After we sign up, we visit High Roller's palatial suite at the
Horseshoe (high ceilings, lots of marble, flat-screen TV on a
swivel next to the whirlpool tub). He and the Horseshoe's VP of
Operations, Ed Farrell, look out the window at the river. They
explain that the casinos aren't much different from the riverboat
(really, river-barge) casinos in other cities in Mississippi,
because they're technically on the river. The Horseshoe, in the
event of a flood, could float, Farrell assures us.
He invites us to continue our conversation over T-bones at Jack
Binion's Steak House downstairs, unconcerned that I'm wearing a
football jersey and Sweater Vest is, well, in a sweater vest. Over
wine and medium-rare meat, Farrell answers all of our questions
(worst behavior? biggest spender? do you dip the lobster tail in
butter, or the other way around?). He tells us about the area, an
agricultural center that began casinoing in 1992. He patiently
explains how this tiny region of fewer than 20,000 residents draws
more than 10,000 people a day to the Horseshoe - north of four
million visitors a year.
Dr. Real Estate, perhaps bored, mentions that Clonie Gowen, the
beautiful poker pro from
Dallas who sometimes graces our little
game, is on her way to Tunica for the tourneys.
"You got her number?" High Roller asks. Four cellphones shoot
toward him. He grabs one, which is already ringing.
"Clonie, darlin', are you coming here?" he asks. They've never met.
Doesn't matter when you're High Roller. "When do you land? I'll
send a limo to pick you up." Which would have been very classy and
cool, if we weren't all giggling and high-fiving each other.
Day 2: A Total Flop
On the way to the tournament, I tempt fate.