Steele's Lovely Lady

I seem to have Steele on the brain and can't help sharing. I don't know where this came from, but I like it. Hope you do too.

Disclaimer: As always, I do not own Remington Steele.


There's a moment in poker not immediately discernible to the untrained eye. A gambler would miss it; a gambler wouldn't pay attention. They don't, generally, that's the most helpful thing about them. They don't play the game; they let the game play them and gladly. And why not? Most of the frivolous buggers have money to spare, cash to burn, and they'll willingly sacrifice it to Lady Luck for her fickle favors. Something to do in the evenings. They're entranced with the glitter and the sparkle and the gleam in the dealer's eye, as well they should be; it's her gift to them and welcomed kindly. She's a passing fancy—some fantasy they've only dreamed of, and she loves them for it—for a time—for a price. She never stays. She is fleeting; she is cruel, and how they love her.

And we, her few devotees and lifelong charges love her too—that lovely Lady Luck. For us her favor never wanes, her affection never pales. When she wanders from our side, we wait and watch—she'll return; she always does. We love her from a distance; like any femme fatale, she's not safe to know too intimately. All she asks is devotion; all she gives is hope. And our cup runeth over.

But, when the hope is false and the stakes are high, a man who plays the game can spot the moment—the moment of choice. The tension is unbearable, the opponent steely eyed, the cards cold and unforgiving. In the matter of a moment a choice is presented: bluff or fold. Do you feel lucky? Well, do you? Whose company is she gracing this evening? Whose hand will she deign to touch? Some will tell you she's absent in that moment, but then they've never held a pair of twos with all the dignity of a royal flush. And they never will. She rewards the scoundrels of this world, the defiant devotees. Not the stupid, but the stubborn; the ones who aren't going down without a fight. We amuse her, I suppose, and she smiles on our entertainment. And she's there in that moment—the moment when bluff becomes reality. She's laughing in our ears.

You'd walk away if you could—sure you would. But there's too much at stake already, too much in the pot to fold. What more can you lose? How much can you gain? You're in it until the end, until the brink, because the brink is better than walking away just now—just now when you're so very close. It's not that you want to win; it's that you cannot lose. The single ace you're staring at doesn't matter, the wayward pair of twos mean nothing, that random four and seven—garbage; all that matters are the eyes meeting yours across the table—inscrutable and steely. Too inscrutable, too steely. And in a bizarre flash of understanding rarely granted, you realize she's playing the same way. It's all in; there's no walking away. It all comes down to the better bluff and darling, devilish Lady Luck.

They say love's a gamble, but it's not. Not in my experience. It's a hand of poker between two opponents who know the stakes and the hand they've been dealt and, in spite of both, have let the moment pass, simply to allow their eyes to meet over their hands. They are hopeful devotees of the Lady, and they're waiting. Waiting for her to smile.


This story got stuck in my head and had to come out. I think it's an interesting way to look at the Steele/Holt relationship, as well as the Steele mindset. I hope you enjoyed it. Let me know what you think! Thank you.