Authors: Louis Sachar
The Cardturner (28 page)
I looked at the hand record. "How could East jump to three spades on that garbage? He has nine points, and flat distribution."
"We were fixed," said Toni.
I laughed.
"What's so funny?" she demanded.
"Listen to us. We sound like everybody else."
She smiled. "Yeah, isn't it great?"
Do you know that thing about how nobody ever talks on elevators? Not true when it comes to bridge players. Mostly, they complained about their partners.
"We pushed them into an unmakeable contract," complained a short round man, "but my partner
sacrifices
at five hearts, because,
she says,
she had no defense. She had the ace and king of clubs!"
No doubt his partner was on another elevator complaining about him.
I hope you don't think this is too personal, but I don't like firm pillows. My pillow at home barely has any oomph to it.
It wasn't just the hotel pillow that kept me awake all night. My mind was racing around in circles. It occasionally stopped at new places, but mostly kept returning to the same old ones, again and again and again. I worried that Trapp wouldn't show up the next day. I replayed bridge hands from the side game. I relived the unlucky six-spade hand, and how it kept us from breaking fifty percent.
My brain would not shut up!
There was one place in particular where my mind kept returning, more than any other. It was the moment right after Toni and I exited the elevator.
We just stood there in the hallway as if waiting for something. Finally, after a long hesitation, Toni said, "Well, good night."
There was another long hesitation; then I said, "Night."
If we had hesitated that much during a bridge hand, our opponents would have called the director.
All night, as I flopped around in my too-soft bed, on my too-hard pillow, I kept coming up with different charming and witty things I should have said. Whole conversations unfolded. I would say . . . then she would say, then I would say, and then, and then, and then. . . .
Something had almost happened between us in the pantry at Trapp's house. We both knew it.
But it didn't,
I reminded myself.
And it can't
.
If she had never met Cliff, then maybe, probably, things would have been different between us, but she had. He was the one with whom she took moonlight walks on the golf course, not me.
Toni and I were bridge partners; nothing more, nothing less.
I wondered if she was lying awake thinking about me. I wondered if she was wondering whether I was wondering about her.
Shut up, brain!
I must have fallen asleep, because her telephone call woke me up. I glanced at the clock. It was 10:43.
I said hello in my deep and scratchy just-woke-up voice.
"I'm sorry, did I wake you?" she asked.
"No, I've been up for a while," I lied. "I was just lying in bed thinking."
"I'm starving!" said Toni.
She had just gotten back from swimming laps in the hotel pool and wanted to meet for breakfast. She sounded alert and invigorated.
I groaned as I got out of bed. I hadn't gotten any sleep for two nights in a row, and the pillow had given me a stiff neck. I took a quick shower, got dressed, and met her by the elevator.
"You look awful," she said.
I thanked her for her kind words.
We ate breakfast at the same sandwich shop where we had eaten dinner. The food was still amazing.
I asked her if she had heard anything from Annabel. She hadn't.
"What if they don't come?" I asked. "I mean, we never did find the can of peas."
"So what?" she said. "If they don't, they don't. We'll still have fun. You played great last night. We would have come in fourth if it wasn't for that stupid six-spade bid."
She was still angry about it.
She told me she had checked the scores this morning after her swim. Our opponents had been the only pair stupid and lucky enough to bid six spades. She figured out that if they hadn't bid the slam, we would have come in fourth, and earned .8 masterpoints. And if we had set six spades, which would have happened if either she held the queen of clubs or I held the king of spades, we would have come in third and earned almost 1.5 gold masterpoints.
Yes, these imaginary masterpoints are colored. At bridge clubs, you win black points. At sectionals, you win silver points. At regionals, they're gold or red, depending on whether you come in first. Gold is better. At nationals, you also win gold masterpoints, except for the major national championship events, where the points are platinum.
I almost laughed when Toni explained this to me. It was like when my third-grade teacher used to give us gold stars for doing our homework. But at least back then I could actually see the gold star.
I found it funny that grown-up people cared so much about earning these imaginary masterpoints, and even funnier that they cared what color they were.
But you know what? I'm no different. I was disappointed when I realized how close I had come to winning my first masterpoint. I was doubly disappointed when I learned it would have been gold!
