Four of a Kind (3 page)

Bess groped around under the table for a hidden pocket, “We have a laminated card somewhere. Here. Okay, it’s royal flush, straight flush, four of a kind …”

Carla said, “Slow down! I’m never going to remember that!”

“Meanwhile,” said Alicia, “what exactly is a straight flush?”

Robin asked, “Is it anything like a mercy flush?”

“That’s lovely,” said Bess.

Carla said, “Okay, I know which five cards I’m using. What now?”

“I dealt, so I’ll talk,” said Bess. “When I’m done, we showdown.”

Alicia looked at her cards. Even with Bess’s explanation, it was all pretty confusing. “Can I see that?” she asked, and Bess passed her the laminated what-beats-what guide.

“My mother,” said the host, “is Simone Gertrude.”

“I’d heard that,” said Robin, sipping her drink. “Grapevine.”

“The feminist?” asked Carla, impressed. “Burned a giant pile of pantyhose on the steps of the Capitol in the seventies, right?”

Alicia said, “I thought it was a giant pile of aprons.”

“She burned both,” said Bess. “If she hadn’t been an activist, she would’ve made an excellent arsonist.”

“Wow,” said Alicia, suddenly realizing she had a flush.

“Are you saying ‘wow’ about your hand, or because I have a famous mother?” asked Bess.

Alicia said, “My poker face isn’t fully functional yet.”

Bess said, “Ready to show?”

Her guests nodded.

Using a combination of the community cards and her “pocket cards,” Carla had two pair—deuces and tens. Alicia’s heart beat a little faster. So far, she was winning. Robin had three of a kind—eights. Not a threat. Alicia put down her flush: clubs. Bess whistled low, and showed her pair of deuces.

“I win!” said Alicia, an instant convert, madly in love with poker. “I beat all of you! With my winningest hand. Oh, yeah!”

Robin sipped her drink. “And you play it cool, too.”

Turning to Bess, Alicia said, “Now I get to ask a question.” The host nodded. “What does your feminist icon mother think of the fact that you’re a housewife?”

Carla whooped. “Hey, that was my question.”

Robin nodded in agreement. “Good one.”

Bess pursed her lips. “Exactly what you’d assume. Simone thinks I’m a bad role model for Amy. That I’m squandering my potential. That I’m throwing my life away.” Bess shared this recrimination without much emotion. Being called a waste of skin by your own mother would be devastating, she thought. Alicia’s mother had been a stay-at-homer, and she expressed nothing but pride in her daughter’s career in advertising, such as it was.

“I hope you told her to fuck off,” said Alicia. Seeing Carla flinch at her language, she added, “Sorry. I work with a bunch of guys.”

Robin asked, “What
do
you say to defend yourself?”

“Only one question per showdown,” said Bess. “If you want more of the story, you’ll have to beat me.”

Alicia took a second (third) close look at her beautiful, rich host. One shouldn’t judge a blonde by her highlights. Bess might look like a pampered conservative, but she’d been raised by a risk-loving radical.

“Gimme those cards,” said Robin, gathering them up and starting
to shuffle. She paused to finish her drink, check her watch (for the second time, Alicia noticed), and tip her empty glass to Bess.

The host jumped to replenish Robin’s glass, and top off the rest of their drinks. A lightweight, Alicia would be hammered if she finished a second drink. The others didn’t seem to feel the alcohol.

Robin started dealing. “Eleven years ago,” she said as the cards landed on the felt, “I weighed three hundred and forty-two pounds.”

“No,” said Bess. “You’re a toothpick.”

“Oh, yes,” said Robin. “I was enormous. I looked like the women on
The Biggest Loser
, only fatter.”

Alicia calculated the timing. The fourth-graders at Brownstone were nine-going-on-ten. Robin said “eleven years ago.” Was she heavy when her daughter was conceived? Alicia knew Robin was single. Scenarios sprang to mind. Turkey-baster? Chubby-chaser boyfriend? Chubby-chaser husband, who left when she dropped the weight? How had she shed over two hundred pounds?

“About fifteen questions are running through my head,” said Bess, echoing Alicia’s thoughts. “I’d better win this hand.”

Carla twirled the ice in her glass with her finger. Her face appeared completely calm. Maybe the twirl was her “tell”—the nonverbal giveaway that betrayed her good hand. In
Casino Royale
, the villain stroked a throbbing vein on his temple. Alicia made a mental note to notice whenever Carla twirled her ice.

