STUD: Part Four

This short story has been read and approved for posting by SR. Any resemblance to actual living persons is purely coincidental. No one was harmed in the making of this little story, although the dignity of a few surely did suffer. 

The game: Poker

The stakes: Fashion humiliation

The players:

 The Author: Sylvain Reynard

 The Professor: Gabriel O. Emerson

            "Okay amigos," Robin Goodfellow snickered as he took the seat SR had just vacated.  His back was to the last awful outfit and he was able to play to Antonio and Sir as well as the competitors.  "You each have two thousand dollars in chips.  You'll first be dealt two cards face down..."

            "We know how to play the game," Gabriel informed him somewhat impatiently.

            "Then you will each bet," Robin continued as if The Professor hadn’t interrupted.  "After that, I'll discard three cards, then deal three cards face up which you will both share.  This is called the flop."

            "We know how to play the game," The Professor repeated slowly.

            "Then you bet again," Robin announced undaunted. "I'll discard, then deal a fourth card, called the turn, followed by one more round of betting. And then finally the last discard and community card, the river.  The winner is the person with the best five card hand."

            "Thank you," Gabriel spoke sardonically.

            "Thank you," Sir said sincerely from his perch.  “And if I may, what is the purpose of the discards?"

            Robin shrugged. "I dunno.  Probably to make it harder to cheat and to use more of the deck.  You have to burn a card for each card you flop, turn, and river."

            Sir opened his mouth.

            "And I don't know why they call it that."

            Sir closed his mouth and nodded.

            SR hadn't said a word until now. He’d been listening closely to Robin, making sure he was correct in his recollection of the game's series of bets.  "Actually, the flop is just the natural name for a throw down like three community cards.  The turn is generally considered to mean the final turn before the home stretch, like in a horse race.  And the river is just that last act of God that can either wash away your sins or sweep you over the falls."

            Robin nodded approvingly. "Spoken like a bard!"  He snuck a peek at The Professor who looked unnerved by Sylvain's knowledge.

            Giving Gabriel an advantage by allowing a change of game and a redistribution of the chips didn't bother SR.  In fact, it felt like the right thing to do, although when he looked over at the leopard print man panties, he shivered.

            "Let's make the big blind a hundred dollars," Robin proposed. "The little blind and first to act will be fifty."  It was a big ante but The Professor liked to play aggressively.  He tossed a hundred-dollar chip into the center of the table, volunteering himself as the first big blind.  Sylvain rolled in a fifty dollar chip.

            "What's a big blind and a little blind?" Sir asked Antonio.

            "Forced bets, to keep the stakes high," the maître d’ responded.

            "Hmm," Sir considered this as he adjusted his glasses. "They used to call me Big Blind, but not because of my poker playing."

            "Just your poker?"  Antonio quipped.

            Sir didn't get it.

            Robin dealt Gabriel a six and a nine of diamonds.  Sylvain held a pair of queens, and in another bit of poker serendipity, Queen’s We Are The Champions blared from the speakers.  He put in another fifty to match the big blind and Gabriel checked, feeling that a hundred dollars was plenty for the flop.

            Robin spread three cards face up in front of him: the king of diamonds, a five of spades and a jack of diamonds.

            SR wasn't encouraged and bet only another fifty.  The Professor had a decent shot at a flush with two cards left to go and threw in another hundred-dollar chip.

            "The bet is fifty dollars to you sir," Robin commented to Sylvain, who thought briefly before acquiescing.  The dealer then burned and flipped a fourth card face up.  It was a queen of clubs, Sylvain's third queen.  He bet two hundred dollars, which was not what Gabriel was expecting.

            "MOTHER...FUCKER!"  The Professor pushed his two cards towards Robin but regarded SR.  He willed the man to expose his hand as a courtesy, but Sylvain was slightly insulted by the bully tactics. He handed the cards directly to Robin, who had gathered the community cards already and was soft shuffling them, producing a sound like whipping eggs.

            Gabriel was certain that being aggressive was the key to unbalancing his creator.  It was his undoing.  Where Sylvain might have been susceptible to alternative tactics, ungentlemanly language and staring contests were only going to refine his focus.  He was going to trust in the good cards, toss the bad ones quickly, and try to send as many mixed signals as he could to his observant rival.

