INSOUCIANCE

                                          

For  a long while our afternoon draw poker game in Paris was going nowhere. Day after day the same participants showed up with the attitude of passing time rather than enjoying the challenge of creative poker. Of course that was better than nothing at all, but I suspected if things didn’t pick up the game would slowly expire. Oh well, thanks to Alain Bertier, Grandpa Pepe, and Roland the Corsican I was still making a living. 

The game became duller still when our sole female player, Jacqueline Sels quit drinking.  When fortified by a few shots of whiskey, Jacqueline’s raucous stories and sarcastic barbs were a source of constant amusement. Now, she said, she was going to stick to water.  At first, I thought it was drinking that caused her to quit Jerry and Carla Pritkin’s night game. Resisting alcohol is more difficult in the wee hours of morning than it is in the late afternoon. Then it came out that drinking had nothing to do with her decision. She was angry with a player who was a permanent fixture at the Pritkin’s game.  Dr. Louis Mellot, it seemed, was fooling around with Eva, Jacqueline’s eighteen-year old daughter.

“Two pairs,” says Crybaby Freddie. Although he swears he is going to stop playing he is almost always the first to arrive at Madame Nicole’s café.

“How high,” says Roland?

“You stupid Americans,” says Old Man Pepe. “You finally had a half decent president and what did you do but kick him out?”

“Tens up,” says Freddie.

Roland throws his cards away. “Better than nines over fours.”

“You see,” Bertier says to Freddie. “You don’t lose all your close hands.”

“Didn’t we go through all that a long time ago?” I say to Pepe.

“The old man is right,” says the dentist, Arthur Sisse. “Nixon was a great man.”

“Who cares about politics?” says Jacqueline. “When am I going to find a new man?”

“Oh mother, please!” says Florence, Jacqueline’s younger daughter. From time to time Jacqueline brings the sixteen-year old girl along as a spectator.

“Whose deal is it?” asks Claude Stahly, the other dentist at the table.

“Methinks it is the lady’s,” says English professor Pierre Pegon.

In first position I open a hand with three aces. Sandbagging is not my specialty. Suddenly my eyes fall on Bertier. What the hell is he doing? In an effort to appear nonchalant, the art dealer keeps gazing at the ceiling.  With a coy smile he drops his cards on the table.  It is unlike him to feign indifference when he is not holding a good hand.

Pepe, Sisse and Roland fold.  Crybaby Freddy comes in timidly. Stahly lets out a farting sound to let us know he is not playing the hand. That’s the extent of his humor. I look over at Pegon. Seated next to Bertier, he is squirming in his chair. From my vantage point at the end of the table I see why the teacher is uncomfortable. Behind them, Florence has stretched out her legs. Slowly, Alain Bertier has dropped a hand and is caressing the teenager’s calves.

Jacqueline is drinking directly from a Perrier bottle. Shaking a finger, she indicates that she is folding. Fortunately, her view of Florence is blocked. Unable to come to terms with Louis Mellot wooing her older daughter, imagine what she would think about Bertier touching her baby!

“Not only did he open the door to China,” says Pepe, “he brought about détente with the Russians.”

“Two cards,” I say. “Nixon was the only one who could pull those things off. You forget: for twenty-five years he led the opposition against them.”

“One card,” says Freddie.

Holy cow! I catch a fourth ace.  Will you look at that?  Bertier’s hand has disappeared under Florence’s skirt. The damn fool had better watch himself. With Jacqueline on the wagon, she is apt to be more attentive to what is going on.

“You tell ‘em, Pepe,” says Pegon. “De Gaulle started to kick the Yanks out. It is up to us to finish the job.”

“We can begin right at this table,” says Claude Stahly.

Bertier pays no attention to their banter. His face is blissful. I tell you, one of these days the man is going to go too far.

“You damn idiots,” says Freddie. “Of all the times to talk about politics, you have to pick today.  Here I’m holding four jacks and this American jerk doesn’t know it’s his turn to bet.”

“Four jacks?” I say. “I’ve got four aces.”

“You see, you see!” Freddie cries out. “Now will someone believe me?”

Bertier removes his hand away from Florence’s leg. He rubs his nose. Shifting in her seat, the young girl is looking directly at her mother.

“What is it, Cherie?” says Jacqueline.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“It can only happen to me,” moans Freddie.

“Quit your constant bawling,” says Sisse. “You haven’t given up a single chip when you should have lost your whole pile.”

“Who else can lose with four jacks?”

“We should talk about politics more often,” says Pepe. “It distracts the American.”

“That’s not why I missed my bet,” I say.

“Where has our friend Bertier gone off to?” says Jacqueline. “I have never seen him so quiet.”

Bertier attempts a weak smile. The deal comes to me. What the hell caused
Pepe to think of Nixon after all this time? That’s the French for you. Unfailingly, they remain loyal to the one American president forced out of office.

“Let’s try to play a little faster,” says Roland. “We all seem to be sleeping.”

He is right. We are moving at half our normal speed. As a group, we have been playing together so long we have become like an inbreeding family.

Florence stands up. Straightening her skirt, she moves away from the table.

“Cherie,” says her mother. “Bring me a glass of whiskey, will you? Just a small one to get rid of this funny taste in my mouth.”  Jacqueline throws back her head and laughs.  “Not too small, mind you,” she adds.