by Pepper Frost
“See you at the table, Foxy,” Bea said. “I’m looking forward to learning a thing or two about poker from you!”
“I’m looking forward to seeing you later, gorgeous Angela,” said Foxy. Angela could have sworn a little twinkle of light glinted off of one of his perfect incisors.
“Girlie, get a grip,” said Bea, once they were out of Foxy’s earshot. Angela was still looking in Foxy’s direction, beaming.
“I know, I know. Don’t worry, I’m not taking it seriously. It’s just harmless fun to flirt a little.”
“I wonder if Aseem would think it’s harmless.”
“That’s no business of his now is it. We’re friends. Despite your insinuations, he’s never acted like anything but.”
“If you say so,” Bea snorted. “But I hope you’re not forgetting we’re supposed to be keeping an eye on Foxy—not getting hypnotized by him.”
“Don’t you think I can keep an eye on him a whole lot better if I let him flirt with me?”
“Just keep your brain turned on. I think you’re getting a little googly-eyed. And speaking of Aseem, he just told me something I about Mr. Foxy Foxworth that I think you should hear. He’s been trying to tell you himself.”
“What’s that?”
“He said that while he was setting up the video in the control room, Lee Glastonbury came in to ask questions—and Foxy tagged along. He said both of them were digging for details—Foxy in particular. Aseem explained what you said—that proper security requires that we limit access to our controlled areas. But Foxy still pressed for details of the set-up.”
“Couldn’t he just be concerned because his buy-in’s so big?”
“The buy-in’s big, girlie—bigger than I’ve ever seen—but I’ve also never once seen a tournament player demand to inspect the video surveillance set-up.”
“OK, OK. Duly noted. I promise to keep my eyes open about Foxy. It looks Mrs. Glastonbury is getting ready to speak. I’ll make sure she doesn’t need any help from me before we get started.”
“You take care of her, and I’ll make sure Perry and the dealers are all set, too.”
Angela tapped a water goblet and asked everyone to give Mrs. Glastonbury their attention.
“Thank you all for joining us for our annual Christmas event. First, let’s welcome to our new player, Drew Foxworth.” The players applauded. Foxy smiled at Mrs. Glastonbury and ostentatiously raised his champagne glass in her direction.
“And welcome back to the rest of the players and your guests. I hope you’ve been enjoying Betty Snickerdoodle’s delightful inn so far—I know I have been.”
Angela blushed as Foxy interrupted Mrs. Glastonbury to applaud and announce, “And cheers to Angela!”
“Most of you no doubt remember our tournament rules,” continued Mrs. Glastonbury. “But just in case, a refresher. We follow the standard rules of the poker in the United States. In case you need it, you were all emailed a link.
“Second, as is our convention, you’ve all bought in for three nights of single-table tournaments. In the event you decide to—or need to—withdraw before the tournaments are concluded, your buy-in remains in the prize pool. In other words, no refunds.
“We’ll play one hour levels, to reduce the influence of luck. We’ll use the big-blind ante format starting at level ten. That means instead of all players posting an ante, the player in the big blind will post all of them as part of the blind bet. This way, the dealer won’t have to wait for everyone to count out their ante before starting the hand.
“Remember, please plan to stay all three nights, because all of our prizes are awarded at our traditional goodbye breakfast after the third night’s tournament.”
“That rule didn’t work out so great for that guy who died last time,” blurted one of the players, laughing sarcastically.
Foxy cocked his head and studied the man’s face. Harry and Walter scowled like annoyed grown-ups in the company of an obnoxious teenager, a slight sheen forming on Harry’s bald head. The twins looked shocked.
“Just a joke, people,” he continued. “Ain’t like he can hear it!”
Angela hadn’t met the man yet. But his ruddy cheeks and mountain twang, plus the whiskey in his hand, gave her the impression he must be Billy Ray Bandy. The timid-looking woman standing next to him, holding a pretty little dachshund, must be Connie, his wife.
“Finally,” continued Mrs. Glastonbury, “I’d like to introduce you to our tournament director, Perry James. His decisions on questions of the game will be final.”
Perry nodded, acknowledging the introduction.
