Chapter 10 – June 8, 1993 – Camille #3
Fuming, I adjusted my feet again and leaned down so my face was near the table. I lined up the shot, barely tapping the ball before pulling the stick back and imagining Erich’s shock if I succeeded this time.
The cue ball connected with the grouping of stripes and solids, a thundering “crack” to prove I hit the balls.
I watched as the blue-striped 10 flew into the left pocket.
I slammed the bottom of the stick down in excitement, then jumped at the loud booming sound I’d accidentally created.
I composed myself enough to face Erich, ready to gloat, but stopped short when I noticed his right hand over his mouth, a hysterical smile peeking through his fingers.
“You’re going to hate this next part,” he chuckled as I stood in silence, my arms out in disbelief.
“Do not tell me that doesn't count.” I took two steps toward him, pointing my finger at his face. “I sunk that bad boy good.”
“That’s on me. I didn’t tell you the rules.” He was laughing, and I practically threw the stick at him in rage. His reflexes were quick enough to grab it before it could hit the ground.
“So my ball is no good?” I asked, watching as he circled the table to find the cue ball again.
“No good, Bambi. You’re solids,” he confirmed, lining up his shot.
“You should’ve started with that rather than ‘line it up.’” I mocked, sneering as I used his own words against him.
“You dirty cheat.” One hand rested on the edge of the pool table as the other came up and I pointed my finger at him, letting my frustration take over.
“I would’ve at least tried to hit the solids if you explained the rules. ”
Erich was unbothered as he lined up again. He glimpsed up at me from his position, his gaze moving from my resting hand to my face. “Five dollars on striped purple, back left pocket.”
“No,” I choked out, gesturing at the ball. “You do not get to con me out of a game you didn’t even explain the rules to.”
The right corner of Erich’s lips turned up in a smirk. His eyes drifted from my face back to the table as he focused on the cue ball. He struck it with one delicate tap, sending the striped purple into the back left pocket. “I would’ve bought you a drink as an apology, but you chose war.”
“Bought me a drink with my own money?” I asked incredulously. “You really are a con man.” I got up from my position at the table and walked over to his end, taking the stick back.
“You’re an awful student.” He stepped back to give me room as I attempted to remember what I was doing. I gritted my teeth as I lined up the tip of the stick with the cue ball. Before I could hit it, Erich made another comment. “Think of angles. Where do you want the ball to go?”
I paused, staring at the solid orange 5. Its path was blocked by two striped balls. “Can I hit the stripes, or is that another rule?”
“That’s another rule.” Erich was behind me again, his left hand on the edge of the table as he surveyed the pool balls over my right shoulder.
He was close enough that I wondered if he could tell I had struggled to wash my hair with the complimentary motel shampoos last night.
His right finger traced a line in the air from the cue ball to the side of the table.
“You can hit the sides of the table... but you’re not ready for that. ”
I took his comment personally, the impulsive thought of jamming the butt of the pool stick into his gut running through my mind.
The thought was quickly replaced, as having him so close was soothing, intimate.
I didn’t have much room to be irate. I breathed in, taking as much air into my lungs as I could before holding it to keep my hands steady.
I aimed for the side of the table to hit my target.
I watched and prayed I didn’t make a fool of myself as the cue ball hit the edge of the table before barely skimming the orange 5, sending it in the right direction but not into the hole like I wanted.
“Points for confidence.” Erich’s voice was low in my ear, meant only for me. He gently pulled the stick out of my hands and left me to go to the other side of the table. “How about now? Five dollars on striped yellow.”
There was no way he could hit it from where he chose to aim. I gave him an audible scoff of disbelief, half rolling my eyes and raising my eyebrows. “Impossible. But I’m still saying no because I know your game.”
His steel-blue eyes smoldered as he glanced up at me before shifting his attention back to the off-white ball in the middle of the table. There was no smirk this time. He was serious, focused on how he was going to hit the ball. “You sure? It’s an easy five dollars.”
“No,” I repeated, leaning against the table with both hands on the edges. “You think I’ll fall for that when I’ve seen you make this same deal every night for the last week?”
He lined up again. He was aiming for the table near me.
Before I could reposition myself so I wasn’t leaning on the table, he struck the bottom of the ball, sending it into the air before it plummeted back to the table.
The ball hit where my hands had been planted milliseconds before.
It connected with the edge of the table before hugging the side and hitting the striped yellow into the middle pocket.
“Fancy,” I commented. I had no desire to praise his little tricks. His smile was genuine as he handed the stick back to me.
“Not really. Just using your weight on the table.” My fingers grazed his as I received the pool stick back, and the warmth on my cheeks returned full force. I rolled up my blouse sleeves, as if the effort would help me be a better pool player, before I examined where I was on the table.
I was not left with many viable options. I could have hit the table again and maybe gotten lucky and connected with the solid red 7, but there wasn’t much chance I’d get it in. I stewed over my next move, taking my time.
“Do you want to know what I’d do?” He pulled the pack of cigarettes out of his jean pocket. I hoped the challenge of teaching me this godforsaken game was turning him into a chain smoker. I could have my final laugh over his iron lung.
“No. Let me do this.” I tried to block out the annoyingly charming way his focus was on me rather than the game at hand. If he said another word while I attempted to make a shot, I would be toast.
I breathed in, leveling myself with the table before lining up my shot.
I wanted the white ball to hit the solid red 7 with enough force to send the solid green 6 into the pocket.
I lifted my fingers to hold the stick steady, aimed, pulled back, and pushed the stick forward to connect with the ball.
The ball rolled over to the solid red 7 and connected with more force than I planned.
The solid red 7 ricocheted off the table and hit the black 8 ball, tipping it into the pocket.
I fought back my grin. A total accident, but I did it.
I could barely hide my pride as I walked around the table to rid myself of the stick.
“That’s game over.” He was lighting his second cigarette since we started the game, and I was left holding the stick out.
“I won?” I asked, pulling the stick back toward me. Before I could celebrate and brag, Erich’s chuckle around his newly lit vice dragged me down to disappointment.
“No. The 8 ball is the last to go in. You sunk it too early, so I won.”
I stared in disbelief at Erich’s stupid face.
I should have jammed the stick into his gut when I had the chance.
Without a word, I put the pool stick back on the rack on the wall before stepping over and punching him in the shoulder.
“You could have explained the rules earlier! You’re the worst teacher ever! ”
He nearly choked on his own smoke as he reached up to rub his shoulder after my weak assault. “With the way things were going, I thought I had time,” he defended himself.
I glared at him before sitting back down, grabbing my half-empty virgin Bloody Mary from earlier and taking a long sip. When I finished, I met his gaze again. “I’m never playing this stupid game with you again,” I declared.
He winked at me with another devilish grin before inhaling his cancer candy, then made his way around the table to sink all the balls. “Bullshit, that wasn’t even the game. Grab that stick again. It’s still early, and we’ve got nowhere to be.”