            "The first hand goes to Mr. Reynard," the dealer informed the duo of spectators. "Sylvain to his friends and Silly Bill to no one.  If you will supply the big blind, we will commence with the next deal."  Both men threw in their antes and Robin flicked them each two cards. Sylvain received an ace, which wasn't bad but far from a guarantee.  The Professor matched the big blind.

            Robin laid out two sixes and an ace of hearts.  It helped SR, who had an ace in the hole already. But it helped The Professor, who had a six, even more.

            "The bet is yours," Robin looked to Gabriel, who squinted back at him.

            "I'll do a hundred," The Professor stated, not wanting to over play his advantage yet.  Sylvain called and Robin flipped over a ten.

            "Two hundred," Gabriel said as he almost doubled the pot.

            SR paused.  He had a good hand but The Professor looked genuinely confident.  Two hundred was an acceptable gamble to see the river card, so he matched Gabriel's bet.

            Robin silently turned over the river card, an ace.  Sylvain turned over his cards immediately and The Professor cursed in at least three different languages.  (Although even vulgarity sounded like music in French.)

            In two hands SR was up by over five hundred dollars, a quarter of The Professor's chips.  The air in the room thickened, and right on cue, I’m Still Standing by Elton John began to play.

            Both men anted up and Robin dealt a weak hand to each of them.  The Professor bet a hundred dollars after the flop, but SR couldn't see his way out of the losing cards so he folded.

            Gabriel's next action was a big raise before the flop on the fourth hand.  He had two face cards and pushed in three hundred dollars’ worth of chips in a bid for momentum.  Unfortunately for him, SR had pocket eights and happily pushed in his three hundred along with two hundred more.

            The Professor's jaw dropped.  He had to either lose his huge bet or put in even more.  Sylvain's eyes were up and waiting when Gabriel scanned his face.

            "You think you have me?" Gabriel asked playfully.

            "All I have is two cards," SR observed.  It was very Spock-like, and The Professor hated Spock-like.

            Gabriel growled and looked at his pile of chips.  If he bet the extra two hundred, he would be down by half and they had only started the hand.  If he let Sylvain take his three hundred now he would be hard pressed to regain the chip lead.  It was maddening that it was happening so fast.

            Neither Robin nor SR pressed for a response from The Professor. They let him take his time.  Every time Gabriel looked at Sylvain, the author’s piercing gaze looked back with a dare. He refrained from goading his advisor into following him down the rabbit hole, but one little smirk escaped and Gabriel pushed just over twelve hundred chips into the center of the table.

            "All in." The Professor stood as somewhere behind him, Sir whistled lowly.

            Sylvain nodded his head as if he had considered this possibility and slowly rose to his feet as he acknowledged Robin and turned over his pair.

            Gabriel turned over his own cards with a wince. A queen and a king were great hole cards but next to those eights, they appeared weak.

            Robin burned three cards and spread out the flop.  Two jacks and a three of clubs.  Now SR had two pair, but there were still plenty of ways Gabriel could win.

            With no further bets necessary, Robin quickly burned and turned.  Another jack.  Now SR had a full house, but any queen or king on the river would give The Professor the winning hand.

            Robin burned the last card and let out a breath.  He looked over at the mannequin wearing nard wranglers and knee highs and shook his head before flipping the river card.

            It was a ten of hearts.

            "The hand and the game goes to Mr. Reynard," Robin said  breathlessly, almost in shock.

            SR wanted to feel bad for Gabriel, but he was too busy experiencing blissful and exquisite relief.

            Wordlessly, Gabriel approached the audaciously dressed mannequin and began removing his clothes.  Unabashedly, The Professor stripped down to his aftershave and donned first the Speedo, then the mismatched knee socks.  He slipped the hot pink fish-net tank top over his muscular chest and the tight fit pushed against his skin like a kid's face pressed into a screen door.  He stepped into the lime green Crocs and walked over to the bar where Antonio was in the midst of pouring him a double. When the maître d’ looked up and took in the full effect of The Professor’s outfit, he added another shot.

            "To Sylvain Reynard," The Professor offered with an honest smile.  "The man holding all the cards."

