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10-29-03, for Garylian
With hands full of...
Tuesday is poker day at La Taverna. It's one of those easy, no-set-group, floating dealer, penny-ante games that seem to pop up in groups of like-minded people (even if they're not all exactly right-minded people). The game starts sometime after midnight on Monday and continues until all of the players quit without replacements, or until the clock strikes midnight Tuesday (it's a cock-coo clock – please don't ask what happens at noon and midnight when the time is “straight up.”).
Yesterday was no different. Denny started things this time, but only by pulling chairs around the table and starting the shuffle. It didn't take long for the players to drift over, and within an hour the cards were flying, chips were being tossed, side-bets were being made. Yes, it's straight-poker. Money bets only. Usually. At first. Officially (something about liquor licenses and the occasional tight-ass vice squad cop). But we did say “officially.”
You see, they play with the usual chips. Red, yellow, white, purple. Purple. Reds are one dollar, yellows are half-dollars, whites are a quarter. Purples are an article of clothing. Any article, winner's choice.
It's not often that Our Nymph gets to play. She's only in LaTaverna when she's there on business, and today was no different. She was there for . . . for . . . for some reason. Birthday of some sort. But this was poker, and she was - - at least for now - - ahead of the game.
First hand – Dr. Spin came in with three Aces. Our Nymph countered with a flush (after all, she does flush deeply, and quite prettily it's been told).
Next hand – Ray lays down a Full House (naturally). Our Nymph this time takes the pot with a straight flush (which is slightly less fashionable than a metroflush).
And so it continued. Drinks were poured, rounds were bought. Players came and players went, and then, the clock began to strike.
One.
Two.
Three.
Our Nymph perks up.
Four.
Five.
Six.
She grabs a pen and a cocktail napkin.
Seven.
Eight.
Mad scribbling.
Nine.
Ten.
More mad scribbling.
Eleven.
She rushes to the stage.
Twelve.
And begins to read.
<ahem>
“IOU, Garylian, one personalized, on time birthday greeting. Payable no later than five years from today, October 29th. Your birthday in the year 2008. Until then, Happy Birthday.
“Now. Whose deal is it?”
