Four of a Kind (25 page)

“Right here, ladies,” said Bess, ushering them to the only empty table with a “Reserved” sign on it.

As they sat down, Carla overheard one of the men say, “Salary caps for executives. It’s a disgrace. What happened to talent compensation? I don’t get out of bed for less than a million.”

“That must be some bed,” said the balding dad.

“It’s a new world out there,” grumbled another dad. “The old rules no longer apply.”

Was it Carla’s imagination or did he shoot a glance her way? To him, she might represent the angry underclass. Five minutes ago, she would’ve seethed in silence. But now? She was seated and eager to play, to win. The Black Queen asked, “Care to join us, gentlemen?”

Bess pouted, “I thought it was just us.”

Cashmere Jacket, a smooth, gray-haired operator with a ready smile and too-white teeth, said, “I’d love to sit in.” He pulled the chair next to Bess and sat down, his shoulder brushing hers.

Carla smiled. His concentration wouldn’t be worth a dime.

The two other men gamely sat down, too. Robin seemed to zero in on the youngest of the bunch, an overly rumpled alternadad type, midthirties, horn-rimmed glasses, visor haircut, and dark-wash jeans. What was he doing with this bunch of bankers? Carla reminded herself not to make assumptions about someone’s financial status or profession based on his or her appearance. For one thing, the best dressed
among them might have cracked retirement nest eggs.
And look at Robin
, she thought.
She dressed like a hippie, and could buy and sell half the people in this room
.

The dealer, a young man who’d been shuffling cards patiently, snapped to attention when his table filled up.

The dads emptied their pockets and arranged chips in neat stacks. Bess winked at the dealer, and he proceeded to dispense chips to the women.

Bess said to the women, “I had the dealer hold on to your chips for you.”

Robin smiled wryly and took her stack. Alicia quickly snagged her pile and kept a protective hand over it, as if someone would try to take it away. Carla accepted hers, and nodded politely at Bess. There was a thousand dollars in chips here. Had Bess paid for them? The thought made Carla feel sick, but only for a second. She decided to believe Bess had simply arranged for her friends to play for free.

It hardly mattered. No one would walk out of there with money. Winners would “cash in” chips for prize baskets. They were lined up in the back of the room. The descriptions had been emailed to the parents several times this week as an enticement to attend the event. Some of the baskets were made by moms—cookies, little gifts—crap, basically. Some were donated by local businesses. The Trader Joe’s basket was full of their signature pastas and Two Buck Chuck wine. Other gift collections were donated by wealthy families. One was for a week vacation in Paris, including a baguette, wheel of Brie, and the keys to the donor’s pied-à-terre.

Carla wanted the Orlando package. A four-day vacation for four to Disney World, including plane tickets, park passes, dinner vouchers, and a hotel room. They’d never done the classic Americana trip of going to Orlando. Too much work, not enough money. It’d bothered Carla. When she told Claude the basket was a great prize, a fun treat for the family, he rolled his eyes and said, “Disney World? They’re not
babies
.”

The dealer started the game, saying, “Texas Hold ’Em, five and ten dollar blinds.” And then they were off.

Carla peeked at her pocket cards. Pre-flop, she raised to $20.

Alternadad said, “So it’s going to be like that, is it?”

“Like what?” asked Carla, using the voice.

“Fold,” he said. Carla now knew he would only bet if he had face cards, aces, or pairs.

“Don’t scare the rabbits, Carla,” said Robin, who then folded. “I mean myself.”

A few minutes later, Carla won the hand before the river card was dealt. In the pocket, she had a pair of threes. Barely a leg to stand on, and yet she skipped away with the pot.

She suppressed a hoot. That wouldn’t be polite. When she won again, and again, her resolve to keep her cool weakened. She was having fun, enjoying the moment. She inhaled the air again, and realized that sweet smell wasn’t seriousness and concentration. It was equality. The players might make assumptions—to Carla’s advantage, as it turned out—about her abilities. But race, class, social status, none of that mattered at the poker table. And, of course, the cards were colorblind.

Pair of queens, both black, in the pocket. Carla raised pre-flop, $40. Robin, drunker by the minute, sloppily flirting with alternadad despite his wife flitting nearby, folded. Alicia chewed her lip and tugged her earring. She agonized, called, but then seemed to regret it. The banker and the accountant played every hand, losing again and again. Carla assumed they were trying to impress Bess, who gave them no reason to think throwing money around excited her. Bess had been playing well, smartly. She’d had to remove Cashmere Jacket’s manicured hands from her shoulder and (Carla suspected) thighs a dozen times.

“I call,” said Bess.

The flop: rags and another queen. Carla checked her stack, and saw that, in an hour of play, she was up over a thousand bucks. She’d
lure in the remaining players with a small bet, keep the hand alive. “Raise twenty dollars,” she said.

A few folds. Bess reraised $100.

Carla called and said, “All for a good cause.”

“Paris, here I come,” said Bess, winking a false eyelash at Carla.

On the turn, the dealer put down an ace. Suddenly, Carla noticed a lot of red up there. Three of the four common cards were hearts. If Bess had two hearts in the pocket, she’d have an ace-high flush, which beat three of a kind handily. Had she been lured, when she thought she’d set the trap?

Bess smiled sweetly at Carla, waited for the Black Queen to bet. She felt the switch, the Black Queen’s ruthlessness clicked into place finally. No more pussyfooting around. Bess—correction, White Diamond—had come to play, too.

“Raise two hundred dollars,” said Carla.

“Call,” said Bess.

