Trapp came out of the men's room. "How'd we do?" he asked.
"Fifty-nine percent," I said. "Second place."
"I should have switched to the ten of clubs at trick two," he said.
He was speaking to himself. He knew I didn't know what he was talking about. He was still muttering about club switches and heart tricks as I led him out to the car.
Gloria probably shouldn't have told me not to ask him about the last time he played in a national tournament. As I drove him home, it was all I could think about. What wouldn't Gloria tell me? After all, what's the worst that can happen at a bridge tournament?
"So, who's your partner going to be for the national tournament?" I asked. "Gloria or Wallace?"
(Gloria didn't say I couldn't ask him about that tournament, just not the one forty years ago.)
"What!" he snapped. "Who said anything about playing in the nationals?"
"Gloria just mentioned—"
"Gloria's a dreamer. How am I supposed to compete against the best players in the world when I can't even see the cards?"
"You see the cards better than anyone," I said.
"Hah!" he scoffed, but I noticed a hint of a smile. "You may find this hard to believe, Alton," he said, "but bridge is tiring. I get worn out after just one session. That probably sounds strange to you. From your point of view, all I do is sit on my keester for three hours."
"No, I know," I said. "It's like I told my friend Cliff. Bridge is more like a sport than a game. A mental sport."
"At tournaments you play two sessions per day," he said. "I don't know if I'm up to it. I don't know if they'll even let me play."
"They have to let you play."
"Tournaments have strict rules," he said. "The club is willing to accommodate me and my cardturner. You may not be allowed to sit with me at a tournament."
"That's not fair," I said.
"There's a sectional tournament in two weeks," Trapp said. "Gloria's checking with the ACBL to see if I'll be allowed to compete."
"So then she'll be your partner?"
" If I play."
We drove in silence for a while. He could sue them, I thought, if they wouldn't let him play in the tournament.
"Gloria has more masterpoints than Wallace," I said, "but she says that's because she's played a lot more. She says he's a better player than she is."
"They're both excellent players," he said. "I'm honored to play with them."
"But you're better," I said.
"They can see the cards," he said, as if that made a difference.
"You had a seventy-two percent game with Wallace," I said. "I think he should be your partner for the nationals."
He sighed.
I thought that would be the end of it, but then he said, "Wallace can play the cards better, but Gloria is a better partner."
I didn't understand.
"Like you said, bridge is a sport," he explained. "But it's a team sport. You and your partner have to work together. Wallace is like a basketball player who's always shooting the ball. He can make some amazing shots, but he wouldn't have to take those shots if he passed the ball more often."
It was too bad, I thought, that Gloria couldn't play the cards as well as Wallace, or that Wallace couldn't be as good a partner as Gloria.
"I guess it's hard to find the perfect partner," I said.
"Wallace and Gloria are still looking," he replied.
I doubted that.
We drove in silence for a while, but then he said, "It's easier to find a wife."
I turned off Ridgecrest onto Skyline, then made my way up the tangled web of streets toward his house.
I thought our conversation had come to an end, but he surprised me. "I used to have the perfect partner," he said. "Used to have a wife, too."
"Were they the same person?" I asked.
"No, sisters."
I waited for more, but there was no further explanation. I glanced over. His jaw was set tight and it seemed as though his face had turned to stone.