by Caryl McAdoo
Holly lifted the small pile of pulled weeds, leaned back and rolled her shoulders, then faced her. “Oh, my aching back. I’ll tell you, the first thing I’ll be doing if I’m the next Mrs. Preston is to have a breast reduction. I never meant for them to be this heavy.”
“Oh, really?” Marge pinched out a tiny clump of rye grass by its roots then adjusted her broad-rimmed straw hat. “You did that to yourself?”
“Right before we all came.”
“I see. I have heard that a reduction often helps with aching backs. But working in the dirt releases endorphins to help pain, too. I hear tell in Japan the land’s at such a premium, city folks actually pay to get their fingers dirty.”
“No one has to pay me. I’ve always enjoyed gardening, pain or no. I just love the smell of the earth. And making things prettier.”
“Me, too.”
A car coming down the farm-to-market slowed to a crawl, and the driver tooted his horn as he approached. His electric window disappeared into the door, and he hung his elbow out. “Good job, ladies. Been watchin’ your progress.” He gave a wide smile, waved then eased on off.
“Thanks.” Holly waved back.
The friendliness of country folks put Marge in mind of childhood days. It tickled her that the old codger admitted he’d been watching them all along. He’d passed by more than a couple of times before.
“And see?” Her cohort chuckled. “It’s a hobby so many others can enjoy, too.”
Gathering the tools in a bucket, she pushed herself up. Her knees complained, and she stood still a minute or two combating that ornery stiffness. “You’re preaching to the choir, my friend. I totally agree and freely confess I love it, too. Mama’s responsible for my green thumb. I teased her of being a walking plant encyclopedia, and the reason I still enjoyed digging and making mud pies.” She backed up a few steps and studied the handy work. “Looks good. I like it. Hope Dub does.”
Holly joined her. “So do I, and surely he will. Job well done, partner.”
Marge admired the beautiful flowers and colors another minute, then nodded toward the house. “Did you hear Vicki’s trying to get a game up this afternoon? You much of a card player?”
Holly laughed. “Me? I took my first steps under a poker table, and Mama always said the only reason she even saw it was that she dropped a couple of her chips.”
“Oh, dear. I hadn’t been worried before, but this poker game might be the end of me.”
“Why would you think that?” Holly took the bucket of tools from her. “You’ve played before, haven’t you?”
“Oh yeah, I’ve played—a lot. But mostly penny-ante. I’d get so upset with my brother, uncle, and dad for trying to buy pots. I never liked paying so much to see that next card, and I still hate high bets to this day. Just can’t stand to lose money that way. A dollar’s a plenty big bet far as I’m concerned.”
“Think of it as his money, because I can tell you right now, it’ll definitely be high stakes. Count on that because Dub’s a high-stakes kind of guy.”
A breeze whipped up, and Marge grabbed her hat. “I can’t bare the thought of leaving.” She held her face up to the wind with her eyes closed. “But if I lose, I know you’ll look after these beds. That way maybe I can bring my daughter to First Monday—can you believe we’d never been? I never knew, oh, I’d heard about it. Anyway, I could drive by and enjoy the beds.” She took a deep breath then turned to face Holly. “And remember my days here. I’ve really come to love the place and all my new friends, too.”
“What a sweet thing to say. With all the competition, I hadn’t really thought of the others as friends, more like opponents instead. Then I’ve always been highly competitive.”
Marge headed back.
Her helper followed. “Bet Dub’s card game really brings out the claws, but I wouldn’t worry. No way is he going to send you packin’ this early. Or Audrey either. He’d miss her cookin’ too much.”
“I don’t know. He’s already made the rules known.” She shaded her eyes and studied the dark gray clouds rolling in from the west. Lightning flashed inside them. “Rain will be good for our flowers.”
“And the apples, too.”
