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Message-ID: <48698asstr$1091585407@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Gina Marie Wylie" <gmwylie98260@hotmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Spitfire and Messerschmitt Ch 7 {Gina Marie Wylie} (teen, mf, inc, cons)
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Date: Tue,  3 Aug 2004 22:10:07 -0400
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<1st attachment, "Davey Ch 7.doc" begin>

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

	The following is fiction of an adult nature.  If I believed in
setting age limits for things, you'd have to be eighteen to read
this and I'd never have bothered to write it.  IMHO, if you can
read and enjoy, then you're old enough to read and enjoy.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

	All persons here depicted are figments of my imagination and any
resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly a blunder on my
part.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

	Official stuff:  Story codes: teen, mf, inc, con.

	If stories like this offend you, you will offend ME if you read
further and complain. Copyright 2004, by Gina Marie Wylie.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

	I can be reached at gmwylie98260@hothothotmail.com, at least if
you remove some of the hots.  All comments and reasoned
discussion welcome.

Below is my site on ASSTR:
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Gina_Marie_Wylie/www/

My stories are also posted on StoriesOnline:
http://Storiesonline.net/

And on Electronic Wilderness Publishing:
http://www.ewpub.org/

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Chapter 7 :: Poker Night

Later Saturday evening I helped Dad set up the poker table in the
family room.

He hefted my coffee can.  "More than a hundred dollars," he
observed.  I glanced at him, how could he tell?  I guessed it was
the weight.  "I doubt if anyone will make an issue of it, but we
usually limit table stakes to a hundred bucks.  Do you understand
that if you lose, you lose?  I'll not say a word and won't do a
thing for you?"

"You're my father; I'm more accustomed to you doing things to me
rather than for me."

He laughed at that.  "So, I can go suck up a rope, eh?  And I
will have to figure out the true intent of your answer.  That's
okay, Davey."

People started arriving then.  I'm not an adult; I'm more used to
my sister's and mother's ideas about being on time.  They might
have been flexible about timeliness, Dad, however, wasn't.  Over
a period of fifteen minutes, everyone arrived and was sitting at
the poker table.

Dad introduced me.

"Sitting to my left is my son, Davey.  Earlier, I found he had a
more than a hundred bucks in change in his piggy bank; I thought
as much as I've taken from you all in the last couple years, you
might want a chance to get back a little from a Harper."

There were laughs all around the table.  "Davey, the man to your
left is Vicario Ortega; also known as Chief Ortega, the Chief of
Police."

I smiled nervously at the man who would be sitting on my left
hand all evening.  He was silver haired, but otherwise darkly
Hispanic.  He was trim, wearing jeans and a western shirt.  If he
had a gun, I couldn't see it.

I looked around the table.  None of the men at the table suffered
from beer bellies or were overweight.  That certainly wasn't the
case at school among the adults!  Everyone at the table was
dressed comfortably casual, but still it was a casual that spoke
of competence.

"Next to the Chief is Willy Coy.  Willy is a security consultant.
 He presents an awful choice to potential customers: just how
much do you want to pay to be secure?  He's pricey, but good.

Willy Coy was Dad's age, dark brown hair, with only a few white
hairs to mark his age.  He was tanned, not dark-skinned like the
Police Chief, but the two were both about the same color.

Willy Coy gave my father a mock salute; he was smiling.

"Next to Willy is a friend of his.  Hammer.  I suppose he has a
regular name, but I don't know anyone brave enough to ask him
what it is.  I don't know of any of Willy's friends who have
regular names."

Hammer was huge; six and a half feet tall, heavy bones, heavily
muscled and looked Hispanic.  His hands were the size of
good-sized hams; for all of that he had a broad, infectious grin.
 "Do not listen to the gringos, senor David, I am a simple
paramedic.  I apply band-aids to children at school crossings."

Next to Hammer's bulk was someone the exact opposite.  She was a
thin, sharp-faced woman, in her late twenties.  Her breasts
weren't as large as Wanda's, but larger, I thought, than
Pammie's.  "Hannelore Kimmel, who teaches German at San Angelo
High and poker and other card games to anyone incautious enough
to want to know the rules.  She convinced Judge Warren, for
instance, that she didn't have a clue how to play poker."

