Bender at the Bon Parisien (A Novel) (7 page)

Now deep into the
dizzy of a few drinks, I plunked out a melody at the piano. The old ivory keys
were cracked and dirty. The instrument was out of tune as well. Janie sat with
me, jotting verse on to a napkin.

Behind
me, Fleuse and Trudel were still at their table. Pistache slowly swayed along
with the piano. Although he was the most recent addition, he’d already managed
more booze than anyone.

“Okay,
that’s enough of that!” Trudel shouted at me from her spot at the table.

“Let
him play!” Pistache slurred dreamily.

“I
just finished my drink, and I need another. What kind of bartender are you?”
The opera singer shrieked.

“The
tourist kind,” I laughed and looked at Janie.

“Honey,
get her a drink,” she urged under her breath.

I
stood, abruptly stopping the music. We walked back to the bar.

“Aww,”
Pistache groaned. “What shall I dance to now?” The part in his hair was beginning
to give way and send dark strands flopping over his face.

“I
didn’t come to my favorite bar in the world tonight not to drink anything,” Trudel
lamented. “Here it’s been closed for a few weeks and this is what I have to
return to.”

“He
is doing his best,” Fleuse backed me up. “It’s better than serving ourselves.”

“Is
it?!” she barked.

Pistache
had a mischievous look about him. He fired out at Trudel, “If you can tell me
how to make something as simple as a martini, then I will buy your next drink.”

“Go
to hell,” she shot back.

“That’s
what I thought. You couldn’t serve yourself if you tried.”

“Okay
everyone,” I began to diffuse the conversation. “What is the next round?”

“How
about another
Esprit de la Nuit
?” Janie mused.

“What’s
that?” Trudel asked.

“It’s
a drink we made up before you arrived,” I answered. “Would you like to try it?”

“I’ll
hate it,” the opera singer answered. “I’ll stick with another whiskey, neat.”

“Oh,
I think I could take another beer,” Pistache slurred.

“A
beer please,” said Fleuse.

“Here’s
an idea,” Pistache practically jumped in the air. “We should play a drinking
game!”

“We’re
listening,” Janie answered. She smiled at me. We have a good time with drinking
games with our friends.

Trudel
rolled her eyes, but Fleuse nodded.

“Well,
I’m thinking maybe something that says ‘welcome to Europe’ for the both of
you,” Pistache continued. “Perhaps something that involves the loss of
clothing.” He couldn’t resist gauging Janie’s reaction out of the corner of his
eye.

“No,”
both Janie and I definitively reacted. She sighed and shook her head at me.
However, Fleuse missed our exchange as he eagerly looked toward Trudel, who
rolled her eyes and made a “pfft” sound.

“Okay
then, new idea.” Pistache recovered. “Does anyone have a deck of cards? I
assure you, all clothes will stay on.”

“I
do, upstairs in my bag,” Janie offered.

“Victor
always kept some back there somewhere,” Fleuse said. He stood and approached
the bar top. Leaning in, he squinted over the top of his glasses at the area
behind me. “Try that cupboard down there.”

I
turned, squatted, and found nothing besides a few cobwebs and some dirty glassware.
“I don’t see it.”

“It
is probably in a shoebox. I think it was blue. Try the cupboard next to that
one.”

I
moved over one and the search continued.

“Should
be a deck of cards … some dice?” His speech was meandering.

“Got
it,” I said triumphantly as I pulled the shoebox from the darkness. The box did
indeed contain a deck of cards, some dice, and also some miscellaneous game
pieces including chess, checkers, and a Monopoly top hat. There were no game
boards.

“Perfect,”
Pistache commented. “Let’s see the cards. Everyone gather around up here.”

Trudel
joined the rest of us at the bar, and Pistache began wildly handling the cards.
As drunk as he appeared, he was amazingly adept with the shuffle.

“Didn’t
you say you did a little magic?” Janie asked him.

“I
did, but card tricks aren’t really my thing. That is, unless you have another
card hiding behind your ear,” he said as he winked and playfully pinched her cheek.
I have a pretty high tolerance for people hitting on my wife, but this was
starting to be a bit much. Janie wasn’t exactly pleased either.

“Back
off, man,” I finally snapped. I could feel myself starting to really dislike
this guy. “Really, that’s enough.”

“Sorry,
my friend. I get carried away,” he apologized. “Okay, here’s the game. There
are five of us here, so we deal out 9 cards each, jokers included.”

“What
about the leftovers?” I asked.

“There
will be a nine card blind,” he answered with a shrug.

“What’s
this game called?” Trudel asked.

“I
don’t know. Uh … Pistache!” Jacques exclaimed.

Trudel
already looked like she disapproved.

“This
is not a real game?” I asked.

“Of
course it’s real! Here’s what happens: we will begin with clubs. Whoever has
the two of clubs lays it down and has to take a drink. We each take turns
adding to the pile in a sequence. Three, four, five, etc. We go all the way up
to the ace. Whoever has the ace assigns a sip to someone else. That person will
then drink and call the next suit.”

“Uh,
okay,” I stammered. Janie gave me a look of slight confusion, and I’m sure she
read the same on my face. Fleuse and Trudel looked equally perplexed.

“Think
you got it?” Pistache asked.

“I
guess,” Janie said.

“So
only four people drink through the whole deck? The ones who start each suit?” I
asked. Feeling drunk, I needed as much explanation as possible.

“Definitely
not. You’ll see. I have an idea for it. Let’s walk through a round. Who has the
two of clubs?”

We
looked at each other. Fleuse glanced at his hand. “Me,” he said as he produced
the card and laid it on the bar.

