Death of a Bridge Club By Alphonse Moyse
I am not a home conversationalist but it’s only nice, and wise, to throw out an occasional remark or question or something to one’s helpmate. Keeps her happy and occupied and feeling needed. In short, the decent thing to do.
In this laudable spirit I addressed my wife Jackie. “How’s the Thursday afternoon bridge club coming along? Having fun?”
Surely, as almost everyone will admit, there was nothing provocative in these words, but to my surprise Jackie stiffened, drew herself up — a difficult feat since she was seated at the time — and said with unmistakable disdain, “We’ve stopped. Broken up.”
“That’s too bad,” I said carefully.
She looked at me, waiting, and then said, “Aren’t you going to ask me why?”
“Oh, I’m sure you had good reasons.” I said.
“Yes,” she said. “Very good! We disagreed about a hand.”
“Well, well,” I murmured, and feeling that wasn’t entirely adequate, said it again. “Well, well.”
“Not only that,” said Jackie, “but Elaine’s husband and Jean’s husband and Vera’s husband all backed them up and said they had bid perfectly, whereas I might as well be an old maid for all the help I get! It’s really disgusting! You ought —”
“Baby,” I said earnestly, “here’s a compliment. You ain’t the type. A merry widow, maybe, but not a spinster. Now, may I ask what this is about? You didn’t ask me about a hand. You say that Al Landy and Harold Ogust and Bill Root got into the act? I don’t believe it.”
“Oh, you don’t! Well, there you are! I knew I’d be the only one all alone! I tell you that Alvin said Elaine was absolutely right, and Bill said that Vera was absolutely right, and —”
“And Harold stuck up — absolutely for Jean. Okay, okay! What was the hand?”
Jackie dashed to the desk, rummaged, and brought me back a rather grubby piece of paper.
“Hmmm,” I said and stared at this layout: Click Here to continue Reading