            The men all raised their glasses and drank to the toast.  Shortly after that, The Professor opened a closed door and produced three Burberry overcoats.

            "Gentlemen," Gabriel addressed the other fashionably unfortunates. "We may have obligations to fulfill, but this establishment has a reputation to uphold, so please wear these on your way out."

            "Nice," Robin grinned as he admired the coat. "Do we get to keep these too?"

            "A consolation," The Professor offered.

            The men all left together, reminiscent of a spy convention, and when it was just SR and The Professor waiting for their valets, Sylvain asked the question burning on his mind.

            "If you hadn't lost, would you have offered the rest of us overcoats?"

            "There were three of them, weren't there?" The Professor retorted.  The night was still quite young and the passing lights illuminated Gabriel’s Crocs like a couple of Kermit the Frog puppets.

            "Yes, but I could tell that even Antonio didn't know they were there.  Would you have offered?"

            Gabriel studied Sylvain's face then nodded his head. "I think so."

            The men shook hands.

            "Until next time?" Gabriel asked.

            "I look forward to it," Sylvain responded.

            Gabriel's car arrived first and SR was left standing with his hands in his pockets and a smile on his face.  It had been a revealing night in more ways than one.  He wasn't sure if he wanted to do anything quite like that again, but he was glad for the experience, and thrilled that he was the only person who didn't receive a consolation prize.

FIN

STUD: Part Three

This short story has been read and approved for posting by SR. Any resemblance to actual living persons is purely coincidental. No one was harmed in the making of this little story, although the dignity of a few surely did suffer. 

The game: Poker

The stakes: Fashion humiliation

The players:

 The Author: Sylvain Reynard

 The Handsome Neighbor: Sir

 The Professor: Gabriel O. Emerson

            Professor Emerson set his sights on Sylvain.  He had seen the man tug on his collar and avoid eye contact with good cards.  He’d also noticed that Sylvain hadn't bluffed once.  He either folded, or had decent enough cards to justify his bets.

            Sir was just happy to have made it to the next round.  He’d made

some blunders, and had just lost another hundred and a half to

the watchful author.

            Sylvain was not aware of his tells, but he noticed that The Professor

was watching him for signals so he began to monitor his own body

language.  When Sir dealt him two fives and two aces he didn't even look

at his cards until Gabriel had made his bet.

            "I'm in for forty," The Professor murmured, making his total commitment only fifty dollars including the ante.  He had yet another small pair of fours, but it was a minor gamble to test the waters.

            "Call," Sylvain said.  He too was happy with any victory at the moment.

            "Two hundred," Sir announced.  He had the other two aces and his

competitors' thrifty wagers had given him the opportunity to make a big splash.

            Professor Emerson blurted the word Mother very loudly before stopping himself and smiling weakly at his neighbor.  He knew that the frail-looking fellow was willing to bluff big, but to raise the stakes as the last bettor was a statement. He analyzed Sir long enough to make his neighbor nervous. Slowly, Gabriel placed his cards on the table and glared at Sylvain, willing him to make his decision.

            SR knew he was going to call.  This hand would cement him as the

chip leader, but Gabriel's recent scrutiny had him second guessing every

decision, or at least looking like he was second guessing every decision.  It

was his only solution to blur whatever it was The Professor was looking for.

            "All right," he confirmed finally, counting out two hundred dollars in chips. "I'll do it."

            Sir proudly flopped his pair of aces onto the table, but when SR did

the same with a shrug and three cards still in his hand, it was clear that the French Canadian was going to lose another big hand.

           

            Sylvain collected the chips as well as the cards and organized both. From his perch at the bar, Robin declared that while the next man out might not opt to keep his new pair of shoes, he would be wearing his sweet new footwear as soon as he could go bowling.

            Three ten dollar chips made a white clover in the middle of the table

and SR sailed Sir's cards over them like spinning UFOs.  SR dealt himself a stupendously dreadful hand and waited to see how the other two felt about their cards.

            Sir was getting mighty low on chips but bet half of them with a

crooked smile.  The Professor raised him the rest of his own chips.  Sylvain

promptly folded, not wanting anything to do with the next few seconds.