The woman smiled slightly.  "I could have told him the sky was
green and the grass blue."  She leaned over and smiled at me,
sticking out her chest.  "He was fascinated by my bosom.  Alas,
these eunuchs aren't."  She had a trace of a German accent, was
dark blonde and about five four.  She was wearing a thin sky blue
top and dark slacks.  Her blouse was silk, I thought.  The
neckline was scalloped, but even when she'd leaned over, it
stayed close to her skin.

The others all laughed.  I decided she was jerking my chain. 
"I'll be at the high school here shortly.  I signed up for
Spanish, maybe I need to change that."

"Only if you want your balls kicked out the back of your head,"
Chief Ortega said with a laugh, "she's a black belt in half a
dozen martial arts.  I can't remember the list; just that it's
long.  And of course, there's Blade to contend with as well."

"I'm Blade," the next man said, nodding.  He waved at Willy Coy,
"Willy used to be my boss, before I discovered the joys of home
cooking.  Now I work at Goodfellow as a consultant on my own. 
Oh, and I brought Hanni to the party, and we'll be leaving
together.  True, she's fond of cute younger men, and you're the
only other one at the table, David, but I'm sure you'll be a
gentleman."

I smiled, "Everyone calls me Davey.  I don't think you need to
worry about me.  I can't work up the courage to ask a girl my own
age out."

He chuckled, "Sure, Davey, sure.  That's the same story I tell
people about my job on the base.  I fly the airplane."

I looked at him.  When you grow up in San Angelo you can't be
ignorant of the air base southeast of town.  Except, it's not an
air base.  Everyone in town stops and watches, if the big jets
are flying in there.  It means a lot of intelligence people are
going to be deployed someplace in the world.  True, sometimes it
was an exercise, but you never knew.  And over time, you couldn't
help noticing that far more often than not, those aircraft showed
up when trouble was afoot.

Oh, and rumor had it that there was only one airplane on the base
the rest of the time, a twin engine Cessna.

My father simply shuffled a deck a couple of times, then ran the
cards, face down on the table.  "High card deals first."

Blade turned over an ace, so he dealt first.  The rules were
simple: a nickel to ante, a quarter was the maximum bet or raise,
three raise limit.  Once, during the evening, each player could
ask to remove the betting limits; it was always table stakes
though.  Five card draw or stud, seven card stud.  You could play
twenty-one if you wanted.  The first time you called for wild
cards, like as not everyone would pass.

Blade dealt five card draw; I got a pair of fours out of the
gate, stayed for a quarter, and then drew three cards.  I didn't
get anything more.  The first time someone raised, I folded when
it got around to me.  They might all be bluffing, but it didn't
matter.  Calling anyone's bluff with a pair of fours was a
certified loser.

Hand after hand was dealt.  I won small twice, even so, I was
still down a bit, I thought.  When it was my turn to deal, I
always dealt five card stud.  It wasn't the shortest game to
play, but it seemed simpler.  One down, three up, the last card
down.  You couldn't improve the hand with a subsequent draw.

I dealt a hand of five card stud.  The first betting round, I had
a jack of diamonds down, a jack of hearts up.  I had the high
card and put out a nickel.  When it got to me, it was ten cents
more; I put in my dime and raised a nickel.

These people were, I'd long since noticed, poker players.  They
talked about anything except the game.  The exception was that
the dealer in five and seven card stud would call out the high
hand, and possibilities of the hands to the rest of the table. 
Since the comments were self-evident, I hadn't thought much about
it.

The Chief called, then Willy Coy folded his hand, as did Blade. 
Everyone else called.

I dealt the next card, contemplating the withdrawal of those two.
 When I would drop out, I would look at my hand, contemplate what
it was worth, and bet accordingly.  Not once had I bailed if
there was a plausible chance of winning.  I'd never stayed in,
and then folded on the second round, because I didn't want to
spend money on hope.  I made up my mind in the first round, if I
was going to stay or fold.

It was a kind of epiphany.  When I raised, I'd told everyone I
had a pair of jacks.  The people who didn't think they could beat
a pair of jacks had folded.  The reverse was also true; the
others thought they had a chance.  There were four of them, and I
looked around the table, evaluating what they might have.

My dad, of course, spoke for all of them.  "Deal, Davey."

I did, gaining a nine of diamonds as my next card.  I no longer
had the high hand; Chief Ortega did with a pair of fours.  He bet
a dime and then everyone still in matched it, including me.

