Flat Broke (2 page)

2

The Successful Person Has Vision That Others Lack

I
got my first idea when my buddies and I were playing poker during lunch the next day in a corner of the cafeteria. We didn’t play for money, but for points.

“Points for what?” I finally asked JonPaul as we were leaving the cafeteria.

“We’ve been playing together since sixth grade and that’s the way we’ve always done it,” he answered. “We add up the points we’ve won and lost at the end of every hand, and I keep track of our overall winnings in my notebook.” He held it up, like I’d never seen his ratty old notebook before.

“Yeah, I know, but don’t you think we could make things more interesting if we played for money?”

“We can’t bet money on school property.”

“We’ll play off school property, then.”

“You don’t have money,” he reminded me.

“I could do something about that.”

“Like what?”

“Start a poker game.”

“We have a poker game.”

JonPaul is a great friend, but he will never be business partner material. The poor guy doesn’t know how to think past the obvious to spot the potential the way I do. I’d thought it would be nice to be a team—me and JonPaul getting rich together. But I could already see that he’d be better off in a less ambitious position—more assistant than associate.

“Here’s my plan: I organize a weekly poker game, for money, with the guys, away from school. I always win because they’re terrible players, so that’s a great way to turn a few dollars into more dollars. Then I figure out some other people who’d be interested in buying into other games. I’ll set everything up—time and place—maybe give some pointers, and collect a buy-in fee from everyone, since it’s my idea.”

“How do you know about doing something like that?”

“I read a lot.”

“You make it sound easy.”

“What could be hard?”

Before he could answer, I peeled off and headed into class. I wasn’t worried that JonPaul wasn’t enthusiastic about my idea. He’d get on board eventually. That’s the kind of friend he is.

During class, I thought about the guys I could hit up for my poker games and where I could hold them. My parents are pretty laid-back, but I figured even they might blow a gasket if I had people traipsing in and out of our basement on a regular basis.

One thing at a time. First the players, then the location.

Wheels. Dash. Jay M. They weren’t very good, but I’d been playing with them since sixth grade and I knew they’d be glad to bet real chips, not those little paper flashcard things JonPaul came up with.

Wheels sat next to me in math, so I caught up with him as we were leaving class.

“Thinking about setting up a real poker game. For money. After school. You in?”

“Yup.”

One of the great things about Wheels is that he never says more than necessary and he asks very few questions. Maybe that will get him in trouble someday, but it worked to my advantage right then.

I did my best Wheels impersonation and said, “Cool.” Then I went to find Dash and Jay M. They were in and said they knew two guys from study hall who’d want to play too.

I approached my brother, Daniel, as soon as he got home from hockey practice that afternoon.

“You guys play any cards?” I asked before he even dropped his gear on the kitchen floor.

“No. Why?”

“Your team is together a lot. I just wondered how you passed the time.”

He looked at me like I was half-witted and then gestured to his bag. “We play hockey.”

“Well, yeah, sure. But a guy’s got to have a hobby. Something fun to blow off steam. Your team takes hockey so seriously.”

“Yeah, so?”

“I was thinking about setting up a poker game for you.”

“Betting is a benchable offense.”

“Oh. Well … Wait—Coach is probably referring to betting on the game.”

“You think?” Daniel lives in fear that he’ll tick off his coach and sit out a game. But he’s a poker fiend. He’s the one who taught me to play.

“Sure. Cards aren’t the kind of betting he was talking about,” I said.

“Maybe.” Daniel sounded doubtful, but I could see that he was thinking about poker hands.

“Tell you what: I’ll arrange everything. Gimme your schedule for the next couple of weeks and I’ll tell everyone and get the cards and chips and set up a location. Coach’ll never even know.”

“I guess that sounds okay. Here.” Daniel dug a crumpled wad of papers out of his duffel bag. “Team roster. And our schedule.” He paused. “Why are you doing this? What’s in it for you?”

“A small fee.”

“Mom and Dad were serious about taking away your allowance?” I nodded and he grinned. “Well, then, the poker game is a pretty good idea for everyone.”