           

            "I think I have you, sir," Sir hinted to Gabriel as he pushed the rest of his chips into the sizable mound on the table.  When he showed everyone the quartet of deuces he possessed, The Professor almost screamed in rage.  Instead, he snorted like a bull and glared savagely at Sylvain's cards.

            Antonio brought him another Scotch, which The Professor accepted wordlessly before he looked down at his own dwindling pile of chips.  He and Sir each had about four hundred dollars left while SR sat behind stacks so high that he looked like a kid hiding in a fort.

            Gabriel acquired the deal again, and with it came good luck.  He won a close contest with the other two men and a three hundred dollar pot.  Sir dealt himself an abysmal hand and watched as The Professor won another three hundred dollars from SR.

            Sylvain dealt the cards feeling hopeful that he would get something going.  He was rewarded with another two pair, nines and kings, but The Professor had three threes and the momentum began to shift his way.

            "The ante is now twenty dollars," Gabriel told them as he shuffled the cards. 

            SR threw in his ante, then matched the sixty dollar pot with his bet.  He had a pair of tens and didn't want to commit just yet.  Sir followed suit, but he’d already lost with a couple of fours.  He also only had about a hundred dollars remaining.  Professor Emerson called as well and won the two hundred forty dollar pot.

            On Sir's deal he received two pair which earned him a hundred dollars back from The Professor.  On Sylvain's deal, he won two times that from the same opponent.

            "Don't count the little guy out yet," Robin bellowed and began rooting for the mousy man to win it all.

            "I never do," SR muttered as he watched Gabriel shuffle the cards with a practiced hand.  The Professor was not satisfied with the chip lead Mr. Reynard still had, but he had gained ground and smiled as he dealt himself a pitiful pair of twos.

Sylvain watched Gabriel’s smiles with interest.  He noticed that The Professor seldom won when he was smiling.  SR also stopped tugging his collar and his hair, or doing anything with his hands except touching cards, chips and glasses of Scotch.

            Gabriel dealt Sylvain a full house so sweet that Bob Saget might as well have been the face on the jacks that looked back at him.  He bet a hundred dollars and counted on the other two to raise it.

            A pair of kings was given to Sir so he matched Sylvain's bet.  He was feeling good because that was only about a quarter of his pile.

            "One twenty-five to me?" The Professor queried.  For a minute, he looked like he was going to bet to throw off the stink of his crummy hand, but he unceremoniously dropped his cards and finished his drink.  Sylvain knew one of his tells.

            SR turned his cards over, embarrassed at such a good hand.  Gabriel was simply happy that that he didn't have decent enough cards to even consider a bet.

            Sir's deal was next and he shuffled the cards while they listened to Robin sing All Of Me along with the track playing in the surprisingly acoustic room. The song always made SR think of Steve Martin. 

            Gabriel looked down at his cards with a frown.  His face displayed  a deep scowl, something he’d trained himself to do when a particularly good hand came his way.  Sir was also pleased with his cards but his joy was written all over his face.

            Mr. Reynard was a statue.  He was dealt another phenomenal hand, a flush.  All of his cards were clubs, or puppy tracks as his friends from school used to call them.  He felt himself sitting rigidly and willed himself to relax.  He then tried his hand at acting and ran his hand through his hair as if he were unsure how to proceed.

            It was The Professor's bet and Gabriel was particularly frustrated that he happened to be first.  He couldn't bet big, but he didn't want to win a small pot either.  He casually tossed in one hundred fifty in chips and was delighted to see SR just as casually raise the bet another hundred and a half.

            Sir was stunned.  The bet was three hundred to him which was damn near all he had left.  He was sitting on three sevens so he shoved all but a half dozen chips into the pot.  A second later he shoved in the rest and blew out all his breath. 

            He stood up like Robin had when his entire game was at stake.

            "Turn 'em over," The Professor spoke solemnly.  He was certain that his three queens were going to win him a pot worth nearly a thousand dollars. 

Sir displayed his hopeful sevens but Gabriel didn't draw out his suspense.  He turned over his triplet monarchs but did not revel in the look of shock on his neighbor's face.

            Sir gazed up at the pair of hideous costume cries for help that would garner a second look even in Hollywood.  He swallowed drily and was suddenly very happy when he realized he still had a choice.

