Bright Angel Time

by Martha McPhee

  Jane had her stubborn mouth on and was silent. She didn’t like to flirt. Julia said Jane didn’t know how.

  “Don’t mind Jane,” Mom said to Anton, smiling. “She’s just shy.”

  “If you have a good face you can bluff and bluffing’s a lot of fun. There’s a lot to it, but it’s really quite simple. A matter of simple psychology,” Anton said.

  He asked us if we’d brought our money. My face dropped. He winked and smiled and then Mom smiled and knit us together with her eyes. Anton pulled out his wallet and gave us each a twenty-dollar bill, which relieved me. The money was new and clean and I clutched it in my hand. Money seemed like nothing to Anton. Dad never gave us money like that, just handing it out as if it were nothing. Mom said Dad was ‘cheap’ and all they fought about now was money.

  We exchanged the twenties for stacks of different-colored chips. They were glossy on one side. The other side was soft, like a rabbit’s foot. We stacked the chips in towers in front of us, turrets of gold. The twenties lay in a glorious heap by the carousel of chips that Anton had brought. I was going to win it all. Of the three of us I was the generous one. Jane didn’t care about money and Julia kept close hold of hers. The one time she had loaned me money she’d charged me interest. Julia peered over her chips at me and flexed her left eyebrow. I’m going to win it all, I thought again.

  Anton turned the lights off and the kitchen went velvety dark, leaving only the two lit candles in the middle of the table. Everything familiar vanished for an instant, and reappeared in the murky gray shadows. The room became a poker room, a casino. I imagined Las Vegas and the Islands, and the real estate pirates, sitting around a smoke-shrouded table with their whiskeys, their thousand-dollar chips clinking. The candle flames moved and twisted, although the air was still. Wineglasses on a shelf glittered neon. I thought about the thirty thousand a year Anton earned playing cards and of what it could do for us. No more creamed chipped beef, I thought.

  After three closed hands we were hooked. It turned out I had a knack for gambling. All you had to do was bluff and keep your face straight. Even Jane was hooked. She tried not to show it, but she was concentrating on Anton’s words just as carefully as the rest of us. A giddiness rushed through us as our turrets of chips diminished and grew. Even Mom had changed, although she had said, “I don’t want to play. You play for me.” Her green eyes glittered, flirting with ours. She had the same magical radiance that winning or almost winning brings. We would do anything for her now.

  Raise by raise the pots grew. We were bluffing like crazy. Lying freely and openly did something for us, made us feel we were getting away with a lot, like we had something on each other. I won two hands with pairs – sixes and eights. Suckers, I wanted to say, but instead held my face straight, using my arms as a scoop to sweep in the chips. The next hand, I had a pair of fives. I bluffed fiendishly with my knack. I had an inscrutable face. I bet. Anton raised. I raised again. Everyone folded. I could feel the blood in my veins.

  “Let’s see,” Julia said, reaching for my cards.

  “No, no,” Anton said, stopping her. “She doesn’t have to show.” That was the best part – you could bluff and get away with it, and no one would know. With gambling there was always something more, something better just within your grasp, just in that next hand, which made even losing enjoyable.

  “But you can’t bluff all the time, babe,” Anton said, winning a hand I had tried to bluff. He gave me a stern, instructive look and gathered his chips. “That too sets a pattern, and you don’t want to be read.”

  After that hand he won several in a row. Our turrets shrank. He left his chips in a messy pile. Mom smiled. She was tipsy. When she had a few glasses of wine the world would seem utterly perfect to her. Dad used to tease her for getting tipsy on one glass. I tried to remember how he’d tease, but couldn’t.

  “You see now, babes, a lot of subtlety goes into the game,” Anton said. His eyes sparkled and the candlelight caught a gold filling in his mouth. A wonderful seriousness spread over his face. He wanted us to learn – to be tough and to trust. “Once you learn to bluff you need to learn how to read bluffs,” he said. “You can win regularly if you know how to spot nervous tics.” He pulled a silver cigarette holder from his breast pocket and took out a skimpy cigarette that looked almost like a match. “Say you see a player turn his ring while betting high, you wouldn’t be a fool if you challenged him.” He touched his ring, the turquoise so large it looked dangerous. Then he took a long, deep puff and held it inside for a while. He exhaled and cleared his throat.