Marge looked over her shoulder. “I guarantee the game won’t be rigged. You don’t know him if you think he’d cheat for anyone.” She propped her back with her hand to make the small incline up the drive. “Why, I believe he’d sooner cut off a finger than not keep his word, and if he says the first one out goes home Tuesday morning, then believe you me, whoever loses will be gone. No matter who it is.”
Holly widened her eyes. “Whatever you think. I’ve seen the way he looks at you and Audrey both, and Vicki of course. Everyone else has a tough row to hoe.”
“Oh, you’re just reading him wrong. I don’t I have any edge over anyone else.” If the money wasn’t so good and the work so no-work-at-all, she’d have already been down the road.
“You may be right, but I figure he’ll see to it that the one he wants to go loses.”
“Now how would he be able to do that? I don’t think so.” Marge reached the back patio and opened the tool shed.
Holly started putting the tools away, each on its own hook or peg with its outline traced on the wall, then nodded toward the kitchen. “Go ask Vicki what she thinks. She told an interesting story about Dub this morning.”
“Really, where was I?”
“I’m not sure. Might have been when you and he were looking at his trees, spooning amidst the blossoms.” Holly wrinkled her nose.
Marge’s cheeks warmed, and she waved her off. “Oh, please. Don’t use that tone or make that face. As I remember, he invited the whole room.”
“Yeah, looking right at you. Plus you were the only one dressed.”
“So? That doesn’t mean you couldn’t have come.”
“Whatever.” Holly stepped toward the kitchen. “You playing or not?”
“Oh, I guess so. Better get in all the practice I can.” She followed the younger woman into the house then hung back while Holly joined the game in progress.
Vicki dealt a round then patted the extra chair next to her, the one Dub normally sat in. “Come on, Lady Bug.” She reached over and coaxed a tiny red insect with black polka dots onto her finger from Marge’s forearm. “Get a hundred dollars worth of chips and sit down. We can’t pluck you if you don’t light.”
Marge smiled. The beauty only needed a visor and a white shirt with garters to be a riverboat gambler. Against her better judgment, she joined the game anyway.
At first, she played ultra conservatively. If anyone bet more than a dollar—the lowest denomination--she folded. Ten or fifteen hands in, she caught a jack-high straight. She won that pot then three of the next five. By the time Audrey broke the game up to start supper, Marge had amassed two hundred twenty-three dollars profit, except only chips. But still, it bolstered her confidence.
As Vicki put the rack of poker chips into its temporary storage over the refrigerator, Marge remembered what Holly said. “So I hear I missed a good story you told this morning?”
She looked confused. “What story?”
“One about Dub?”
A door closed and heavy boots on wood echoed into the kitchen. Vicki closed the cabinet then glanced over her shoulder. “My room, five minutes.”
“Shall we take separate routes?”
Vicki beamed. “Hey, Dub. Hard day?”
He glanced at Marge smiling, then back to the young lady. “About the same, and you?”
“Not bad.” She wrapped her arm around Marge. “Ladybug here was the big winner today.”
“Well good for you.”
Her cheeks warmed again. “Oh, we weren’t playing for keeps. Doesn’t mean a thing.”
He grabbed a bottle of spring water from the fridge then headed for his office. “See you gals at supper.”
Vicki winked and scurried down the hall. Marge waited a couple of minutes then cold-trailed the storyteller to her ro
om. She sat in the chrome chair made on odd angles across from Vicki sitting Indian style on her bed. “So what’s the story? And why all the secrecy?”
“Oh, I’m not real interested in Dub—I like that name you gave him by the way—knowing that I’ve spent so much time researching him.” She grabbed the large tie-dyed pillow from her Canton excursion, threw it behind her then scooted back and leaned against the wall. “Anyway, I dug up this old Texas Monthly issue. I don’t know how the reporter got him talking, but Dub evidently told the guy he won Nancy in a poker game.”
“He did not.”
“Yes he did, at least that’s what he said.” Vicki licked her lips. “Now the Mis’ess told a different story, claimed they were already sweet on each other before he ever even played in one of their big family poker games.”
