You watched him open the door for Maurice, and watched Maurice playfully doff his cap and insist his friend enter first, and with a quick step Maurice followed suit, not even touching the handle. Maybe Maurice had OCD and that was why he never touched the handle, you pondered for a moment, until you realized just how dirty he always was.
For every bit of folksy tramp Maurice was, his friend was genteel and tweedy aristocrat. Gold jewelry lined his fingers and wrists, a poppy sat in his lapel and a bold wide tie hung to his waist accenting the pinstripes to his tailored suit. He wore a bowler, probably concealing his depleted hairline, and he had a sparkle to his eye. That being said, the gold was somewhat dull, a stray string belied the moneyed and pressed look of his suit, and his shoes were scuffed, polished, but scuffed.
From the start, he did not appear to be what he presented himself to be. To you, he radiated flim-flam man and his crisp chatter, though disarming, only reinforced it. The table filled with intelligent lawyers, judges, councilmen and doctors also immediately was suspicious. Eyes darted to one another as Maurice's friend approached with a wide smile.
"Good Evening kind sirs, my friend Maurice has told me of your game and that there might be an open seat tonight?" He nodded his head to the two open chairs. Despite his too large bowler slightly riding down his forehead in the process he still look noble and dignified as he took to his seat. "Yes, yes?"
He was down before anyone could reply. The table took in a silent breath and you realized they were looking to you to decline the spot. You wondered how to frame the excuse and then, Maurice was upon you. His thin smile in your face, "Mr. Henry Tyson Esquire won't be here tonight, and as I," he fished out his pocket watch which probably didn't work,"am on time, and you have a practice allowing those not on time, to have their seat taken by those that only show part of the time, it seems well within the rules that Mr. Barrymore be allowed to sit with us, for not only is seat open it'll be open all of the night and it's his to take as no part-timers are here to stake a claim, so it's taken. You are so kind."
He smiled again.
That was that. Maurice' double-talk had cut off all possible avenues of nos and his friend Mr. Barrymore was already cutting a deck. He smelled of Lavender, actually he wreaked of Lavender, and if not for that being a pleasing scent to you, it probably would have been quite a distraction. You watched two of the older judges light their first cigar an hour earlier than they normally would and you were quite confident it was to counter the cologne.
Mr. Barrymore talked with a roll, his vocabulary an extensive one, and like Maurice he often made little sense, he just made little sense with grander adjectives. However, Maurice was an accepted oddity and novelty that was more laughed at than with, but Barrymore had grand tales that meandered through a litany of famous names and often ended with a belly laugh that was contagious. You quickly realized it wasn't so much the stories that were funny but Barrymore's laughing.
Barrymore played through the tournament, and made a decent mess of many of the hands, but he had a lucky streak that enabled him to go deep enough to just miss the money. Barrymore missed a flush draw and boldly proclaimed, "I played those two because they were suited, and one night I once won every hand with a flush or a straight, on a cruise on the Atlantic, you'd think with the titanic Titanic crash I'd avoid such venues, but I do like the chase and though I bludgeoned my opponents with suck-outs, I can't refrain from playing same-said hands anon. Because I when I hit, I take all the chips. Alas... though it is you that have all my chips." He bellowed laughter and the table followed suit, "You'd think I'd learn. Forsooth, the only thing chasing has ever got me is a couple of ex-wives, a treatment of penicillin, and busted at cards." He laughed harder, "I jest, gentlemen, about the penicillin... it wasn't one treatment it was two." Suddenly, you realized he had fished out a monocle, and with each guffaw it fell anew.
When the tournament ended, with Maurice grousing about finishing second again, Mr. Barrymore pulled out a stack of greenbacks, "I know Maurice says you gentleman sometimes finish the night with a cash game or two and I just want you to know I'll play." He spread the hundreds provocatively, "But beforewarned I'll not chase the straights, just the flushes so expect a better effort." His eyes twinkled.
The table's unease was palpable. All eyes turned to you again...
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