Never Too Late for Love

by Warren Adler

  "I got bare tit," Solly Lebow would say proudly, his sallow face beaming with the knowledge of his sexual prowess.

  "Off Gladys?" Gladys' endowments were a neighborhood legend, and anyone who could penetrate that first line of defense must have had formidable powers.

  "Wow."

  Itzie Solowey, who was small, with a big nose and a pimply face, would merely snicker. He never could attract girls, so he took refuge in a pose of superior contempt.

  "Big deal," he would say.

  "If I don't get stinky pinkie," Mortie Krubitch would say, patting down his shiny curly hair, "I walk."

  "And did you get it tonight?" one of them would ask.

  "Smell." He would put out his middle finger and pass it around like an Indian peace pipe.

  "Yuk."

  "And you, Hymie, what did you get?" they would ask.

  Hymie, by then, was in love, and beyond sharing his experiences. He had been going with Muriel since the eighth grade. Once, at the beginning, he had told them that he had gotten her pants off and had nearly put it in. But when he knew he was in love and that her body was sacred and private, he stopped talking about it. Besides, he had never put it in. In those days, you waited for marriage. Hymie was, of course, the first of the gang to marry. He was twenty-one and because his father-in-law was reasonably comfortable by the standard then, they had a big wedding in the Brooklyn Jewish Center on Eastern Parkway, complete with a fancy "hupa" and a sit-down dinner. All the boys from Hoffman's were ushers, looking stiff and self-conscious in their rented monkey suits, as they called them.

  After his marriage, Hymie spent some time with the boys in front of Hoffman's, but it was different. He was one of them, he knew, but he sensed a gulf between them.

  He missed being with them, sharing the guys' talk. Life had changed.

  Perhaps that was why he started the game in the first place, just to be with them. The stakes weren't that high, five and ten, dealer's choice, but he looked forward to the weekly games with great anticipation. He especially enjoyed the time over coffee and donuts--provided by Muriel--after the game, which gave them a chance to gab and catch up with what was happening to each of them.

  Solly Lebow was the second of the boys to marry; again, they all trooped down to the tux-for-hire shop and stuffed themselves into starched shirts for the ushering ordeal, which netted them the usual reward of gold-plated cufflinks.

  "Now that Solly's married" Muriel said one night after the game,"can't they have it in his house sometimes?" Actually, Hymie knew that, in her heart of hearts, Muriel didn't approve of the game, nor any activity in which she did not share. The idea of separating her from the game made her bitchy at times, but he ignored it.

  "How much did you lose?" she would ask when he crept into bed beside her after the game. One time, he actually told her, and she kept him up all night with threats and recriminations. He eventually learned to tell her that he'd won a few bucks--even when he lost. Actually, he wasn't a good poker player and lost most of the time. Benny Bernstein, with his steel mind for figures and his cool rubber-lipped face, was always a winner. When Benny played out a full hand, he usually had the cards. But sometimes he would bluff. Occasionally, someone would reach over and grab Benny's cards before he could slip them back into the deck, which never failed to cause an eruption.

  "He bluffed. The son-of-a-bitch bluffed."

  "Eat your hearts out," Benny would say, sweeping the table of its chips.

  After Mortie Krubitch and Blintzie Goldberg got married, they started holding the game in other houses. It had somehow evolved to Tuesday nights and it fell to Hymie to keep track of where the game would be.

  "Where's the game next week?"

  "Mortie's place. And the week after, at Blintzie's."

  It was only after Benny Bernstein got married that the logistics of the game grew complicated, at least once every five weeks. Benny married Shiela Schwartz, whose father was a furrier and, therefore, a cut above them all economically. His in-laws insisted that Benny and Shiela move into a fancier apartment house in Crown Heights. Benny was, by then, manager of a stationery store in Manhattan and, with his poker winnings and his excellent ability to manage money, was able to afford a better apartment.

  "You couldn't move around the corner from here," Solly Lebow admonished. "Now we gotta take a subway."

