What a screwed up relationship I was in when I learned to deal and play poker in Montana some million years or so ago? Just to give you an idea of how poker doesn’t always build a strong and lasting relationship, I thought I’d toss in this little bit of useless information — it can rip a marriage, end friendships, destroy your work ethic and money handling ability, and in general, fuck up your life really bad unless you know how to put it in the right place and not let it control you.

When I first started dipping my toes into the turbulent waters of learning the game, I came from a life of stress that involved a number of important people in my life dying, some by illness, another in an accident, and always being flat busted.  So broke that picking up my paycheck from the law office meant I could buy groceries, put gas in the car, and have $2.20 left to last for the next two weeks.  OK, that might be a bit of an exaggeration but it was close.

A little history needs to be fleshed out to continue the tale. Bob Geenen, (briefly mentioned in this Tango post), and I were married about eight years when I was fried with the whole thing.

Bob was a cop, I was a legal secretary.  Death was dark on our door for a number of years, two of my brothers, my mom, his brother, and our house burned almost to the ground.  He was drinking and running with a crowd that was younger and got involved with a chick about 12 years his Junior.  There was a lot more to it than that but toss it into a blender with all the rage he could find and anger control simply wasn’t one of his strong traits.

We split.  He went partying with the crew and his new girlfriend, I went to work every day and took care of my three boys — one by him. I also played pool one night a week on a league, I had a lot of the same friends as Bob and his new girl, but it was ridiculously awkward because we lived in a small town.

We got a divorce.

I went on a date.

WOOPS!  Bob showed up at the office the next day with a dozen roses, he would kill himself if I did anything with ‘that guy’ and if I wouldn’t take him back.  Sappy me.  We started talking again and then got back together, but I hated him.  Seriously!  We decided to move, get away from the misery of all the memories, and off we went, first to the coast of Oregon, and then to Hawaii for six months where we struggled for every breath we took, and finally shipped ourselves and very few things back to the mainland.

We landed in Missoula where my sis (yah, the one that lives next door to me now) lived.  We slept on the floor in the basement and I went job hunting.  Legal secretaries made disgustingly poor wages in that college town where everyone in college picked up all the additional typing and work they could lay their hands on.  That’s when my sis talked me into applying to be a dealer.  That story is here, somewhere, I think in the Montana Days and Nights category and I’m not linking it up so…

After I got the job as a dealer (I had already stepped out from behind the bar and started pitching tickets), Bob went to work there for a while as a handyman, fix-all, kind of guy.

I never wanted to go home once I got into poker land…partly because I couldn’t stand Bob and it wasn’t improving.  He still had a horrible drinking problem – I suggested treatment, church, anything that would get rid of the booze thing, but that went nowhere.

Hell…maybe I drove him to drink and it’s my fault. Another reason I never wanted to go home was the insane excitement that went with the poker game and I was like a kid that had been forced to work in a coal mine all their life and one day got the chance to dance the night away and I never wanted it to end.

So…one night I got off work, jumped into a $3/$6 Hold’em game, immediately won about $250 from a $20 buy-in and simply couldn’t get my ass up out of the chair.  I blew it all off and cashed a check that I needed for other things and put it into the game.  Once my down slide started, I couldn’t win a hand. And being too naive or unschooled to walk away, I stayed to play it out.

Bob showed up at 10:00AMish and went straight to the bar.  I kept playing.  It got worse, I got stucker.

When I was so tired I couldn’t function, and had no money left to buy in with, I went to the bar to collect him.  He was slipping and sliding off the bar stool by this time.  He went batshit when I told him I’d lost all that money.  Seriously?  Do you think I blame him?  Nope!

The boys had gone to a wrestling match after school and the house was empty.  We pulled into the garage and as I got out of the car my sunglasses fell and I accidentally kicked them with my foot in the semi-dark.

“You wanna throw things?  Let’s throw things!”

That’s how it started.  I went into the house and he started breaking the furniture and throwing things around the kitchen, family room, and living room.  I tried to get the hell out of the way.  He grabbed me by the upper arms and shoved me into the wall with his face about six inches from mine.

“I can break your fucking neck, and your fucking arms, and your fucking legs. And I’m just the person to do it!” In a very quiet tone with the words clipped off.

I never moved.  For the first time in my life I thought I was going to die.  He set me down and turned around to pick up a dining room chair and started beating it into the dining room table, the legs of the chair kept breaking holes in the roof when he swung it up over his head.  It was solid wood, he sure taught it not to just set around.

