Poker Face

Poker Face on 17th Street

Rosemary De Castelli grinned at her adversary as the whole room buzzed with anticipation. Finally, with a flip of her hair, she planted her cards right in the middle of the table, earning herself a loud round of applause mixed with several groans, led by the particularly loud groan of the grey-haired man seated in front of her. She had played the highest hand.

"Amerigo! Get the money for me darling, will you?"

She said, standing up and waving a hand in her older brother's general direction, giving his dramatic eye-roll no attention at all. Her beaded evening dress moved with her as she made her way towards the door. A hand rested on her shoulder and she spun around to see a friendly-faced, elegant older man she soon recognized as her uncle Santino.

"Bravissima!"

He boomed, rather invasively planting an aggressive kiss on both of her cheeks. Santino meant 'little saint' in Italian. Uncle Santino was little, a small man, almost petite, with a thick grey mustache, round, bulging eyes and a thin face. But he was no saint. Rosemary thought about this a lot.

"Thank you, uncle Santino. Just don't tell my father."

She whispered with a little wink, before parting ways with her uncle who blew her a kiss with a proud smile as she walked towards the door.
Rosemary had learned to play poker with Santino himself back in their Tuscan house, before moving to New York. She had been but a child and could barely remember her family's beloved Italy. Now, in New York, she played every night in the back room of a busy club, which bad been opened by Santino himself so people could enjoy their poker, dancing, jazz and illegal liquor.

As soon as she had made her way past the door of the so-called Poker Room and into the main part of the Poker Face, she heard a soft voice calling her name through the vibrant jazz music coming from the other side of the club. She turned around and immediately noticed a young woman leaning against the wall, right beside the door Rosemary herself had just exited.

"Daddy's not gonna be happy!"

Rosemary flinched every time her sister called their father 'daddy'. She herself had always called him 'babbo', the Italian way, but Sherry wasn't a big fan of their origins. She was the baby of the family and had always known New York to be her home.
Rosie shrugged and lifted her nose in the air, brushing the sides of her dress down elegantly. She smiled gently at her sister before uttering in a very gentle manner the following sentence:

"Sherry, see if I give a fuck!"

Sherry gasped loudly, very dramatically, and for a moment Rosie was sure she'd faint. But once her moment was over, Sherry just scowled and shook her head at her older sister.

"You animal."

Sherry had been named after the great sherry wine itself, and each year, on her birthday, their parents would buy her as many bottles of sherry wine as the number of years she was turning. A bit much, Rosemary often thought, considering the girl was barely nineteen and already had 190 bottles of sherry wine stashed away in her name.
Rosemary rolled her eyes at her sister's dramatic reaction and plucked a cigarette out of her small purse, covered in rhinestones.

"By the way, Pablo is here."

Rosie's gaze snapped up at her sister's words, completely forgetting the cigarette she had previously been trying to light. Pablo was an old boyfriend of Rosemary's, or at least that's what he told himself and everyone else. In all truth, it had just been a one night stand and since she had rejected his approaches soon after that, he had been particularly salty. Rosie was panicking and just when she had opened her mouth to ask her sister for more information, she heard loud, angry footsteps behind her. She spun around to find a clearly upset and teary-eyed young man standing a few feet away from her, his disheveled black curls hanging in his face as he pointed his finger directly at her, much too accordingly for her liking.