“I trust that, with our tradition of cordiality, disputes will be unlikely. You’re all fine gentlemen, after all—oh, that reminds me, for the first time, we have a woman joining in the action. I hope you’ve all met her—she’s the lady whose name is on this lovely inn. Let’s impress her with our refined and sportsmanlike style of poker.”
Angela exchanged a quick grin with Perry. She suspected he was thinking the same thing she was: “refined style” was unlikely to impress Bea.
“Oh, come on, Lee,” interrupted Billy Ray. “Can’t we just get started already? Let us play, for the love of Pete! We ain’t getting any younger—you especially.”
“Let the game begin,” said Lee, with concealed irritation. “Perry, let’s shuffle up and deal.”
Chapter 7
By midnight, all but four players—Eddie Kawai, Billy Ray Bandy, Frank Lowell, and James Weston—had been knocked out of the tournament. Harry Belmont had just been eliminated and was standing by the bar, sipping a nightcap. Foxy, the twins, and Walter Wells were playing in the high-stakes side game. The atmosphere was jovial and relaxed, despite the hundred-dollar bills stacked on the table.
Rex and Max, the Nordic-looking twins, were accompanied by two gorgeous, gazelle-like twin women. The ladies wore identical emerald green slip dresses and draped themselves like accessories on the shoulders of their dates. They had blank expressions on their flawless faces and long, shiny, stick-straight hair parted in the middle.
“I just figured out how I recognize Rex and Max’s dates,” Angela whispered to Bea. “They’re those famous twin runway models.”
“The four of them look like the envoys of a super race sent to mesmerize Earthlings and take over our planet,” Bea snickered.
“I’d love to look like those models do,” Angela sighed.
“That’s nuts, girlie,” said Bea. “You’re at least as pretty as those giraffes.”
“Even in these heels, I feel like a tree stump next to them.”
“Why would you compare yourself to some rich guys’ human accessories? Do I need to remind you you’re running this place? They’re spectators in the boys’ game, and you’re running the table in your own.”
“Thanks, Bea. That’s sweet,” Angela smiled.
“I mean it. Can’t you see how well your event is going? It’s so fun that even those empty-headed Barbies are staying up late. We gotta work on your confidence.”
“Any thoughts on who’ll win?” Angela said, stifling a yawn. “It has turned into a marathon.”
“Billy Ray’s got to be driving them nuts,” Bea said. “He’s like the thing that wouldn’t leave. A terrible player and half-plastered to boot. He’s been on the verge of busting at least half a dozen times and has sucked out every time.”
“Look at his poor wife,” said Angela.
Connie Bandy sat behind her husband, looking like she had trouble keeping her eyes open. An hour earlier, she’d said she wanted to head to their suite to go to bed. But Billy Ray had insisted—harshly—that she had to stay “so his luck wouldn’t turn bad.” The tiny copper-colored dog on her lap had given in to sleepiness and was snoring softly.
“Ooh, I think that little dog of hers is the most darling creature I’ve ever seen,” said Angela.
“Ha!” whispered Bea. “You used to think that about Aseem, until Smarmy McSuave turned your head.” Angela rolled her ey
es and sighed.
“We’ve got an all-in and a call,” announced the tournament dealer. Someone was about to either bust out of the tournament or double their chips.
Billy Ray was all in again, this time against Eddie Kawai—the biggest stack at the table. Billy Ray stood up and flipped his cards over defiantly: the ace of clubs and the nine of hearts.
“Thanks for the action,” Billy Ray slurred to Eddie, sneering. He was using the table to steady himself, causing the chip stacks to wobble. His tuxedo shirt was partly untucked and his floppy Western bow tie was half-undone and dangling.
“You’re welcome,” Eddie replied, turning over two red kings.
“Oh boy,” Bea said to Angela. “It’s looking bad for Billy Ray. But he’s gotten his money in worse than that and been saved by the deck. I’m sure the others are hoping Eddie’s hand holds up. It’s annoying to play with loudmouth drunks. Time for Billy Ray to hit the hay.”
“I got outs!” shouted Billy Ray. “Gimme an ace, dealer!”