I ran out through the glass slider and headed for the street.  No such thing as cell phones in those days.  I went next door and knocked – two old ladies lived there but we’d never met.  I asked to use their phone and I called the police.  I went back outside and headed across the street to stand in the shadows and wait for the cops and keep an eye out for my boys that would be coming along any minute.

I saw the boys and grabbed them to the side and we waited.  Of course they knew nothing about what was going on.  The cops pulled up and Bob came out.  They said they had gotten a call of a domestic disturbance.  He said, “No, nothing wrong here officers.  You can go ahead and leave.”

I ran across the street because they looked like they were hesitating and thinking about leaving.

I told them nothing was alright and I wanted them to come in while I got a few things and to stay there until I got out of the house with the boys.

All of us went into the house.  The boys instantly panicked and started crying when they saw the broken piles of chairs and other things.

Bob was calm as hell.  He told the boys to have a seat on the couch.  They sat down like little lost puppies. “I know the house is a mess…but your mom and I haven’t been very happy with you guys either.”

WTF?

The boys cried harder.  I told the cops I was going to grab a few things and take the boys out of there for the night, they had to stay until I left.  Bob informed the cops that he had been a cop and that they might be able to take him down, but he could kill at least one of them before they got him.  There were two cops.  The boys were almost screaming now.

The cops told him to just calm down and kept talking to Bob.  I called the boys upstairs and we got overnight clothes into a bag and got into the car.  Bob tried to come out and talk to me as I was pulling out but I didn’t slow down.

I drove out to a truck stop about 15 miles out of town on the interstate. Got a hotel room.  Ordered food for the boys and we settled in as best we could until they fell asleep. I called the OX and talked to Cathy, the runner, she said Bob was at the bar and couldn’t even stand up.  Jack, the bouncer, took Bob home with him when Jack got off work at 2:30 a.m. Jack lived about 20 miles out of Missoula, the opposite direction of where I was.

I went back to town and picked Cathy up.  We drove to the house, the door was open.  I have no idea what the cops thought or said but they went off and left Bob there and he managed to completely demolish everything downstairs doing even more damage after I left. He had no car so he either hitched, taxied, or walked the 3-4 miles to the OX.

Cathy and I built a fire in the fireplace and burned wood from broken coffee tables, dining room chairs, table, and we got the broom and swept up the pieces of the glass that shattered out of the TV.  We gave up after a few hours.

The next day I rented a new place about three miles from that house and took what little furnishings, dishes, and clothes that were left to the new digs.

I saw Bob a few days later when I went in to work, he came up, head hanging, without looking me in the eye, and asked me if he hurt me.  I said, “No.”  That was about it.  I admit to being frightened to death when he came up to talk to me.  They fired him at the OX.  My dealing was more important to them than the job he held.

A few days later I asked Jack how Bob was doing — I knew Jack and Bob were friends — Jack said he was really broke and looking for work.  Hello, Idiot Linda!  I had a $100 bill in my pocket and gave it to Jack to give to Bob.

Somewhere around three months later Bob married a girl that was around 12-13 years younger than him.

He got me one last time.  He showed up at my door, and I do not know who told him where I lived, and said he wanted his gold nugget wedding ring back.  Sure, Buckwheat, I had bills to pay from the destruction of the house we rented, remember? I told him I sold both of the rings and that didn’t go over well.  He was pacing like a madman and chain smoking. He said he wanted to see the boys but didn’t know how to go about it.

I told him kids were very forgiving and they would like to see him, all he had to do was give me the time and place and he could see them.  He said he would pick them up that evening and take them to a movie.  He’d be there at 7 pm and as he turned around to leave, he spied my camera case setting on the chair.

“I’ll take this with me.  I’m working a job that I need to take pictures to make a bid.  I’ll bring it back when I pick the kids up.”

I had a sick feeling.  I knew he was going to hock it, that’s why he wanted the ring, and my camera was my baby.  I asked him to please not take my camera but that worked like a lead balloon floats.  He went out the door.

The boys got ready and waited, and waited, and waited.  You know the rest of the story.  No call, no show.  And that was that. About a year later Bob came in one door of the OX and as soon as he knew I was there, he split.  Gutless fuck.

OK, I started this post talking about the screwed up relationship I was in…but the tale I just told isn’t that relationship. The real mess started after Bob was married and down the road, which BTW, he moved out of town and now has three or four kids.  Good for him.

I do not believe I was the model wife or mom and I do believe my stepping into the world of poker put the final seal of doom on any hopes of reconciliation.  It’s funny in a way, I never loved any man as much as I loved that one.  Sure as hell don’t miss him though.

Next stop?  The really screwed up relationship, of course.