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FAMILY MAN
Ronnie sat on a tall stool at the bar in the spectators' area, stirring sugar into his black coffee, gloomily. It was the fourth day of the second week of the convention and he had planned to play in the morning's tournament, but he had overslept and arrived too late for the check in. His partner had had to find some-one else to play with and it meant that he wouldn't get the much needed ratings which would see him ensured of his place in the final Champion of Champions Tournament in three days time. He knew he still had time, but he had sorely wanted to play with RAMBLINGMAN today.
"Oh well," he was thinking to himself. "I could go for a walk along the boardwalk, grab a sub and be back in plenty of time for the afternoon tourney."
Someone cleared their throat beside him and he turned around, curiously to see who it was. At his side stood a slightly stooped old man, with a mane of shiny white hair combed back neatly and matching a closely trimmed little goatee beard. He was dressed in black trousers, an open collared, button down shirt, topped with a navy blue blazer trimmed with gleaming gold buttons. Ronnie thought that he must want to sit at the bar and so he made to climb down and make room for him, but the old man laid a liver spotted hand on Ronnie's arm to forestall him.
"Excuse me, young man." He spoke with a slow southern drawl and a surprisingly deep voice. "I surely don't want to disturb you if you're busy, but would I be right in supposing that you are a member of The Wanderers team?"
"Yes sir," Ronnie replied. He hadn't called anyone sir in an age, but this old gentleman seemed to demand the formal title. " I'm KINGASPADES."
The old man beamed at him with satisfaction.
"Why, that's just splendid."
Ronnie smiled at him in confusion before he went on to explain.
"I have just arrived at this here convention, and find that I am too late for a game. Possibly these tournaments would be too much for me anyways."
"I see." Said Ronnie, but he didn't see at all.
"But you could give me a game if you have no other plans."
"It would be my pleasure, but as you can see, we've missed this morning's tournament." Said Ronnie.
"Yes, but we could play a friendly game in the other room. Unless you are too busy."
That was certainly true. There was a separate room at the convention where people who were new to spades could play, it was used to introduce the game and the league to anyone who was interested in learning or joining and the games weren't rated. Ronnie hadn't played in this room for that very reason, but if the old guy wanted to learn or join, that would be the best place for him to play.
"Hell, why not." He thought. "I've got nothing else to do. It might be fun."
So he slid off his bar stool and said.
"As it happens, sir, you're in luck. I missed the tourney, so I have time for a couple of games, if you'd like to play."
As the two men walked toward the introduction room, Ronnie noticed that the older man leant heavily on a glossy cane of dark wood, which was topped by a silver panther.
"Trouble with the leg?" He asked, making casual conversation.
"Yes sir," his companion answered. "An old war wound. Feels like I walked with this old cane most of my life."
"I'm sorry to hear that." Ronnie was embarrassed. He'd never had to fight in a war for his country and never new what to say to those who had.
"Think nothing of it." The old man put him at his ease, "It happened many lifetimes ago, and I don't think I could walk without this stick, even if my leg were in one piece."
Soon they found themselves entering the introduction room. It was a much smaller room than the grand ballroom, which was hosting the main games and had a much more relaxed atmosphere. The carpets were still deep red, but there were no gold leaf or cherubs on the ceiling, instead there was a more informal décor of cream walls and red wine coloured light fittings placed three feet apart all around the walls. Two dozen green baize tables were placed in six rows of four, there were no dealers in this room, all scoring was done manually using specially printed score pads which were provided along with new decks of cards, at each table.
The room was busy, with more than two thirds of the tables occupied, and the air was thick with conversation as new players were discovering the many joys of spades. Ronnie was at a loss as to how people decided to play together, but his new friend had it all under control and he followed, docilely as the old man limped over to a table with two people sitting opposite each other, in the familiar way of teamies waiting for opps.
"Are you waiting for a game ladies?" he asked a heavy set woman in her early fifties, with long dark hair tied back with a black ribbon, her partner was a lighter woman, in looks as well as weight, and Ronnie guessed she was also in her fifties. The dark haired woman answered.
"Yes we are. Would you like to play?"
"We would, if that's alright with you?"