I dealt the last up card, thinking like I'd never thought before
in my life.  I decided that the opposition consisted of three
groups: smaller pairs, or a face card higher than my jack down or
a face card higher than my jack up.  There were, though, no
examples of the latter, so I put it out of mind.

This time I got the eight of diamonds.  I gestured at my hand,
"Possible flush."  There were chuckles around the table, but I
tried to look dumb and stupid.  That got more chuckles.

No one looked to have improved, the Chief was still high and bet
another dime.  Hammer raised a nickel, which I thought was odd. 
Then I realized that he had a small pair, and was hoping for
something better.

When the pot was right, I dealt the last down card.  I had the
ten of diamonds.  I wished I didn't have a pair of jacks; that
paid finis to a flush, which would have certainly won this hand.

I looked around the table.  The Chief looked confident, Hannelore
looked confident, my father looked confident.  Maybe not in so
many words, but it was clear to me.

Chief Ortega reached out and tapped my hand.  "If you have trips
down there, I'm going to take your old man out behind the station
and beat him senseless."  He slid out a dime.

It was a quarter when it got to me.  These were adults, I
thought.  I have a pair of jacks; every last one of them knows
it.  If they are all bluffing me, I can fold and learn about it.
Otherwise, someone here has better than two jacks, even if I
couldn't see it from the cards.

I folded.

A minute later, my dad sandbagged the lot of them, having two
sixes down, and one up.  I passed the deck to the Chief and sat
thinking.  Dad had pair of sixes down.  That meant he had only a
pair of sixes to bet.  I dealt the last card.  Everyone had
called him, he'd shown his cards, and no one had challenged him.

I looked at the five card draw hand the Chief had just dealt me.
I was thinking about pairs and trips, not flushes.  I'd gotten
pretty much the same cards I had before; only this time I had a
queen of diamonds to go with the rest.  A straight flush.

To put it mildly, I was going to win the hand.  The question then
was, by how much?  Dad had done well with his trips.  I was down
a couple of dollars; a coup would be nice.

Willy Coy shoved out a quarter.  "Ah, lady luck!" he told us as
he did.

There were two more calls, Hannelore folded and Dad raised a
dime.  I decided the hell with it.  "That, and a quarter more."

I looked at Hannelore, concentrating on her pleasant bosom. 
Chief Ortega called, then Willy called, and the rest called,
including my dad.

I was last and I called.  Everyone else asked for cards, when it
was my turn I said I didn't need any cards.  The Chief nodded and
put the cards down, sat back and looked at the table impassively.
 Willy looked at his hand and bet a quarter.  When it got to me,
I was the third raise, and I bumped it a quarter.

Two people called me, Willy and Blade; Dad had folded.  I laid
down the straight flush, calling it just a flush.  Dad leaned
over and rubbed his hand on my shoulder.  "Let me rub off a
little luck!"  There were laughs around the table.

There were a whole series of uninspiring hands, one after
another, over nearly an hour.  It was past ten and I was starting
to tire.  Then Hannelore dealt seven card stud.  My up card was a
four, and I hadn't bothered looking at the down cards until it
was time to bet.  I looked, and found two more fours.

When it came my turn to bet, I called.  I'd already deduced that
the three-raise limit at a seven person table created an
interesting dynamic.  If someone ahead of you was likely to raise
the bet, you could cut their legs out from under them with a
small raise at the right time.  Or, scare someone off with a max
raise.  There were, I'd seen, all kinds of strategies, and which
one would win, depended on the circumstances.

We'd been playing for more than two hours.  They would think I
was predictable, playing a cautious, sure-thing game.  Chief
Ortega raised, Willy Coy raised and it came back around to me
with everyone at the table still in.

My next card was the fourth four.  I didn't even have the high
hand!  Hannelore had two aces showing.  She bet a quarter, Blade
grunted and called, I raised a nickel.

My thinking was that I'd just told everyone I had three fours. 
The Chief raised me a dime, Willy Coy called, Hammer called,
followed by Hannelore raising a quarter.

Since there was another ace showing in Hammer's hand, she
couldn't have four of them.  I stayed in and so did everyone
else.  The next up card for me was a jack, which Hannelore called
as 'no apparent help.'  Blade had been dealt a deuce of hearts,
which gave him two hearts up and earned him a 'nothing showing'
from Hannelore.

