Story by Jack Beeleer (BBO: kardzRus)

The trouble started early, on the second hand of the first round. When the one no trump contract for the enemy was agreed upon, I smelled blood, but with no clear idea, from the bidding, how to extract it. Clubs, diamonds, and spades had now been played, and maybe one heart. The tally stood at 5 tricks for us, 4 for them, and it was my lead with Qxx in hearts and the 7 of spades left in my hand. Why did my fingers reach for that damned 7 of spades? Was I sleep playing? Was my right hand, independent of my body, on a suicide mission? My partner let out an exasperated sigh and the rain soaked clouds in my head parted just enough for me to feel the shame of an inexcusably idiotic, mindless lead.

Sure enough, the spade was gobbled up and so were the next three tricks, none of them hearts, giving our opponents what surely would be a top board for the day. Oh, the shame! Oh, the ignominy, especially for one who considers the play of the cards his main capital, for which he stands so proud. My partner, with an uncharacteristically haughty attitude of “and what were you thinking?” noted that her remaining four hearts, after the obvious lead of a heart by me, would have resulted in the enemy’s being down two, maybe even three! Our opponents were all but gyrating in their seats, practically giggling for having been not just spared, but handed the keys to the kingdom. Their glee was politely semi concealed, but I couldn’t hide my upset; my face was red as a beet, beads of sweat popping out on my forehead. And, how scary could this be my first sign of dementia?!

Before the next hand I shot off to the cookie basket and grabbed a brownie, a brazen attempt to “stuff it down.” The rest of the session yielded a few good hands, but I made at least one bidding goof that I knew would keep us well out of the running for one of the top three positions once the scores were tallied. Oh well, not every day can be a winner. I’d had a bad night of tossing and turning and ultimately blamed my poor play on that rather than continue pillorying myself.

Gathering my coffee thermos and coat to head out the door, I was approached by Nan. “Jack, we’re short on ladies for our monthly bridge game and invite you to join us.”

How flattering! “Oh? When’s that happening?”

“Tomorrow at 10. It’s at Kris’s in Benicia. Lunch is included.”

“Tomorrow? Lunch? Hmmm…” In my addled state, sleep deprived and exhausted from the morning’s game (which had lasted 3 1/2 hours), I thought it better to delay a response. “Uh, I better check my calendar at home before I say yes, Nan. Can I call you in an hour or two?”

“An hour or two’s okay, but we need to know as soon as possible.”

“Deal. I’ll call you when I get home. And thanks for asking!”

I ruminated about this unlikely, unexpected invitation as I drove home, considering the plusses and minuses, some of which were unpredictable. The free lunch sounded attractive, probably home cooked by Kris. There would be snacks galore. I’d never been to Kris’s; visiting someone’s home for the first time rates high on my list of “amusements,” being an antique dealer. I’d heard about these monthly get togethers hosted and attended by the women in our bridge group and figured it was pretty much an all day affair. Two days of bridge in a row? A bit much, that. But at least it didn’t start until 10 AM, an hour later than the barely manageable 9 AM of our club’s weekly event. There would probably be three tables, eleven ladies and moi. I knew them all from years of playing on Tuesdays at the club, but this gathering would ratchet my relationship with them up to a new level. What was I really thinking here? Expose myself to them on a new level, that’s what I really mean.

After lunch and a little rest I checked in with my interior guardians of the gate who advise “do this, you’ll be safe; or don’t do this, danger.” I came to the conclusion that there really might not be that much to lose by going, and maybe, just maybe, there’d be something to gain! So I called up Nan and said, “I’m all yours.”

“We’ll be happy to have you.”

“I love being had, see you at 10 tomorrow.”

I took a long walk in the cold night air around 9 PM that evening, hoping that exercise might lead to a good night of sleep. I didn’t crawl out of bed until after 7, refreshed and happy that I’d decided to go.

Kris lives way, way up on top of a Benicia hill, in a large house that’s on an ample lot, bordered on the north side by a watershed, where hills freshly verdant from winter rains roll gently to the horizon. I was nearly the last to arrive but oddly enough there was a parking spot right at the front door, a positive omen. I did a quick U turn and grabbed it.

The home was warm and inviting, and the chatter that would define the day was already in full swing. Kris welcomed me and placed a paper crown on my head. As the only male at the party, she dubbed me “King for a Day.” Hmmm, king or court jester? Better than “today’s hamburger.”

It was only 10 o’clock in the morning but I greedily dipped into the popcorn and peanuts lying about on the tables and seated myself, noticing that there were three tables, 12 players. Kris said she’d made a mistake counting and now there would be one extra player, a non player, that is. She was actually delighted to have this new free wheeling role, as playing hostess and bridge at the same time seemed too much. “And,” she added with a welcome smile, “I could hardly send you back home.” Not wanting to upset that apple cart, I said nothing.

