54
Toronto 1961
Joel Black filled the room with a bristling presence. No love lost between us. The bruising on his face shone from our last encounter while the knuckles on my right hand still pulsated. He knit his brows like a bear sniffing danger and any moment, I expected him to growl his displeasure.
“Take a seat,” I said. Joel glanced at Birdie then pulled out the chair making sure the legs scraped noisily. Anyone with a hangover would have covered their ears and howled. Joel Black lowered his bulk, rolled his neck like a wrestler before setting out to grapple his opponent, then sat opposite, glowering at me.
“How’s the bridge playing going?” I asked him.
“Is that supposed to be some kind of joke?” he retorted.
“Not at all. Just trying to break the ice.”
“I’ve got 1250 masters p
