Rules of the Game

"Call," I answered meekly. He dropped the chip on the pile and then Jim checked, and the betting was done. By my count, there was now $9 in the pot.

"Everybody in," Steve announced. After burning the top card, he flipped up the Eight of Spades, the Three of Spades, and the Three of Hearts. That gave me three of a kind: three threes. My stomach clenched and rolled unexpectedly. I let my false enthusiasm show. I picked up two blue chips and said, "I call, and I raise a dollar" and dropped my chips in the pile obediently. Most of the men oowed and awwed at my bravery—or foolishness, as the case might be--while I grinned sheepishly and blushed. My hands returned where they belonged between my thighs.

Was anyone ever going to talk? Would my stupid traitorous nipples ever lose their erection? And would my tongue stop feeling like a sheet of sandpaper however much Heineken I drank? Reminded, I reached out and picked up my bottle and took a long sip. Three of the men, Bill, Nick and Richard, did likewise. Encouraging, I thought.

"So, how serious are you and this Matt guy?" Jim enquired, too innocent. Nick and Richard both laughed, Mike snickered sarcastically, and Robert and Gary exchanged disgusted looks. Steve glared across the table with a frown, shaking his head back and forth.

"What?" Jim protested.

"She's my daughter's roommate, fool."

"No!" Jim protested again

"She's really into you, I can tell," Mike snorted, stabbing out his cigarette and laughing darkly.

"My daughter's the same age," Nick razzed. "Do I have to worry about you asking her out too?"

Red-faced, almost as red-faced as I was becoming, Jim protested: "I was just curious! He seems like a nice guy. The two of you make a cute couple, is all I was sayin'. Geez, give a guy a hard time." He made appropriate defensive gestures with his hands, grumbled, shook his head and threw in his two dollars.

Bill and Nick both called. "Call and raise," Mike said, dropping his chips onto the growing pile. Richard called and then Robert called and raised again, making the bet $4, which Gary called. Steve grumbled and chewed on his cigar while he contemplated.

"So how are you and Matt getting along?" he asked.

"Fine," I lied. "He's visiting his mom this weekend."

"So I understand," he commented, finally matching the bet. "Call. Your turn, sweetheart."

Without hesitation, I picked up two chips and added them to my two already in the pile. It struck me that I had reacted too fast, hadn't let anyone explain that I had to match the bet to stay in. I folded my hands, keeping my eyes trained on the pile, felt my face redden.

"You know more about this game then you let on," Jim whispered, grinning.

"We got a ringer here, boys," Richard commented slyly, winking, as my face grew brighter. Had I just blown it? Why had I tipped my hand? "You know what we do with card sharks, right?

My face was bright red now. "I didn't—" I managed before everyone around the table started to laugh. I flushed dangerously, and damn if my nipples didn't turn into flint-hard little points poking out my brassiere. It was only obvious what I was trying to do, hunching my shoulders like this, to me, at least.

"I promise you," I muttered, shame-faced. "You have nothing to worry about from me. I am the all-time worst card player in history. Just ask Steve. He knows."

Steve nodded sagely. "Chelsea has a good laugh over it every time we talk. Especially when you play the risque version of the game," he added, grinning while hoots and hollers and guffaws circled the table. How could my face redden any more, I wondered?

"I vote we do that now," Richard said. "I'm game if you are."

"Me too," seconded Nick, agreed to immediately by a laughing Jim and Bill. Robert even laughed and I felt the pig-eyed stare of Gary's eyes boring into me, a feeling akin to being skewered and roasted over a pit.

"I'm not playing strip poker," I mumbled.

"I don't see why not," Nick joked. "You do it with your friends."

"Do not," I denied, lying through my teeth. I couldn't believe Chelsea would betray me like that. And then I thought, are you kidding me? Anger, red-hot and dangerous as a flame-thrower burned through my insides, scorching almost as badly as it had that afternoon. I quickly lowered my eyes and thought about garroting a certain someone to squelch the tears. The continued laughter of the men helped.

Steve came to my rescue. "All right, cut it out, guys. Can't you see she's embarrassed? You're a fine bunch, tormenting the poor girl. Sweetie, they don't mean anything by it. They're just a bunch of assholes."

