Decoration Day in Barstow

"Hey, Maxey," Big Denny said to me, "I needs yer advice on somet'in."



He had invited me to dinner at the Barstow Card Casino's Four-Star Buffet. I had shown up, but was prudently brown-bagging with a hamburger I had brought in from McDonald's rather than eat the slop at his restaurant. There was also a rumor circulating that he was serving chickens that he bought on the black market after they came down with Asian bird flu. That was unlikely, but I wouldn't put anything past him.



"I hope the advice you want isn't about poker," I said. "I've been doing lousy lately."



"Ain't dat a surprise," Big Denny snickered. "Da only time I ever hear of you winnin' anyt'in was da time dat Ralph da Rattler was shorthanded in dat kiddies game of his an' he let ya sit in."



"Hey, I racked that game," I said indignantly.



"Fer how much – ninety cents?"



"Nearly four dollars! That's a big win for that game."



"Wow! I hope da IRS don't hear about it. But don't worry about it, Maxey. I wouldn't ask ya how ta play poker any more den I would ask Tom McEvoy what clothes ta wear. What it is, I been t'inkin' about fixin' up da casino a little ta make it nicer. If you owned dis place, what would you do wit' it?"



"Blow it up."



"Don't get smart wit' me, Maxey. Give me some ideas."



I looked around at the depressing, run-down casino with its drab and peeling walls, shabby carpeting, inadequate lighting, mismatched tables and chairs, and, last but not least, the awful smell of cow manure coming from the loft above the casino floor that Denny had leased out to a dairy farmer. "Well," I said, "for starters I would replace or at least clean the carpets, paint the place inside and out, hang a few chandeliers, get rid of the cows, get some neon signs for the outside, maybe hang a few plasma TV screens on the walls … "



"Hold it, Maxey. Yer talkin' big money dere, which I ain't got. I was figgerin' maybe I could just put up a coupla nice decorations."



"Maybe you could put back that nude picture of Aunt Sophie."



"Are you kiddin'? Dat picture scared off half my customers. I was t'inkin' of somet'in' a little arty, ya knows what I mean?"



"How about a mask?"



"A mask? I wasn't plannin' on robbin' no bank."



"No, Denny, I meant decorative masks that a friend of mine makes."



"Oh, yeah, dat guy what plays poker named George Merlot or somet'in."



"Marlowe," I corrected him.



"Whatever. Who'd want ta buy masks anyway, only unless you was Zorro or da Lone Ranger. Anyways, Halloween is over."



"It is not those kind of masks," I said patiently. "Look, Denny, these are decorative ceramic masks. I've been to George's workshop a few times and his collection is pretty impressive. His masks have been on exhibit in galleries, and any number of poker players have bought them. McEvoy alone has 18 of them, I understand. A few of them would add a nice touch of color and a little class to this dump."



"Oh, yeah, what does he charge, about ten bucks or so?"



"Look, Denny, these are museum-quality, one-of-a-kind, custom-designed masks. They sell anywhere from $2,500 up to $5,500. And for you, it would have to be cash upfront."



"That's a lotta dough, Maxey. How about he just makes me a few ashtrays?"



"Ask George to make you ashtrays and he'll kill you."



"I don't know, Maxey," Big Denny said doubtfully. "But da next time da bum is in town, tell him ta come in an' I'll talk to him."



Marlowe was wary when I told him about his prospective customer, but the next time he drove up to Vegas, he dutifully stopped by the Barstow Card Casino. After taking my advice and declining a free meal at the Four-Star Buffet, he sat down in Denny's office to talk business.



"Maxey tells me ya makes nice pottery," Big Denny said.



The mask man's face turned beet red. George Marlowe is not particularly well-known for his diplomacy. His normal conversation consists mainly of "f-u," and when he feels especially complimentary, "You're an idiot." But now, seated a foot away from this massive and dangerous creature, he decided to reply to Big Denny's insensitive remark as politely as he was capable of doing.



"I … don't … make … pottery," he said with gritted teeth. "I design and create museum-quality works of ceramic art."



"Dose are Maxey's exact words. Did ya put him on commission ta sell yer stuff?"



"My masks sell themselves," Marlowe said with increasing irritation. "Here's a brochure showing some of the ones I've made."



He handed Denny a glossy pamphlet with photos of some "masques," a number of them with poker themes. "Dese are kinda cute," Big Denny remarked. "Hey, ya t'ink ya could make a mask of my face?"



Marlowe gazed at the casino owner's massive head. "I'd have to charge you at least 10 grand if I needed to use that much clay and glaze," he pointed out. "I'd probably need my own quarry. And I'd certainly need to make another kiln."

"Another killin'? I ain't askin' ya ta kill nobody."



"Kiln. That's a special type of furnace where you fire the masks. Your head wouldn't fit in any normal-size kiln. In any event, I don't do gorilla masks. Look, is there any special sort of mask you would like?"



"What's da difference? I just needs a few ta cover da cracks in da walls."



Marlowe winced and took a deep breath. "How about a design that reflects the ambience of this beautiful casino? You know, like a blackjack."



The sarcasm went over Denny's head. "We don't offer blackjack here."



"That wasn't the kind of blackjack I meant!" a totally exasperated Marlowe yelled. "Look, it's getting late and I need to get to Vegas. Just pick something that you think best symbolizes the town of Barstow, and I'll make you a nice mask using that theme."



A few days later, Big Denny phoned Marlowe to tell him what he thought best represented Barstow. The ceramacist dutifully created a mask, and it now hangs proudly by the front entrance. It might never end up in the Louvre, but it is a one-of-a-kind work of art.



That is, if you consider a head of lettuce a work of art.