The dealer discarded a burn card and began to spread the flop—the first three of the five community cards Billy Ray and Eddie would combine with their two cards to form their best hand. Connie’s wee dog woke with a start and let out a little yelp, as if she’d had a bad dream, just as the dealer placed Billy Ray’s nightmare card on the board: the king of spades. Billy Ray’s chances of staying in the game had just evaporated.
“Where’s my ace, dealer?” Billy Ray shouted.
“He’s drawing dead and doesn’t even realize it,” said Bea.
“Drawing dead?” said Angela.
“There’s no card in the deck that can help him.”
The light finally turned on in Billy Ray’s drunken head, and he realized Bea was right just as the dealer placed the next card. Billy Ray’s rude impatience became fury. He reached over and grabbed the dachshund’s little face, which was no larger than the palm of his hand. Without warning, he reached his arm back and swung it at the tiny dog’s face.
Bea and Angela gasped. The dog recoiled and Billy Ray missed, his arm whooshing past her face. Losing her balance on Connie’s lap, the pooch fell onto the floor and peed herself with fright.
“Oh Bijou, I’m sorry!” Connie cried, reaching down to soothe her pet, who was now hiding under her chair, behind the hem of her pink satin gown. “Daddy didn’t mean it!”
“Course I meant it,” said Billy Ray. “Stupid bitch ruined my luck. I told you not to bring her. Somebody get me another Heavenly Mash.”
Bea caught the bartender’s eye and made the cut sign under her neck, while Angela bent down to see if the pup was OK. The bartender hurried over with a towel to mop up the floor. The dealer placed the fifth and final card onto the board, though it was immaterial to the outcome. No mathematical miracle this time: Billy Ray was out.
“Finally,” whispered Bea to Perry. “Let’s hope he doesn’t want to play in the cash game. The way he’s behaving, he’s on the verge of ruining Angela’s big night.”
“Never mind the drink. Stupid game’s rigged, anyway,” Billy Ray bellowed, cursing and almost knocking his vacant chair over. “Of course one of Lee’s little favorites is going to win. Always seems to happen. Cheers to you, Skateboard King.”
Perry put a hand on the dealer’s shoulder and told her to pause the game, then walked to the tournament clock and stopped it.
Lee Glastonbury seemed worried about her glamorous night being ruined, too. She hurried to the table and placed an arm on Billy Ray’s shoulder, hoping to quiet him. “Just bad luck. It’ll be better tomorrow—”
“Save it, Lee. I meant what I said. You might fool everyone else, but not me. Can’t wait to see the seat assignments tomorrow—if I decide to come back and play.”
Bea’s eyes opened a little wider. She noticed that Perry’s did, too.
“I’m sure you’ll feel better in the morning,” Lee insisted. “It will be a whole new game and a whole new seating arrangement.”
“Yeah, we’ll see. Connie, let’s go—now. And find someplace else for that mutt to sleep tonight.”
“But Billy Ray, where—” stammered Connie.
“Your problem, woman. I don’t want to see that hound in our suite tonight!”
Other than Connie’s barely audible crying, the room fell silent—everyone frozen, wondering what would happen next.
“I’ll take her,” Angela blurted. “Bijou can stay with me.”
“Good, now let’s get out of here, Connie—now!” shouted Billy Ray, grabbing his wife’s arm. Connie looked back at Angela and Bijou with concern.
“It’s OK, she’ll be fine,” said Angela, picking up the dog, looping her leash in her hand. “I’ll take her out for a little walk, then bring her back to my suite.”
Bea watched Angela follow Billy Ray and Connie out the doors of the ballroom. Connie looked back to mouth an anxious “thank you” to Angela.
“Lee—Mrs. Glastonbury—I hope you’re not concerned about Billy Ray’s outburst,” Foxy said kindly. “It’s obvious he’s just had too much to drink.” This deferential Foxy seemed to Bea a different man than the relentless charm machine she’d seen working on Angela earlier in the evening.
“You and I have got plenty to talk about,” Bea whispered to Perry.
“Indeed. Bet you’re curious as I am to see how this plays out.” Perry replied, flipping the tournament clock back on.
“OK dealer,” Perry announced. “Put the cards back in the air.”
