I have discovered a place called Flannery’s, located on Terrace, near Fullerton, which is right on the edge of Little Philly. They have a strip bar in front, the sort where the strippers are forty-year-old women wearing caked-on makeup in hopes that a myopic drunk will think they’re college girls and tip accordingly. The drink prices are high, but not as high as the bars where the college girls do “lingerie shows.”
In any case, they have a back room where one can play poker. It is a typical arrangement: the house supplies the dealer, takes five percent of each pot, makes sure there’s a waitress around, and other than that the players are left alone. I was down to a couple of hundred dollars when I started; I left with a little less than three thousand.
Playing cards isn’t the easiest way I know to get the money I need to make life comfortable, but I think it is my favorite. I’m careful at first; staying with small pots and folding if I’m not sure. But after about an hour I get so I can pretty well see who has what, and by the time I’ve been playing with the same people for two hours, I cannot be fooled, or “bluffed” in the parlance of the game.
An experienced dealer can tell at once if there is so much as one card missing from the deck, but after he’s been sitting with me for a couple of hours I can stop worrying. Yet even though I cannot be bluffed, and even though I might have a nine of diamonds waiting to be slipped in where needed, still, every hand is different and I never know what kind of luck I am going to have. Or, to put it another way, I know I’m not going to lose, but I enjoy the process of discovering exactly how I’m going to win.
One of the waitresses, a tall redhead with an odd trace of Latino in her face, started noticing me after a few hours and being especially nice; I guess she was watching the pile of money in front of me grow. By this time the bar was closed, and there were only two waitresses working the four tables of card players. I tipped her well, and returned some of her inane banter, but I realized, as I was beginning to think about leaving, that I had no interest in her at all.
There were ugly looks when I left; it’s that sort of place; and the waitress seemed disappointed, but I left the bar alone. I walked through the heart of Little Philly, which is an area I’d heard talk about, and noticed from newspaper accounts as being dangerous. It seemed quiet enough to me; there were more police cruisers than anything else, and it had none of the atmosphere of danger that I remember from the Lower East Side of New York, or certain parts of Soho. I guess everything is relative.
The rats still played in the sewers, though, and there were a few stray cats who paced me, and a few dogs who howled and ran off. People talk about how peaceful the countryside is, or the deep woods, or the mountains, or the lakes. Maybe so. But there is a certain kind of peace that you find in the middle of a city when you are the only one on the street, and you can hear your footsteps echo on the dry pavement, and the smell of petrol and exhaust is only the faint lingering reminder of what the place is like when it is alive.
The walk was not unpleasant; there was no moon to contend with the stars that were visible through the glow of the streetlights and I was not cold. I expect February to be the coldest month, but I’m told that in Ohio January is usually the worst. February still has a firm grip, but she’s so confident that she doesn’t mind letting the thermometer climb just a little, knowing she can send it back down whenever she wants to. This is such an evening, and I can even imagine that someday the snow will melt, and the pavement will begin to sprout once more. I wonder if I will see the spring.
I regret leaving without that waitress. I am still feeling weak, and very tired.
The nights are getting shorter.
It is time for me to sleep.
This evening seems to be shaping up very nicely indeed. There is a low cloud cover, a breeze that is almost warm, and no moon. The breeze carries with it the least hint of news from the north, suggesting colder weather to come, but I think it is lying; I believe we will have another day or two of relative warmth before the next murderous cold wave hits. In either case, tonight is pleasant enough.
I dreamed about Susan, and woke up seeing her face.
This is no good. While it has been very nice spending time with her, I cannot afford, especialy now, to
To what? I don’t know how to complete that sentence.
Well, it doesn’t matter. It is time to pay Jill the visit I owe her; for I have no doubt that she has not done what I commanded her to, and probably thinks me out of her life. I will correct this misapprehension, and I will not allow myself to be distracted by her roommate.
It is time to be about it.
I’m a little puzzled by
Oh, this is too amusing for words. Between the previous line and this one has been about five minutes of laughter, bordering on the hysterical at times. Jim came in and looked at me, but I just shook my head and didn’t say anything, so he shrugged and went away. The best jokes, I think, are those played by Lady Fate, and she has just performed a fine one. Let me set this down so that, if sometime later I come to read it, I will be able to savor the humor in all its grandeur.
Jill wasn’t home when I got there, and, as I’d expected, she hadn’t made the changes in her room that I had ordered. I seethed for a moment, then shrugged and went down the hall to say a quick hello to Susan, who was standing in the bathroom, naked, with the door open, brushing her hair. I watched her for a moment, admiring the curve of her back and the set of her shoulders, then went up and stood next to her.
She jumped, but only a little.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” I said.
“You move like a cat.”
“Miaow.”
She gave me one of her extravagant smiles, then looked puzzled and said, “How did you get in?”
“I picked the lock, broke a window, and came down the chimney.”
“Oh, the usual.”
“Right.”
“Vivian always said that a man who couldn’t surprise you is a waste of time.”
“Surprise, surprise,” I said.
She smiled into my eyes. “Jill isn’t here, you know.”
“I know. You are.”
“Yes,” she said, “I am,” and came into my arms. Some time later I carried her into the bedroom.
I don’t know why I bother making promises to myself when I know I can’t keep them.
I was still there some hours later when her eyelids fluttered open. She curled up next to me and said, “You’re dressed.” Her voice was a little hoarse.
I traced my initials on her side and said, “Yes.”
“Is Jill home?”
“I heard her come in about an hour ago.”
“What did she say?”
“The door was closed; I doubt she knows I’m here.”
“You didn’t talk to her?”
“No. Not yet.”
“Mmmmm.”
She stretched a little in happy contentment as I watched. I took my feelings out and examined them; surprised, not at the state she was in, but at my own pride in having brought her there. I said, “What do you think of Jill’s room?”
“Mmmmm. It’s her room. She hasn’t gotten evangelical on me, so I don’t really care. She did try to put those things all over the house, but I put my foot down. I live here, too.”
“Indeed. But isn’t that what you meant before about claiming territory?”
“Yes,” she said brightly. “But she didn’t succeed.”
“I should imagine,” I said, “that many women dislike you.”
She looked hurt, and for a moment I was afraid she was going to cry. “Hey,” I said. “I didn’t mean-”
She shook her head and smiled as if sharing a joke with herself. “Not as many as all that,” she said. Then she was serious again. “But I don’t understand why.” This was said very softly.
I realized I’d hit a sore spot, and I didn’t know what to say. “You don’t? Women are so often territorial when it comes to men, and you-”