Alicia examined her pocket cards, and then glanced at the five communal cards faceup on the felt.

She gasped when she saw she had three queens as well as a pair of sixes. Glancing at the cheat sheet, she realized she had a full house! One of the best possible hands. She couldn’t help smiling.

Robin said, “Don’t look now. Poker Face over there thinks she’s got another winner.” Alicia grinned. Bess smiled serenely. Carla twirled her ice.

“What happens if the dealer wins?” Robin asked. “Do I ask myself a question?”

Bess said, “Hmm. You get to ask any of us a question.”

Robin nodded. “Let’s show.”

The women lay down their hands in turn.

Bess said, “Pair of nines.”

Robin said, “Pair of jacks.”

Alicia beamed and turned over her queens. “Full freaking house. Yeah, bay-bay!”

Carla, her finger by now numb from ice twirling, arranging her five cards of choice in a row. She took the two sixes, and a king from the communal cards. And then turned over a pair of kings. “Higher full house,” she said. “My kings beat your queens.”

“Shit!” said Alicia. “Why do kings beat queens? If we’re making our own rules for Brooklyn Hold ’Em, queens are hereby better than kings.”

Robin said, “I’ll drink to that.”

Carla nodded. “Fine, but I still win this hand. So my question, Robin: How on earth did you lose that much weight?” Carla herself was a plus-sized woman, probably a size eighteen.
Fluffy
, Alicia believed, was the latest euphemism.

Robin said, “Pregnancy. My ob-gyn said if I didn’t lose weight, with my blood pressure, I was at risk for preeclampsia. I could have a stroke, lose the baby. Nothing like the fear of sudden death for diet motivation. I’m the only person I know who
lost
fifty pounds while pregnant.”

“Incredible,” said Alicia.

“And then you just kept on dieting?” asked Carla.

Robin started to answer, but Bess stopped her. “Only one question per win,” reminded the host.

“But I want the whole story,” said Carla.

“This one question rule is a tease,” agreed Alicia. “It’s like foreplay.”

“Yes, but think how delicious it’ll be to get the full story after
your curiosity has had a chance to build, get taut and coiled, and then—
finally
—shatter with relief and satisfaction?” asked Bess.

The four women paused for a second. Robin said, “I need a cigarette.”

Carla said, “I never thought of curiosity in those terms before.”

“Who deals?” asked Alicia, eager to get back to playing.

“I’ll go,” said Carla, sweeping up the cards with her broad hands, shuffling them expertly, making a bridge, cutting the deck with one hand. “I don’t let my boys watch TV during the week, so we end up playing a lot of gin,” she explained.

“That better not be your secret,” said Robin.

Carla laughed, that great booming thunder. “I’m getting there,” she said, starting to flick two facedown cards to each player. “Today,” she said, turning over the community cards, “I saved the life of a six-year-old girl.”

“I’d heard you’re a pediatrician,” said Robin. “Grapevine.”

“At Long Island College Hospital, right?” asked Bess. “Right around the corner from here. I love living so close to a hospital. Makes me feel safe.”

“I’m not answering any questions,” said Carla imperiously, “until I see a winning hand.”

After a hasty bit of peeking and consulting the cheat sheet (Alicia noticed Carla hadn’t twirled her ice for this hand), they showed their combinations.

Robin said, “Nothing. Pair of twos.”

Alicia said, “Beat that. Two pair.” Aces and threes.

Bess said, “Sorry, sweetheart. Jack high flush.” All diamonds.

“Shit!” said Alicia.

Carla said, “Nothing. King high card.”

The host and winner of the hand turned to Carla. “I’ll have to ask the obvious. What happened?”

“I run the walk-in pediatric clinic,” Carla started, adjusting her
caftan as she talked. “A mom brought in her daughter. Low fever, abdominal pain, and nausea. Her mama thought it was a stomach bug, and kept saying she shouldn’t have bothered taking off from work to bring the girl in. I insisted on a sonogram—and my hunch was right. Her appendix was an hour from bursting. If I’d sent them home, they might not have made it back to the hospital in time.”

The three women listened, awed by Carla’s story. She added, “Just another day. Feels strange—good strange—to talk about it. I don’t discuss work with my family. It’s home policy, like no TV. My husband, Claude—he sells medical supplies—he’s too tired at the end of the day to listen. The boys are too young for stories about sick kids. I’d tell them about the happy endings, like today. But that’s just presenting one side. You have to talk about life
and
death. It’s both, or neither.”