            Sylvain waited quietly until The Professor remembered the final detail of the hand and turned to him.  When SR laid his second full house in as many hands on the table, understanding was surprisingly slow to register on The Professor's face.

            Gabriel suddenly looked sick.  He had successfully seen another competitor dismissed, but he was now far behind in the chip count.

            Robin cheerfully addressed Sir. "Choose your proverbial poison, my fellow Goodfellow." The snarky man’s voice shook Gabriel from his daze, and only when his attention was turned towards Sir and his impending decision did SR scoop up his winnings very quickly.

            "It's a tougher choice than I thought it'd be," Sir lied as he paced the pedestals.  "I predict that my biggest chagrin will be in undressing the display models...and it certainly wouldn't take long to remove the few items that belong to the gentleman in the printed Speedo..."

            "Technically, I think that's a thong," Robin clarified.

            "Yes, well, that might have just done the trick.  I think I will be much more comfortable in the more elaborate of the ensembles."

            "So that's your choice then?"  The Professor grumbled, not taking his eyes off the last mannequin.  "The Bieber?"

            Sir answered by approaching the featureless statue and removing the Casio watch. 

            He chose to change in the washroom, wanting to model his new wardrobe with a good entrance.  The unicorn-embroidered cowboy boots were too big, but Sir was happy that it wasn't the other way around.  The Justin Bieber shirt was horrible, of course, as were the bandannas he wrapped around his wrist with difficulty.

            The pants, however, he liked.  They were a soft pair of Superman pyjama bottoms and they appeared completely unworn.  Sir didn't say anything to any of his companions, but he planned on keeping them.  Those and the Casio watch.

            When Sir walked back into the room, he put his other clothes on the nearest bar stool and spun so that his grey and maroon plaid jacket whirled around like a party dress.

            "Oh shit!" Robin cried. "I think I picked the wrong one!"  Everyone laughed, even Antonio.

            "You look like a vaudeville refugee,"  Sylvain uttered, earning a nod from the self-appointed bard who promptly walked over to the table to address the two men left sitting there.

            "Gentlemen, I think you should consider changing the game."

            "What do you mean?" Gabriel huffed.

            "With just the two of you playing, and a stud game at that, the bluff goes completely out the window.  All you'll do is win the ante.  And most likely you're going to bet while he folds, and he's going to bet while you fold. This will go on for about an hour before you come to the same conclusion."  Robin looked at SR, who arched his eyebrow.

            "He's right," Sir put in, fiddling with his drawstring. "There's not much room left in this game for strategy."

            "What do you suggest we play?"  Sylvain was curious and game for a change-up.

            "Texas Hold-'Em," Robin replied as though it was the only logical answer.

            Gabriel was not opposed to the idea. It was still a stud game with no draw cards, but it did have three rounds of betting.  It could potentially make it that much easier to boost his chip count.

            "I'm fine with that," The Professor agreed.  "But we should start fresh, with equal chips."

            The brash request was met with immediate objections from both Robin and Sir, who had become very emboldened in his new pyjama pants. 

            “That isn’t fair,” Sir protested. “That gives you more chips without having to win them from Mr. Reynard.” 

            Robin raised his eyebrows. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were sliding back into the Fourth Circle of Hell, Dr. Emerson.”   His Dante reference was met with an ice-cold glare from The Professor.

            "Actually," SR leaned in so The Professor could hear him. "I'm all right with that."

            "What?"  Robin was flabbergasted.  "Sylvain… Mr. Reynard, don't you see what he's doing?"

            "Don't do it!" Sir pleaded.

            "It's a completely new game," Sylvain said evenly.  "Besides, it's what happens in professional tournaments."  He stood up and moved to the chair Robin had occupied.  He faced The Professor and began to divide the chips.

            Gabriel couldn't believe his luck.  He knew Sylvain was fair to a fault and he was about to cash in on it.  There was no way he was going home in that ridiculous ball-hugger.

            Robin watched Sylvain's resolve and shrugged his shoulders.  "Well then, you chaps need a dealer, and I volunteer."

TO BE CONTINUED...

STUD: Part Two

This short story has been read and approved for posting by SR. Any resemblance to actual living persons is purely coincidental. No one was harmed in the making of this little story, although the dignity of a few surely did suffer.