Dad had three cards in a straight showing, the Chief got a second
queen, Willy Coy had a pair of sevens and an eight showing. 
Hammer was in the same boat as Blade, nothing showing.  Hannelore
dealt herself a three.

She bet a quarter again and Blade folded his cards.  Dad matched
the bet and I raised a dime.  Chief Ortega thought for a few
minutes before calling.  Willy Coy bumped me a dime, Hammer
folded and Hannelore raised a quarter.

"Not on this round," she said, "But on the last two, I'd like to
take the betting limits off."

Dad asked, "Any objections?"  There were head shakes all around,
and pretty soon the pot was straight again.  Dad got a fourth
card that fit his straight, I got a second jack, and the Chief
got a seven.  Hannelore dealt herself another three.

There was a moment of silence, and then she slid out four
quarters.  "Dollar."

She had, I was sure, a full house.  Dad flipped his cards upside
down.  I pushed out a dollar, then, almost as an afterthought, a
fifth quarter.  "Raise a quarter."

The look Hannelore gave me set my teeth on edge.  Condescending
to the max!  The Chief raised me a half dollar, Willy Coy called,
and Hannelore raised a dollar.  I called her, the Chief called,
and Willy Coy raised a dollar.

I decided that he had a full house too, but I wasn't sure.  I
wished I'd paid more attention to the cards that had been flipped
face down.  It had seemed to me, up to that moment, it was a
signal not to deal to the player any more.  It might be that, but
it left foolish thirteen years olds who hadn't remembered what
cards had been there helpless.

Hannelore looked at Willy's hand, audibly sniffed, and raised two
dollars.  I smiled at her... and raised a dollar.  The Chief
laughed and folded.  Willy Coy smiled and called.  Hannelore
called.

"Down and dirty," Willy Coy said, as Hannelore started dishing
out the last few cards, face down.  I looked at mine, and
couldn't help laughing.  Another jack!

The laugh got me a number of looks from around the table.  I just
shook my head.  Hannelore still had the high hand and pushed out
two dollars.  I pushed out three.  Willy Coy simply folded his
cards.

"Your three, and raise you ten," she said, pushing out the
money.

I was a little surprised.  Her voice had changed completely; it
was now a mixture of snarl and condescension.  "Ditto," I said,
"Your ten and raise you ten."  I said, pushing out my quarters,
and a few stacks of dimes as well.  The pot was getting mighty
crowded!

"Do you think you can bluff me?"  Her voice sounded like someone
dragging a very heavy stone over concrete.  I could see the cords
on her neck standing out; her face was getting red.

I looked around the table.  Dad was sitting passive, his eyes on
me, with no expression on his face.  Blade was looking at his
hands, folded on top of his cards.  Hammer was watching me and
Willy Coy was watching Hannelore.  Chief Ortega was taking a swig
from a beer.

I'd taken a second, so I had my voice in pretty good control. 
"Since I don't know how to bluff, I wonder why you think I am?"

Hammer tapped the fingers of one hand on the table.  "Hah! 
Good!"

No one else said a thing.  Dad said quietly, "Hannelore, it's ten
to you."

"See his ten, raise twenty!"  She pushed coins out, stacks and
stacks of coins.

I really, really wanted enough money to go back and watch Blue
Crush on Sunday, and again on Monday.  I'd made up my mind.  On
the other hand, I hadn't gotten my allowance.  Things might be a
little tight for the next week, but I'd survive.

"Ma'am," I said as politely as I could.  "I'm not bluffing.  It's
table stakes.  Why don't we find out which of us has the least,
and the other match it?  Save all the bother."

She had seventy-five dollars to put in, and I matched it.  She
flipped up her cards, face up.  "Three aces and two sixes.  Full
house."

"Oh," I said, sounding dejected.  There was, I was realizing,
nothing better than this.  It was a huge rush.  "Oops.  Three
jacks," I flipped over the jacks, "oh, and four fours."

I flipped the last cards up.

She looked at the cards, and then turned to Blade.  "Would you
mind if we left now?"

"Of course not, Hanni, not a problem."

They gathered up their things and left, while I started scooping
vast quantities of coins into the coffee can.

"Good thing I got you a really big can," Dad said, laughing.  The
others at the table echoed his laugh; I didn't think it would be
good for me to say anything, so I keep my mouth shut.

