“Gail, please, your legs are like the neighborhood liquor store: conveniently located and open all night.” He then turned to me all emotional, hugging me tight. “Montana, I feel so bad for you. This is just like the movie Funny Girl. You’re Fanny Brice.” I was thrown, thinking the movie had a happy ending. “Mr. Arnstein based their whole relationship on the outcome of a poker game and when he lost the game, they lost each other. See, Montana, love is your poker game, and heartache your dealer. Up until now, heartache has dealt you a handful of jokers, poking fun at your expense. But the dealer will soon change, heartache will be replaced with happiness, and your hand will be full of kings with aces riding on horses, strutting for life, galloping for love. Montana Moore,your king will soon come along, and your fate won’t be in the hands of the dealer, for in your heart you will possess the entire deck, a royal flush of truth, love, happiness, and commitment.” He pulled me close, squeezing me tight. In his words I found comfort.

“What about me?” Gail uttered softly, as she herself was getting emotional. “I want to play poker too. When’s happiness gonna deal my hand?”

“Oh, please, Gail,” Sam lashed back, “we’re having a moment. Don’t you have some peanuts to go plant on somebody?”

“Nobody ever thinks of me,” she remarked, swelling up with emotion. “Has anyone ever stopped to think that maybe I want to be happy too? First I’m a whore, then I’m a liquor store. I just want to be happy too!”

Seeing Gail at the point of a nervous breakdown, Sam showed compassion for her. “Aw, come on, Gail,” he said, reaching out and grabbing her by the arm. “Group hug. Group hug,” he exclaimed as we hugged, laughed, cried a little, hugged, laughed, and cried a bit more. Then suddenly, Gail broke from our embrace.

“All right now, that’s enough,” Gail shouted as she pulled out her mirror and began fixing herself up. “You about to mess up my makeup.”

“So, Montana,” Sam asked, “what do we do about this engagement party in three weeks?”

“I don’t know,” I replied, “but I’ve got to show up with a ring on my finger and a man on my arm. If not, I’ll never be able to show up to any more holiday gatherings, baptisms, weddings, or funerals.”

“I have an idea! Why don’t I go as your date to the engagement party?” Sam gleefully asked.

“She said she needed a man, not Peter Pan,” Gail shot back.

“In that case, Gail, why don’t you take Montana? If you go without plucking your facial hairs for a week, nobody will ever know the difference,” Sam sneered with a villainous grin.

“I’m about sick of you, Sam.”

“Touché!”