  "Look," Benny said. "I'm the one that has to take the subway most of the time. Once every five weeks won't kill you. It's only four stops, anyway. No big deal."

  "Maybe we could keep playing in this neighborhood." Blintzie Goldberg said, his glasses sliding over a greasy nose. It was one of those natural afflictions from which there was no escape, and he had developed the annoying habit of constantly pushing the frames back to the bridge of his nose.

  "That means somebody has to go twice," Benny said.

  "Well, we never have it at Itzie's place," Mortie Krubitch pointed out. Itzie lowered his eyes in shame. He was single and still lived with his parents above their grocery store. There was hardly room for them to eat their meals in their kitchen.

  "Itzie does his share. He brings us cakes."

  "Stale cakes," Mortie added caustically.

  "They're fresh," Itzie rejoined.

  "Maybe I should drop out of the game," Benny suggested.

  "And me," Itzie agreed, his tiny face flushed with anger.

  "Maybe you both should," Blintzie pointed out.

  "Come on guys, deal," Hymie said, and the crisis was over as the cards rained quietly onto the table.

  There were times when the game was called off. A relative had died. It was a Jewish holiday. Two of the boys were sick at the same time. But beyond such acts of God, the game endured.

  Even Blintzie's cheating could not shake its routine.

  "He goes light, then pushes his light chips into the pot." It was Itzie Solowey who spotted it first.

  "I can't believe it," Hymie said.

  "Watch it next time. I'll kick you under the table."

  But Hymie spotted the action before he felt Itzie's kick. Blintzie would let his chips evaporate without replenishment during a heavy bidding sequence. He would move a number of chips out of the pot to keep track of his lights. When he lost, he would merely push the chips back into the pot without making up for what he had borrowed.

  "What should we do?" Itzie asked Hymie. "Tell him he's a cheat?"

  "No. Let me think about it."

  Throughout the week, Hymie considered the dilemma restlessly. Blintzie's actions were a major threat to the game.

  "How could he?" he asked himself. "It's supposed to be a friendly game."

  By this time, the weekly games had been going on about five years. Hymie and Muriel had two children, and others were beginning their families as well. Their lives were changing.

  Through various recessions, money was tight, but they kept the game going by lowering the stakes. No more than ten-cent raises, three time maximum.

  But the matter of Blintzie's cheating was not settled easily. It preyed on Hymie's mind for months, and he would watch with sadness every time Blintzie did it.

  "Sometimes, I actually hope he wins the pot," Hymie told Itzie.

  "Yeah, it takes all the fun out of the game."

  "I can't believe it, even when I see it."

  "Should we throw him out of the game?"

  It was the inevitable question. Finally, it reached a point of no return.

  Blintzie lost badly one night and repeatedly went light. He got into such a rotten mood that he left early.

  "What are we going to do with him?" Benny asked when Blintzie had gone.

  "You saw it too?" Hymie asked.

  "You think I'm blind?"

  "I thought I was the only one," Solly said. "He doesn't even try to hide it anymore."

  "So what should we do?" Itzie asked.

  "We could throw him out of the game," Benny suggested.

  "How can we do that?"

  "Easy. We tell him
he's a damned cheat. How can he have the conscience to cheat his friends?"

  "I don't know," Hymie said. He looked around the table at the faces of his friends, knowing that, despite their brave talk, they were as confused as he.

  "We could ignore it," Hymie said.

  "We've ignored it for five years," Benny reminded them.

  "I think we have to make allowances," Hymie said finally, looking at Benny. "We make allowances elsewhere." Benny lowered his eyes and his face flushed.

  "Let's compromise," Solly said. "Each night, one of us plays watchdog. He watches the pot, calls the lights to Blintzie's attention. Not nasty. Just a friendly reminder."

  "Sounds OK to me," Itzie said.

  The idea seemed to work, and the threat to the game passed as Blintzie got the message.

  "Maybe he didn't even know he was doing it," Itzie said.