The other players stopped flitting and flirting and drinking, sensing that real poker was being played. As if the signal was sent across the room, a small gathering of people stood around the table, watching.

The river: five of clubs. A rag. No help to either player. If it’d been another queen … but no. Carla had to figure out whether Bess was bluffing. Did she have two hearts in the pocket? Two aces in the pocket would also beat her three queens. What were the odds? Would Bess have bet so aggressively on a flush draw?

The dealer said, “Ma’am?”

Carla said, “Raise, three hundred dollars.”

Bess hesitated. Behind her blue eyes, she calculated her odds. Carla knew Bess had something. But what?

“Reraise, six hundred.”

The crowd murmured. She heard someone say, “Go, Bess!”

“Call,” said Carla, dropping her chips into the huge pot.

Bess showed first. In the pocket, she had the ace of clubs, and the three of hearts. Two pair.

A ripple of applause, a few hands patted Bess’s shoulders. Carla noticed Borden standing behind his wife, smiling proudly at her gutsy play and solid hand.

Carla turned over her pair.

The dealer said, “Three queens, the winner.”

A moment of silence, and then applause from the audience. Clapping louder that anyone, Bess smiled at Carla, radiant, beaming, a bit flushed. She said, “Good hand.”

“You, too,” replied Carla. Grinning freely, the Black Queen relished the moment, and raked in the pot.

Alicia leaned close to Carla and sniffed. “Funny. You don’t smell like you’re on fire.”

Robin held up her drink. “Cheers!”

Borden kissed Bess’s cheek. “Lucky in love,” he said to Bess.

It was a cute moment. Carla’s heart tweaked. She glanced around, hoping to find Claude among the spectators, to share her excitement with him.

She spotted him in the back of the crowd. His expression would be inscrutable to the casual observer. But Carla read it, as only a wife could. He was embarrassed.

Carla felt a momentary pull to go to him and apologize for whatever she might’ve done to make him upset. But then the dealer said, “Blinds, please.” Coldly, purposefully, Carla returned her complete attention to the game, where it stayed for the rest of the night.

Hours later, Claude and Carla walked to their car, parked two blocks from Brownstone. They each carried two gift baskets, including the Orlando package. Claude rolled his eyes when Carla picked it.

Opening the trunk, Claude said, “They won’t all fit.”

“Put the YMCA basket in the backseat,” she said. A family gym membership, bathrobes, a shower caddy. The Y was only a few blocks
from the hospital. She’d work out at lunch, better herself. The boys could take swim lessons.

“Gym membership,” he said, shaking his head. “You know you’ll never go.”

They took their seats, and Claude turned the ignition. Carla was ready, beyond ready, to get home. She was exhausted from three hours of poker. The other players came and went—in Robin’s case, to refresh her drink. In Alicia’s case, to find Tim, and then leave abruptly (something was going on there, but Carla didn’t know what). Bess had PA duties. Carla stayed put. She never left her seat. Bess returned for the entire last half hour, and she and Carla went heads up, just the two of them against each other. Bess went all in with a pair of kings. All night long, Carla had the edge. She finished the night with a pair of aces.

Well, not exactly
finished
. The night was just getting started, in a way. She had Claude and his hurt feelings to contend with. Right now, in the passenger seat, she didn’t feel like the night’s big winner. She was going home with the booby prize, a prickly husband.

For once, he didn’t brood in stormy silence. “You embarrassed yourself tonight,” he said, “You were greedy and coarse.”

“I didn’t embarrass myself,” said Carla, suddenly afraid that she had come off as undignified.

“You embarrassed
me
,” he said, getting to the point.

“I embarrassed you by winning?” she said. “I outplayed everyone. I was better than everyone. Why aren’t you
proud
of me? Why aren’t you rooting for me?”

“Why would I be proud to watch you scrape and claw for a place at that table?” asked Claude.

She shook her head. “It always comes back to us against them for you.”

Claude said, “You’d go broke sending Zeke to school with white kids before you’d send him to school with black kids for free.”

Carla said, “It’s not about black and white.”

He laughed bitterly, and steered the car out of the parking spot. Then he shifted into static silence, shutting her out. For once, Carla was grateful for it.

She let her head rest against the window, the glass cooling her forehead. At that moment, Carla hated her husband.

Yes, yes, he was an honorable man, a good father. He worked hard and took responsibility. But Claude wasn’t kind. He wasn’t affectionate. Tonight, they weren’t partners on the same team. They were rivals, on opposite sides, fighting for different goals.

“If I choose panties, then this game is over right now,” said Finn in his boxers, seated Indian-style on the bed across from Alicia. “If I pick the bra, I’ll get to enjoy the view for a while.” Between them, fanned out on the bedspread, two hands of five cards. Finn had a pair of eights. Alicia had king high.

She delighted in the insistent tent of his boxers. “What’s it going to be?” she asked.

“Bra.”

Off with her bra. A 34B, hardly much boob inside it. Alicia often went without bras. As chance would have it, she had been fortunate to wear one today. Strip poker had not been on the agenda when she and Finn suggested they work out of his home office in Battery Park City today. Change location, reset their minds. Alicia was amazed Chaundry, their boss, allowed them to go. They’d had to swear on
their jobs that they’d finish a pitch for a prospective new client, Punch Gym.

The New York City chain had a dozen facilities all over Manhattan. Alicia thought their pitch presentation would be a waste of time. Punch could afford to hire a much bigger agency than Bartlebee. They were a boutique agency—as in, writing ads for single-store boutiques, and unglamorous insurance companies—not a megashop for chain stores, car brands, and beer.