I saw the start of it out of the corner of my eye.  Chief Ortega
looked at Dad and shook his head.  I had a better view of Willy
Coy, who also shook his head.  Dad said, "Davey, you missed some
over here."  Instinctively I turned to look and missed what
Hammer did.

I was pretty sure someone had just gotten voted off the island. 
Hannelore or me?

"Five for poker?" Dad asked.

"Six," Willy Coy said.  "Blade will be right back.  I, for one,
don't want to knock off early two weeks in a row."

Dad looked at him and shrugged.  "My deal, then."

Twenty minutes later Blade was back.  We played steady poker.  I
thought the conversation might coarsen but that was stupid; these
were adults at the table.  Real adults, men who had real world
success behind them.  They talked about all sorts of things, from
local gossip to amusing stories.

Around midnight, my arm started to throb.  I tried to ignore it,
but it got steadily worse.  Finally, it was noticeable.  "Your
arm bothering you, Davey?" Dad asked.

I left off rubbing it, "Yes, sir."

"Well, liniment, then bed."  He turned to the others.  "Davey
started learning how to pitch today."

"Talk to Blade," Willy Coy said.  "The man's a genius with a
baseball.  The only man I ever saw who could throw a curve
grenade."

The other two of them laughed, both Blade and Hammer.

I got up, and for the first time lifted the can since I'd put all
the coins in it.  I didn't quite embarrass myself by letting it
slip out of my fingers, but it really hurt my arm; I quickly
switched hands, bid them good night and took the dozen steps to
my room.

I applied liniment, and then I applied my head to my pillow.  My
last conscious thought was that I was probably going to be able
to afford to go see Blue Crush as many times as I wanted, and
still have enough for another poker night like I'd just had.  I
could take everyone to the movies and it would be my treat.

It was an odd dream, one like I'd told Pammie about.  I was
standing beside the poker table, and a cell phone sounded.  Chief
Ortega lifted his, and walked toward the kitchen, his back to us.
 A second later, he was back.  "A homicide up in the northwest,
by the lake.  A Navy Chief."

Blade had been riffling a deck of cards, doing little card
tricks.  "A Navy Chief?  Pretty much has to be one of ours.  Can
I ride along, Chief?"

Chief Ortega laughed, "It's against department policy to permit
unscheduled ride-alongs.  Sure, Blade."

The two of them left, and a moment later I saw flashing lights in
the street, but I didn't hear a siren.

Much later in the night I rolled over and discovered I wasn't
alone.  I cracked an eye and saw Wanda, asleep next to me.  She
was curled up into a ball, lying on her side, one hand on my arm.
 I reached out and put my hand over hers, decided that if Wanda
wanted to do anything, it could wait until morning.  Also, if
she'd wanted to do something, she probably wouldn't have been
wearing a long t-shirt.

Much later, there was a stir, and I rolled over.  Emily was
standing next to my bed, tears pouring down her face.  Without a
word, Wanda was up, hugging her.

For the longest time, Emily cried.

At first I was glad that Wanda could help.  Then, when the tears
didn't stop, I felt mildly irritated.  I felt terribly guilty
about my irritation.

Then I really woke up.  Emily had come into my room and found my
sister sleeping with me.  True, Wanda was wearing a long t-shirt,
and we had done nothing but cuddle, but it could have easily been
misconstrued.  I looked at Emily, crying on Wanda's shoulder. 
Emily was wearing a long nightie, that came below her knees.  It
was perfectly presentable, Wanda was too.  I usually slept in a
pair of khaki shorts, so I was presentable too.  I decided not to
worry about it.

Finally Emily stopped crying, pulling back from Wanda.  "I got
you all wet."

Wanda giggled.  "I'm not all wet!  It'll dry, Emily."

Emily turned to me.  "I'm sorry to wake you up, Davey."

I shook my head.  "Emily, if you get Wanda too wet, and she
starts to shrink, you can cry on my shoulder for a while if you
like.  You don't have to apologize."

She smiled wanly at me, hugged Wanda.  "I'm okay now, I
promise."

Wanda nodded and Emily left my room.  Wanda sat down on the bed.
"You sure she'll be okay?" I asked, nervous.

Wanda nodded.  "We don't make our promises lightly, Davey."