"Like you," Nick cut in to laughter. Jim agreed, and so even, did Robert. But it was true. The teasing was good-natured and frisky, not salacious, at least not yet. Not the way it would have to be for my plan to work. But that was a ways off yet. I had to get them good and drunk first. Drunk and horny and reduced to a dog-pack mentality. I had to overload them, overwhelm their sense of decency with lust and craving. Craving for me. I shivered at the thought.

My, God, Lisa? Do you really want to do this?

I thought of the video. Yes, I answered heatedly. I am doing this.

The others finished the round, and Steve burned the top card and then flipped The Turn onto its back beside The Flop: It was the Jack of Diamonds.. Though not a face besides my own reacted to the card, I felt a definable sense of excitement sweep the table. Mentally, I could sense the pairs, three of a kinds and full houses snap into place. The card did nothing for me, but I didn't want it too. Three three's were bad luck enough. I wanted a deuce high.

I made a show of reaching out and touching my cards, let a grin flicker around my lips. I kept my eyes safely down and the men were taken in. What did she have, they wondered? Was I really that transparent, that bad a player, or was I taunting them? What Nick had said about card sharks almost made me laugh. Maybe I had the wrong approach. Maybe I should clean their clocks. Wishful thinking: I really was the worst card player in the world.

Mentally sighing, I called and dropped $2 in the pile. Jim immediately raised, which Bill did also. I figured there was over $50 in the pot now. It made me shiver, thinking how fast it might grow over the next two hands. If everyone stayed in, that is. Stay in, everyone, I thought, jinxing it.

"I'm out," Nick said disgustedly. He tossed his cards and reached for his pack of Marlboros. Mike called, and Richard folded. I kicked myself for being so stupid. Never wish for the obvious. Never wish at all; it only brings bad luck.

Robert, who had raised last round, raised this round also, dropping $8 into the pot. It was now up to $70 plus. How could they afford to play like this? It made me shrink inside, imaging money like this bet hand after hand. Steve was the best player here, and Chelsea claimed he routinely took home more than a thousand dollars. One night he had won over five-thousand dollars. In a friendly poker game, held weekly. It was insane.

"You in or out, Gary?"

Glowering, Gary turned his pig-eyed glare toward Jim. "I'm deciding."

"Decide faster, damn it. I gotta take a piss."

"Piss into your beer bottle," Gary shot back, inspiring snickers from Nick and Richard and a groan from Robert.

"I could turn my back," I offered, half-turning in my chair, which brought more snickers and an unexpectedly respectful wink from Gary. I about fell off my chair. Jim and Nick laughed darkly.

"Leave the girl alone," Steve ordered. To Gary, he said: "Shit or get off the pot, bucko."

Grunting, Gary folded and threw down his cards. It was Steve's turn now, and when he called, the round progressed back to Robert, who had raised last. He checked, to everyone's relief.

Almost $100 now, I thought, wonderingly. I wondered how much longer I could keep track. I was never good at math.

Before Steve dealt the next card, Jim said, "I need another beer" and started to get up. Nick wanted one as well, and I quickly pushed back and held up my hand and said, "I got it" before anyone else could rise. I picked up the tray as they started to object.

'You put me in the game, guys. No way am I letting you get you own beers." I started to turn away when Nick said to Jim in an aside: "Maybe she'll take a piss for you, too, bucko," blowing smoke his way. I enjoyed the razzing; it meant they were loosening up.

In the kitchen, I opened the refrigerator door and took a deep breath. Fear had caught up to me again; I was shaking like a leaf now. I listened to the banter from the dining room and tried to imagine any of them, Gary included, taking me off to my bedroom. The thought of Gary touching me, seeing me nude, fucking me, sent a shudder of revulsion down my spine. I understood how Russian girls sold into slavery felt. I started a bit as Jim joined me.

"Thought you could use some help."

"Thank you," I said, handing him bottles, which he de-capped and placed on the tray. Why was he there, I wondered?

Jim was not the best looking of the group. He wore wire-rimmed glasses and a bristling gray mustache. He was too tall and too thin. He was stoop-shouldered and stood perpetually in a slump, even when standing rigidly upright. He was nervous now. It was Jim that had asked about Matt and I. He cleared his throat.

"Sorry if I sounded out of line in there."

"What do you mean?" I asked innocently.

