Being Audrey Hepburn

“I’m not talking about the old-man party upstairs,” she said. “There’s a much better one down the hall.”

“Really, I’m exhausted.”

“It’ll be fun,” she said. “And ZK is here somewhere.”

We entered yet another gorgeous apartment with younger people, a completely different vibe from upstairs. A cluster of girls were chatting in the common room, samba music was playing throughout, the lights were low—overall a much cooler scene. There were couples coming in and out of a room in the back.

“Remember me?” ZK’s soft familiar voice asked from just behind me. I turned, and he offered me a glass of champagne. I nodded gratefully. Tabitha winked at me as she led Liam off somewhere.

“For someone so lovely, wearing such an exquisite dress, you seem oddly disturbed,” he said. “Everything okay?”

I didn’t know how I’d talk about it, where I would even begin. So I managed a small smile and a weary nod.

“Well, I’m grateful for another opportunity to entertain you. Come,” he said, reaching for my hand. “It’s time for me to dazzle you with my wit and good looks.” I followed him through the apartment. “Besides, I need a good-luck charm,” he added.

As we passed from room to room, I heard a shrill cackle, and I knew instantly that Dahlia was somewhere nearby. I glanced around and saw her in the den off the side of the main room. She was smoking a cigar and shooting pool with yet another brace of handsome men. She sunk her shot, and they all laughed, toasting whiskies. I had hoped she was sufficiently preoccupied to miss our crossing, but I was wrong.

Her head turned with laser precision, catching my glance. Her fierce gaze seemed utterly aware of what I was doing and where I was going and whose hand I was holding, mocking me as if saying, you won’t get away with it. Then she went back to her crowd, laughing and joking as though she had never left their company. It chilled me.

ZK led me into a room that was heavy with smoke and dark except for a bright light hovering over a poker table. We took our seats near the end of the table. There was a big haphazard pile of cash in the middle.

One by one, the gents all stood as I arrived, introducing themselves: Brad, Hugh, Ian, Baird, and names like that, one blue-eyed trust-fund type after the next, all incredibly handsome. They already had summer-in-the-Hamptons tans and were built like they were on the rowing team somewhere. I bet they had jackets in their closets with Harvard, Yale, and Princeton logos on them. They sat and resumed their high-stakes poker game.

“Okay, everybody show ’em,” the dealer said. Four of the five players turned over their hands, but the last guy, Brad, was teasing each card, turning them over one at a time, “slowrolling” they call it, while everyone sat and watched. I knew a little bit about poker from Nan, who taught me how to play when I was seven. Brad had a very good hand, an ace high flush, so he was rubbing it in and being a major jerk. “A gracious wi

“Flush!” Brad yelled, and took a big puff of his cigar as he scraped up the pile of money. The other players groaned and bowed their heads.

ZK anted up, and the next dealer dealt him in. I peeked over at his hand. He was on his way to a high straight, but not by much. He smiled when he noticed I was watching his cards and everyone else’s for that matter. He drew a two of spades and folded after a few minutes. The same guy, Brad, won again with a fist pump, and everyone mumbled under their breath.

Twenty minutes later, these boys were losing huge amounts of money to each other, mostly to Brad, who couldn’t resist declaring that he was on a roll every time he won a hand.

I wished Nan were there. “Nothing is more charming than an elegant lady who plays poker,” she would say, and she should know. Nan could always clean up on “casino night” at Montclair Manor if she wanted. She used to count the cards so that she didn’t win all of the time. I’ve sat with Nan and watched her fold a perfectly good hand to let some other old biddy get the pot.

The deal moved to the next player, who dealt ZK another hand, two down. The cards were lousy—a queen of diamonds and a ten of spades—“rags” Nan used to call them. But when they dealt ZK a card up, it was an ace of spades. Everyone else showed poor cards, except of course Brad. He had an ace of diamonds showing. I knew from playing with Nan that the chances of two aces up were slim and would probably u

“Hold,” I whispered in his ear.

“What? But it’s…”

“Just ante and hold,” I whispered again. He gave me a sly questioning look, but turned to the guy dealing and said he’d hold and anted up. Everyone perked up, especially the big wi

After a few more cards, ZK’s hand appeared decent if you didn’t know that there wasn’t anything good in the down-turned cards. Because Brad and ZK kept anteing up, the pot grew steadily bigger. Brad was hanging in, even though his table cards were terrible. I couldn’t imagine he had any kind of hand.

Finally it was time for the players to make one more bet.

“Double down,” I whispered. “Make it big.” ZK examined my face to see if I was serious, and then shoved half of his cash into the pile.

“I call,” he said. A couple of guys dropped out right away. Then everyone grew quiet waiting for Big Man Brad to make his move. He puffed and puffed on his cigar, and after debating for a few moments, he folded. ZK took the pot, which had to be a couple of thousand by my reckoning. I threw ZK’s cards in the pile before anyone could ask to see them. ZK was laughing and shaking his head as he raked it in.

“Brilliant, you really know how to play,” he whispered under his breath. I guess I’ve always been a better faker than I thought.

“Why don’t you play a round?” ZK asked.

“I never carry cash,” I whispered, my new excuse for not having any money. He laughed.

“No problem. I’ll stake you. Come on—let’s switch seats.” He stood up, offered me his chair, and slid out a wad of hundreds. I wondered how he had the cash to play with this crowd. Or for that matter, stake me, considering what Tabitha had said about his status as a Madoff Millionaire.

“Hey boys, get ready, ZK’s brought a ringer to the table,” Big Brad said, giving me a wink as he shuffled the deck. Everyone laughed.

“How about I split my wi

Brad, Hugh, Ian, and Baird overheard me and found the idea to be completely uproarious.

“Lucky guy, ZK, she’s going to split her wi

“Now, if you boys don’t mind explaining, what’s a good hand again?” I asked. ZK raised an eyebrow, as the boys interrupted each other trying to tell me how to play the game.

An hour later, I had won four hands in a row, although I had to split the pot on a game of seven-card high-low. Brad had dropped twenty or twenty-five thousand, and ZK and I were up about seventeen thousand. My Nan knew how to hold ’em and fold ’em, and she taught me well. The trust-fund boys were no longer laughing.

“Darlings, you have been too kind to me,” I said. “Thank you for showing me the game. Apologies for my begi

ZK scooped up our wi