She looked down at me for a long moment.  "I talked to Pammie
last night.  There's a lot of confusion running around right
now."

"I didn't do anything," I said, feeling defensive.

She chuckled.  "You're playing with fire there, little brother! 
When a girl is in the mood, she doesn't get as upset as a guy
does when you tell him you're not.  That's not to say she doesn't
get upset.  I hope you don't expect a repeat any time in your
lifetime."

"I just... couldn't."

"That's okay.  Sometimes, our will weakens, our intentions and
our hormones cross paths.  She quit birth control, Davey, a
couple of months ago.  No need, she said."

I paled.

She smiled.  "She wasn't happy this afternoon, but by the time
she went home and Karen helped her unwind, well, let's just say
that while she will probably never come on to you again, Pammie
is glad it didn't happen, period."

"I didn't even think about it," I said, knowing I was lame.

She nodded.  "Davey, you're the guy with the loaded gun.  Those
aren't blanks in there.  If you want to put it in a girl, you
have to know ahead of time it's safe."

Something to seriously, deeply think about!  She smiled at me. 
"Davey, cross my heart, it's not something I would lie about. 
It's not something Pammie would lie about, it's not something
most girls would lie about, but sometimes girls do lie about if
they are protected."

I raised an eyebrow.  "What about yesterday?"

"Davey, girls get the urge just like guys do.  The brain goes out
for pizza and the hormones are in charge.  You tell yourself
it'll only be the one time, it's not a problem."  She grimaced. 
"That's one of the few true things they tell us in sex ed.  If
you're unprotected, you're just that.  Soon to be a mommie.  It's
not going to happen to me, Davey."

"I think celibacy is good," I told her.

She laughed, "No, you just have to be careful.  I think Pammie
scared herself yesterday.  She can't believe she wanted a guy,
can't believe it was you and can't believe she didn't care if she
was protected or not.  Let's just say that's a wake up call that
can't be denied."

She looked around my room and her eyes lighted on the coffee can.
 "You guys make such a big deal out of poker!"

"If you think you can do it, go lift the can."

Wanda went and lifted it up; it didn't quite slip out of her
grip, but she was obviously surprised.

I laughed, "There was a woman here for poker, a teacher from the
high school.  She was with one of the other guys.  I think she
got voted off the island last night."

Wanda looked at me.  "That's a sentence that just begs to have
someone asking about the details.  Which teacher?"

"Hannelore something or other, I don't remember her last name. 
She teaches German at school; at least that's what she said.

"Oh!  Fraulein Kimmel!  She took over after Frau Weiss got hurt.
Frau Weiss was in that hit and run just before Christmas last
year; someone one knocked her over in a crosswalk, as she was
trying to get to the store.  She had a broken leg and a broken
hip.  We had a series of really bad substitutes, then they found
her for the last week April and May."

I shook my head.  I'd thought it last night; now I was more sure
than ever.  I hadn't a clue about any of this.  I'd never heard
about a hit and run accident in San Angelo.  There was a world, I
was thinking, outside my window.  I'd ignored it; I'd kept my
head stuck up my ass for too long.

I worked my shoulder; my arm was much better.  "I think I'm going
to swim for a while."

"Enjoy!" my sister said, and then left.  Evidently, unlike
Pammie, Wanda had her hormones in check.

And so were mine.  I laughed at myself.  I'd thought the common
wisdom said that teenage boys couldn't keep their hormones in
check.  Well, I'd done it twice now.

I didn't bother cleaning the pool; it was still crystal clear,
and this wouldn't be the first day I'd skipped.

Later, I had Wanda drive me over to the mall to shop.  I knew she
thought I was going to bookshop; I always did.  Instead, I sat in
a nearly empty theater and watched Blue Crush a second time.  I
still watched Penny, but the waves were a bigger attraction.

I did go to the bookstore and found a book I'd never seen before.
 It was what they call a 'trade paperback,' a larger than usual
paperback, with a more ornate cover.  The title was "Wizenbeak"
which sounded like a stupid name, but the jacket blurb sounded
interesting.  Oh, and this was in the back, where they sold used
books, so it was an older book.

When I got home, though, I had a raft of questions.  I walked. 
It's almost three miles, so I'd had a lot of time to think.

The first person I found was Dad.  "Can I ask you a question
about last night?"

He nodded.

