“Don’t take Miss Pearl’s seat. Check, got it.”
“The final rule, and this one is real important, don’t go making lots of noise or commotion while the caller is announcing the numbers. My bingo girlfriends and I take this one real serious. Nothing worse than being distracted when you’re playing multiple cards.”
Kip grabbed onto the dashboard for support as Polly took an abrupt right turn, passing through a stop sign and bouncing the Cadillac’s right rear tire over the curb.
“Now when I say don’t make a racket,” Polly continued as she honked twice at the car in front to pull over for her to pass, “I don’t mean you can’t talk. In fact, the girls and I, that’s Big Esther and Little Esther, they’re not actually related, and oh, I told you that already, Miss Pearl and Jolene, we take turns calling the numbers back with our little nicknames.”
“Nicknames?”
“Nicknames for the numbers. It’s like B-46 is called ‘In the Sticks’ because it rhymes. Get it?”
“Sure.” Kip nodded.
“And I-22 is ‘Two Ducks on the Pond’ because the twos look like curved duck necks. You’ll catch right on in no time.”
“I’ll try my best.”
“But even though we call our numbers back, we keep our voices down so we don’t disturb the players like some of the riffraff do. They don’t sell alcohol at the bingo, but it’s BYOB, so some of the lushes that show up bring their own booze and get right pickled. Hold on, dear.”
Kip mashed his imaginary brake pedal again as Polly navigated another intersection. Wish I’d known that before, he thought, as he wondered if he could convince Polly to stop at a liquor store so he could pick up a fifth of bourbon to get him through the evening.
Polly put the car into a power slide as she tore into the bingo hall parking lot and came to a screeching halt in a handicapped space. Leaning over across the seat, she pressed her ample bosom into Kip’s lap as she reached for the handicapped parking tag in the glove compartment.
“My arthritic hip qualifies as a disability,” she said as she hung the tag on the rearview mirror and rolled herself out of the car.
Kip took the pink marker and followed Polly as she wobbled into the bingo hall on her strained stilettos.
“What in the hell am I doing here?” he whispered under his breath.
“Penny,” Polly said to the frowning grey-haired woman sitting at a folding table at the entrance to the hall. “I’d like to introduce you to my escort this evening. This handsome gentleman is Kip. He’s my absolute favorite nephew and will be joining the girls and myself for our bingo. He’s just in from New York where he’s one of those fancy high investment gurus, and super successful, I might add.”
“Charmed,” a clearly perturbed Penny deadpanned without looking up from the Cat Fancy magazine she was reading. “What’ll you have?”
“Oh, the usual. Plus the same for my nephew.”
“Forty a piece,” Penny replied as she pushed the stacks of cards across the table while still reading her magazine.
“Here, let me get this, Aunt Polly,” Kip said as he reached for his wallet and pulled out four twenty-dollar bills.
“Oh, bless you, sugar.” Polly reached up and pinched Kip’s cheek. “Penny, didn’t I tell you he was successful?” Polly beamed. “Now, remember, Penny, you’ve got another whole eight months to perfect your praline recipe if you want to keep me from defending my bake-off title next year.”
Pretending not to hear, Penny placed the money in a metal lockbox on the table and returned to thumbing through her magazine.
“See that,” Polly whispered into Kip’s ear as they walked into the main hall. “I told you she was a sore loser. Her pralines taste like plastic.”
The cavernous hall was brightly lit with fluorescent lighting and filled with long rows of tables. Up front, a small stage held the caller’s podium and the ball machine that randomly selected the numbers. A large electronic board for posting the numbers was mounted to the wall behind the stage.
The hall was beginning to fill with patrons as Polly dragged Kip down the main aisle. Spotting the girls, she stopped and hastily put her arm in the crook of Kip’s as he reluctantly escorted her down the aisle, wondering what he’d gotten himself into.
“Oh, ladies,” Polly beamed as she and Kip reached the row of chairs near the middle of the hall the ladies always sat in on bingo nights. “It’s my pleasure to introduce you to my nephew, Kip.”
“Why, he’s just as handsome as you promised,” Jolene, the peroxide-blonde cougar purred as she extended the back of her hand for Kip to kiss. “What a pleasure to meet you.” She slyly winked at him as Kip bent down to peck her perfectly manicured hand.
“And this right here on the end is Miss Pearl,” Polly said, pulling Kip away from Jolene’s ever tightening grasp. The short, thin, grey-haired black woman in the baby blue dress nodded in his direction as she peered out from under the brim of her white hat and examined Kip up and down through her wire-rimmed Coke-bottle glasses.
“He can stay as long as he knows the rules and don’t make a commotion,” Miss Pearl said, glaring at Kip from her lucky seat on the aisle.
“Oh, my stars, Miss Pearl,” Polly said sarcastically. “You’re one to talk about making a commotion. And down there is Big Esther and Little Esther,” Polly added, pointing to the tall, ostrich-like woman and short, pear-shaped woman knitting away furiously next to her.
“No relation,” Big Esther said, her beak-shaped nose seeming to look down on Kip even though she was seated and he was standing.
“Howdy there,” Little Esther said to Kip without stopping her knitting. “Come on and sit down. The bingo is just about to start.”
Kip and Polly slipped down the row of chairs and took the two that had been tipped forward against the table reserved for them.
“Now, Kip, get your cards all spread out so you can scan them quickly,” Polly instructed. “You have to be organized to win at bingo.”
Kip complied with Polly’s advice and arranged the cards neatly in front of him. Scanning the room, he noticed a hunched-over elderly man with a pair of enormous hearing aids struggling up to the podium with his walker.
“That’s Old Man Handlebaum,” Polly explained. “He’s the caller. He doesn’t really hear that well but has a beautiful voice for calling the numbers. If you get a bingo, really yell it out; otherwise, he might not hear you.”
Kip nodded, noticing the attractive young woman wearing a red sequined evening gown with a white silk sash across her chest announcing her as Miss Georgetown. The blonde woman’s contest smile took up most of her face as she stood with a microphone clutched in both hands, her tiara sparkling.
Old Man Handlebaum eventually scooted his walker up to the podium and reached to adjust the microphone, sending a screeching wail of feedback throughout the room, causing most of the crowd to wince and cover their ears.
“Evening, ladies and gentlemen,” Old Man Handlebaum greeted the participants in his deep baritone voice, which seemed more appropriate for a blues singer than a bingo caller. “We’ll begin this evening with a special guest.” He turned and extended his hand toward the perpetually smiling woman. “I’d like ya’ll to give a big Texas welcome to Miss Chrissie Lynn Spotsville, the recently crowned Miss Georgetown.” The room filled with applause for the young woman. The beauty queen alternated between dainty pageant waves and blown kisses to the crowd. “Chrissie Lynn will be competing later this year in the Miss Texas Pageant,” the caller continued. “But tonight, she’ll be assisting me in drawing the numbers for the bingo. However, before we begin, she has most graciously agreed to sing for us her stunning rendition of ‘The Yellow Rose of Texas.’ Take it away, Chrissie Lynn!”