The Babbling Brook Naked Poker Club - Book One

The Babbling Brook Naked Poker Club - Book One

Copyright © 2015 Ann Warner

Library of Congress Registration TXu 1-985-149

Edited by

Pam Berehulke, Bulletproof Editing

Cover design by

Kit Foster Design

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of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands,
media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s
imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the
trademarked status and trademark owners of various products
referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without
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Dedication

Book Description

Chapter One

Chapter List

About the Author

A Note_to_Readers

Acknowledgments

Excerpt of Book Two

Also by Ann Warner

To Delores Warner—Sister-in-law,
sister-in-heart, and Graphoanalyst extraordinaire

A painting worth millions, valuables gone missing, a game that is
more than a game. And that’s only the beginning as an elderly widow
befriends a young woman and tries to prevent her from making the
same mistakes she has made.

If you enjoy reading
The Babbling Brook Naked Poker Club – Book
One
, I hope you’ll consider writing a brief review. Reviews
don’t need to be elaborate—a few words stating your opinion of the
book along with a rating (1-5) is all that’s required.

Josephine

When Thomas died, I discovered he’d shifted control of our assets
to our son, and one of Jeff’s first decisions was where I would
live. It was obvious from the speed with which he accomplished my
move, he’d been planning it for some time.

Had he asked my opinion, I certainly
wouldn’t have picked Brookside Retirement Community. For one thing,
there’s no brook, and for another, the cutesy bird-and-flower theme
is simply annoying. Although I have an apartment and I’m free to
interact with other residents, or not, as I choose, I still
wouldn’t have chosen to live here.

The hallways are lined with both fussy bird
prints of dubious quality and flamboyant floral bouquets in need of
dusting. Each wing of the complex (there are five) has a
combination bird-and-flower name. I live in the Morning
Glory-Mourning Dove wing—or GloryDove for short. I suppose that’s
better than the Snapdragon-Titmouse wing. I’ve already noticed
people who live in SnapTit tend to hesitate when asked which wing
they’re in.

Carrying the theme beyond pictures and
floral arrangements, each wing has its own glass-fronted cage
filled with tiny birds that dart about and tweet continuously.

Next to the mandatory enclosure of birds in
the front lobby sits a morose parrot in a cage so small it can’t
even spread its wings, let alone do a quick flit. I feel sorry for
the parrot who, like many of the residents here, is in his
nineties, but I do steer clear of him. He has a reputation for
biting, not that I blame him. If someone confined me to a small
cage next to the roomier quarters of luckier members of the species
and forced me to listen to all their nonstop celebrating, I’d bite
too.

So far, the only bright spot has been
Lillian Fitzel. When I told Lill that, she laughed that deep, rich
chuckle of hers.

“Me a bright spot, Josephine? Why, I’m as
black as the bottom of my granny’s favorite cooking pot.”

Lill’s the one who said Brookside should be
rechristened Babbling Brook, a tongue-in-cheek reference to both
the nonexistent waterway as well as the more irritating
residents.

Jeff parked me here because he considers me
elderly, but I’m only seventy. Much too young to be shut away with
a bunch of old people, fake flowers, and birds.

I’ve decided I won’t have it. I’ve spent
fifty years living a life of duty and restraint, and I’m not
wasting another minute. As soon as I get my financial and legal
affairs in order, I’m out of here.

~ ~ ~

Shortly after Lill and I struck up our friendship, she invited me
to become the fourth in a group that plays cards two days a week.
I’m not crazy about card games, but I decided it might be a welcome
distraction. At least until I get my next move figured out.
Unfortunately, I quickly discovered it wasn’t going to provide as
much of a distraction as I’d hoped since the other two women in the
group are both as dull as case knives. Not a sliver of intellectual
curiosity between the two of them.

Myrtle, who would make two of Edna or three
of Lill, is never seen in public without makeup and carefully
styled hair. She favors flowing garments in bright colors that
flutter when she moves. It makes me tired just to look at her.

In contrast, Edna’s makeup ends at her chin,
and her scanty hair often looks like a gerbil has been playing in
it. Setting off polyester pantsuits that should have been sent to a
landfill forty years ago is a strand of yellowing pearls she’s
never without.

When it was finally my choice what to play
next, I simply couldn’t resist the imp sitting on my shoulder, and
the words “strip poker” tumbled out.

Myrtle sat back and thumped the table. “You
can’t choose that.”

“Why can’t I? You picked hearts.” And if
there’s a stupider game, I don’t know what it is, although in the
interest of ongoing relations, I refrained from sharing that
opinion out loud. “At least strip poker will be interesting.”

Myrtle’s bosom heaved, something that always
makes me want to move rapidly out of her vicinity.