  "Maybe," Hymie agreed.

  Blintzie certainly didn't serve up the only challenge to the game over the years. Mortie Krubitch nearly dropped out. It was at the height of one of the recessions and Mortie was barely able to provide for his family.

  "My wife won't let me come any more," he told them one Tuesday night.

  "She's scared, and I don't blame her." By a strange coincidence, though, Mortie won big that night--the start of a hot streak that lasted for weeks, in fact. He never did drop out. Then Itzie Solowey nearly got drafted, but was saved by flat feet, a punctured eardrum, and a double hernia.

  "No wonder you never got married, Itzie," Hymie cajoled. "You're a broken-down mess."

  The once-pleasant neighborhood of Brownsville began to deteriorate, and some of the boys started to talk about moving away. In fact, Solly Lebow moved about an hour's drive away, but they all had cars by then, so it was workable.

  "I think you're crazy," Muriel protested when Hymie came in at two in the morning after a game at Solly's house. "You won't be fit for nothing tomorrow."

  And Muriel wasn't the only wife who protested. Things got worse when Benny Bernstein moved to Forest Hills.

  "My wife is killing me," Hymie told them. "She really gets pissed off when I come in late."

  "Mine too," Blintzie echoed.

  "I got a bad time last week," Mortie admitted. "But I told her to mind her own damned business. I'll be damned if I'll give up our game."

  "It doesn't bother me," Itzie snickered.

  "Shut up and deal," Hymie shot back.

  But the constant pressure from the wives escalated, and it was only after Solly Lebow came up with an idea that included the women that the pressure abated. The guys would cut the pot--which had graduated to a quarter and fifty cents with no raise limits--and use the proceeds for a weekend at the Concord. Now the women had a stake in the game, too.

  It took eighteen months for them to accumulate enough money for the trip. And, in the end, it proved to be the most dangerous threat the game ever witnessed.

  "This room stinks," Muriel said, after they checked in on Friday afternoon.

  She sat on the bed to test the mattress, then stooped to look out of the window. The room was under a dormer of one of the older buildings. "And the view is crummy."

  "It's only for two nights," Hymie said.

  "It stinks," Muriel said again, her voice shrill with anger.

  Hymie was embarrassed, because the bellhop was still in the room as Muriel complained.

  "I'll bet we got the worst building," Muriel squeaked, turning to the bellhop. "Is this the worst building?"

  "No," the bellhop said hesitantly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "It's a little older..." he began.

  "See," Muriel cried. "I'll bet the Bernsteins got a newer room."

  "We're all paying the same."

  "Molly Bernstein always gets extras. Always." She sat down on the bed and folded her arms. "I will not live in this room," she announced flatly, her jaw set.

  "They were pretty well booked..." the bellhop began.

  "Then I'll go home."

  "Two lousy nights. Come on, Muriel. Be reasonable."

  "If Molly Bernstein can get a better room, then I can."

  Finally, Hymie went back to the desk in the main building. He was steaming when he arrived, determined to vent his anger on the desk clerk.

  Benny Bernstein and Solly Lebow were there before him.

  "You, too?" he asked.

  "Molly is driving me crazy."

  "Whose idea was this?" Solly said.

  After hours of cajoling, they managed to get their rooms changed. But Muriel still was not satisfied.

  "If I find that Molly Bernstein got a better room, don't expect any lovey-dovey. Not from this Jewish lady."

  "I hope she has the fanciest suite in the joint."

  But the rooms weren't the only problem. There was also the matter of the women's clothes.

  "The fancy lady has to wear a mink stole to breakfast," Muriel pointed out as they walked back to their room.

  "Who?"

  "Francie Goldberg."

  "So?"

  "You know why? She wants to show that Blintzie is a better provider."

  "Maybe she was chilly," Hymie suggested. Of course, he could never afford to buy his wife a mink stole.

