The two young men put on dubious expressions. “Yes, okay.” They went over to the bar to order a round of drinks.
Step saw them chatting. Then they looked over at him and started laughing. Step couldn’t stand it. “Listen, Claudio, do you know how to play pool?”
“There was a time when I played frequently. I was pretty good too. But now I haven’t picked up a pool cue in, like, forever.”
“Come on, please, you need to help me out. I can beat these guys like a drum. I just need you to set up the shots for me. I’ll take care of getting them into the pockets.”
“I don’t know though. We were supposed to talk.”
“Come on, we can talk later. All right?”
Claudio nodded. Maybe after a game of pool it would be easier to talk to him. But what if they lost? He preferred not to think about that.
Step stood up and went over to the bar, where he spoke to the two guys. “All right, you’re on. Come on, Antonio, give us the table. We’ll win the same amount of money off these two.”
“Wait, who are you playing with? That guy?” One of the two boys pointed at Claudio. He was sitting at the table, finishing his beer.
“Yes, why, are you good to play with him?” Step asked.
“Hey, if you’re happy with him as a partner, you must know what you’re doing.”
“Well, no doubt if Pollo was here, it would be quite a different story. You both know that. It’s just going to mean I’m willing to give you some money today. All right?”
“No, if you’re going to be like that, then we’re not playing. Afterward you’ll just say that we won because Pollo wasn’t there.”
“Ah, I can beat the two of you by myself,” Step said.
“Yes, of course you can!” The two guys broke out laughing.
Step gazed at them seriously. “You want to raise the stakes? You want to make it two hundred thousand lire? You in? But just one game, I’ve got things to do.”
The two guys exchanged a glance. Then they looked at Step’s partner. There Claudio sat, at the far end of the room, playing awkwardly with a pack of Marlboros on the table. Maybe that was what finally made up their minds for them.
“Okay, you’re on. Let’s go on in.” The guys picked up the box of pool balls.
Step went over to Claudio. “Do you know how to play American-style? One game, two hundred thousand lire. Come on, Claudio, don’t worry. Those guys are delusional. We can take them!”
“No, Stefano, no thanks. We really ought to have this talk.”
“Come on, just one game. And if we lose, I’ll pay.”
“That’s not the issue—”
“So what are you two going to do? Are you going to play some pool?” It was Francesca. She stood facing Claudio, a smile on her face. “Come on. I’ll come watch, and I’ll root for you. I’ll be your cheerleader.”
Step looked at Claudio, curious now. “Well?”
“Okay, but just one game.”
“Yahooo! Let’s go over there and beat them silly.” Claudio put the cigarette pack in his pocket, and then he stood up.
Cheerfully, Francesca locked arms with him, and all three of them walked over to the poolroom. The balls were already racked on the green felt. One of the two young men lifted the triangular rack. The other one went down to the far end of the table and took a precise shot, breaking the rack. Balls of all colors scattered across the felt, rolling silently. Then some of them smashed together with flat clacks and then, slowly, came to a halt.
The game started in earnest. At first, it was simple, carefully calibrated shots, then harder and harder, more demanding and difficult. Claudio and Step had the striped balls. Step made the first pocket. The other guys put in two balls, with a third pocket that was just dumb luck.
When it was Claudio’s turn, he took a long shot. He was out of practice. He came up short. It didn’t even come close to the pocket. The other two guys exchanged a look of amusement. They could already feel that money in their wallets.
Claudio lit a cigarette. Francesca brought him a whiskey. Claudio noticed that she had small but perky and firm breasts under her dark T-shirt.
A short while later, it was his turn again. His second shot turned out better. Claudio hit the ball square on, and with a nice lag, he left the cue ball in the middle of the table. The ball was the fifteen, and the two young men had left it open for him, certain that he’d miss.
“Nailed it!” Step slapped him on the back. “Nice shot!”
Claudio looked at him, beaming, and then tossed back another gulp of whiskey and bent over the pool table. Concentrating, he struck the cue ball just slightly to the left, hitting the cushion and running down along the edge, with a sweet effect on the ball. A perfect shot. In went the target ball.
The two other guys exchanged a worried look while Francesca clapped her hands. “Nice!”
Claudio smiled. He dabbed the tip of his tongue onto the light blue chalk and rapidly buffed the end of his cue stick. “I really used to be good!”
They went on playing. Step put in a few balls, but the other two guys were luckier. After a few more shots, they had nothing left to pocket except for the red ball and the yellow ball.
But now it was Claudio’s turn. There were still two striped balls on the table. Claudio crushed out his cigarette. He picked up the chalk, and as he was quickly buffing the tip of his pool cue with it, he studied the situation. It was hardly ideal. The thirteen ball was pretty close to the far pocket, but the ten was practically in the middle of the table. He’d have to place the ball perfectly, make it stop on the spot, while still knocking the ten ball sideways into the left middle pocket. Back in the day, he might have been able to pull that off, but now…
How many years had it been since he’d last played pool? He threw back the last gulp of whiskey. Putting down the glass, his eyes met Francesca’s. As many years as that gorgeous young woman had been alive, most likely.
He felt vaguely dazed. He smiled at her. Her skin was the color of honey, setting off her dark hair and that incredibly sensuous smile. She was a kind person too. He assumed she must be about eighteen. For an instant, it occurred to him that he might have overestimated, maybe she was even younger. Oh my God, he thought, she could be my daughter. Why did I even come here? To have a talk with Stefano, my new friend Step, my good buddy. He opened and then shut his eyes. He was starting to feel the effects of the alcohol. Well, I’m in the game now, might as well go ahead and play.
He braced his hand on the table’s edge, laid the pool cue down on it, and slid it back and forth in the groove between thumb and forefinger, testing it. Then he focused on the cue ball. There it was, motionless at the center of the table, cold. Just waiting to be hit.
He took a deep breath and then exhaled completely. One more test run and then he took his shot. Precise. With just the right amount of force. Side cushion and then the cue ball just touched the thirteen ball—pocket. Perfect.
Then the cue ball started its trip back. Going fast, much too fast. No, stop, stop, stop. He’d hit it too hard after all. Maybe it had been his excessive alcohol-fueled enthusiasm or else his forbidden desire for that honey-hued young woman. The cue ball rolled past the ten and stopped, right there, just past the middle of the table, in front of Claudio, spiteful and cruel.