Two months later
November, 1980

 

 

After dinner tonight, Mom and Dad have to go to a parent-teacher conference for Lisa. They said they would be taking her with them because there was a program of some sort for the kids, while the parents had their conferences.

 

“Do you think I can go over to Grandpa’s house instead?” I asked them. They said it was okay with them, so I called Grandpa and asked if I could come over tonight.

“I’m playing bridge with some friends tonight, Abby. If you don’t think you’d be bored, you’re welcome to come and kibitz.”

“That’s a funny word. What does that mean?”

“That’s a Yiddish word for ‘watch us play cards.’

“Sure, I’d love to come kibitz.”

“One thing, though: You have to promise not to interrupt the game with a lot of questions.”

“Okay. I’ll keep my lips zipped.”

 So, Dad and Mom dropped me off around 6:30 at his house before going to the conference. Grandpa met us at the door and told them he would bring me home after the game at around 9:00. That was fine with them.

When I arrived, Grandpa was already in the middle of a game with his next-door neighbors, the Huffnagles, and his good friend Mr. Alderman. He used to play bridge with my grandma, but she died when I was only two. I didn’t remember her at all.

They were all seated at a card table in Grandpa’s living room, and everybody greeted me and invited me to come watch them play. Grandpa reminded me not to ask a lot of questions.

I didn’t… at first, but after they quit what they call the bidding, Grandpa played a card, and Mrs. Huffnagle put her whole hand face up on the table and showed everyone her cards. I forgot to keep quiet and said, “Why did you do that, Mrs. H?”

“That’s because I’m the dummy for this hand.”

“Why? Because you don’t know how to play it? That’s no reason to call yourself a dummy.” They all cracked up at that.

“No dear, not a dummy. The dummy. That’s the bridge term for the hand that goes down on the table for everyone to see. Mr. Huffnagle is going to play my cards for me. It’s not because I don’t know how to play them; that’s just the way the game is played.”

“But doesn’t that give your team an advantage because he can see both hands and know what to play?”

“Well, yes. It does. But that’s the reward you get for your side winning the auction.”

“The auction?”

“Yes. That’s what you call all the bidding. It’s just like a real auction where each bid you make has to be higher than the last bid. You’re actually bidding for the right to gain that advantage you so astutely pointed out: to be able to see and play both hands. The highest bid becomes the final contract, and when the next three people pass, the auction is over. You have to fulfill the contract to win points, and if you don’t make it, the other team wins points.”

“Okay, Abby. That’s enough questions for now,” said Grandpa. “Remember the deal we made.”

“Sorry, Grandpa. I just forgot.”

I watched them bid and play three or four hands without saying a word, but then I couldn’t take it any longer and just had to ask a few questions again.

“So, when your final bid is four hearts, for example, does that mean you only have to take four tricks, or four heart tricks? And why is it that when the others are playing clubs and you don’t have any clubs but play a heart instead, you win the trick? This is awfully confusing!”

“It sure is!” said Grandpa. “Those are all good questions, but it will take too long to explain it all to you. I’ll tell you what… I’ve got a good book in my library that explains all the fundamentals. If you’re really interested, I’ll lend it to you. It’s a great book for beginners and should answer all your questions, so let’s see if you can fulfill your contract and just watch for now. Okay?”

“Okay. Sorry, Grandpa. I keep forgetting to be quiet.”

“That’s okay, Abby,” said Mr. Huffnagle. “It’s hard to just watch when you have so many questions.”

“Hey, kiddo, how about going into the kitchen and filling a bowl with those potato chips that are on the counter. Then bring it out here along with the dip you’ll see in a bowl in the frig. You can have a few too. And bring some napkins with you, please.”

“Sure, Grandpa,” so I went into the kitchen to make myself useful.

This game seemed mighty intriguing, and I thought I’d definitely take him up on his offer to lend me the book. Maybe they’d let me play sometime if I got good at it.

The game ended around 9:15, and we said goodbye to Grandpa’s friends.

“Abby, come into the den for a minute and let me get that bridge book for you.”

I followed him into his den where he had several big bookshelves full of all kinds of books. One whole section was devoted to just bridge books. He pulled down a black paperback book called Contract Bridge for Beginners by Charles Goren.

“This is the book I was telling you about,” he said as he handed it to me.

“Thanks. I’ll start reading it tomorrow.”

“You know, if you really like it, I’ve got lots of others here too. Playing a lot and doing some reading about it is the best way to get good at the game.”

“I think I’m going to like it, Grandpa.”

When he dropped me off at home a few minutes later, I gave him a kiss goodnight and thanked him for letting me kibitz. I just love that word.
When I finally went in, Mom and Dad asked how the bridge game went. I told them I didn’t understand all that much, but Grandpa gave me a book to read to learn it. I held it up for them to see. I said goodnight and headed up to get ready for bed.

 

 

 

Four days later
November, 1980

 

 

“Abby, you did very well tonight. It’s hard to believe you just started learning the game less than a week ago.”

“Thanks, Grandpa. I had a good time playing. I like this game!”

“I still can’t get over Art Huffnagle’s expression when you explained your reasoning after you dropped his queen on that 4-spade hand. Your explanation for the play was perfect.”

“Huh. I didn’t think it was anything special; I just tried to reason it out.”

“Well, after less than a week of learning the game, you’re probably playing at a level that many may never reach after years of playing. I think we may have to start calling on you regularly to play if you want to and if it’s okay with Mom and Dad.”

“Cool! I’ll see you at the store tomorrow.”

“Okay, then.” She kissed me goodnight and hopped out. I watched her run into the house and waved at her before she went in the door.

 

 

Earlier this afternoon Abby had come to the store after school, and because it was kind of slow, she sat in the office in back with her feet up on the desk reading a book. I had to fuss at her for dirtying up some papers that she had put her feet on, but a little later she came out and said she had just finished the bridge book I had lent her and was eager to try playing in a game.

I told her that Tom Alderman wasn’t going to be able to play tonight and that she could fill in for him if she felt ready. I told her I was sure the Huffnagles would be very accommodating to a new player and that she shouldn’t feel nervous about playing for the first time with experienced players. I needn’t have worried.

She seemed to have picked the game up very fast and played beautifully. On one particular hand that she played, while I was the dummy, she made a surprising play to make a difficult 4-spade contract. When Art Huffnagle asked her why she played it the way she did, she gave him a perfect explanation for it.

My goodness, what a kid! I was so proud of her then for her impeccable reasoning. Art just smiled and shook his head in awe. “I think you’ve been playing for years, young lady, and are sand-bagging us,” he said with a chuckle.

“What does that mean?” asked Abby.

“It means pretending to be less of a player than you really are.”

“Nope. This is my first time playing. I read a book about it that Grandpa lent me, though.”

“Well, I think you’re going to be a real good player someday, sweetie,” said Mary Lou.

“Thanks, Mrs. H.”

I thought she was already pretty darn good.