Four of a Kind Read Free Page A

‘new best friends,’ but, yes, something like that.”
    On principle, Alicia, the “scholarship mom,” wasn’t terribly offended. She’d suspected her middle-class status had been her claim to diversity. If she was selected by the establishment for that reason, it was the first time her relative poverty had opened a door. Actually, it was the second time. Their income threshold helped get Joe into Brownstone. Although he had trouble socially, Joe tested well. Astonishinglywell. His test scores zoomed him to the top of Brownstone’s academic scholarship list, and he’d won a full, free ride. So Joe could get a top-shelf private school education in Brooklyn. Alicia and her husband, Tim, thirty-six, had turned their lives upside down, uprooting from their Manhattan apartment of ten years. Alicia had no regrets, only insecurities about the bumpy transition to the outer borough. All of them were still getting used to the change—including Tim.
    “I’m cool with it,” said Alicia. “It’s not like the other scholarship moms were having a party and I had to make a choice.”
    “If the other black moms were getting together,” said Carla, obviously relieved to have the black elephant in the room acknowledged, “they didn’t invite me.”
    “I’d be in a club of one,” said Robin. “Of all the Jewish families at Brownstone—and there aren’t as many as you might think—I’m the only single parent. Then again, I can—and do—party by myself and always enjoy the company.”
    “So, then,” said Bess, her blue eyes flashing. “Shall I shuffle? How about we play it like this: We go around the table. Whoever deals the cards shares a little something about herself. After a showdown, the winner of the hand gets to ask a follow-up question.”
    “Showdown?” asked Carla.
    “When we show our cards,” said Bess.
    The deck well shuffled, Bess started dealing cards. Two facedown to each player. She said, “Each player gets two cards down—the ‘pocket’ or ‘hole’ cards. Then I deal five cards faceup in the middle. The first three are called ‘the flop.’ The fourth is called ‘the turn.’ The last card is ‘the river.’ I didn’t make up these terms. They make no sense, and aren’t terribly exciting. But it is what it is.”
    “Seven cards total,” said Alicia.
    “Right,” continued Bess, dealing the faceup cards to the middle. “The objective is to make the best five-card hand out of the seven cards available to you. You’re supposed to bet, call, raise, or fold before‘the flop,’ again before ‘the turn,’ again before ‘the river,’ and once after. I remember Borden saying something about ‘burn and turn.’ Not sure how that comes into it.”
    “Who cares?” said Robin. “We can play by our own rules.”
    “Brooklyn Hold ’Em,” said Alicia. “I’ve never been to Texas anyway.”
    Bess said, “Not missing much.”
    “I’d sooner go to Damascus that Dallas,” said Robin, peeking at the two cards Bess had dealt her facedown. “Remind me. What beats what?”
    Bess groped around under the table for a hidden pocket, “We have a laminated card somewhere. Here. Okay, it’s royal flush, straight flush, four of a kind …”
    Carla said, “Slow down! I’m never going to remember that!”
    “Meanwhile,” said Alicia, “what exactly is a straight flush?”
    Robin asked, “Is it anything like a mercy flush?”
    “That’s lovely,” said Bess.
    Carla said, “Okay, I know which five cards I’m using. What now?”
    “I dealt, so I’ll talk,” said Bess. “When I’m done, we showdown.”
    Alicia looked at her cards. Even with Bess’s explanation, it was all pretty confusing. “Can I see that?” she asked, and Bess passed her the laminated what-beats-what guide.
    “My mother,” said the host, “is Simone Gertrude.”
    “I’d heard that,” said Robin, sipping her drink. “Grapevine.”
    “The feminist?” asked Carla, impressed. “Burned a giant pile of