you get to be a little less unhappy. Your grand reward for sticking with me is that the year after that you get to be a touch less unhappy. And then, and this is the best part, if you can survive being unhappy for fifteen years, all your unhappiness magically disappears forever. The only problem with your formula is that by then unhappiness will have become a way of life just like it is for all the miserable souls in this dive bar.”

Isaac looks with torn loyalty at this woman he’s pinned so much hope on; who he’s certain he loves. “I honestly don’t know how to respond.” he softly offers. “I imagined we’d find some kind of resolution, maybe not right away, but I thought at the very least we’d have a deep and meaningful conversation. I never expected to be mocked or have my misfortunes so trivialized. I love you, Gabriella. I know you’re upset but I believe somewhere, in some world, it’s enough that we want to be together, everything else works itself out.”

Gabriella looks at Isaac with a cocktail of scorn and pity. “You’re such a foolish boy. In what world does everything work itself out just because you want it to? It’s not that I don’t love you Isaac, it’s that I can’t. We have to be honest. You’re not the guy I fell in love with; that’s the bottom line. You’ve become a stranger in a skinny black tie wearing ridiculous shoes who has to work in a place like this when the rest of the world is having fun. I don’t know if maybe it’s possible for you to get your shit together but it’s not a wager I’m willing to make. Honestly, I can’t wait around based on a fairy-tale hope.”

“So, what, just like that, this how this ends?”

“Don’t make this awkward. We’re still gonna run into each other and it doesn’t mean we can’t be cordial. Just accept that I can’t be with you anymore and let that be enough. You didn’t really think what we had was some kind of forever thing anyway did you?”

Corralling more fortitude than he’s aware he possesses; Isaac manages to force a flatline smile. “Yes,” he softly demurs. “I did.” In the instant it takes to water an eye or tremble a lip, Isaac plays out a thousand different scenarios around what happens next. Remembering Lenny’s advice, he follows his head and not his heart. “Like I said when we started, thank you. There’s a lot I’m being forced to learn in a very short time with so much more I still have to figure out. Thank you for helping me see how foolish I was.” It’s hard but Isaac forces a smile. He considers the irony of the way one string wrapped around his life can get pulled and his entire existence is thrown into chaos. “I actually thought, or maybe should say foolish hoped, you’d be my one constant. The thing I could count on as I transition through an uncertain future. Thank you for helping see how wrong I was.”

Isaac looks one last painful time deep into Gabriella’s eyes for any indication a vein of empathy might exist if he just keeps mining. The faithful are so focused on Isaac, no one notices the game winning homer the Cubs hit in their half of the inning. “Thanks,” Isaac forces himself to repeat. “For helping me see things for what they are.” His impulse, the very instinct passed down since the days of the saber-tooth tiger, is to leave her standing in the doorway. Instead, he sees enough into the future to know how he wants to look back. “This clearly isn’t the outcome I wanted,” he gently says while forcing a false smile, “but let me at least walk you to your car and see you off.”