What It Was Like (32 page)

After a few minutes of letting them wait, I trotted down the stairs and fast-walked toward the backroom. Nanci and Rachel were standing there, in the hallway, waiting for me. Nanci, in her standard Greenwich Village gypsy rags with black leotards underneath and the same giant purse with the fringe that she always carried; Rachel, in perfect jeans, perfect blouse, perfect little shoes, looking like she'd stepped out of the pages of
Vogue
or one of those other fashion magazines I don't read.

“Here we are!” sang out Nanci. “Your two favorite girls!”

I saw Rachel shoot me a look and a secret smile that said,
See?? I was right about Nanci's feelings for you.

“And right on time!” I answered jauntily. “It's Saturday night, the ‘rents are gone, and it's time to have fun.”

I walked up to Nanci and kissed her on the cheek, then pivoted to Rachel and kissed her on the lips. And stayed there an extra beat.

When I pulled back, I saw that I had surprised Rachel – with
both
kisses.

Good
, I thought to myself.
It might be better not to be on the defensive tonight.

“We have a surprise for you tonight,” said Nanci. “A big one.”

Rachel's eyes met Nanci's for a millisecond, and I could see that they did have something planned for me.

“So I hear,” I said. “I'm fairly excited.”

“Don't get too excited yet,” said Nanci. “It might not be what you expect.”

“That's what makes it a surprise,” I said. “I get it.”

“I hope you do,” Nanci shot back.

“But before we do anything,” said Rachel, leading us into the backroom. “We have to drink some of these whiskey sours.”

“
Whiskey sours!
”
 
exclaimed Nanci, walking toward the bar and plopping her purse on one of the bar stools. “That is practically
senile
! My
parents
drink whiskey sours!”

“
Everyone's
parents drink whiskey sours,” Rachel scoffed. “But this is Eleanor's special recipe.”

“It's from her Lucretia Borgia cookbook,” I cracked.

“Come to think of it,” said Nanci. “My parents usually drink martinis. ‘
I've had tee many martoonies!
'
 
My father actually says that.”

“Your father is a great wit,” I commented.

“Please don't insult my father,” said Nanci, her face suddenly solemn and serious.

I was instantly stopped. It was just a joke. I didn't mean to offend Nanci. I didn't even
know
her father –

“Only kidding!” brayed Nanci, breaking into a big guffaw. She and Rachel laughed big at my sudden embarrassment.

“You should see your face!” tittered Rachel.

I let them laugh at me and said, “I'm sorry if I didn't want to make fun of your father.”

They kept laughing. I could already see that they were going to gang up on me that night. You know: teasing and tormenting the one boy. I understood. I could have expected it. They had me outnumbered, two to one, and anyway, I think we were all three of us nervous. But I thought,
OK, I'm ready for them – for whatever they throw at me
. Because, after all, I
was
the only boy.

“Why don't we drink up some of these drinks?” I said. “Rachel slaved over them.”

That made Nanci cackle.

“Rachel? Rachel slave over something?” she crowed. “Rachel slaves over nothing . . . except her appearance.”

This time,
I
was the one to snicker. It was good to see Rachel on the receiving end of Nanci's joke. But I saved her anyway.

“Oh, come on, Nanci,” I said. “Don't you think Rachel is a
natural
beauty?”

Which made Rachel smile widely and say, “Thank you, sweetheart.”

“I think we better drink up then,” I said, reaching for one of the dripping-wet, icy glasses of orange liquid. I passed one glass to Nanci.

“
Drink
up?” cracked Nanci. “Before I
throw
up!”

And I gave another one to Rachel, “These look delicious, Rache'.”

“I sincerely hope they are,” said Rachel. “I can read a recipe, I think.”

I took the last one for myself and as I took a long sip off the foamy top, Nanci said, “He just likes the cherry.”

I managed to swallow the first sip without it coming out of nose, but not by much.

“It tastes like fruit juice,” said Nanci.

“Fruit juice with a kick,” I corrected her. “And absolutely delicious.”

“Let's toast!” said Nanci, holding her glass up, getting between Rachel and me.