“Don’t worry about what Billy Ray said. It’s still anyone’s game, right?” Eddie said to his opponents, perhaps trying to restore the festive mood. “Anything can happen at a poker table!”
Chapter 8
Two hours of civilized play later, Eddie Kawai had extended his chip lead to more than half of the chips in play in the tournament. James had about double the stack of Frank, who was running low on chips. Momentum on his side, Eddie was breaking away to the finish. The side game had slowed down, with Foxy and Walter getting up frequently to stretch their legs and observe the progress of the tournament. Rex and Max’s dates had already headed back to their suites for the night, as had Harry.
“Too bad we can’t chop the prize,” said Eddie. “I’d be happy to split it, even though I have the biggest stack by far. Who knew we’d be playing so long? Is this our longest game yet?”
The irrepressible glee of a poker player on a good run is a surefire annoyance to everyone else at the table—and Eddie was bursting with it. Despite the late hour, he looked fresh and neat. If not for the flecks of gray in his black hair, he could have passed for 10 or 15 years younger.
“Rules are rules,” sighed Frank. “It’s winner-take-all.”
Though Frank and James were years younger than Eddie, the hours of play seemed to have strained them more. Both had dark circles under their eyes and were chatting less and less. Frank’s mid-cheek sideburns were looking less manicured against his five o’clock shadow, and James’s sandy hair was looking greasy and deflated.
“Glad my wife’s not here. She’d have all the cash earmarked already,” Eddie said.
“Does she know you’ve been working on your game?” Frank said. “You seem to be at a whole nother level compared to last time we played.”
“Aw shucks,” said Eddie. “Maybe I’ve practiced a little. I’ve also had a lot of luck. You’re aware how important luck is, right, Frank?”
“Hey Lee, don’t we get a snack if we’re still playing at this hour?” James said, yawning.
“Chef’s working on it,” piped up Angela. “Should be ready any minute. It’ll be a treat.”
Lee Glastonbury pulled Angela aside. “It’s what we discussed, correct? With the first box of ingredients we provided?”
“Absolutely. Nothing’s changed since you asked us to get started 30 minutes ago, Mrs. Glastonbury,” Angela said. “Please don’t worry, Chef Ming understands the dietary issues and promised to use only your ingredients. I’m sure everyone will love
what he’s preparing. He’s got a special touch with pastry. Did I mention he trained at Le Cordon Bleu? He brings both an Asian and a continental flair to everything he makes. He’s a genius!”
Angela was aglow with pride about the chef. Her hiring coup had caused quite a buzz in local hospitality circles. She hadn’t shared it yet with Bea, but she secretly looked forward to him one day turning the Inn into a culinary sensation.
Moments later, the ballroom doors opened, and two servers wheeled in carts with aromatic coffee and mouthwatering, just-fried doughnuts.
“World’s healthiest doughnuts—and the most delectable,” the server said, bringing small plates with two pastries each to the players. “The twisty golden brown one is a French cruller, and the darker one is Belgian chocolate. I’ve just tried one myself, and I can assure you that you won’t miss those unhealthy ingredients.”
Eddie Kawai held his plate to his nose and inhaled, looking delighted. “Just the energy I’ll need to finish off my opponents. They smell fantastic. You’re sure they’re gluten- and nut-free?”
“Absolutely,” said the servers.
James and Frank grabbed plates and dug right into the luscious, cakey delights. “My compliments to the chef,” said Frank after a big first bite and a big swig of coffee. “Don’t count that prize money just yet, Eddie. I’m re-energized.”
“Don’t you worry,” said Eddie. “I’m more than up for a challenge.”
Once everyone in the room was enjoying their doughnuts, the second server offered each guest a French press with their choice of exotic coffees from Hawaii or Guatemala. Injected with caffeine and sugar, the room buzzed again. The side game livened up again.
“Maybe I will sit in on that cash game,” Bea said. “Those doughnuts are like rocket fuel! That chef of yours is great, Angie—congratulations to you.”
But Angela had already turned away from Bea and was walking across the room towards the tournament table. She was staring at Eddie Kawai. His cheeks had flushed and his face was starting to swell.