"You mean billiards?" I stared questioningly at the scuffed felt covering the table.
"Billiards, stick, pool, snooker, it's all the same to me." Kern flashed his goofy grin. "Whaddaya say? Just a friendly little game?"
I looked at Nicole.
"Sure, Al. Feel free."
"You sure it's okay, Nicole?"
"Fine by me. I'm not the Count's keeper."
I smiled at her. "Do not worry, this match shall not last long."
Kern snorted loudly. "Sez you."
"No, do not misunderstand me, Kern. I have not played this game in quite some time. I am sure you will make short work of my most inadequate skills."
"Yeah, right." Kern began gathering the balls at one end of the table. "You're talking like a hustler. How do you feel about a friendly little wager?"
I pointed to the sign on the wall behind the pool tables that clearly said "no gambling."
"Well, how 'bout we just play for a drink then?"
"But I do not drink."
"Yeah, that's right. I always forget." Kern placed the balls within the rack and arranged them to his liking. "Gotta give you credit for coming into bars and not having a problem not drinking."
"One day at a time," I replied, taking the stick from Kern, parroting the cliche I had overheard passengers use who were being transported to an in-patient substance-abuse facility. "I have an idea. Iwill play for a drink. For Nicole."
"Sounds good to me, Al," Nicole said.
Kern nodded and rolled the cue ball toward me. "You break."
"How magnanimous of you." My stick struck the cue ball with authority, scattering the balls all over the table. None, however, dropped into any of the pockets. Indeed, it had been a long time since I had last played this game.
Kern raised an eyebrow, then took his first shot. He slammed the ball hard into the pocket, an obvious psychological ploy that proved a tactical blunder; the shot had been lined up perfectly, with little distance separating the cue ball and his target. He could have easily made the shot without hitting it so hard, thus leaving himself in a better position to take his next shot, which he missed.
Ithad been a long time. That previous occasion, the billiard table was much more opulent - longer, wider, the felt covering immaculate, the table itself made of ornately carved, solid teak, with brass fittings at each pocket. However, there seemed little doubt that the blue-blooded aristocrats playing on the Baron's magnificent table would find themselves humbled by these unwashed plebeians holding court on theCrystal 's dilapidated pool tables, in a small way demonstrating how capitalism brought the aristocracy to its knees. Ability, after all, does indeed supersede breeding.
I paused over the next shot; the geometry seemed a bit skewed on this smaller playing surface. Many viable shots presented themselves, but billiards is a game of sequences, not single shots, and it was taking a bit of time for the geometry to present itself.
Kern cleared his throat loudly and impatiently. "The shots aren't gonna get any easier there, Count."
I simply nodded and took my shot. Then, another and another. And one more before yielding the table to my worthy opponent.
"Iam being hustled." He was still smiling, a good deal of astonishment on his face.
"Just luck," I replied. In four turns, Kern had knocked in two balls while I had only the eight ball remaining. But to Kern's credit, he did an excellent job of defense, prolonging the inevitable, almost making a miraculous comeback, shooting in all but two of his balls before the contest ended with my victory.
"How 'bout another?" Kern asked. He handed Nicole her cocktail. I looked at her.
"Okay by me, Al." She nodded. "I'll just mingle."
I watched her move toward the back of the bar as Kern racked the balls. He was unable to put up as much of a fight as during our first contest; much of the rust had been scraped clean from my game, and Kern's spirit seemed slightly broken. He still had five balls on the table when the eight ball fell into the pocket, ending our match. He stepped toward the bar, but I stopped him.
"No, Kern," I said, smiling broadly, "I can buy Nicole's drink."
"You're a hell of a boyfriend, Count. And trusting too." Kern pointed toward the back of the bar where Nicole stood conversing with a rather slender fellow, his hair long, straight and jet black. He wore a black T-shirt and black denim trousers, his face twisted into a scowl as if that was its