“Good idea!” said Rachel. “What shall we drink to?”

“Honesty!” said Nanci immediately.

“Uh-oh,” I said. “That sounds dangerous.”

“Are you afraid of the truth?” Nanci challenged me.

“Me?” I replied. “I'm terrified!”

Rachel laughed, enjoying the sparring between Nanci and me.

“Then, honesty it is!” said Rachel, her eyes dancing with danger.

We clinked our cold, sweating glasses and toasted, “To honesty!”

“And
trust
!” Rachel added. “Trust is important.”

“Trust too,” I agreed.

Rachel was on edge, almost glowing with excitement. I could tell that it was going to be an unforgettable night, no matter what happened. These girls were ready for who-knew-what.

“So,” said Nanci to Rachel, “should we tell him our surprise?”

I looked back and forth between them: something
was
going on.

“You mean something beyond
strip poker
?” I asked.

Rachel connected with Nanci and overruled her, “Let's start the cards first. Then, we'll . . .” What she left unsaid, said a lot.

“Are you sure?” asked Nanci.

“Yeah,” she said, picking up the cards and rack of poker chips from the bar. “Let's play a couple of hands. Then we'll see what develops.”

“Why are you being so mysterious?” I asked Rachel, who danced away from me.

“Girls are supposed to be mysterious! You haven't figured that out yet?” she sang out, leading the way to the coffee table. “Bring your drinks!”

“It keeps you on your toes,” said Nanci.

“But what if I don't want to be on my toes?” I asked her.

She snickered, “Oh, you love it!”

And, at that moment, she might have been right.

“Come on, children!” Rachel had already set up on the couch and was shuffling a deck of cards.

“She seems to know what she's doing,” I said to Nanci as we walked across to the couch.

“You think so?” asked Nanci.

“We'll see,” I said.

“Stop it, you two!” said Rachel sharply. “No ganging up!”

I just had to laugh at that, thinking that's what they were doing to me, as I put my glass down on the coffee table – a big rectangle of sparkly black marble with this edge of sparkly white marble – with a clank. I dragged a big square ottoman to the other side of the table, across from the couch as Nanci sat down next to Rachel.

“OK,” said Rachel, shuffling the cards. “You guys know the rules?”

“Go over them again,” said Nanci, sitting down carefully on the couch next to Rachel. But no matter how softly Nanci sat down, her weight pushed Rachel up on the other end of the cushion. I could see that Nanci hoped that no one would notice, but she saw that I did, and we both looked down.

“I love this table! It's straight out of Miami Beach!” said Nanci, running her hand on the slick marble. “The Ladies' Powder Room at the Fontainebleau, if I'm not mistaken.”

“Eleanor,” sniffed Rachel, as if that one word explained everything. “OK,” she continued, shuffling the cards again and quite adeptly too. “Forget about that. There's one pair, which beats two pair, which beats three of a kind, which beats a straight, which beats a flush, which beats a full house, which beats four of a kind, which beats a straight flush. And there's a royal flush, which is ace-king-queen-jack-ten of the same suit.”

“OK, Rachel,” I agreed. “Except all of that,
backwards
.”

Realizing what she had said, she burst into giggles, blushing a little at her error of ranking the hands in reverse order. She liked to be perfect, especially in front of Nanci, whom she generally felt was beneath her. In a way, it was always good to see Rachel make a mistake. It made her more human, and more vulnerable: it made her more like me.

Nanci said, “I'm not talking about the rules of poker, Rachel. I happen to be a very good poker player. I'm talking about the rules of
strip
poker.”

That made us all pause. And we all took sips of our whiskey sours. Which were tasting better and better.

“Well,” said Rachel. “Not that I've played it before –”

“I should hope not!” I cracked.

“But I think,” she ignored me. “We should start by anteing up a shoe.”

“A shoe?” echoed Nanci, with some trepidation.

I could see that both of the girls were a little nervous, so I gave them an out.

“What do you say we play some hands of
regular
poker?” I said. “Just to get warmed up.”

“Good idea!” both girls said at the same time, with the same enthusiasm and relief.

We played two hands, and I won them both.

