As I explained in Pinochle Purse, I was called with less than a week before the October gathering and challenged with the question, "Are you trainable?" There is really no way to answer that other than "yes", and thus began my whirl-wind education. That week in my crash course, I learned about marriages, slugs, and of course, the Pinochle.
By the time the January game night came around, I was so hopped up on caffeine and sugar that I could barely speak. I had not played since the October game, and I felt rusty. I had studied all day with cards, notes, the computer, texting and even a few frantic phone calls. I was confident in my ability to count meld, but hopelessly inexperienced with regard to bidding. With a helpful formula in my head, the mathematician in me was able to hesitantly, and reluctantly, bid a couple of times with some success. Or so I thought.
It was the 24th hand, the last hand of the night. I sorted my cards into suits and began methodically counting my meld. With my best comportment on display, my back ached from sitting ram rod straight on the edge of my chair all night. My mouth was dry and my lips were sticking to my teeth. The smile that I had pasted on in the hopes of looking pleasant had surely turned to a grimace by now. My heart started to race. Normally cold, I felt a trickle of sweat run down my neck. Great Balls of Fire, I had Double Jacks Around! (For the Uneducated Readers, this means eight jacks, two of each suit.) I knew this was something big, but I had never come across it in my meld training, or in the wild, and I had no idea how much it was worth. I glanced around, hoping to see a Pinochle Rules brochure hanging from the light fixture by some dental floss, or being used as a shim under a table leg. Although I authored Pinochle Purse less than a month before, I failed to follow my own advice; my rule book was at home, simulating a coaster.
It was my turn to bid. The other three people at the table looked at me expectantly, if not a bit impatiently. I coughed. "Er, I don't know how much my hand is worth." The competitor at my right smiled indulgently at me. "You haven't counted your hand yet?" I cleared my throat. "No, I don't know how much this particular, er, phenomenon is worth." My partner frowned. Melvin always looked worried when paired with me, and tended to fidget annoyingly when he thought we were doing poorly. The others at the table looked around. "Trudy!", someone bawled into the kitchen where the desserts were being cut. "Come and help her count her hand!" I held back a groan and hoped that I had not ground my teeth so loudly that Melvin could hear.
Trudy, the dessert knife in her hand and a kitchen towel on her arm, leaned over my shoulder. I could feel her breath in my hair as she counted my cards. I tapped my jacks. "I don't know how much that is worth," I mumbled. "Sweet Jesus!", Trudy exclaimed in a whisper. "That is worth four hundred points, and your Double Pinochle is worth three hundred", her voice grew louder in my ear, "you could take the bid up to eight hundred!" I stopped breathing. I had not even spotted the Double Pinochle.
The bid normally starts at five hundred, and I had never bid more than five hundred thirty. My stomach did a flip. Harry had opened at five hundred, my partner Melvin had passed and Harry's partner had passed. It was up to me to win the bid, declare trump and control the hand. "Five ten", I said, confidently. Harry immediately countered with five twenty, and I quickly responded with five thirty. Harry continued easily to five forty. I glanced at the reflection in the picture window and saw that Trudy was still standing right behind me with the knife in her hand. I was secretly scared of Trudy, and I suspect I was not the only one. There was nothing to do but bid. I glanced at Melvin, who was not so subtly giving me the thumbs up sign. I came back with five fifty. Harry smoothly drove the bid up and each time I countered with a little more catch in my voice, after checking the reflection. Trudy had forgotten about the desserts and was standing guard. Smelling my fear, she was not about to let me lose the bid to Harry. Meanwhile, Melvin was nervously tapping a tattoo with his cards on the table. To me, the sound was like a deafening death march. Harry finally shook his head and I took the bid at Six Ninety, a number I could barely rasp out in my nervous state. The bidding over, we counted the meld and began the play, all of which became a blur of relief. Melvin and I easily won that last hand, with a crowd of curious onlookers nodding their approval. When it was over, Melvin's worried face melted away and he was all smiles. He clapped me on the back, congratulated me, and then ambled into the kitchen. He had worked up an appetite for dessert after all.
The crowd dispersed and I remained in my seat, suddenly overcome with cold. My stomach felt hollow. My teeth chattered. My hands were shaking. I wondered, "What have I gotten myself into, that I look so forward to and yet afterward end up a shaking mess?" I took a long shuddering breath to calm myself before slipping unseen out the front door.
The next day I got an email from my dad. It said, "Be careful! Pinochle is just a gateway drug to Bridge!"
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