He took two beers from my hands and twisted off the caps. Placing them on the tray, looking away instead of into my eyes, he said: "Asking about your boyfriend, like that. I didn't mean it the way the guys made it out to sound." He was growing embarrassed, blushing. I handed him the last two beers and closed the refrigeration door. I retrieved one of the bottles before he could put it down, and took a sip. He sipped from the other bottle. He still wouldn't meet my eyes. Jim, when the time came, would offer no resistance. Impulsively, I leaned forward and kissed him on the lips. He gasped and jumoed back. He shot a look at the door. His face got redder.

"What was that for?"

I grinned at him. "I have a secret to tell," I said in a whisper. "Can I trust you to keep it a secret?"

Flustered, still shooting looks at the door, he nodded.

"I'm gonna fuck everybody at that table. If you play along, I'll let you be first."

He stared at me, eyes big as dinner plates. "Wh-what?"

I told him again. To prove what I said was true, I cupped my right hand against the bulge in his trousers, took his right hand with my left, and placed it atop my left breast. He shivered from head to foot and gulped loudly, then let his mouth hang open.

"Will you work with me?" I asked. I kept my eyes locked on his, unconcerned with the door. If someone walked in, it was over. "I need an answer, Jim. Right now. We don't have much time."

Unconsciously, he twisted his head toward the door, though his eyes stayed locked on mine. He nodded dumbly. He gulped again. I was not aware of anything happening beneath my cupped right hand, but that was to be expected. He was too shocked to be aroused.

"You need help in there?" Nick yelled. I ignored the answering laughter and squeezed Jim's package through his pants.

"Would you like to fuck me, Jim?"

He nodded.

"Then help me out here," I said. Picking up the tray, I put on a smile and sauntered gaily toward the kitchen door. Jim gulped again, loud enough to be heard ten feet away, and hurried out the far door. I heard him in the short hallway leading to the half-bath. The door closed with a thud.

* * *

Steve burned the card atop the deck and flipped the next card, the one called The River, onto its back beside the Jack of Diamonds. It was the Six of Spades. I had a full house now. My stomach ached.

Relax, I told myself. It's not a big deal. Just about anything beat threes and sixes.

I didn't have to go on, I could fold rght now. But folding now would leave me only $15 down. That wasn't enough. I needed to lose as fast and as much as I possibly could. Worse, I knew the guys were purposely keeping the bets down, going easy on the newbie. I needed them to get into their natural rhythm, betting heavily, foolishly heavy if possible.

"Here we go," I said, arriving at the table. Expertly I handed a bottle to each man, collecting the empties, waiting patiently with a grin as Nick and Richard each drained their last few ounces of beer. I felt like a waitress, again. I even found myself assuming the semi-seductive, tipped-hip pose assured to increase tips. I wondered what the guys would think if I disappeared into my bedroom a moment to change. The thought brought a grin. They'd all object, and then cheer when I reappeared in my white blouse and short black skirt and apron. Men are so predictable. Predictable enough that Nick made a faux grasp for my ass when I passed by. We all laughed at that.

"Dirty old man," I chided. "You're cut off." More laughter.

I set the tray aside and sat down. It was my go, and I called and raised two dollars. A very uncomfortable looking Jim returned a moment later and sat down without looking at me and fiddled with his cards.

"I raised two," I prodded, nudging him with my toe. Appalled, I watched him turn bright red and then try to cover it with a fit of the fakest sounding coughing I've ever heard. Chagrined, I nudged him again with my toe. Jim was a bad idea. My only choice, considering the options, but a bad idea nonetheless. He acted like a school boy.

And you're acting like what, my conscious wanted to know?

Oh, shut up.

Still coughing, a real cough now, brought on by the fake ones, Jim dropped two chips in the pile and indicated Bill to go on. I reached out and patted Jim on the back; Bill pounded on him from the other side. Jim's face went from red to purple.

"Holy Moly, stolie," Richard said. "You coughing up a lung, boy?"

Jim continued to cough while Bill and I continued to pound/pat his back. I noted a questioning glance exchanged by Robert and Gary, and from the corner of my right eye, one directed at me by Steve. I glanced at him, all innocence, and he grinned at my wryly.

Did he suspect, I wondered? Had Jim's visit to the kitchen, and subsequent return to the table, obviously out of sorts, given us away? I could only shrug mentally and mentally kick Jim for being so transparent. Finally, he got his hacking under control and the first thing he did was light a Kool.