“I like poker,” I said. “This is a good game.”

“Don't be so smug,” said Rachel. “Just because he gets a little lucky.”

“I'm a
lot
lucky,” I said. “I mean, just look around.”

“Wait,” said Nanci. “This isn't fair. Even if he loses, he wins.”

“What do you mean?” asked Rachel.

“Guys have it made,” said Nanci. “He can't lose, no matter what happens, no matter what, you know,
clothes
come off. You know what I mean: If a girl has a lot of sex, she's a slut. If a guy has a lot of sex, he's –”

“Lucky,” I finished her sentence, with a satisfied smile.

“So what exactly are you saying, Nanc'?” asked Rachel. “Do
you
have a lot of sex?”

Nanci immediately blushed.

“No, that's not what I'm saying,” she stammered.

“I didn't think so,” Rachel snapped back instantly. “No offense.”

I didn't like to see Rachel be so sharp with Nanci, who was by no means defenseless. I just liked to see Rachel's sweet side come out, not the other.

“You're just stalling!” I interrupted. “The both of you.”

They looked at me, innocently.

“Of course, we're stalling,” said Nanci.

“What did you think?” Rachel added.

“Then ante up a shoe,” I said.

“What?” said Rachel.

“Ante up a shoe, big mouth!” I demanded.

That straightened her right up, sitting there on the couch, Rachel, in her perfect creamy-white silk blouse and jeans.

Then a big Dingo boot landed smack in the middle of the table, surprising both of us.

“It's time to play, children,” said Nanci, smilingly serious, pointing to her bare foot, with its wiggling toes.

“You are on,” I said, pulling the black Ked off my right foot. (One Ked? Two Keds?)

I tossed it on top of Nanci's dusty old boot, and the two of us watched Rachel delicately remove an elegant black slipper with a golden buckle (I'm sure it was some famous brand) from her foot and place it on top of my sneaker.

“Perfect,” I said, looking at the three shoes: each shoe seemed to be a pretty fair representation of the owner.

“Who deals?” asked Nanci.

“I will,” I said, grabbing the deck of cards from the top of the coffee table. The Princes had nice, new, slick cards. Just broken in enough.

“Who needs more whiskey sour?” asked Rachel, getting up from the couch.

“We all do!” said Nanci. “Obviously.”

I snickered; she was right.

“OK,” I announced. “Draw poker, deuces wild.”

Rachel came back to the table with the icy glass pitcher of the orange liquid.

“Where's your glass?” she said to me.

“Right here,” I said.

As she refilled my glass, our eyes met briefly. Her look asked me:
Is this what you wanted?

I just smiled and said, “Watch it. You're going to spill.”

I saved her just before she overflowed my glass.

“Thanks,” she whispered.

“OK,” I said, putting down the drink and picking up the cards. “Let's play some strip poker. Whoever has the worst hand has to strip, one piece of clothing at a time.”

I dealt out the five cards each for draw, flinging the cards on three sides of the pile of shoes. I've played my share of cards over the years – gin rummy and Go Fish with the Doggies, honeymoon bridge with my Mom, and, yes, lots of poker with my high school friends – so I felt pretty comfortable dealing.

“Jacks or better to open,” I said. “You're to the left of the dealer,” I said to Nanci.

“Sorry,” she said. “I can't open . . . So to speak.”

“Me neither,” said Rachel. “And is everything going to be a double-whatever-you-call-it tonight?”

“Yes,” I said. “Everything will be a double-whatever tonight.” Looking down at my hand, I saw that I had nothing either. My high card was a ten!

“OK, throw 'em in,” I said, tossing my cards onto the table.

The girls followed suit.

“OK, your deal, Rachel,” I said.

Instantly, she scooped up the cards and said, “New game.”

“What do you mean, new game?” I asked.

Rachel popped the deck in her hand and started dealing. “Draw poker. Deuces, one-eyed jacks, and suicide kings wild.”

“‘Suicide kings'?” repeated Nanci derisively. “And what exactly are they?”

“It's the king who stabs himself in the head,” said Rachel, finishing the deal. “The king of hearts. The king who kills himself for love.”