Board games, or bored games?”
That is the question I had posed to Miller, the stalwart concierge, when I went down to fetch Mother’s dry cleaning. I couldn’t hazard a guess as to his age, but he’s the only concierge I’ve ever known. He started working there when I was born, Mother tells me, so I have to think he has a few years on him. Hard to tell when they’re balding and what little hair there is gray. (The mustache, I must say, is overkill – he looks like he stepped out of the pages of The New Yorker. Add a top hat and a cane and we’d be in business.)
“What kind of board games?” he asked as he handed me a pen so as to sign for the items.
I gave him the rundown. “Well, not all board games … cards … you know, gin, poker, war. She made me break out the Yahtzee the other day.”
His face lit up immediately. “I LOVE that game!” he gushed.
And that’s how he ended up where he is now, 10 feet from me in this over-garnished sitting room sipping a cosmo with Mother as she wiped the floor with him. It wasn’t a hard sell once I offered to make him a cocktail. (I am nothing if not opportunistic.)
“Yahtzee!” she exclaimed. “The dice are loving me today, Miller. You cannot disagree!”
“No, Madam, I cannot.”
“Another round?” Mother asked. “Of Yahtzee, I mean. I see your drink is fresh.”
“Yes, of course,” he said. To my surprise, he picked up his drink and drank it down, or rather gulped it. “And another one of these, too, if you don’t mind.”
Mother handed him a pitcher and laughed. “Something to dull the pain of losing, dear boy?”
Music to my ears. Even if I had to put Miller in a wheelbarrow and haul him three blocks to his apartment, I wanted nothing to do with games this evening. My job this evening, as I saw it, was to stare out at the river, sip my wine, and witness Lindy, his crew, and the 78-footer pulling in.
It had been a rocky transfer to say the least. The shipping company neglected to factor in getting the boat out of storage in Liechtenstein and into the water, adding a week to the process. Then, Gordon, Lindy’s long-time captain, contracted COVID and needed to quarantine along with two other crew members who had also tested positive. Luckily that coincided with the land delay and they were able to fly over before the shipping company completed the journey.
Mother, of course, had to weigh in from her bed. “Why doesn’t he just buy a boat over here? What’s the difference? He could buy a country if he wanted to.”
One hundred miles. That was how close they were when Lindy called earlier today. Now, it was all over but the waiting, and as Tom Petty used to say, that’s the hardest part.
“Yahtzee!” My mother’s voice rose again. Why is always her voice that pierces through my brain like a knife through melted butter? Even when she’s not there, her voice creeps in.
“Mercury, don’t marry that one. Mercury, when are you getting married? Mercury, forensics is not a very feminine pursuit.”
Learning to block her out had not been easy, but I’d done it.
“Miller, I tell you, it is just my night … how about another?”
Then, just as she lifted the pitcher to Miller’s (once again) empty glass, the sound of a foghorn shook the walls of the hotel and I could see Lindy’s silhouette against the amber summer sunset.
“Finally.’ I set my wine glass down and looked toward Mother and Miller. “That’s Lindy. Mother, you need your rest, and Miller, you need a cab. I’ll call down to the night desk and get you one.”
I dialed the phone while both Miller and Mother stared at me.
“Well, dear, just because Lindy is here doesn’t mean we have to stop playing. Can’t you see I’m on a roll?”
“Ahahahah …” Miller laughed out loud. “On a roll, Madam? Really?”
“Oh my you’re right!” Mother said, dissolving into a puddle of giggles. “Yes, oh, isn’t that funny? Oh my!”
“Look, wrap it up, friends! I need to go meet Lindy at the dock.”
Miller stood, gingerly, holding on to the arm of the chair. Mother extended her hand. “Dear Madam, it’s been a pleasure,” he said, accepting it with a kiss and a warm nod.
“Yes, Miller, it has. Thank you so much.”
I guided him toward the door, then out into the hallway toward the elevator. “I’m coming with you,” I told him. “They’ll have a car there for you in five minutes.”
We entered the elevator and, looking at his reflection on the back of the door, he adjusted his tie and matted down the back of his hair. “Do I appear inebriated?” he asked.
I didn’t want to tell him that not only did he appear inebriated, but his breath removed all doubt about his current condition.
“Just don’t speak to anyone,” I suggested. “I’ll get you to the car.”
Five minutes and a 200 percent tip later, Miller and the car were gone. I crossed the street and walked down the embankment where the crew had already docked and extended the footbridge. Lindy stood beside Gordon, each smoking a cigarette as the sun lowered behind the boat.
“Got room for a stowaway?” I asked.
Gordon greeted me with a warm hug, as always. He and I had become close in recent years, so close, in fact, that he married my best friend from college, Carlie. “How’s Madam?” he asked.
“Fine, though a little sauced at the moment. Nothing new about that.”
I turned to Lindy. “We may need to visit a liquor store tomorrow if today is any indication.”
“No worries,” he said, extending his arms and pulling me in for a bear hug. “I think we’ll have to anyway if we’re going to host this party.”
I pulled back. “What party?”
Lindy pulled out his phone and scrolled through email. “This one.,” he said, handing it to me.
TO: Lindholm Fryer
FROM: Charlotte Granger
SUBJECT LINE: Fund-raiser for Mick Righteous Memorial
Mr. Fryer,
This is Charlotte Granger, mayor of Middle Valley, and I was writing to see if you might be open to hosting a small gathering on-board your yacht for some select guests and influencers. I know you’re not in the area just yet, but we were hoping to do something in the next week. Your mother-in-law tells me you’re nothing short of a “superfan” of Mr. Righteous. She also says everything you do is first rate, and that’s certainly the sort of crowd we’re looking to attract.
Let me know once you’re settled and, perhaps, we can discuss.
Sincerely,
Mayor Charlotte Granger
“What the hell?” I asked him.
“Well, she’s right. I am a superfan and I do know how to throw a fabulous soiree,” he said, stubbing out his cigarette.
What the actual hell.
Gunnar Olafsson
[…] the people, the working people, is very healthy for me. It’s why a good game of Yahtzee or cards with dear Miller the other week at the hotel was so fulfilling. You share a pitcher of, well, something, you play a few hands, you […]