“Well, I never. Josephine Bartlett, you’re
just, just—”

“What kind of poker?” Lill chimed in. “Strip
poker can be played any number of ways.”

“How about five-card draw?”

“I don’t think poker is a very ladylike
game,” Edna said, her nose elevated.

Edna’s a priss, if I do say so, although I
can’t take credit for coming up with the descriptor since her
bizarrely appropriate last name, Prisant, got there first.

“And what exactly has being ladylike gotten
any of us lately?”

“I don’t know about you, Josephine,” Myrtle
said, “but Bertie Teller came over and sat next to me at the last
movie night and held my hand during the scary parts.”

“If Bertie Teller tried to hold my hand, I’d
deck him. Not that it would take much. The old fart totters around
here cackling like a demented hen.”

“You’re just jealous because nobody wants to
sit with you.” Edna always seems to have two cents ready to pitch
into any conversation.

“Better off alone than stuck with a Bertie,”
I said. “Are we going to talk or play?”

Edna lowered her nose with a sniffy noise.
“But really, strip poker? I’m quite certain nobody wants to see you
naked.”

“They won’t since I plan to win.”

Myrtle placed a finger in the corner of her
mouth and cocked her head. “I think it could be amusing.”

I sometimes wonder if she practices
expressions in the mirror.

“Nobody wants to see you naked either,
Myrtle. Trust me on that,” Edna said with another sniff.

I was tempted to hand her a tissue, but
doubted that would go over very well.

Myrtle turned her head and gave Edna what
I’ve labeled her Queen Elizabeth stare. “I think they’d rather see
me than you.”

“Whatever.” Edna has at least one grandchild
and proves it by keeping up with the latest slang.

“How about nobody gets naked,” Lill said.
“That is, not literally.”

Lill is skinny enough she could be planted
in a field to scare off crows, but she has this deep, resonant
voice that never fails to startle me.

“After all,” she said, “the staff won’t
stand by and let the four of us strip without stepping in with the
meds. But perhaps metaphorically?”

“What exactly do you mean, metaphorically?”
Edna sniffed again; I suspect golden retriever genes in there some
where. “And yes, Ms. Vocabulary, I do know what metaphorically
means. I just don’t see what it has to do with strip poker.”

But I did. It was as though Lill and I had
discussed this ahead of time. And she was right. There is more than
one kind of naked.

“How about the biggest loser at the end of
the afternoon pays up with a personal story,” Lill said, confirming
what I’d guessed she was going to say. “And it should be something
that isn’t all sweetness and light.”

“I absolutely agree,” I said, jumping back
in to take control of what was, after all, impulsive or not, my
idea. “And I want to hear something down and dirty I won’t forget
in five minutes.”

Edna huffed. “You never forget a thing,
Josephine. It’s one of your least attractive qualities. And what
are we going to use to keep track, anyway?”

“Doesn’t matter. Toothpicks, pills, dust
bunnies.”

Edna snorted. I suspect she doesn’t like me.
And just to be clear, if I could vote her out of the group, I
would. Unfortunately, she was here first. And fair is fair.

“Never mind that,” Myrtle said. “If we’re
going to do this, you have to tell us the rules, Josephine.”

“Okay, how about this? We’ll all start out
with the same number of toothpicks or whatever. Then the one with
the fewest left by the end of the afternoon has to tell a
story.”

“I think Myrtle means the specifics,” Edna
said with a frown. “You know. What beats what. Aren’t there flushes
and pairs and full houses and the like?”

Truly, Edna is such a pain sometimes.

“Well, a flush and a full house beat a
straight,” I said.

Lill was obviously trying not to chortle.
Unsuccessfully, I might add.

“I don’t see what’s so funny,” Edna said,
giving Lill a sour look.

Edna has no sense of humor, which, while
we’re on the subject, is her least attractive quality.

“As you very well should know, Lillian,
there are no stupid questions.”

Edna’s voice, with its upper pompous notes
and its underlay of whine, always grates on me. If she did indeed
once teach American youth the fundamentals of English usage beyond
four-letter words, she would know that most questions are either
stupid or show a lack of attention by the questioner.

It took a further fifteen minutes of
wrangling, but we finally managed to get through the list of what
beat what with Myrtle demanding excruciating detail and writing it
all down. Then Edna suggested we liberate a box of paper clips from
the associate activities director’s desk to keep track. By that
time, I was profoundly regretting my suggestion.

My mood was not improved when the best I
could muster on that first hand was a pair of treys. I folded
early, conserving my resources. Myrtle won that hand with the full
house she’d telegraphed by running her finger over the list of what
beat what and settling it near the top.

In succeeding hands, the gods of poker
continued to favor Myrtle. But although I couldn’t beat her with
cards, I was able to stem my losses by watching where on her list
her finger ended up.