"Hello?" he said on the second ring.
"Ha, I tricked you!" I said in a muffled voice, "It's John!"
"I knew it was you," Steve said tiredly.
"I'm not calling from my house."
"I know. I've got the caller ID set for every phone within a half-mile radius of your place." Damn that Steve. He's always using technology to his advantage. Why doesn't he -- just once -- use technology to my advantage?
"So how come you picked up?"
"Because I wanted to talk to you."
"No really." I said, looking around shiftily, "Is there someone there? If it's burglars, ask me about my dog. If it's kidnappers, ask me about my cat. If it's Arnie, ask me about my Tapir."
"You don't even know what a Tapir is."
"It's like a slug right? A parasite?"
"That's a tapeworm."
Of course, he totally neglected to correct my reference to owning a cat. He knew I was allergic to all things feline.
"Anyway, I've got tickets to see Egg tonight."
"Egg?"
"New anti-funk band for the masses. Show starts at nine. You coming? Only ten seventy-five to get in."
"Where?"
"Skadanks. On Fourteenth street. I got the tickets already, so you can pay me when you get here."
"Skadanks' cover is two bucks, y'cheap bastard."
I shrugged into the phone. "I had to try."
"No you didn't," he said, and hung up.
I sighed, took out another quarter, and redialed my best bud's number.
"What, John?"
"Twenty minutes?"
"See you there."
I hung up and went back to my table. I'd wasted my time coming to Skadanks hours in advance, to try and avoid the cover door charge. But here I was, only two drinks into an evening of heavy rollicking. Of course, I wouldn't order much more until Steve arrived to pay, so I had some time to kill.
I decided to scope the joint. I poured half my drink on my table to save it. Waitstaff that cleaned was not one of Skandanks' strong suits.
Downstairs were a couple of outdated video games and pool tables, as well as a table-tennis court. All the comforts of home, but at half the price.
One guy was playing Space Purveyors, and one incredibly beautiful girl was playing pool alone.
I thought this would be a perfect time to make an intense study of how pool should be played (Though I'd long ago realized that the way to play pool was with a lovely lady and lots of alcohol at your side, I'd still not quite been able to master the nuances of the sport).
She wasn't especially good, I could see. She was just shooting the balls in, wherever she could. No trick shots, no calling, just workmanlike attempted accuracy. She concentrated on her stick, so hardly noticed me leering, though I was careful to keep my distance and not drool directly on the table or her shirt. Her shirt was orange with white stripes, or vice versa, and were tucked by a brown belt into slightly form-fitting jeans. They curved into her ankles and ended at her white sneakers. She was wearing typical youth of America garb, but on her, with her long curly flowing hair, and the concentation on her sport, on her, it was good.
After finally sinking a ball, the black one, I got up the sentence structure to utter, "Nice shot."
She turned to me, smiling with teeth that glittered even in the subterranean lighting. "What was that?"
She was as beautiful with a face as I had presumed.
I'd already noticed the lovely's curves and clothes, of course, but the contours of her face were unimagined.
In the face of her beauty, I totally blanked. "Never mind," I muttered, and began a purposeful slink to the stairs.
"Do you play?" She asked to my back.
"Play?" I repeated, stalling for time, "Well, of couse I play! I happen to be one of the best pool players the City's ever seen!"
"I didn't know the City had eyes." She said, but her own eyes were filled with amusement. She wasn't trying to shoot me down. I think she was trying to chat me up.
Now, contrary, to local legend, I'm not quite the lothario I've been made out to be. Sure, I've bagged me a bevy of babes, but really, I'm as in the dark about matters of the heart as your regular 22 year old virgin.
Ignore that.
"You wanna play with me?" she asked.
Long curly hair, a tight blue lycra top showing through her striped button-down shirt, this girl was not an over-eater, though there was enough flesh to cuddle with, if it came to that. Her brown face and twinkly eyes looked earnestly at me, as I considered my answer.
"Of course," I shrugged, looking back at my table. Rum was still dribbling off the edge, but someone had thrown some napkins on top. Now the liquid congealed into a pleasant enough warning sign for those who might want to infest.
I turned back to the beautiful young lady who was willing to share her table and perhaps her touch with me.
"My name's John," I offered.
"Tina," she said, "We going to just shoot, or play a game?"
"Game," I said. She racked the balls. I checked out her rounded butt as she bent over to make sure the balls were alternated appropriately.
"Play for stakes?" I heard her say.
"Sure," I said, not taking my eyes off her jeans. I figured we could play strip pool -- But what if I lost? What if I won?
"Okay," she said, taking the stick, "Thirty bucks a game."
I could cover that, I figured. I had over a hundred bucks in my pocket right now. Not that I'd lose. I mean, I'm not good, but neither was Tina.
From the break, she pocketed the 10, the 13, and the 15. She looked up at me, eyes still filled with amusement, a silly grin on her dimpled cheeks.
"I think I have stripes," she giggled.
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