“No wonder he’s going to send the loser home.”
“See why I didn’t want him to know?”
Marge agreed even though she’d love nothing better than to hear the whole story from the horse’s mouth, she’d settle for Vicki’s version as told to the reporter. Maybe she’d ask him someday, but first she had to get past next Monday’s game.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Journal entry - April 29th
She’s a natural. Oh the fun we could have had plying the riverboat trade if we’d lived a couple of generations before. What a team we would have made.
Though he normally didn’t eat before noon, Preston decided a big breakfast was in order on Monday. Half a pot of coffee after five, he got a wild hare to cook that breakfast himself. He started by spreading out a slab of honey cured bacon in an over-sized cast iron skillet then turning on the fire to the lowest setting. He loved his pig, but only if cooked properly, and that meant real slow and well done.
With one eye on the bacon, he mixed up a batch of biscuits, from scratch like his grandma had taught him. It surprised him that he still remembered how. Soon enough, Marge—usually first to rise of the ladies—joined him, followed by Audrey. By false dawn, they had gravy, grits, two kinds of melons, and a fruit salad to go with the bacon and biscuits.
Preston pointed toward the hall with his gravy stirring spoon. “Hey, Marge, would you find out how everyone wants their eggs?”
Before he got his two specialty egg skillets good and hot, she returned. “Holly and Charlotte want over-easy. Natalie’s scrambled.”
“Got it. What about you and Vicki?”
“I’m over-medium, and Vicki just pulled the pillow over her face when I stuck my head in.”
“She did?”
Marge nodded.
He retrieved the eggs then opened the refrigerator freezer door and grabbed a couple of ice cubes. For a second, he shook them in his hand then headed toward the bedroom hall, but before he got halfway across the kitchen, he stopped, tossed the ice into the sink, then returned to his egg cooking.
“I hated having it done to me. She doesn’t have to get up and eat this morning or any morning if she doesn’t want to.” He plopped a fat pat of butter into each of the small skillets.
“Well now, I’m glad you feel that way, Dub.” Vicki strolled into the room, rumpled, but still glamorous. “I’ll take mine blindfolded. And, uh, hold the lace if you don’t mind.”
He glanced at her bunny slippers then smiled. “Only because I like a woman in rabbits.”
Three biscuits in, Preston figured he should stop, but everything tasted so good, and he hadn’t even gotten around to the fruit salad yet. Finally, he pushed his plate back. “Anyone object to moving game time up? I say we go from nine to nine instead of waiting until ten to start.”
Everyone agreed. Even though he’d done most of the cooking, he helped with clean up. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d anticipated anything so much as this game. It amused him, and at the same time, caused some concern. Was he trusting Lady Luck too much? He knew who he didn’t want to leave, but wasn’t sure who he did, so maybe leaving the choice to the Lady and her cards would be best.
Before nine, Jorje rolled in a felt covered poker table. Then while Preston righted it and set the chairs, the foreman left again. He returned with a box loaded with manila envelopes. As the clock’s longest hand pointed straight toward heaven, Vicki, the last to sit, slipped in beside Preston. He smiled then nodded toward his foreman. “Pass out the packets.”
Jorje complied then disappeared.
“As promised, you’ll find your check and five hundred in cash. First one to lose all their money, or who has the least amount at nine tonight—if we last that long—leaves in the morning, seven sharp.” He looked at each woman, who reciprocally returned his gaze. “As I said before, remember you’ve all signed a non-disclosure agreement. That remains in effect.”
Vicki poked his arm. “Come on, Dub. We know all that. Let’s play some poker.”
He stared at her a second. She didn’t look away but did shrug an apology with a grin.
“Anyway, whoever has to leave, we’ll talk right after the game.” He took the deck Vicki had opened, shuffled them three times, then dealt them out face up. “First jack deals. Dealer antes.”
* *
Marge, on Dub’s right, didn’t want to catch the first jack, but got it anyway. “How much am I supposed to ante?” She gathered the cards.