"The big hand.  I tried not to gloat, I tried not to do a lot of
things," I told him.

"You did try to win," he said pragmatically, "and, as I recall,
you did."

"I got the impression that people were unhappy."

"Yes," he stopped talking and looked at me steadily.  "You
understand that we place a high value on the game?  You can lose
with style and class and we'll ask you back.  Particularly if
you're like the judge and can hardly ever eke out a winning
night.

"Winning a big hand, losing a big hand; those are tough.  Not
everyone can deal with it.  Hannelore, I regret to say, didn't
deal with that hand well.  She was furious even before the last
card."

"Did I do okay?" I asked bluntly.  "Would they ask me back?"

Dad chuckled.  "Davey!  You have that huge can of money!  The
trouble now will be to stop the invitations!"

"You know what I mean," I told him.

"You didn't play the hand like I would, but then again, you're
you.  You played your hand just fine, Davey.  You won a little
the first time you had a good hand, and there's not a person at
the table who couldn't see you calculating and figuring.  What
you were going to do; that was a mystery!  You fooled them all,
Davey!  Particularly that woman!

"If that had been a regular limit hand, you'd have made eight or
ten dollars from it.  I stayed in, wondering if you were just
going to bluff full bore.  When I realized you had me beat, I
just sat back and watched the fun!"

"So, it wasn't me that got invited off the island, last night?"

He looked at me for a second, and then howled with laughter. 
"Oh, I will pass that on!  I will!"  He wiped tears away from his
eyes.

"No, Davey.  Do you understand that it will be a while yet before
you have a say in things like that?  I know it bites, but it's
not just a matter of not inviting someone ever again.  She's not
stupid, Davey, it's not like we could string her along and let
her figure it out for herself.

"Sometimes in life, Davey, you have to do unpleasant things. 
Don't sugar coat them for yourself, or for anyone.  Life is
unpleasant at times; one of the biggest mistakes we're making in
this country right now is this crazy idea the liberals have that
you can pretend problems away."

"Politics, Dad.  Mom says not to let you talk about politics!"

He laughed.  "That's the truth!  Politics and religion: never
start a conversation about either unless you are ready to lose
friends and the occasional spouse!"

I contemplated that and then looked at him.  "If you have an
opinion, and someone else has an opinion; if you don't talk about
them, how can you ever hope to reconcile them?"

He stood looking at me for a long second.  "My first instinct is
to say you'll understand this better when you're older.  Then I
had to ask myself, what do you understand that I don't? 
Something to think about, Davey, it's something to think about! 
One of the problems these days with the modern world is that our
political discourse is almost entirely 'us versus them.'"

Later, I found Wanda sorting clothes in the laundry room.  I knew
Emily was in the family room, with Mom and Dad trying to show her
how to play pool.

"Wanda, can I ask you a question?"

"Sure, Davey.  No."

I flipped her a bird.

"Wanda, what did you tell Emily about us, last night?"

"That I was lonely and scared, and needed someone strong to hold
me.  That I could talk about what happened to me when the sun is
bright and the dark out of mind.  But when it gets dark,
sometimes I'm afraid.  I told her that it wasn't her fault; it
was something that would happen to her.  The trick, I told her,
was to have a friend you can go to."

"Wanda," I asked nervously, "what if we'd been screwing?"

"Davey, little brother, when you feel like I felt like last
night, your soul is in torment.  Everything else is a side issue.
 You go for the rock in the storm and you hold on."

I stood thinking for a second, and then said what I'd been
thinking.  "Mom says, that if we do it too often, it stops being
sex and starts being more."

She leaned close and kissed me on the cheek.  "Davey, it was more
when I came to you the second time."

She waved at the door.  "Now, please, you've been thinking.  I
need a little time, too."

I hesitated, and she smiled.  "Or, have you forgotten what day
tomorrow is?"

I'd put Labor Day out of my mind since I could remember. 
Excruciating pain, that's what it was in my mind.  We had
frequent guests at our house, but Labor Day was in a class by
itself when it came to visitors.

"I know," I said, suddenly surly.

Wanda smiled at me.  "Tomorrow night, after everyone is gone,
prepare to have me come and fuck your socks off.  I expect you to
return the favor."

"Emily?" I was desperate.  I didn't want Emily hurt.

