Molly's Game Page #12

to spend a weekend

with her in London.

You know what she got?

For the weekend?

Five grand.

A bag.

A Chanel bag she wanted.

Whatever you're

doing with Stella,

double it.

Where's your father in all this?

You mean physically?

He's in... Colorado.

Your parents still together?

No.

You and your father close?

No.

Was he tough on you?

You know how many girls at the

Olympics have demanding fathers?

All of them?

That's right.

I was tough on him.

What do you mean?

Mmmmmm...

I was a brat.

Fathers don't care.

I'd start fights with him.

Why?

You were lying!

Why would I start

fights with him?

Yeah.

I put you through grad school.

I raised the kids.

I did every God--everything.

No.

No, you listen to me.

All you do is cheat on me.

And lie to me.

And lie to the kids.

You lie to your wife

and you lie to your kids.

I don't know.

For the record,

the law, 1955, that I'm

accused of breaking,

it defines gambling as

betting on games of chance.

-Yes.

-Poker isn't a game of chance.

Roulette's a game of chance.

Poker's a game of skill.

Still, if I were you--

I'll tell them anything

they want to know about me.

About me.

That's it.

Remember Bad Brad Marion?

It turns out his

700 million dollar hedge fund

wasn't what you would call...

real.

It was a Ponzi scheme.

He'd been falsely reporting

profits for years.

He wasn't even

registered with the SEC.

With the money given to him

by friends and family

and players of the game,

he bought several

Malibu beach houses,

an airplane hangar

full of cars,

another one

with an airplane,

and the life he wanted.

When he was arrested,

he had $740 in the bank.

Brad cooperated with the FBI

and gave them hours of testimony

on a range of subjects,

including how three years earlier,

he'd lost 5.2 million dollars

in an underground

celebrity poker game

that was run by a girl

named Molly Bloom.

His story was that I'd induced him

to play in a high-stakes game.

I just wanted to introduce

you to Brad Marion.

And that due to my enabling,

he'd become a gambling addict.

who made me become

a gambling addict.

Brad, this game

might not be for you.

Federal bankruptcy lawyers

were brought in to recover

as much of the boosted

money as they could.

I was sent a subpoena and

flew out to L.A. to be deposed.

Can you confirm the

names on the list

all played poker

with Brad Marion?

This list was provided

to you by Brad Marion?

I just need you to

confirm for the record

that your game included but was

not limited to the players on this list.

I understand. What I'm

trying to get on the record

is that I'm not the one

who provided the list.

These names were

provided by Brad Marion.

So under oath--

Yes.

I can confirm

the list is accurate.

The L.A. players and I

were given a choice.

Testify against each

other in open court

or help make restitution to the

victims of Brad's Ponzi scheme.

I wrote the government

a check for $500,000.

And somewhere in an FBI

field office in New York,

someone was pinning

my picture to a wall.

I was running six games a week,

sometimes at two different

locations in a night.

And by this point,

I was addicted to drugs.

Adderall, Ambien, Xanax, coke,

alcohol, Valium, Ativan, Trazadone--

anything that could keep

me up for a few days

and knock me out

for a few hours.

But I wasn't just taking them

to stay awake anymore.

It was dark and

friendless where I was.

I felt like I was in a hole so deep,

I could go fracking.

It didn't feel like depression,

it felt more violent.

I was tired of living in the frat

house I'd built for degenerates.

I was tired of the greed--

mine, not theirs.

Everybody's.

I was sick of being

high all the time.

I was sick of living

in the gray area.

I couldn't recognize myself

and what I recognized,

I couldn't stand.

After a game one night,

Douglas Downey surprised

me with a confession

after opening with another

detective story title.

Gut shot on the river.

I want to say something.

Okay.

I want to say um... something.

Okay.

I'm just gonna say it.

Cool.

'Cause there's a poem...

a famous uh...

a poem about...

thoughts left unexpressed.

Two roads emerged

from the woods.

Do they explode?

I don't know.

You like poetry?

I did until a second ago.

I'm gonna call you a--

I'm in love with you.

This isn't happening.

Plain and simple.

You're the woman I've

always dreamed of

and I've been dreaming--

Shhh stop it.

Listen to me, Douglas?

I'm the woman all of you

have always dreamed of.

I'm the anti-wife.

I encourage your gambling.

I have drinks served

to you by models

who simultaneously

create the impression

that you're the

kind of guy who can

score a dime piece

anytime you want.

It's nice for you in here.

Do you know who Circe was?

Um...

Circe.

Used to play in

Teddy Chin's game?

Nope.

Circe did not play

in Teddy's game.

She was the Greek

goddess of magic

and she gave men feasts

with wine and honey

and then turned

them into swine.

Why?

Fantastic question.

I would never do that to you.

Missed the point by miles,

but that's okay.

Oh.

Um, Molly...

Shelby and Winston

will close up.

I'll see you next week.

Here you go.

-Thanks a lot, Randy.

-Thanks, Molly.

-Good morning.

-Morning, Pat.

Pat was my driver and security.

Straight home?

Yeah.

We didn't know much

more about each other

than we needed to know

but I liked him.

We were friends.

I used to be

a competitive athlete.

-I didn't know if you knew that.

-What sport?

Skiing.

Freestyle.

Were you good?

I don't know.

Pat asked me a favor.

He said there were a

couple of hedge fund guys

in New Jersey who

wanted to play and

he could score points

with them

if he was able to get them

a meeting with me.

I said sure and set the meeting

for 5 p.m. on a Thursday

at the Four Seasons bar,

knowing that if they were legit,

they'd recognize someone

in the crowd at Happy Hour

at the Four Seasons right

after the closing bell.

It turns out I didn't

need to be that clever.

These weren't finance guys,

they were from

the cast of Jersey Boys.

They looked around

the bar self-consciously,

they were out of their element.

And tough guys try to look

tougher when they're insecure.

I had a good hunch

what they wanted

and I was gonna have to shut

down this meeting quickly

but without being rude to

Joey Bag-a-Donuts

and Secaucus Sal.

I'm Molly Bloom,

nice to meet you.

John G.

-And you are?

-Paul.

How do we get a drink?

I don't remember what

the other guy ordered

but I'll never forget

what John G. had.

He looked at the waiter as if to

say that he could handle himself

just fine among the

Manhattan elite and said,

I'll have an appletini.

Okay.

So, how was your week?

My week? Uh, it was fine,

thank you.

Pat said you guys might

be interested in a game.

We want to partner with you.

-We've talked to Tooty, Will--

-Teddy Chin.

Teddy Chin.

We do a little work

with them too.

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