Preston shrugged. “Ten’s fine.”
She groaned, but tossed out the bill then slid the deck over for him to cut.
“Thin to win.” He grinned.
She shook her head.
Fate denied Marge who wanted to proceed slowly like in her practice games. She dealt herself two pair, opened for ten dollars, then raked in the pot when everyone folded after the draw; got her twenty back plus the six she won. Not much return. Maybe she should bet more conservatively. A round of bad cards convinced her that the original plan remained the best. She only needed more money than one lady at the end of the game.
By the noon break, about a hundred and fifty down, she figured the antes would break her at this rate. She wandered out to the patio, trying to formulate a better strategy. When she reached the pond, the goldfish swarmed toward her and opened their mouths. She’d seen them do it before, but it still amazed her they’d grown so tame. One of the bigger ones, a massive solid gold that Preston called Roscoe, even let them stroke its back. She retrieved some food from under the bench and sprinkled a two-finger pinch.
“Not too much.” Preston stepped beside her. “How you doing?”
“Not good. I’m a hundred and fifty down.”
“Really? I had it at a buck thirty-eight.”
She pulled the wad of money out of her skirt pocket and counted it, then counted it again. She put the money away then stared at him. “How did you know that?”
“I don’t play the cards. I play the players.”
His words didn’t register. He stood too close. And even with so much at stake, she could only think how it would affect her to be sent away from him. She hated herself for being so foolish, but what could she do? She had to see it through to the end, or she’d never forgive herself.
His lips spread into a broad smile. “Unlike some people.”
She focused. “So what you’re saying is I’m not playing the players?”
“Exactly. You should know who’s up and who’s down, who can and can’t be bluffed. There’s very little luck in poker.”
“Really?” She wasn’t sure how his words of wisdom could save her. “So how’s everyone else doing?”
“Vicki and Holly are up. You, Natalie, Charlotte, and Audrey are all down.”
“What about you?”
“Seventy-three up. Thank you very much for not calling my last bluff.”
“You bluffed me? When?”
He laughed. “I hear I have a tell sign, leastwise Vickie says I do.”
She laughed with him. “So that’s why you told Vickie there’s no way you could lose?”
“Not this game. Not today.”
She stared into his eyes a mom
ent then had to look away, so she studied the fish instead. This game of his was worse than a horror movie, and she hated scary flicks. She could tell he cared about her. He even said she was beautiful, but here they were playing stupid poker to see if she had to go home or got to stay at least another month.
Tears welled, but she blinked them away. Crying wasn’t the answer. She wiped her eyes then faced him. “I think us playing poker to see who goes home is a terrible thing, Dub. You should just pick someone if that’s what you want to do, or just let everyone stay the six months you’ve guaranteed.” She shook her head. “I’ve half-a-mind –” She stopped herself, then hurried inside. She didn’t want to lose. She hated losing anyway, but for sure didn’t want to come in last on this game and have to leave.
In a few minutes, Preston sauntered in and called everyone to the table. “I believe it’s Natalie’s deal.”
For the next four hours, Marge did everything she could to play the other players, but her stack of green backs still dwindled painfully short. If her calculations held, she was the biggest of the losers. The only consolation remained the four hours left to play. She hoped she could hit a good hand.
Preston ordered pizza then called a thirty minute break at five-thirty when the pies arrived. Marge admitted things looked a little better. She had clawed her way back to only ninety-four dollars down. She grabbed two slices and a bottle of spring water then headed for the patio. Maybe he’d join her again.
With only ten minutes left, she strolled back in. Preston, Vicki, and Audrey stood in a tight circle next to the refrigerator laughing. She started to join them, but decided she didn’t fit in their little winners-only clutch. Slipping back into her seat at the table, she gathered the cards. At five-fifty-eight, he returned to his chair.
Preston leaned close as the other ladies took there seats. “You’re doing better.”
She nodded. “Am I still the big loser?”
