THE WAGER WITHIN THE WAGER

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

Chapter 5: The Wager Within the Wager

For people forced to cut back on spending and have a job to get by, today is simply the next day in the relentlessly exhausting slog toward the weekend where scattered elements of repose are at least possible. For Issac, 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, but since that night at Murphy’s when Gabriella walks out in shock over Issac’s news, unaware wagers have been made concerning what she’ll do next, she’s ghosted him in quiet 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 knowing Gabriella won’t read it until well 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 Issac replays how this whole silly mess started, he can’t reconcile how one reactionary comment to Murphy made in jest so quickly became a life-defining event unraveling in full display of strangers he’s required to interact with.

He 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 asking for full-time work was going to cascade; not only in terms of Issac’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 he did start the huddle that became the wager’s rules committee setting the parameters Issac’s now compelled to honor. If blame must be assessed, it squarely sits with him and within the very nature of men needing to define and control the uncertainty of outcomes in a future clamoring for certainty. And 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 as others watch, to learn in measured ways, or dare we say 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. There clearly is something inherent in men compelling them to draw lots as a way to learn from other’s misfortunes. This is why Issac knows today the Murphy faithful will be both watching and learning as he finally has his moment of clairvoyance with Gabriella.

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

Per pre-established rules of the Gabriella-wager, the final reveal should happen after the conclusion of tonight’s game, but Murphy decides any time after the sixth inning is okay and he tersely reminds anyone who objects, “my bar, my rules,” and no one ever argues with Murphy after he makes a ruling. If Issac’s text to Gabriella were allowed to say more, he’d have told her how much he loves her, how he misses her badly, and 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, he feels unexplainably relieved 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 observing, this Tuesday at Murphy’s Northshore Bar is no different than any other but for Issac, 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 and 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 Issac’s condiment tray, “what do you called it?”

“An homage,” Issac 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 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 Patties.”

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

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

“No way you actually get the old bastard to go for that.”

“I like my job way too much to be direct, so this whole double entendre thing needs to be our secret. Anyway, the Murphy Crabby Patty is what you made for those tourists; canned tuna grilled, then put on a toasted bun with 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 Patties 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 Patties,” he’s shouts while considering the possibilities, “Chicago’s newest Northshore delicacy right there next to the mustard hotdog and Italian beef sandwich.”

Issac 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.” Issac looks up from his cutting board, surprised to see Murphy holding the envelope he used to submit his sealed bet.

“I hope you didn’t wager too much lad,” Murphy validates 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, as the only one taking the over, is making big bank.”

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

“Then the ninety-fivers get the satisfaction of winning a bet against you. How ever this shit turns out, don’t take it to heart, these lads aren’t in it to see you get dumped, they just know it happen is a foregone conclusion and they’re 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 don’t stay long 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,” Issac shouts after him, “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 at Murphy’s with the exception of the early bird Old Milwaukee special crowd who are unsure how they 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, especially given the marketing genius of completely capturing the essence of Murphy in the name.

Issac again checks his phone while waiting for the foam on today’s first pre-game pint to settle but 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 Issac hits send on his second Gabriella text that 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,” Issac 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,” Issac adds, “give up the stools and I’ll toss in two of our special Crabby Patty burgers.” The out-of-towners check with each other before the one in Lenny’s seat says, “hell ya we’re down for that.”

Issac has their two pints poured and their Crabby Patties 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 them 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,” Issac 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 don’t he.” Lenny nods in appreciation as Issac puts a pint down. Speaking of that,” he says wiping foam from his face, “what’s going on with your honey, she is coming for the big reveal, right?”

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

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

Issac delivers his current pours to the guy standing next to Lenny and immediately moves to the next customer as the queue of patrons impatiently wanting for 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 together back at Saint Stan’s. He was a helluva corner, always knew where to be at just the right moment. The guys called it luck, but I could tell his uncanny talent had nothing to do with that.”

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

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

Issac suddenly stops his pour to turn and stare 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 but Ilene threatened all kinds of shit if he tired 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 belief.”

This is in fact the first time Issac’s heard about Darwin being kept from him and he 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 these burgeoning emotions that he’s never experienced on such a level of intensity, Issac deliberately places both hands on the bar, 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.” Issac 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, and 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.”

Issac 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 if I snapped. I don’t know what got into me, you just hit a button is all and now we both know not to go there. Let me get you a pour on the house.” Before Lenny can respond, Issac’s back at the tap filling pints. He sets one pint aside to let it settle as he fills other orders and 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 cherished fresh pour first taste and wipes the foam from his face. “Ya know kid,” he restarts, “you keep giving out free pints to buy my seat or to say sorry for my latest stupid shit and Murphy’s gonna dock your pay.”

Issac smiles, “It’s okay man, he takes it out of the Vig, and tonight he’ll be the second biggest winner.”

“If the over prevails.” Lenny caveats.

“Yes,” Issac confirms crossing his fingers for luck.

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

“Unless I did,” Issac 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,” Issac laughs, “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 Issac 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 Issac 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 again.” Lenny waits for Issac to react and when he doesn’t, he continues. “Your uncle’s a damn good man. He won my Shovelhead 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 Issac to react and again, Issac 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 shit together at Saint Stan’s.” Lenny pauses to live with some 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.”

Issac’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-crap story?”

Issac 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; maybe some that’s good, maybe most that’s bad, but either way, a whole lot of emotions are going to be laid bare, on full display for everyone and at the end of the day, how things end is all gonna be on you.

“The reason I’m sharing all this is, so you’ll remember, you’re an Olinski, if it turns out bad, take it with grace, show some nobility, and 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.”

Issac 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.” Issac 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 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.” Issac 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 Issac 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 Issac 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 Issac’s end of the bar and places a firm hand on Issac’s shoulder, “I got the bar lad, you go do your dance with destiny.”

Gabriella stands in the doorway like a débutante waiting to be escorted into the ball. She knows Issac sees her but she intentionally avoids making eye contact. She does, however, force a smile as Issac approaches. “Gabriella,” Issac 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 and I’ve been so upset this past week I forgot that I did. Then, each day I got madder at you for not messaging me.” Gabriella resets her phone to unblock Issac. “Oh look,” she sarcastically declares. “After an entire week, 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 job?”

“No,” Issac 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.”

Issac feels the moment he repeatedly role-played slipping away and replacing it, is the cascading certainty of a rumbling wall of water starting its return run. “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, so 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.”

“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 and your grand reward for sticking with me is that the year after that you get to be a touch little 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 though, 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.”

Issac 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 Issac 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 Issac, it’s that I can’t. We have to be honest with each other. 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 maybe you can get your shit together but it’s not a wager I’m willing to make and 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; Issac manages to float a flatline smile. “Yes,” he softly demurs, “I did.” In the instant it takes to water an eye or tremble a lip, Issac 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 I still have to figure out, but I can see now how foolish I was.” He grins at the irony of the way a string that’s wrapped your life can get pulled and your 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. I see now I was wrong.”

Issac looks one last painful time deep into Gabriella’s eyes for any indication a vein of empathy might exist if he just keeps mining. “Thanks,” he 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 alone in the doorway, but 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.”