  “So likewise, the other players will be looking for your tics. It’s the tics that’ll give you away.” He paused again and studied us. His big round head seemed suspended on his neck like a globe. I loved him. “A friend of mine in Texas, Bobby O’Donnell, had an ear tic that gave him away. It was involuntary, but he insisted on a good game of cards.”

  Anton’s voice became particularly thick and cottony as he remembered Texas – long, powerful, drawn-out vowels. He half smiled. I looked at the heap of money. I was impatient to win the game. “Lost his entire ranch, two thousand acres, in one poker game. Lost every last acre and also the house, down to the bearskin rug. Bobby was a terrible card player. There’s another lesson here. Always remember, never start off with more money than your opponents when playing high-stakes poker.” His eyes sharpened and he shook his head in disapproval.

  “See, Eve,” he said. “If you were playing, your tic would be your thumbnail against your lip.”

  Mom smiled and reached for his cigarette and took the tiniest puff.

  “And Julia.” Anton looked at her. “You twist your hair.” She was twirling a curl into a sausage. She quit and sat on her hands. I stopped too; I was picking at my knuckles.

  “Kate, you fiddle with your fingers.” He grinned at me and squinted. I hadn’t realized we had all these ticks and my dress felt suddenly tight.

  “And Jane.” They stared at each other for a long time and I thought any minute Jane would break into a smile. Then her face changed and became serious. God, I hoped she wouldn’t get difficult. A smile waited in Anton’s eyes as they continued to stare. “Jane,” he said, “you press your palm into your cheek.” Jane kept staring, until at last he looked away. I thought of the four of us with our tics, all ticking at once around the table. Mom’s thumb rubbed her lip and Julia twirled her hair. I started to laugh.

  “It’s not funny, it’s sad,” Jane said. She looked down at the table, staring at the litter of dishes and dried-up bits of steak and fat. “I don’t like this.” She got up and excused herself from the game, shoving her chips back in the carousel without getting any money for them.

  “Babe, don’t get discouraged,” Anton said gently, dealing the rest of us another hand of draw. “You’re doing fine. You’re a good player.” Tender like a father.

  “It’s a school night,” Jane murmured. “I have homework to do.”

  “You should pay attention to him,” Mom said smiling. She sipped her wine. “He makes a living at this.” Jane ignored her and cleared the table noisily.

  “Just let her quit,” I said. She loved to make a scene. She liked it when we begged her to do stuff. I bet she wanted Anton to beg her. “Don’t mind Jane,” Julia said. “She’s just antisocial.” Jane turned on a lamp and then sat down by the fire to read. We ignored her.

  ♦

  The poker game went on. I was almost feeling pretty, playing cards. My velvet dress felt good. I thought I’d wear it to school when I’d get some of my friends to play. I’d take the rich ones down by the brook behind the school. I could almost hear the water in the creek rippling. The sky would be blue with a few lazy clouds. Billy Keaton came to mind, with his eggplant head and the wad of cash he carried around in the front pocket of his jeans. He loved to show it off, fanning it between his fingers, flapping it against his palm. I was going to win that wad. Thirty thousand a year. I wanted to be tough. My palms sweated. My temples ached
just thinking about all that money.

  Julia dealt a hand of Anaconda and I got a pair of tens. She bet, and I raised her. My first card was another ten and a chill raced through me. I studied Anton. His face was as straight as a quill. I studied Julia. Her left eyebrow rose. I thought she must be bluffing. It was a big pot. The next two cards were a one-eyed jack and the Suicide King – the king of hearts with his sword pointing into his skull. They looked glorious together – three tens, king high. “I raise seventy-five cents,” I said, and slid three red chips into the pot, letting them clink against the other chips. I loved that sound.

  I rubbed my knuckles and then quickly stopped, hoping nobody had seen me. Julia raised. I raised again.

  “It’s eleven o’clock,” Jane said. She came to the table, looming over it. The candlelight lit her face, making it spooky and beautiful. Her big eyes beamed. “It’s time for bed.”

  “Bug off,” Julia said and we began our showdown, rolling our cards over one at a time, betting with each roll.