Hands were shaken and places taken. The old man picked up one of the new decks of cards and, breaking the seal, slipped them out of the box and shuffled expertly with his gnarled hands. The dark haired woman cut the cards, the old man dealt them all thirteen cards each, and the game was underway. Ronnie suddenly realized that he hadn't explained the game to his partner, but it was too late, the game had started now, there was nothing for it but to see how he got on. He could always explain later, it wasn't a rated game, so no problem. But he needn't have worried. The old man had obviously played before. He set their opponents nil easily and even made his own nil in the fourth hand. It was all over by the end of hand six.
As the ladies left the table, the old man grinned, wickedly over at him.
"There is nothing as good as winning!" He exclaimed triumphantly.
Ronnie laughed.
"For some reason I thought you were a beginner."
"Whatever made you think that?" His partner was still grinning, his faded blue eyes watering merrily. "Fancy another one P?"
"Sure thing. But what's your name? I'm Ronnie."
"Oh forgive me my rudeness. My name is George."
They shook hands across the table, each enjoying the other's company. And they spent a very happy morning playing all comers and winning all of their games. Ronnie had pointed out at one stage that they were only winning because all of their opponents were new to the game, but George just waved his hand in denial, saying
"Some-one has to be the first to beat them Ronnie, why shouldn't it be me."
And then he laughed while Ronnie shook his head and said
"You are incorrigible."
"You are right there, hee hee hee."
Finally the morning was drawing to a close. After their fourth win, Ronnie apologized.
"I'm sorry, George, but if I want to be in the tournament this afternoon, I'm going to have to go now so that I can check in on time."
"That's quite alright." Said George, rising stiffly from the table and leaning on his cane.
"Why don't you come on by and watch?" Ronnie asked. "Unless you are in a team, you could play."
The old man just shook his head,
"No, I'm not in a team now, and besides I think one of those tournaments would be beyond me."
"Nonsense." Ronnie protested. "You are a real good player George."
"That's mighty kind of you Ronnie, but no, I am quite happy with our games this morning."
"If you'd like to play again tomorrow morning I could meet you in here."
For some reason that Ronnie couldn't explain to himself he didn't want to say goodbye to this old man he had only met a few short hours ago.
"Again, I thank you. You have been very kind and made an old man very happy, but I am only here for today and it has been everything I could have wished for."
Ronnie was truly disappointed.
"But you could do me one last favour." George asked.
"Yes, of course."
"Tell Cappy and Isabel that I said hello and was sorry to have missed them."
Now Ronnie was confused.
"Oh, so you know them?" He asked.
"Yes, I knew them a long time. Tell them George sent his deepest respects and thanks. They'll know what I mean."
And with that he shook Ronnie firmly by the hand and slowly limped his way from the convention.
Later that day Ronnie saw Isabel at her usual place at the bar with STRETCH, so he made his way over to her and gave her a peck on both cheeks.
"Ronnie, honey, how are you?" she asked loudly.
"I'm good, Izzy, how are you both?" He replied.
"Foin mite. Fancy a point?" Asked STRETCH.
"I'm always well. What are you up to?" she swayed slightly with some brightly blue concoction in a glass in her hand, and Ronnie and STRETCH shared a grin as STRETCH ordered another drink.
"Actually, I have a message for you." He told her.
"A messaged? From who?" Isobel was curious.
"It's a funny story." And Ronnie went on to tell them of his encounter with the old man earlier in the day.
"And as he left he asked me to send his deepest respects and thanks to you and Joanne." He finished.
Isobel had grown unusually quiet. Finally she asked.
"What did this man look like?"
So Ronnie described George in detail, mentioning his white hair, his navy blue blazer and finally his cane.
"And did you tell him that you were only winning because the opps were new?" Isobel asked.
Ronnie laughed, remembering.
"Yes, and he said that someone had to beat them, why shouldn't it be us."
STRETCH laughed too then and said
"Well, he's got a point there."
But Isobel cut in.
"Did he tell you his name Ronnie?"
"Sure." Ronnie answered, puzzled. "George."
Isobel had gone white.
"George, that's what he said?"
"Yes, why?" Now Ronnie and STRETCH were beginning to be concerned. Looking at each other uncomprehendingly.
"Oh my God." Isobel breathed.
"What is it?" asked STRETCH.
"We just lost George two weeks ago." She breathed, reaching for a barstool.
"What do you mean?" Asked Ronnie. "He joined another team?"
"Don't you remember the e-mail we sent you all about FAMILYMAN?"
Ronnie felt his heart quickening in his chest and a sickening tightness around his throat as Isobel went on quietly
"George died two weeks ago, quietly in his sleep."
The end
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