My first partner turned out to be Laurie, often my partner for the Tuesday games at the club. I can count on her to toss a sophisticated bid at me, and that’s just what she did. How many times, I ask, HOW MANY, have I missed the “reverse Drury” convention? I had opened with a major in third seat and her bid, 2 clubs, announced that she had 10 to 12 points and at least three supporting cards of my major, and she wanted to know how powerful my hand was. I don’t remember how that hand turned out, but with my 12 points game was likely out of the question. It’s one thing to miss a bid like that, say, a couple of times, but I’m up to over half a dozen, always as Laurie’s partner (most people don’t even know the bid). Oh, the shame; oh, the humiliation; oh, the self recriminations!! Oh, on to another big handful of peanuts. Pass the popcorn, please.

If you have a new partner every two hands, which is how this particular game worked, it’s easier than usual to just “move right along.” That mistake you’ve made, that momentary lapse in consciousness, will not haunt you, real or imagined, in the eyes of your next partner. They’re like, “Good morning, how are you today?” And after so many lapses with Laurie, I’ve actually learned (if not the bid) that even bridge nuts like myself make mistakes, and if one carries the shame of those mistakes into the next hand and beyond, the reward will be nothing but more trouble.

Sometimes the hands dealt are so deadly boring I need to drown myself in coffee just to stay awake. Not so this day, the hands were steaming hot! For instance, I picked up the following a half hour later: seven spades to the Ace King Jack, five hearts to the king queen jack, a sad little five of diamonds and a void in clubs. My partner positively taunted me with her club and diamond bids! Aaargh, the rejection!! OMG, could this be one of those “hands from hell!” What to do? Risk it all with a no trump bid or seize the day with the spades? I ended up deciding no trump was just too risky and bid four spades. Partner only had one spade on the board, a pitiful three, but five spades were easily made for what was probably a flat score. And after all that drama!

Soon it was lunchtime and Kris unveiled the perfect winter’s day dish, a hearty beef stew loaded with carrots and potatoes and swimming in gravy (and not just any gravy). We withdrew briefly from the field of battle and gorged on the stew and its side dish, a complex and zesty salad. Yum! Who cooks like women? Well, that would not be, uh, men. Yes, I had come to the right place.

The break allowed for some good ol’ chit chat and the ladies bellied right up to that bar. Our senior elder, Marty, dropped the word “agape” onto the table, a grenade of sorts, with its various associations. Boom! A fish on her line, I made some far flung connections that wouldn’t have gone over well in polite Philadelphia company, but once those waters were tested and found to be not warm but hot, the laughter turned raucous. No, I will not elaborate.

The après déjeuner hands rivaled those of the morning’s; while we loaded up on Kris’s upside down orange cake, the great cards kept coming, at least into my hands!

Four o’clock was approaching and all had missed their afternoon nap. Fatigue loomed large. The last hand was played and Nan gathered up the various scoring sheets and began her ranking calculations. How gauche it would be for me to crow about who came in first. Everyone had contributed a dollar for the payouts, with cash prizes awarded to 1st, 2nd, and 3rd places. Nan handed me five bucks. Now I’m thinking, “Gee, I eat their food, enjoy their company, have a great time at the tables, and I go home five dollars richer than when I arrived! Will they ever invite me back?!”

I positively flew home, blasting my favorite 80s rock. I couldn’t remember when I’d had a better, more fun day, ever. “Ever” is a long time, but here I was at 82 thinking that to be the case; I even said those words out loud when I got home. That got me thinking about what constitutes a “fun” day.

A couple of months ago there was a discussion at a bridge table in Sonoma (among oldsters, wouldn’t you know?) about the benefits of playing bridge. It seems many people assume that the main benefit of playing bridge is the brain wave activity, it keeps those neurons firing, yada yada, sharpens your mental pencil, yada yada. BUT, maintained the person who brought up the subject, “studies have shown” that the real benefit to playing bridge is not the practicing of mental gymnastics, but the socializing, the building of community.

And I’m thinking, “Well, with whom would I be more comfortable than this fun loving, richly life experienced, accepting group of women?” We’re playing a game that challenges us every inch of the way, from the bidding to the play. There’s the connection and communication with one’s partner during the bidding, and the card play communication during the defending (when the opponents get the contract). Which, hello, just might be why the game is called “bridge.”

There are days, naturally, when the cards are boring and lifeless, but inevitably the day will come with hands that seem charged with electricity. The stars (and cards) will line up and you will feel in possession of that precious commodity, “agency.” Power! Success!

But all this pales in the face of the building of community, the seeing and being seen, the sense of belonging. And in the instance of this day, and how the play was arranged (as mentioned, I played two hands with every person at the gathering), there was an ongoing sharing of the “good stuff.” Both I and my partner of the moment shared a triumph.

And adding to the fun mix, underlying it all, perhaps, was the delicious and abundant food that Kris served up. How more fundamental does it get? Warm my stomach, warm my heart…

Keep me on your substitute list, ladies!!