"Davey, Emily has come to terms with you knowing the two of us
have our own version of cuddling.  She has accepted the fact that
you aren't going to go out and shout about it to the rooftops. 
She accepts the fact that I'm not going to give up guys.  She is,
in fact, so she says, grateful.  Because she doesn't think she's
really gay; she's just desperate at the moment.

"So, she thinks it's cool that I sneak into your room and have
sex.  Not, mind you, that she'd do it."

"I wasn't even thinking any such thing!"  I told her.

She smiled.  "I know.  Now, Davey, time for you to go.  I will, I
promise, come to you tomorrow night."

"One last question.  What about Jack?"

"I told him that I didn't hold with drugs.  I told him my mother
didn't hold with drugs, and that if my father found out he was
doing drugs, Jack was a deader.  The stupid ass thinks no one is
going to notice."

I contemplated what would happen if Dad saw Jack.  Jack was
young; sometimes the young bull pulls down the old bull.  I
thought Jack had a better chance at winning the lottery, but hope
springs eternal.

I spoke my next thought.  "I suppose there are people in town who
respect Dad because he's the General Manager of the factory.  But
that's not why the people who know him respect him."

Wanda nodded.  "Dad's Dad."

I nodded.  Inwardly, I hoped for Jack's sake he didn't take it
into his head to try to pull the old bull down.  First off, it
would take some doing.  Second thing, we were human beings, not
cows in a pasture.  Dad's sole value wasn't his boinking the
other cows in the pasture.  You might be able to pull Dad down,
but it would have to be a concerted attack on many fronts.  I
seriously doubted if Jack thought much beyond boinking cows in
the pasture.

I left the laundry room and ended up playing pool with Mom.  I'd
never been good before; I could swim well, I could hit a
baseball, catch it, pitch it -- pool balls, though, continued to
sneer at me.

Then, because we were both losers, Emily and I played.  Half way
through the game, Emily accused me of trying to lose.

Mom laughed, "Emily, you must not have been watching Davey and me
play.  He'd give his left nut to beat me.  Both of them, to beat
Phil.  This isn't his game."

"Thanks," I growled, "I played a little nickel, dime, quarter
poker last night.  I like those stakes; I have no intention of
going higher."

Emily looked at me, then Mom.  You could tell when she realized
the truth.  "Emily, I swear, if I could beat you, I would. 
Promise me," I told her, "that so long as you can beat me, you
will."

"Don't you want to win?"

"Sure I want to win.  Do you want a mercy fuck?"

She paled, and Mom stepped up and put her hand on Emily's
shoulder.  "Davey!"

"No, I'm serious.  You find the idea revolting, upsetting.  I
find that I really am my father's son, Emily.  I don't want to
lose, but when I lose, it's because I was playing someone better
than me.  If you beat me, you beat me, fair and square."

She stared at me for a while, and then nodded.  "I think I
understand."

"Did you understand finding my daughter and my son, together in
bed?" Mom asked.

Emily met Mom's gaze.  "They were cuddling.  Wanda and I
talked."

Mom continued to look at Emily, then nodded.  "I know this is a
strain, Emily.  Try to think well of us."

Emily went up to her, and hugged her.  "You came for me.  First
Davey, then Wanda, and then you.  Davey helped me a little. 
Wanda helped me a lot.  You helped with my mother.  My father
tried, but mother told him to go away; she wasn't going to give
him custody, no matter what."

"I tell myself," Mom said, trying to swirl dignity around
herself, "that I'd never interfere between a mother and her
daughter.  You, Emily, are the exception to the rule."

I remembered something from earlier.  "I thought we were on a
break?"

I'm not sure why that was funny, but the two of them laughed.

Dad emerged from the kitchen and saw me.  "Davey!  How's the
arm?"
"Better!"

"Good!  Come help me with the pizza fixings!  Slice pepperoni!"

When I went in the kitchen, I turned to him.  "Last night I had a
dream, that the Chief of Police was called out to a murder, that
Blade went with him."

"Then I'd say, you have good ears, asleep.  Around two or so, the
Chief was called away; a Navy petty officer from the base was
found dead, an apparent homicide.  Blade is a
counter-intelligence officer, he rode along to see what was going
on."

He waved at a box of pepperoni sticks.  "That was yesterday, this
is today!  Slice!"

I did a half dozen small chores before I could gracefully
escape.

Labor Day.  What can I say?  Labor Day... 

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