The game: Poker

The stakes: Fashion humiliation

The players:

 The Author: Sylvain Reynard

The Snarky Narrator: Robin Goodfellow

 The Handsome Neighbor: Sir

 The Professor: Gabriel O. Emerson

            Professor Emerson quickly shuffled the deck three times and passed it to the man on his left to cut the cards.

"Thin to win," The Professor’s neighbor mumbled, mostly to himself.

The cards were dealt and the men were silent as Frank Sinatra’s Luck Be A Lady Tonight provided the soundtrack to the first hand of the evening.

The Professor dealt himself a pair of tens.  Sylvain had a steaming pile of nothing, not even a face card. 

Robin Goodfellow held a flush of clubs, extremely rare for a stud game and a certain winner as long as the French Canadian guy with the rimless spectacles didn't have a full house or something.

He didn't. Sir was dealt a pair of eights.

"The deal will move to the left, but betting begins on the right," Gabriel announced, hinting to Sylvain that he should start the round.

            Sylvain's strategy was simple. He was just going to play the cards and not spend the whole night trying to bluff the three most bluff-proof characters one could spend an evening with.  He slid his cards over to the dealer without a word.

"SR folds," The Professor commented. "What about you, Snarky?"

Robin smiled.  "Fold," he replied, and slid his cards face down over to SR, who ferried them the rest of the way to the dealer.

"I guess it's just you and me," Gabriel said to his neighbor.

"I bet fifty," Sir declared as he tossed three chips into the pot.

"Call," answered The Professor. 

Both men turned over their cards and Gabriel scooped up the pile of chips.  He’d confidently put in nearly half of the money himself, and winning the first pot of the night was precisely what he’d expected from this game.

            All the cards were now delivered to Sir. He proceeded to shuffle, cut, and deal with quiet efficiency.  He dealt himself two queens. 

            Gabriel tried not to frown at his measly pair of threes while Sylvain stared appreciatively at three aces.  Robin Goodfellow had a hand filled with so many low numbers that he thought he might as well be playing dominos.

            The Professor boldly bet two hundred which almost scared away SR. In the end, the author felt it was worth the gamble and called the bet.  His stomach was already doing calisthenics.

            Robin called as well, gleefully throwing twenty percent of his chips into the pot with no chance of winning.  Sir really wanted to bet, but knowing that two people were already in diminished his chances of having the winning hand.  He laid down his cards and shook his head.

            Sylvain turned his cards over immediately and the tirade of obscenities from his left and the soft chuckle from his right told him that the pot was his to take.  He scooped the chips away and began stacking them neatly while Robin shuffled and dealt the next hand. 

            SR cautiously twisted in his chair to regard the wretchedly regaled mannequins. "I don't know about the rest of you," he murmured, "but I like that calculator watch."  He then turned back around and studied his new hand, which was garbage.

            The Professor was dealt another low pair but decided not to bluff.  Sir almost got a straight (which was exactly nothing), and Robin landed himself triple sixes.

"The pot's light," The Professor observed. Sir quickly tossed in the ante he’d forgotten along with a hefty stack of chips.  He immediately regretted his bluff, but more than that he regretted showing that he immediately regretted it.

"I call," Gabriel crooned, pouncing like a cat on a canary.

"Fold," SR stated wisely, knowing that just because you think someone is bluffing, it doesn't suddenly make your crap hand any better than theirs.

"Me too," Robin chirped, cheerfully dropping his cards to the dark wood of the table.

The Professor gathered up a second pot before his neighbor even turned over his cards.  The game was becoming tense as everyone noticed Gabriel's growing pile of chips.

 

In the background, Ray Charles began singing Blackjack. Everyone raised their eyebrows at the obviously wrong card game named in the song, but the author in the group recognized the significance thanks to his Radio SR experience. Charles wrote the tune after winning all of T-Bone Walker’s money in a blackjack game.

            Sylvain threw in his ante before he began shuffling the cards, and offered the deck to The Professor to cut.  Gabriel simply tapped the cards with two fingers, a sign of trust and respect.