  "And did you see those dirty looks that Gussie Lebow gave us all? She's very hoity-toity now that she's started taking adult courses at NYU. We're not smart enough for her."

  In the afternoon, the men gathered to play poker in the card room while the women tried to amuse themselves in various ways.

  "This wasn't such a hot idea after all," Hymie said. "My wife is driving me nuts."

  "You're not alone," Mortie chimed in. "You'd think we'd taken them to be tortured."

  "I like it here," Itzie said. "I got laid last night."

  "Well, that makes one of us," Hymie said.

  "Deal," Benny commanded.

  They never again cut the pot to provide special benefits to the wives. But the game continued.

  The world changed. They grew older. They watched their children marry, celebrated their grandchildren with brisses, bar mitzvahs, and the like. And they attended the funerals of their parents. Still, the game endured. It endured Solly Lebow's first heart attack, Benny Bernstein's kidney-stone operation, Itzie Solowey's late marriage. There was a sense of pride in the longevity of the game. On its fortieth anniversary, the game was celebrated in Hymie Cohen's apartment in Flatbush. Muriel baked an anniversary cake and insisted on putting forty candles on it. They blew out the flames together.

  "I can't believe it," Hymie exclaimed, looking around the table at the men he had known as boys. "Where did it all go?"

  "A hundred thousand pots," Benny answered.

  "Always the human calculator" Solly rejoined.

  "I figure you won more than $10,000 Benny," Itzie said.

  "A pleasure taking your money."

  "Most of it was mine," Blintzie pointed out.

  "Yours, especially," Benny said, winking to the others around the table.

  Solly's second heart attack brought home the reality that the game couldn't last forever. Solly was welcomed back six weeks after his attack. He was sad and depressed. But they had missed him. When anyone was absent, the rhythm of the game changed. It was like moving a piece of furniture from an old, familiar setting.

  "The doctor says I have to go to Florida, that I gotta retire." Solly announced on the night he returned to the game. There were tears in his eyes.

  "That's not the end of the world," Hymie said.

  "I'm gonna miss the game." Solly sniffed, as the tears filled his eyes and slid down his cheeks. Hymie felt a lump grow in his throat. He knew the others felt the same way.

  The Lebows bought a condominium in Sunset Village, and the game was never quite the same.

  "Now I'm getting Solly's shitty cards," Itzie said on the first Tuesday after Solly left. They all knew, of course, that he was merely offering a humorous cover for the pervading sense of loss.

  "I don't see how," Blin
tzie said. "I'm still getting the same lousy hands."

  "It's just not the same," Hymie told his wife that night. "Maybe we're getting too old. Maybe we should stop the game."

  "How can you stop the game?" Muriel asked.

  "Everything comes to an end," he answered, feeling depressed.

  "Florida isn't such a bad idea," Muriel said. He had been thinking the same thing. The city was changing. The cold seemed more intense. Nothing was the same, and the stories of warmer days, cleaner air and safer streets were having an influence on them and their friends. Every day, they would hear about more of their acquaintances moving to Florida.

  Then Mortie announced that he, too, was headed for Sunset Village.

  "Gussie was mugged," he said sadly. "They took her pocketbook and she got a black eye. The kids want us to get out of Brooklyn, so they're buying us a condominium at Sunset Village."

  "There goes the game," Itzie said.

  "I'm sure you could get a fill-in hand."

  "It won't be the same."

  "It hasn't been the same since Solly left."

  They tried bringing in other players, but something was missing, the ambiance gone. There was bickering.

  One of the new players accused Blintzie of cheating.

  "I saw him," the man said. "He went light, and he never put his money in."

  "You're crazy," Hymie countered, the other joining in Blintzie's defense.

  "I saw him. Don't tell me what I saw."

  "Look," Blintzie said. "Maybe it was an accident. I could have forgot. I'll pay to keep the peace."

  "The hell you will," Hymie said. "Who is he to accuse any of us?" he said, turning to the man. "You have your damned nerve." The man cashed in his chips and left quickly.