“Excellent,”
Pistache went on. “Bottoms up.”

“Easy,”
Fleuse said bravely as he took a sip.

I
laughed a little.

“Perfect!”
exclaimed Jacques. “Now, who has the three of clubs?”

“I
do.” Janie said.

“Lay
it down, please. See, we are creating a suited run: two through ace of clubs.
Fleuse began the run, so he had to drink. Who’s next? Four of clubs?”

We
all produced the sequence one after another until the ten of clubs could not be
produced.

“What
happens now?” I asked.

“Well,
the ten must be in the blind,” Pistache explained. “The streak is broken
because no one has it. Who has the jack?”

“I
do,” Trudel said.

“Great,
lay it down and take a drink.”

“Why
do I have to drink? It’s not the start of a suit.”

“But
you are the first in a new run. Those are the rules,” Pistache said.

“You
are making them up as you go! Those are not the rules,” the opera singer
protested.

“No,
my dear. I think those are the rules,” Fleuse jumped in.

“I
am not ‘your dear’!” Trudel snapped and took a drink. I wasn’t sure if it was a
drink because of the game or a drink because she was coping with Fleuse’s advances.

“Excellent,
thank you Trudel,” Pistache said. “Well done.” He threw down the queen, the
king followed.

“Here’s
the ace,” I said as I lay the final club on the bar.

“That’s
when you yell, ‘Pistache’!” Jacques said.

I
laughed. “Pistache!”

“And
now you assign a drink to someone.”

“Well,
I pick you.”

“Okay,
very well.” Pistache took a drink. “Now, since I was picked by the person with
the ace, then I call the next suit. I’ll say spades. Who has the two of
spades?”

“Right
here,” Janie said. She laid it down.

“One
question,” I interrupted. “I have a joker. What do I do with that?”

“If
you are lucky enough to hold a joker, then it may be used to deflect a drink on
to someone else. It’s not unlike the ace in that regard.”

“Oh,
okay. When do I play it?”

“Any
time you want.”

“So
I can just throw it down right now and make you take another drink?”

“I’m
sorry, I should have clarified,” Pistache went on. “The joker deflects a drink
in the sense that it protects you from a drink you don’t want. If someone asks
you to drink, you can put down the joker and give that drink to someone else.”

“I
get it now,” I said with a nod.

The
game had progressed silently as Pistache and I spoke.

“Who
has the nine of spades?” Trudel asked.

I
threw it down. The ten followed. The game stopped.

“And
the jack?” Trudel asked.

Another
second of silence.

“The
jack is in the blind!” Pistache exclaimed. “Whoever has the queen, produce it
and drink!”

Before
anyone could move, the curtain again parted and a new face entered the bar. I
half expected him to know everyone in the room since that seemed to be the pattern,
but the good-looking, plain man smiled slightly when I looked up and he
approached the bar.

“Good
evening, sir,” I said like a real bartender.

“Good
evening. A beer, please.”

“Sounds
good,” I replied. The rest looked at him.

“Looks
like you are all in the middle of a card game,” he noticed.

“Yes,”
Pistache answered. “In fact, I was just explaining the rules to my friends
here. Would you like to join? It could be easily arranged.”

“No
thank you,” the stranger said politely. “I brought a book, so I’ll be
comfortable somewhere over there. Thanks,” he said as I slid him a beer, and he
retreated quietly to the tables.

I
looked to Janie and whispered, “Who brings a book to a bar at night?”

“I
have, actually,” she whispered. “He must like it quiet.”

“Maybe
in the afternoon, sure,” I said, “but I’ve never heard of anyone going out at
night with a book to a bar.”

“It’s
not too bad a thing,” Janie said.

“So
we continue!” Pistache exclaimed. “Where’s the king of spades?”

Janie
took another sip from her
Esprit de la Nuit
and threw a card on the bar.

*        *        *

After
a few rounds, I began to realize exactly how frequently I was taking sips
during Pistache’s game. Shouts of “Ace! Drink! Pistache! Hearts! Joker!” were
becoming more frequent as we increased our speed of gameplay.

The
fourth patron to enter proved even more quiet than Fleuse. He was a detached
player in our scene, but I caught him curiously gazing over the pages of his
book more than once.

The
street performer was beginning to move more and more clumsily. He celebrated
every “Pistache!” with a little dance and bow, usually nearly throwing himself
to the ground.

Everyone
else was really coming around on the game. Even Trudel was smiling more often. There
was an instance when she wasn’t paying enough attention for Pistache’s liking,
and he reached over and pulled a card from her hand for her. From what I knew
of Trudel, normally this presumptive act and invasion of space would have sent
her through the ceiling, but here she easily replied, “Isn’t it wonderful how a
little nonsense brings people together?”

“Here’s
the ace! Pistache!” Pistache exclaimed once again. “Oh Fleusie, dear!”

Fleuse
looked slowly in his direction. “Yes?”

“Have
a drink, and call the next suit.”

“This
is quite a game, Jacques,” Fleuse muttered without lifting his glass.

“Are
you running out of steam, my dear man?” Pistache asked.

Fleuse
didn’t answer.

“Oh
no,” Pistache continued. “Don’t give up now. You just need a little
pick-me-up.”

He
leapt in his direction and grabbed Fleuse's hands. Extending Fleuse’s arm,
Pistache began swaying him back and forth, humming a soft but lively song. He
was trying to dance him back to the game.

“You
two are strange,” Trudel said.

Janie
was smiling.

“C’mon,
Jacques. Stop it,” Fleuse slurred.

“Someone
has to bring you back, Fleusie! Why not me?”

Fleuse
shot a look of embarrassment in Trudel’s direction.