“You can talk to us about both,” said Bess, smiling generously.

Carla nodded and shrugged noncommittally. She would say no more about either tonight.

A moment of stiff silence followed, until Alicia gathered the cards, shuffled, and dealt. The woman peeked at their pocket cards. Robin sipped her drink and glanced at her watch. Bess tapped the table.

Alicia, meanwhile, mentally scrambled for something to say. She was comfortable with the other women revealing themselves, but—even though it’d been her idea—she was reluctant to open up herself. Alicia had a big bag of personal issues: She was raising a socially stunted child. Her salary would never be enough to support her family. She was pissed off at her husband’s chronic unemployment and apparent lack of ambition. She was halfway in love with Finn, even though he treated her like a frat bro. She could confess her deep, bedrock belief that most people were capital-L Living—having fun, making memories, adoring and being adored—while she was merely existing. Alicia glanced up, and realized the other women were waiting for her to speak.

Robin said, “Don’t think, Alicia. Just blurt. Thinking is way overrated.”

Alicia nodded, opened her mouth. No words came out.

Bess said, “Just a little something. Where you grew up. Start easy.”

“My husband, Tim, and I haven’t had sex in two years,” Alicia said, and then clasped her hand over her mouth.

“Now that’s what I call a blurt!” said Robin.

A male voice drifted down the stairs, “Honey?”

“It’s Borden,” said Bess.

Weirdly, Alicia had the impulse to hide, like she was in high school, about to be busted for smoking pot in the basement. All the women got edgy at the sound of a man’s intrusion. And what a man he turned out to be. Borden Steeple appeared on the stairs, first his shoes, long legs in creased gray trousers, then his slim-fitting suit jacket across a broad chest, the red tie. Alicia couldn’t help gasping slightly when she saw his face. He was a stunner. The most handsome man Alicia’d ever seen in person. Dark eyes and thick, nearly black hair. As he walked closer to the table, she saw the crow’s feet, which made his chiseled face just imperfect enough to be truly gorgeous. He gave Bess a kiss on the lips, left a hand on her shoulder, and then smiled around the table.

Borden said, “I seem to have interrupted an interesting conversation.”

The three other women immediately looked to Alicia, and started laughing. Alicia must have blushed fire-engine red, because Borden said, “Are you all right? Can I get you a glass of water?”

“I’m fine,” croaked Alicia.

Borden said, “How long have you been down here? It’s nearly ten.”

Alicia was shocked to hear it. She’d arrived around seven. Three hours had gone by? Was it possible? Bess said, “Oops. I’d better put the kids to bed.”

“I’ll do it,” said Borden good-naturedly. “Carry on.”

And then he gave the players a rear view that nearly sucked the
breath from Alicia’s lungs. If she got into bed with a man like that every night, she’d die of happiness. The thought alone of rubbing up against a specimen like Borden flooded Alicia’s panties. How sad was her sex life, that two minutes in the presence of a sexy man sent her reeling?

Carla coughed. “Your husband, Bess. He’s …”

“I know,” said the host, nodding. “We have a severe attractiveness discrepancy. You should see the reaction when we walk into parties. People can’t believe he’s with me.”

“That’s bull,” said Robin. “He’s a ten, you’re a nine and a half.”

Alicia considered herself a six. She was a shrimp, small-breasted, light brown hair, hazel eyes, nothing special about her face except she had a cute nose. Tim, too thin, starting to lose his hair, an angular nose, but deep blue eyes that she once took long, leisurely swims in, was a seven.

Robin said, “We should call it a night.”

Bess asked, “Can we do it again? And next time, we can talk committee business, too.”

Robin said, “We have to meet again.” Looking at Alicia, she added, “And we’re picking up where we left off. I, for one, would much rather talk about Alicia’s non-sex life than scheduling lectures.”

Alicia grimaced, and wished she hadn’t blurted the shameful truth. Why had she done it? She didn’t know these women! And now they knew the one thing about her she wouldn’t have told her best friend, if she had one.

“Next week? Same time?” asked Bess, all too eager to make firm plans. “Same place, or should we alternate hosting duties?”

Carla was a woman of a firm mind, and schedule. “Let’s make it two weeks. At my house.”

Once that was settled, the women pulled back their chairs and carried their glasses to the bar sink.

“My car is parked in the hospital lot,” said Carla. “Does anyone need a ride?”