  “Let them finish the hand,” Mom murmured to Jane, watching the game. I hated it when the two of them started acting like Moms together. Jane cleared the rest of the plates, clattering dishes on top of each other. She loaded the dishwasher. My three tens lay on the table beautifully with the jack and the king. “Three tens, king high,” I announced and turned to Anton, smiling. He smiled back, but said that with three of a kind, high cards were irrelevant.

  “I have a full house. I won,” Julia said turning over her last card. She had three twos and two threes. That’s not fair, I thought. Julia’s the cheap one. She can’t win. Quickly, she swept the chips to her pile.

  “Time for bed,” Jane said again, flicking on the overhead lights. My eyes stung from the brightness. The room became just a kitchen again, but I didn’t care.

  “Good job, babe,” Anton said to Julia. My face dropped and all that possibility inside vanished. I had only a handful of chips left. I felt ugly. I thought hard. Then I filled again, thinking I’d take Jane’s chips. Nobody was using them. I decided I’d take a loan from Anton. That would be fair. I’d win it back. I’d win the next hand, I could feel it.

  “Anton?” I asked. He looked at me. “Could you loan me ten dollars of chips?” I held him with my eyes. Mom laughed.

  “Come on, Kate,” Jane said. I hated her.

  “I don’t think it’s right for Kate to be gambling,” she said to Mom. “It makes her greedy.”

  “Bitch,” I said. I could tell she wanted a fight. “Can I borrow ten dollars?” I asked again.

  “You lost, Kate. Game’s over. Time for bed,” Jane said. Her hands rested on her hips. Her hair, released from its braids, was loose and wild. Her face was pale in the bright light.

  “Good night, sweeties,” Mom said to us. She gave me a look that told me to go with Julia and Jane.

  I said I wanted to play another game. Anton put down the cards and counted out Julia’s chips. I hated Julia.

  “We’ll play another game tomorrow night,” Mom said. Her expression was pleasant. She was happy we wanted to play.

  “That’s not fair,” I said.

  “Don’t be a poor loser,” Julia said.

  “You’re coming too, Mom. It’s late,” Jane said.

  “I’ll be up in a bit. Now do as I say.”

  “No. You promised you’d read to Kate, and besides it’s already late.” Jane turned on the dishwasher. There was something wrong with it that made it chug and cough. We were all fighting, we all hated each other.

  “Anton,” Jane said, “I think it would be better if you went home now.”

  “What’s the big deal?” Julia said to Jane. “You know Anton spends the night.” I thought of Anton’s Cadillac hidden down the overgrown lane.

  “They sleep together,” I announced. “You know that.” I liked saying ‘sleep together’ instead of fuck. It was more grown-up.

  “Shut up,” Jane said to both of us.

  “Fuck off.”

  A glass slipped out of Jane’s hand and shattered. Silence. I could still hear the sounds of glass flying everywhere.

  “Enough,” Mom said. Long and slow. For a moment there was more silence. I was afraid to look at her.

  “I have had enough of you, Jane,” Mom said, speaking slowly. “You have been an embarrassment all evening.” She stood up. “Why don’t you tell Anton why you’re being so impossible?”

  Jane murmured that it was a school night. Her voice was small.

  “A school night?” Mom said, staring at Anton. Her face flushed.

  I felt sorry for Anton being caught up in one of our fights. I was afraid he wouldn’t like us anymore. God, I wished Jane would just behave. She could drop it right now and everything would be fine.

  “Jane,” I said, but Mom didn’t let me speak.

  “You see, Jane doesn’t want me to have a life,” she said.

  “Eve,” Anton said gently, “Jane hasn’t been difficult. Don’t antagonize her.”

  But Mom pressed on. “She’s been difficult all right. I want you to hear what she has to say. She thinks she’s so smart, understanding everything.”

  “Come off it, Mom,” Julia said, wetting her fingertips to put out the candles. I thought she looked stupid in her ballet outfit. I bet the only thing on her mind was cashing in the chips. Greedy pig, I thought.

  “Don’t tell me to come off it,” Mom snapped.

  “Mo-m,” Jane said, drawing out the word.

  Mom grabbed Jane’s arm and yanked at her. I knew what that felt like.

  “Jane’s afraid of you, Anton,” Mom said. “Why don’t you tell him, Jane?”

  Mom kept repeating her name. You knew you were in big trouble when she’d keep repeating your name. It was eerie the way she did that – as if the name became something she possessed, something that didn’t belong to you. I was glad she wasn’t mad at me. For the most part I tried hard to stay out of trouble.

