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CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
“Bridge isn’t like any other card game,” the instructor was saying from the front of the small, windowless room, one of several meeting rooms on the second floor of the historic Lenox Hotel. The instructor, whose name, Joy Boothe, was scribbled across the white chalkboard beside her in elaborately swirling green cursive, was about fifty, tall and heavyset, with gold-streaked auburn hair that hung in loose ringlets to her broad shoulders, false eyelashes that were in constant flutter, and pink lipstick that was outlined in bright red.
Harry had warned her that most bridge teachers were somewhat eccentric, Joan recalled, trying to concentrate on the woman’s introductory remarks. But whether it was Joy Boothe’s disconcertingly girlish voice or the strange feeling that had been twisting through Joan’s groin ever since she sat down, she was having trouble focusing. She glanced around the room at the other five tables, each table consisting of four students, the women outnumbering the men by a ratio of four to one. Only two of the other students could kindly be described as middle-aged. The others had waved goodbye to sixty long ago.
“Most card games can be learned pretty quickly,” Joy Boothe continued. “Bridge isn’t one of them.”
Not exactly reassuring, Joan thought, squirming in her seat and smiling at the nervous-looking woman opposite her, whose name was also Joan. A roomful of Joans, Susans, Gails, and Marilyns, she thought. Not a Tayden or Kayden in sight.
“To succeed at bridge,” the instructor was saying, “you need three things: a fair degree of patience, a modicum of card sense, and lots of lessons. I’m afraid I can’t help you with the first two, but Icangive you enough tools in these first five sessions to enable you to play the game. To play the gamewell—well, that requires even more patience, better card sense, and many more lessons. It would also help to read my book,The Joy of Bridge,” she said, having the grace to look a little embarrassed, as a copy of the slim pamphlet magically materialized in her hands. “It’s available for sale during the break for only twelve dollars, and I think you’ll find it most beneficial. Okay, let’s begin.”
The pamphlet in her hands was replaced by a deck of cards. “Hopefully, I don’t have to tell you what this is, or that playing cards consist of four suits: clubs, diamonds, hearts, and spades. If you don’t already know that, this is going to be a very long three hours. In bridge, clubs and diamonds are the lower-ranked suits and are called minor suits; hearts and spades are higher-ranked and are the major suits. With me so far?”
Joan nodded, her stomach cramping.
“The dealer doles out thirteen cards to each player, who then arranges them in suits. And that’s when things start to get interesting, because in order to play, you first have to bid. The purpose of bidding is to determine who plays the hand and who defends. You and your partner—that would be the person sitting across from you—have to win the bidding in order to play the hand. And to do that, you need to tell your partner what’sinyour hand. But of course, you can’t just come right out and volunteer that information. You have to describe your holdings through an elaborate system called bidding. And bidding correctly is the hardest part of learning to play bridge. Which is why I devote the first four lessons in this series of five to covering the twenty possible opening bids.” Joy paused to let these facts sink in.
I’m lost already,Joan thought, trying to recall what she’d had to eat earlier that day that might have upset her stomach. But she’d had nothing out of the ordinary, just her usual egg, toast, and coffee for breakfast and a tuna fish sandwich for lunch. She’d made the sandwich herself, so that couldn’t be the source of her discomfort. Besides, it wasn’t really her stomach that was giving her the problem. It was more a sinking sensation slightly lower down, as if her guts were about to fall out.
Now you’re being silly,she told herself.It’s anxiety, pure and simple. You’re just nervous about these lessons. It’s not easy learning new things at your age and you’ve ventured a little far out of your comfort zone, that’s all. It’s been almost fifty years since you’ve been in a classroom. Of course you’re going to be nervous. A few deep breaths and you’ll feel better.
She took a few deep breaths.
And felt worse.
“The first thing you have to do after looking at your hand and arranging it into suits,” Joy Boothe continued, “is to count your points. An ace is worth four points, a king is worth three, a queen, two, and a jack, one. A singleton—that’s having only one card of a particular suit—is worth two points, a doubleton—that’s two of a suit—is worth one point, and a void in a suit is worth a whopping five points. Unless that’s the suit your partner is bidding. But we’ll get to that later. To open the bidding, you need at least twelve high-card points. Everybody still with me?”
Joan felt a line of perspiration break out across her forehead as a sharp twist to her groin caused her to grab her side. Was she having an appendix attack?
“Are you okay?” the Joan across from her whispered.
“Is there a question?” the instructor asked, looking in their direction, heavy black eyebrows disappearing into her hairline.
Joan pushed herself to her feet. “I’m sorry, but could I be excused for a minute?”
“Of course. The washroom is just down the hall to your left.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m going to hand out some sheets,” Joy Boothe was saying as Joan left the room and hurried down the hall to the ladies’ room.
Could she be passing a gallstone? Joan wondered, finding an empty stall and relieving herself. Or maybe a kidney stone? she added, when she felt no relief. Except she’d heard that passing kidney stones felt much like giving birth. And while what she was experiencing was decidedly uncomfortable, there was no comparing it to the pain of childbirth.
Nor was it her appendix, she decided, pressing down on her right side. She remembered reading somewhere that if the appendix was about to burst, the pain would be greater upon letting go than pressing down, and that wasn’t the case.
Besides, she’d been to the ER twice in the past few weeks and been given a clean bill of health each time. There was nothing wrong with her, other than an overactive imagination.The age of hypochondria indeed!she thought, standing up and adjusting her clothing, grateful that the pain seemed to be easing up, becoming more of an intermittent drill than a complete hollowing out of her inner organs.
She checked her reflection in the wall of mirrors over the line of sinks, touched up her lipstick, and pinched some needed color into her cheeks, then left the room. “An ace is worth four points; a king, three; a queen, two; and a jack, one,” she recited as she walked down the hall. “You need a minimum of twelve high-card points to open the bidding.” She took a deep breath before pushing open the door and reentering the class. “Piece of cake.” She had absolutely nothing to worry about.
—
“So, how’d it go?” Harry asked, meeting her in the lobby of the hotel. “What’d you think?”
“Very interesting,” Joan told him, trying to ignore the renewed cramping below her waist. “Very challenging.” Especially when she’d missed half the class because she’d had to run to the bathroom every fifteen minutes. “We learned basic bridge terminology and about major and minor suits.” She held out a bunch of sheets as well as the pamphlet she’d purchased from Joy Boothe during the halftime break, a gesture of atonement for spending so much of the lesson in the bathroom. “We’re supposed to study this bidding chart outlining the progression of bids from the lowest to the highest, although today we just covered the first part, opening at the one level.”
“And? Do you think you’re going to like it?”
“I do,” Joan said, a sudden spasm causing her to wince.
