Death and Professor Longfellow

Chapter 5: The Name of the Game

When Death entered the room, all the poker players clamored to greet her as if she were an old friend. Longfellow wondered if they knew who and what she was. If they did know, would they still be friendly to her?

"I hope we haven't missed all the excitement. I have a high roller for your next game." Death introduced the tiny old man to the others. He hid behind her the way a child might hide behind his mother at a family gathering. Longfellow squirmed under the spotlight of their friendly gazes. A thin, middle-aged woman in a white skirt and suit shirt rose first. Around her neck she wore heavy pearls. In one hand she clenched a cocktail glass, and in the other, she held a lit cigarette on a holder.

"It's been too long, dearie. Where have you been?" she asked with a bright yet nasal voice in a distinct New England accent. She kissed the air on either side of Death's cheeks. "And who is your companion this evening?"

"This is Professor Robert Mitchell Longfellow of the East Haverford Longfellows," Death announced grandly.

"I'm not from East Haverford. I live on Long Island." The professor started to protest, only to be silenced by Death elbowing him in the ribs.

"Charmed I'm sure." The woman placed her cigarette in the ashtray and held out her hand on bent wrist to Longfellow. The old man uncomfortably twitched, not sure how to reciprocate. He gently shook her hand. "Muffy Meredith Milford-Norris of Newport, Rhode Island." Accepting the formal introduction from the awkward professor, Muffy Meredith Milford-Norris nodded and returned to her seat.

"So ya brought us a professor, huh?" asked a gruff voice from a rugged-looking man wearing a bolo. "Just cause yer a college boy don't mean your book learning will be helpin' you none against us card sharks."

The teacher of English cringed at the poor grammar of the man.

"Hey, pally, relax. This is a gentlemen's game," said the calm-looking man with a silky voice. "No offense, Muffy, my dear."

"None taken," she said, looking over her cards and winking at the relaxed charmer, "though you gentlemen may want to tread lightly. You're playing against the heiress to the Milford-Norris fortune."

"You got it, babe." He winked back. "And might I add, what a lovely addition you make to our group!"

Longfellow felt as though he were fading into the background. He was comfortable there, away from the chaotic and intimidating personalities at the table. He took baby steps backward, inching away from the table. Death stood behind him, blocking his path. She caught him sneaking away, and though her smile seemed to approve, she wasn't about to let him slink off. No one could escape Death.

"Ya shouldn't flirt with her," the gruff man with a bolo interrupted. "I've played cards with her before. The lady may look all petite and innocent, but she's a caged wild bull. You ain't careful, boy, you gonna get the horns."

"I'll try to remember that, pally. Something tells me it's worth the risk."

Longfellow stood in awkward silence, not sure how to enter the social circle. Death cleared her throat, and it made him jump forward. All three card players stared at him, expecting he had something to say.

"I'm sorry," he started to apologize, "I didn't get your names."

"No worries about that, pally. I'm Donny Jakes, the finest lounge singer employed by this establishment." It explained why the relaxed man's voice sounded so smooth. He practically sang everything he said.

"This Longfellow egghead don't need to know no names. He's just got to ante up and play cards."

"Don't be so crude," Muffy said judgmentally. "The professor is a guest at our table. Least we can do is be polite before we take his money."