Norman sat in the basement of the rectory with Monsignor Collin, Patrick, and their friend Aloysius. He dealt the cards for their poker hand. “Aces high, my deal.”
Collin took another swig of whiskey. “Young man, tell me about yourself. All I know is that you’re a follower of Henry VIII’s church.”
Collin and Patrick laughed, but Norman forced a grimace. Agnes had insisted on this outing, he had to get to know her uncle and her brother. They were willing to spend an evening with him, she said, so he needed to as well. Norman accepted it, but only to keep peace with his new wife.
They played their hand of poker – Norman took it with three jacks and made $0.15 in the process – as he talked about architecture school, Europe, his parents’ ailing pharmacy. He didn’t talk about nailing Agnes in the back office of the pharmacy, but of course they knew. Annie Kate would’ve told them. But they drank and drank with each poker hand – a little whiskey for Uncle Collin, eighty proof beer for Patrick.
Where’d they get the stuff? Even if the amendment was making its way through the statehouses, it was still Prohibition and here they were, drinking like fish. No matter to them that Norman didn’t drink, they were playing poker, and he was winning. Hand over fist, every hand. Winning with a full house in one hand, three sixes in another, a straight from two to six in a third – you name it, Norman won.
He walked out that evening with $1.25 in winnings. He rather liked spending an evening with Uncle Collin and Patrick.
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