  Mom yanked Jane forward. Jane looked like a little girl suddenly. Younger than me. Her shoulders slouched forward as if she were carrying something, and suddenly I felt tremendously sad.

  “Tell him you think he’ll never leave his wife, Jane,” Mom said. She pushed Jane toward Anton, still holding her arm. “You see, Jane thinks she’s so smart. She tells me you’re never going to…”

  “Mom, shut up,” Jane said, shaking herself free.

  “Eve,” Anton said again. For a moment there was quiet. I could hear Jane breathing. I thought about the nun and looked at Anton. Just looking at him made me feel awful. His eyes were big and afraid, and he was alone standing there. His face didn’t seem so lively anymore. He fingered his ring.

  “We can talk about this all together, babe,” Anton said softly to Jane. “These are big questions and it’s late now but we need to talk about these things, babe. It’s right to talk about this.”

  He looked at Julia and me. His eyes were deep and sad. I thought about his children. I imagined he missed them. I thought about Dad and the day he left and felt a knot in my throat, wondering what it was like for him when he chose to leave. I thought about the nun and how she’d call sometimes, the international beeps giving her away. The three of us would press our heads into the receiver, hoping for something that would explain what was happening, give us a clue about what was coming next. We’d listen until she’d hang up.

  “We’ll have to have another poker game again soon,” Anton said, finishing off his wine. He placed a kiss on the top of my head and his fingers rubbed my neck. Then he did the same with Julia and Jane. He hugged Mom quickly and went out. Suddenly I had the feeling that he really did need us, and that made me feel closer to Mom. I felt he needed her too, and that she wanted to be needed. There was still a smell of Anton in the room, a faint scent of rain and smoke.

  Headlights flooded the kitchen and then faded as Anton backed his car down the driveway. Mom turned off the dishwasher and the kitchen went silent. “Are you happy, Jane?” she said, her eyes hard
.

  “You’re drunk and stoned,” Jane said.

  “You are wretched!” Mom screamed in a whisper. Her face was all pink. “Why can’t you be nice to my guest? Why can’t you just once let me have a life? You don’t know how it is? Do you have any idea what it’s like with no one to help you out? No one to share your life with? Have fun with? How could I have such a child? Kate and Julia aren’t like you.”

  Julia and I stood still.

  “Your guest is a creep,” Jane said, quietly but vehemently. “A married creep.”

  The hand of Anaconda was a mess on the table. The money still lay in its glorious heap. I wondered if Julia would get it all, or if Mom would keep it.

  “Get out of my sight,” Mom said.

  “What are you going to do, hit me?” Jane darted from the room, slamming the door. “He’s not going to marry you,” she hollered. A ruler and a flyswatter clattered to the floor. I was sorry for Jane. I was sorry for Mom. I was afraid I’d have to take sides.

  ∨ Bright Angel Time ∧

  More

  After Dad left we were worth thirty dollars. Mom said as much, standing in the kitchen. Early mornings, the dawn sky drained of light. Pale. Mom was pale too in her pale blue robe. She pulled it tight around her neck, clamping it shut with her fist. “Thirty dollars a week. That’s nothing,” she’d say. “Do you know what thirty dollars a week buys?” The three of us had our heads bowed over large bowls of Cream of Wheat, cereal sunk beneath too much milk and pools of melted brown sugar. But we had to finish all of it before leaving for school, for Dad who waited in the driveway to pick us up. He had won three mornings a week in court. His first victory. And he drove the fifty miles from New York, where he lived now, to our house to drive us the five miles to school. So many mornings just like this, before Anton. Anton came later, in the spring.

  Mom in her robe with sleep pressing heavily into her eyes. After eating the Cream of Wheat, we had to do the dishes, then wait while Mom finished packing our lunches, then wait while she ran her fingers through our hair and twisted it into braids, tied little bows at the ends. She moved around calmly, assuredly, determined to make Dad wait. “You need clothes, you know. Thirty dollars a week barely pays for food. You’re growing. I can’t do it on thirty dollars a week.” I thought of Dad in the car, having driven all that way. His plans for the Chocolate Shoppe shot. She’d do anything to delay, to steal back that extra minute she believed was hers.