            When SR peered down at the cards he dealt himself, he kept from smiling but looked away too fast.  A guilty glance later and The Professor knew that his old friend had something special.  Gabriel himself had a pair of jacks but realized it wouldn't be enough to beat whatever had SR clamping down on his excitement.

"Your bet," SR indicated to Robin, who had nothing.

"Four hundred," Robin responded, and tossed half of his pile into the middle of the table.

The Professor studied Goodfellow closely.  He knew Sylvain had the goods but hadn’t anticipated such a large bet from across the table.

"I'm out," Sir proclaimed.  He had two pair, but his last loss combined with the large bet chased him out of the round.

"Fold." The Professor hated leaving the chance to win an eight hundred dollar pot, but knew that it would cost him the game if he made foolish decisions. And that was just not going to happen.

"Take it," Robin laughed.  "I was bluffing. I don't even think I have anything higher than a ten."  He turned his cards over to reveal that he was correct.

"That would make a great low-ball hand," SR offered as he gathered up his winnings.

By the time Gabriel dealt for the second time, almost half the chips on the table belonged to Mr. Reynard.  It was a startling turn of events so early in the game and everyone anxiously downed the rest of their drinks, including SR.

A fresh round of cocktails and cards came next and so did another loss for Robin.  This time, The Professor was the beneficiary of a sizable bet on a pair of nines.

            Sir's deal made him the winner of a small pot, which was a boost for his morale. Robin dealt himself four of a kind, which he promptly folded.  He watched contentedly as Gabriel won eighty bucks with nothing more than a high king.

            Sylvain's deal was a disaster. His three sevens fooled him into betting almost three hundred dollars against The Professor, who had three eights.  Robin also lost quite a bit of money in that hand, as did Sir.

            By the time Gabriel acquired the cards for his third deal, he was roughly even with SR. Robin was down to his last short stack.

"Round three," Gabriel stated. "Ante goes up to ten dollars."

Everyone made the adjustment while he dealt the cards.  He caught a miserable hand. Sir received a pair of aces, Robin held a pair of twos, and Sylvain secured a full house, queens over jacks.  The cards resembled a mini English cotillion in his hands.

            Sylvain bet conservatively, hoping not to scare Robin away, but the Snarky Narrator surprised everyone and pushed all of his remaining chips into the center of the table. He stood up, imitating the professional poker players he’d watched on television.

            Sir matched Robin’s bet of one hundred and forty dollars. Gabriel folded with a sigh. Sylvain called.

            When the men turned over their hands, everyone simultaneously looked from their cards over to Robin, the newly condemned.

"Don't mourn my loss," he implored as he strode over to the pedestal with the polyester powerhouse. "Because I plan to sit at the bar in this My Cousin Vinnie getup and make fun of you bastards all night."

"So you choose the suit?"  Gabriel probed to make it official.

"I do," Robin answered.  He’d known from the beginning he was never going to win. Therefore, being the first one knocked out of the game gave him the greatest advantage.  Now he could spend the night staying warm and looking like he was going to a fancy costume party while two of the others would be stranded in dreadful and revealing outfits that could have come out of a long-forgotten Second City prop box.

"You passed the washroom at the bottom of the stairs. Unless you want to change in here with us," Gabriel suggested.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?"  Robin provoked.

"I simply meant that it would be more comfortable to use a bar stool as opposed to a toilet," The Professor fumed.

"Don't you mean, more entertaining?"  Robin bragged.

"That too," Sylvain supplied, glancing from his drink over to the remaining two travesties.  He almost wished he’d thought of doing what Robin had done, taking advantage of the loophole in the game. Alas, it was too late and besides, he could no more throw a game than he could cheat at one.  However, with the only marginally acceptable ensemble taken, he would either have to win or face abject humiliation.

            Mr. Goodfellow changed in front of them, chatting cheerily the whole time and finding that the suit fit him quite well.  He strolled around and his right white shoe squeaked delightfully. With perfect timing, Elvis Presley’s Viva Las Vegas blared from the speakers.

"You look like you're having too much fun," The Professor complained while also eyeing the other two fashion fiascos patiently awaiting their new owners.

"Oh no," Robin corrected. "The fun part has yet to come, and now I get to do what I do best: sit back, drink booze and offer commentary."

TO BE CONTINUED...