Game time was one o'clock, but we didn't actually get started until almost twenty-five after. The line to buy the entry was almost as bad as the lines at Disneyland.
We were in the large ballroom on the upper floor. There were sixteen sections, A through P, with thirteen tables in each section. We'd be competing against the top players from the United States and around the world. It would be a two-day, four-session event. Only those who finished above 50 percent after the first day would continue for the second day.
Our table assignment was G-10, East-West. The sections all had single letters for this event. This was the real deal!
We put the names Annabel Finnick and Lester Trapp on our entry form. We put Annabel's name first, since it was less likely to be recognized. Even if there were people here who might have known her fifty years ago, they would have known her as Annabel King.
The boards had been predealt. There were tiny bar codes on each card. A special card-dealing machine had dealt according to specific hand records. In every section in the room, the person sitting at table ten West was looking at the same thirteen cards I was looking at.
It was a good hand. I counted twenty-one points, although I wasn't sure I could count three points for the jack of clubs—one for the jack, and another two because it was a singleton.
I still hadn't heard from Trapp.
My hand was clearly a one-heart opener, but first I had to wait for South, the designated dealer, to bid. She was an Asian woman who wore very tiny glasses. She reached into her bidding box, then set her bid on the table.
I tried to maintain a blank expression as I stared at it. That was the bid I was going to make.
My mind started racing. What was I supposed to do? Should I bid two hearts? Double? One no-trump? My second-best suit was diamonds. Should I bid two diamonds?
"Pass," said my favorite uncle.
I reached into my box and calmly set a green pass card on the table.
North and East also passed, and so, for the very first hand of the tournament, the contract was just one heart. The declarer only needed to take seven tricks, but Trapp and Annabel set it by three tricks! That gave us a score of 300. I wondered what the results had been at all the other table tens in the room.
Toni told me later that when you pass with a good hand because you expect to set the opponents, it's called a trap pass. Not exactly synchronicity, but close.
We played two boards per round. After each round, Toni and I moved up a table. There were no skips.
Most of the time I had no problem hearing my uncle, but occasionally he was fuzzy. I didn't know if the problem was on my end or his. Maybe it had something to do with my stiff neck, and not being able to hold my head at the necessary angle, or maybe the reception was just worse at some tables than at others.
Even if it was fuzzy, I usually could figure out what he was trying to tell me. After all, I did almost earn my first gold masterpoint.
There was only one really bad screwup. I clearly heard him say "Ace of spades," which, I admit, seemed odd at the time, since Toni had played the king of spades; however, I had seen him make a similar play before.
"Eight, not ace,
eight
!" he said as I set the card on the table, but by then it was too late.
Since I had won the trick, it was my turn to lead. I waited, but got nothing from him. I don't think this was due to a problem with communication or perception. I think he was pouting.
I chose the card myself. It probably didn't matter anymore what card I played since we'd already be getting a bottom board.
I didn't hear from him again until two cards later. His voice was loud and clear. He called me a donkey.
After the session was over, we could see where we stood with two rounds to go. There were too many players, and not enough time, for the directors to post the usual one-round-to-go results. After eleven rounds, Annabel Finnick and Lester Trapp were in fourth place in section G, East-West, with a 55 percent game. It felt strange to see their names.
I wasn't too worried that somebody might notice their names. The only people who would check these particular results were the other twelve East-West pairs in section G. Besides, people tended only to look for their own names.
Toni and I stuck around another twenty minutes for the final results. Finnick and Trapp remained at 55 percent, and fourth in their section. For this, they earned .7 platinum points. I wondered how much the donkey hand had cost them.
There must be at least fifty thousand restaurants in Chicago. Toni and I ate dinner at the same sandwich shop.
I ordered a vegetarian sandwich this time. Toni never seemed to have any difficulty hearing Annabel. Maybe meat clogged my receptors.
I told her about the donkey hand. She didn't think it was my fault. She said there were lots of times when it's right to overtake your partner's king with your ace. "You might need to unblock, or it might be necessary that you be on-lead. You had no way of knowing."
Maybe, maybe not.
Toni told me about a play made by Annabel. She got a pen out of her purse and drew a bridge diagram on a napkin.
The contract had been 3NT.
