Yes, I was a French Major

The dice tumbled across the table, bounced in unison against the far end and skidded to a halt. The woman in the red dress looked up, her full pouty lips pursed in excitement. Her face was bright and intelligent; her dress faltered to reveal sensuous thigh when she moved. “You’ve won again, Mr.—” She paused. “I’m sorry, I don’t—”

“Fromage.” The man’s mouth barely moved as he spoke the name around the cigar clenched between his teeth. A lighter flashed, and orange-blue flame licked the cigar’s tip, igniting a red ember. The man drew deeply, extinguished the lighter with a deft flick of the wrist, and exhaled thoughtfully. A cloud of sweet, pungent blue smoke wafted upwards over the table. “Jacques Fromage.”