I’d traveled with the team before; Coach is always looking for volunteers to help carry bags and make coffee runs for him during away games, so I knew the guys. And I knew they’d be up for a game. They live to compete.

I sent out an email and before you know it, I had game number two set up.

I was a natural.

One of the books I’d read said that the savviest businesspeople always make plans in sets of three because that improves the odds of success.

So I called Goober, JonPaul’s cousin, because he’s in college and I figured he knew a bunch of guys who wouldn’t mind spending some money on poker.

“Dude. You’re smart for a little kid,” he said. I let the little kid comment slide, but only because he’d started listing names. “There’s Tommy and Pete and Ben and Chris and Jack. That’s a start—four guys and me?”

“That’s five guys plus you, Goob, but yeah, that’ll work.”

“Whatever. Counting’s not my thing. Tomorrow would be great.”

For a second I hoped his counting aversion didn’t mean he couldn’t identify numbers; I mean, there’s only ten, nine if you count the ace as a face card and not as the one. Oh, what did I care? He wouldn’t be playing with my money.

“Sure. Tomorrow. I’ll get back to you later with the details.”

Another book I’d read said you have to spend money to make money. Problem was: I didn’t have any money. But I knew who did. And I could hear her car pulling into the driveway.

My sister, Sarah, makes me look like a petri dish full of pond sludge. I work hard, but she works all the time. She’s sixteen, so she can drive, and as far as I can tell, all she does is drive to various part-time jobs and then to the mall to spend the money she’s just earned. Except that I snuck a peek over her shoulder at her bank account summary on the family computer once and knew that she saved more than she spent.

“Hey, Kev, what’s up?” she asked as she came into the kitchen. She must have been in a good mood, because she actually waited for my answer. Usually, when you talk to Sarah, you’re speaking to the back of her head because she’s always on the move.

“Not much.”

“Why are you just sitting there?” She dumped her backpack on the table to start her homework.

“Waiting for you.”

“I can’t drive you anywhere until after I’ve finished my reading assignment and an essay and this page of math problems.”

“I don’t want a ride.”

“What do you want?”

“Money.”

“How much? And why? And you know I don’t just give money away for nothing. There’s a vig.”

I raised my eyebrows, glad that one of the books I’d read had been written by a guy in the witness protection program, explaining his former career as a loan shark. I knew that a vig was the interest due on money borrowed. My sister is a dark and mysterious person. More likely, she read the same book in our basement. I was starting to like her more and more.

“I need fifty dollars, and I’ll pay you back tomorrow.”

“I’ll still have to charge you five bucks, though.”

“Deal.”

She gave me the money and I biked to the If We Don’t Have It, You Don’t Need It store to get cards and chips. I’m a class act—none of those sticky cards from the family room.

I also filled a cart with huge bags of pretzels and bottles of soda. Everything runs smoother with a snack. I know that from babysitting Markie. I was willing to bet there wasn’t a whole lot of difference between a four-year-old, some eighth graders, a high school hockey team and undergrads. Guys like munchies.

As I biked home from the store with a backpack full of pretzels hanging from my shoulders, and another backpack, baby carrier–style on my chest, full of soda, and two plastic bags of cards and chips hanging from the handlebars, I thought about my next step.

I had the players. I had the supplies. Now I had to find a place to hold the games.

Examine the facts. That’s what smart businesspeople do.

Fact #1: Auntie Buzz owns a small building downtown that houses her decorating business. Fact #2: It sits empty a lot of the time because she’s either at a job site or at some store buying pillows and crown molding. Fact #3: She’s got a conference table with lots of chairs. Fact #4: Kevin needs convenient space with a table.

I dumped the poker supplies in my room and turned my bike in the direction of Auntie Buzz’s office. I rode a lot faster than when I’d been carrying all the supplies.

“Auntie Buzz.”

She looked up from her desk, started to smile, remembered she was still mad about the way I’d lied to her, and scowled.

“I’m here to make you an offer,” I said.

“I have an MBA, I’m wired on too much caffeine and I have a grudge against you. You think you have what it takes to do business with me?”

“Yup.”

