High School Honey by Bill Bowler	Table of Contents
Chapter 10: Saturday Morning and Afternoon

Floater’s father, Mr. Loom, was a physically strong and psychologically forceful man. He was strict with his children, but fair. He raised his sons as he had been raised, some might say harshly, but it had given him the strength to succeed as a man in a harsh world. He was a New Englander, an MIT graduate, who had married into one of the wealthiest Brookbank families. He worked as an executive in the Python Mining Company’s world headquarters in lower Manhattan.

Unable ever to rest, even for a moment, Mr. Loom had labored tirelessly over the years to build a series of additions onto the beautiful house they occupied. It was set back from the street in a copse of trees near the summit of Wohanus Lane. Each new addition was done at an “L” angle to the previous segment. Inside the house, a long hallway zigzagged from the living room, past the master bedroom, the bathroom, and finally down to Floater’s bedroom at the end.

Mr. Loom laid hands on his son only when driven to it by egregious misbehavior — lying, stealing, insolence — to deter him from such behavior in the future with the foreknowledge of certain and painful punishment. That he had had to retrieve his son from the police station so infuriated Mr. Loom that upon reaching home, he knocked Floater down with one blow and was about to deliver another for good measure when Mrs. Loom threw herself between them, sobbing. An uneasy truce was declared and the atmosphere remained tense.

The next morning, Saturday, Mr. Loom rose at dawn, raked the lawn and painted the tool shed before his wife called him in for breakfast. After eating, he summoned Floater to the dining room.

“Your mother and I are driving up to Connecticut to open the summer house. We won’t be back until Sunday night. The house here is clean and in order now and I want it in the same condition when we return. Your mother and I expect you to conduct yourself exactly as if we were here. You understand?”

“In the refrigerator, there are cold cuts for lunch,” said Mrs. Loom, “chopped meat for dinner tonight, and casserole for lunch tomorrow.”

Floater took all of this under advisement. Once his parents had left the house, backed out of the driveway, and headed north for the parkway, Floater breathed a sigh of relief and picked up the phone.

“Flea? Hey man, it’s me, Floater. Yeah, listen, my parents split for the weekend. Yup, we got the house. We got the sound system. We got the booze. What we don’t got is chicks. We’ve got to locate some babes ipso pronto ‘cause it’s time to par-tee! You shootin’ the deck this afternoon? I gotta work. I’ll catch up to you later.”

Floater finished up making deliveries for Vecchio’s around 4:00 and was driving back down Brookbank Ave. to the diner with a paper bag full of cash receipts when he saw the poker game in progress in the park.

Floater pulled over, parked the car, and sauntered up. He said hello to Flea, Head, and Bob-O, sat down cross-legged on the grass, joined the circle, and put his bag of Vecchio’s cash receipts on the ground in front of him. When the deal rotated to Floater, he picked up the deck, shuffled, and noticed the king of hearts on the bottom.

The game was five-card draw. Floater dealt cards to each player and put the deck down.

“Five plays,” said Flea, and tossed a five-dollar bill in the pot.

“Ol’ Abe Lincoln,” said Bob-O. “Call.”

“Call,” said Head.

Floater had a good feeling about this hand, a feeling that this one was his for the taking. He decided not to look at his cards yet, and reached into the paper bag.

“There’s your five, and there’s ten more.”

“He’s raising without looking,” said Bob-O. “I’m in.”

They all called.

The players made their discards and drew cards. Dealer drew last. When it came his turn, Floater decided the time had come to take a look at his cards. He fanned them open slowly: two, six, king, jack, king. Pair of cowboys. Not bad. But was it enough? A picture of the king of hearts on the bottom of the deck popped into his mind unsummoned. His mouth dried out and he cleared his throat.

“Dealer takes three.”

Floater kept the pair of kings and tossed three cards into the pile of discards. With a smooth and fluent motion, he picked up the deck and dealt himself quickly one-two-three cards, the first two from the top of the deck and the third, almost unnoticeably, from the bottom. He looked around innocently at the other players, and cleared his throat again.

Flea was grinning right at him. “Twenty bucks plays.” He tossed a twenty into the pot.

“Too rich for me,” said Head, and he folded his hand.

All eyes turned to Bob-O who was experiencing a moment of indecision.

Floater scowled. “C’mon, man. In or out!”

“What’s the rush?” asked Bob-O. “I got you beat for sure. I’m just worried about Flea here.”

Flea was still grinning.

“C’mon, in or out,” insisted Floater.

Bob-O made up his mind and tossed in twenty. “I’m in.”

“How ’bout you, professor,” said Flea, grinning straight at Floater. He seemed to be laughing at Floater, daring him.

Floater fanned open his cards one by one to take another look: king, queen, deuce, king, king. He gazed impassively at the other players.

“We-ell, I don’t know.” He cleared his throat again. “This is interesting. Very interesting. What to do? Well, hmmmm, I guess I’m-m...” He paused, pursed his lips, looked around at the faces of the other players. “... In.”

Floater reached into the bag of Vecchio’s receipts and counted out another $20 into the pot.

“John Barrymore here’s got something good,” said Bob-O.

“Read ’em and weep, gentlemen,” announced Floater. He spread his cards on the grass. “Trip Cowboys!” He reached over to rake in the money.

“Not so fast,” said Flea. “I got you over coated. Three aces. And I saw you cheat, muthafugger. Just be glad I got you beat.”

“What’s going on here?!” Jack the Bear stood glaring down at the cards and the pile of bills on the grass.

The players rose and began to disperse quickly. Jack grabbed Flea by the shoulder. “Just a minute. I want to talk to you.”

Flea stared down at the ground with a blank expression.

“You too, buster.”

Floater had been edging away, but came back.

“It’s always the two of you, always. Gambling, drinking, fighting. What’s the problem? Why don’t you straighten out before you get into a real mess?”

“Officer, what you say makes a certain amount of sense, but is certainly applicable to all parties involved. It’s not fair to single us out...”

“Zip it,” said Jack. He turned to Flea.

“Well, what have you got to say for yourself, Fleanor?”

Flea grinned. “Nothin’.”

Proceed to Chapter 11...

Copyright © 2010 by Bill Bowler