"Jim!" I snatched the cigarette from his mouth and stubbed it out. "Are you crazy?" Their laughter was twice as strong now, and under this pretense, I gave him a look, sternly demanding that he get himself under control.

"Listen to the young lady," Rich advised.

"She'll take you over her knee, you don't watch out," Mike warned.

"You might like that though, wouldn't you?" Rich came back.

"I might like that myself," Nick quipped, and then went "Oof!" when Bill whacked his arm. I could feel the disapproval rolling off Steve.

"Are you done?" he demanded. Nick and Mike weren't done yet.

"Maybe Jim needs something stronger than a good spanking," Nick taunted.

"Maybe he needs new lungs," Mike cracked. "He's about used these up."

"Maybe we should demand to see a note from his mother before he lights up again," Nick said.

Still red-faced, Jim held up his hand and slashed it downward. "Enough!" he croaked. "Play your cards."

Laughing, Bill dropped in four chips and a moment later, a still laughing, though now slightly disgusted Nick flicked his cards away and folded. I let my hand hover over Jim's back, ready in case. He seemed to have the coughing under control, though his face remained an unhealthy flustered, blotchy red. He felt my eyes on him and nodded. A nod meant to convey that he had control of himself now.

You better, I thought grimly, glaring at him. I dropped my hand and turned back to the table.

Mike raised, a sighing Richard said "Fold," Robert called Mike's raise and raised again. Steve, grinding the cigar between his molars, grudgingly dropped a red chip and three blue chips into the pot. He did not raise. I felt strongly that he had a nothing hand, had simply stayed in the game to keep me coached, keep an eye out for me. I hoped like hell someone would beat my full house. I thought again about folding, decided against it, called, and watched as Jim, Bill and Mike all called. Robert checked and the round was finally over.

Steve motioned to me. "You were the first to bet The River, so that means you go first." The others waited impatiently while I hesitated, unsure of myself still, and finally flipped over my cards.

"Full house?" I said meekly, questioning the answer.

"Three's and six's," Mike observed. "Good hand. Robert'll be hard pressed to beat you." Robert had the winning hand. I hoped, anyway.

"Beats me," Jim confessed in a still harsh voice, exposing two Jacks. Bill had three eights, while Mike showed us a flush in Spades. Not enough to beat my full house though. Letting his mouth twist in a wry smile, Robert then flipped over a pair of sixes, revealing his own, winning full house. While I grinned inwardly Steve grunted and flicked his cards into the pile un-flipped. I smiled wanly, conceding defeat.

"Good game," I ventured.

Grinning, delighted at the grumbling of his teammates, Robert scooped up his winnings and piled them hastily into stacks of red, blue and white. My underarms itched and I fought the urge to squirm. I was only down by $21, but I had just lost my first hand and was finally on the road to losing everything. And I hadn't even cheated. The thought made me want to laugh out loud. It made me want to go hide. It made me want to jump in my car and drive to Maryland. Why was I doing this?

For a moment, a very long moment, the world narrowed to a tunnel. All sound went away. At the end of the tunnel was a very dim light that pulsated along with my heartbeat. The sides of the tunnel were rough-hewn and shiny with moisture. I mistook the illusion for a railroad tunnel at first, a hole burrowed through a mountainside, until it occurred to me that the tunnel was completely round and also pulsating with my heartbeat. I was looking at my own vagina, soon to be transformed into a railroad tunnel of its own. A term existed for what I planned to do, a very appropriate one, I realized: Pulling a train.

"Lisa?"

I started and shivered head to toe.

"You okay?" Steve wanted to know. I'd caught him in the act of shuffling.

"I'm fine," I lied, shivering both mentally and physically.

He cocked his head at me. I sensed the attention of the others directed my way, also, especially that of Jim.

Get yourself together, I told myself angrily. You're going through with this.

You are out of your mind, my conscious spat back at me, just as angry. I ignored it and raised my eyebrows indicating I hadn't heard the question he'd asked.

"Do you want to deal?"

"Do I have to?" I asked, squeamishly. I feared fucking up.

"Not if you don't want to. I can deal for you. Or one of the others can deal."

"I think that's best," I demurred, eying the expert way his fingers handled the cards. I was clumsy and awkward. I often shots cards out of the deck rather than inter-leaf them as Steve was now doing. Other times I'd splatter the cards all over the table.