“I’m a sucker for self-confidence. State your case.”

“I need to sublet space from you because I’m starting a business.”

“What kind?”

“Um, it’s, well, still in the early stages. I don’t want to say too much too soon and jinx it, but I need room to, uh, for, like, meetings. And stuff.”

“It’s the ‘stuff’ that worries me.”

“I’ll pay you rent.”

Auntie Buzz just studied me. Finally, she spoke.

“I’m not so sure I believe you’re about to launch a worldwide conglomerate, but your presence will deter rodents. I’ve noticed mouse droppings lately. Fine. You can borrow my conference room when I don’t have client meetings.”

“Great.”

“We’ll talk money after a brief probationary period to see if this works.”

“Thanks.”

“Break anything, get anything dirty, leave food around, touch anything in this office except for the doors, the floor and the table, and I will rain misery on you.”

“You won’t even know we were here.”

“I doubt that very much. But I’m curious to see what kind of business you come up with.”

I ignored her skeptical tone. I’d read that every great businessperson has had to overcome doubters. It’s practically a law. So Auntie Buzz was already validating my future success.

The first game was right after school the next day, with Wheels and the guys. I dealt and then watched them mess up a few hands. Finally, I couldn’t keep my mouth shut any longer. I put down my hand.

“Wheels, you bet high when you should fold.”

He looked furious. “It’s called bluffing.”

“You’re terrible at it. Stop.”

For a second he looked like he was going to punch me, but then he glanced at his meager pile of chips and held still.

“Jay,” I went on, “you get scared when the pot gets above five dollars.”

“Do not.”

“Do too. Man up or leave the game. You can’t think about the money. That’s the secret.”

“I liked it better when we played for points. Money makes me nervous.”

“Once you win, you’ll like playing for money way better than playing for points.”

Jay M. fiddled with his chips and looked unconvinced. I turned to Dash, who had been studying the other players’ faces rather than his hand.

“Dash, you’re too sure you can read everyone’s tells. But that just makes you forget your own cards.”

“I’m good at reading people.”

“That doesn’t help if you’ve got a crappy hand.”

I didn’t know the other two guys, Nolan and Collin, very well. But they were careful players, and they didn’t make mistakes. JonPaul had a meet. Or a match. Or practice. Whatever. He’d said he couldn’t make the poker game. I think the real reason was that he didn’t want to touch the germy cards.

I watched them play another five or six hands, s-l-o-w-l-y because they were all thinking so hard. But they were getting better, not to mention more comfortable betting—and winning—money. I circled the table, giving advice and making sure everyone won a hand or two so that they got the taste of a win. That would keep them coming back for more.

Finally, I had to kick them out because my second game was going to start in fifteen minutes. Since I’d dropped out of the game and had started offering advice, not to mention that I’d found the location and supplied the snacks, I explained that it was only fair that I take a cut of their winnings. They were surprisingly okay with that idea. If you say things the right way, people are almost happy about giving you their money.

As soon as they left, I hustled around Auntie Buzz’s conference room. I set out a new deck of cards, restacked the chips, organized a new batch of refreshments and straightened the chairs. I even ran the vacuum cleaner around the room to suck up the pretzel crumbs. It’s the little things that make the big difference.

Daniel’s teammates may be scary on the ice, but they’re mellow when they take their skates off. Everyone bought in and settled down to the hand quickly. There must be something to Coach’s discipline, because they were all strong players. They didn’t need my help.

So I poured soda, handed around snacks, explained how to set aside the house’s earnings at the end of the game (the house—that’s me; cool) and left for Goober’s dorm room.

For college guys, they were as dumb as mold.

They were all really jazzed to play, but they didn’t know spit about the game. I had to explain the basics. Several times.

“A straight beats a pair or three of a kind,” I said.

“Wait! I know that one!” Chris said. “A straight is when the cards are in order.”

I nodded. “And a flush, a hand that’s all one suit, beats a straight.” Confused looks. “A suit is diamonds or hearts, which are red, or clubs, which look like black clovers, or spades, which look like … well, they’re the other black suit.”