Mario was waiting for me when I arrived at the Atlantis Casino in St. Maarten. It was barely 4 p.m. and the poker room which Mario managed was still waiting for players.
Outside a tropical storm raged. The coconut palm trees bent over from the force of the powerful winds coming from the ocean. I had valet-parked my car but even the short dash from the parking lot inside the casino had drenched me.
'You look like a drowned rat, amigo,' Mario said. He was a young islander who had just turned 30. Like me, he was divorced. 'I'll have Rita fix you a drink. I want you to meet somebody.'
The 'somebody' was a short owlish man in a white suite and a stylish shirt who was hunched over a drink at the bar. His name was Archie, he wore brown-rimmed glasses, and he was British. He also was a dead ringer for the cinema star Austin Powers.
'This is Archie,' Mario said. 'He's a poker player and he owns a yacht.'
'Really?' My interest was captivated. I had never met a yachtsman before.
Mario left us to take care of some other business. I quickly discovered that Archie was a serious drinker. He spoke quickly, had a quick wit and a marvelous British sense of humor, and he was looking for a girl friend.
'Do you know any island girls that you could introduce me to?,' he inquired. 'If we got on well, she could move aboard my yacht. I have three bedrooms. Would you like to come aboard and take a look at it?'
That was how I became part of Archie's world.
I have no idea how Archie came into money. I only knew he was very wealthy and lived aboard his yacht. He spent his days island-hopping, drinking, and sniffing at tropical flowers which he adored. He also owned a cat named Pussy --- he loved saying the name to people he had just met -- and he was a very loose poker player.
'Money means nothing to me,' he said, and he meant it. He could lose a thousand dollars playing poker and not even blink at the loss.
The yacht was docked at Simpson Bay in St. Maarten. After we finished a couple of drinks, I followed him to the valet parking. It was still raining, the wind was blowing fiercely, and lightning flashed in the dark tropical sky.
The valet attendant fetched Archie's car, a British sports model. Archie gave him a generous tip and we were off.
We managed to get soaked walking down the pier to his yacht. But the tropical rain was warm and it didn't really bother me. The anchored yacht was bobbing in the restless ocean waves as we climbed aboard. It was a splendid vessel and it even had a movie room.
As he fixed us a rum drink, Archie said he loved good films and owned a collection of over 500. He was a big fan of Federico Fellini, Louis Malle and the other top French and Italian directors.
'Do you smoke ganja?' he asked. I admitted that I was a fan of the island plant. He smiled and rolled an aromatic joint that he shared with me.
As we relaxed in the luxuriant yacht, I told him I did know an island girl that might be interested in him. I warned Archie that she was Rastafarian and owned a machete.
'She's attractive, Archie, but she's dangerous,' I said, sipping the drink.
'That's no problem,' he said. 'I love dangerous women. They dominate me and I enjoy that.'
The following day I drove to an island settlement where Angelica lived. The rain had stopped and she was in the house with her mother and her younger brother. The smell of beans and pork came from the stove and her mother thrust a plate of food in front of me.
'Eat,' she said. 'You need to put on some weight.'
When her mother left, I told Angelica about Archie. She nodded as I spoke while eating the food. Finally she said, 'I want to meet him.'
It took Archie less than 10 minutes to invite the island girl to move onto his yacht. She accepted the invitation without hesitation.
It was an amazing relationship. Archie fell in love with Angelica and she accepted him for what he was -- an eccentric hard-drinking millionaire gambler who had no plans except to live life 24 hours a day.
About a year after I met Archie, my work permit expired and I had to leave the island. Archie and Angelica were still together and they decided to throw a going away party for me on the yacht.
As we sat in the lounge chairs on deck, he parted his hair to show me a scar.
'Angelica did that,' he said. 'We got into a bit of a squabble and she struck me with her machete.'
The scar was over an inch long. 'My God, Archie, she could have killed you,' he said.
'Nonsense,' said Archie, sipping his rum drink. 'It was just a love tap.'
Author: Geno Lawrenzi Jr.
(Geno Lawrenzi Jr. is an international journalist, magazine author and ghostwriter and poker player who lives in Phoenx, AZ. He has published 2,000 articles in 50 magazines and 125 newspapers. If you want to share a gambling story or book idea with him, send an email to glawrenzi@gmail.com ).
