*****
The following morning at work, for Charlie, had gone well. While serving drinks-as normal, he anxiously awaited for Big Milwaukee and for the game he would soon play. The time was 12:45, and neither the center pool table or the one set to its right side, were being played on.
Within minutes, an unlikely character, wearing a leather, black hat and jacket, entered the bar and then eagerly went over to claim the center pool table. He carried a black cue case and had the announced air of a pool shark. After unzipping his cue case and taking out the stick, he portentously loaded up the pool table with balls and prepared to begin practicing shots.
Charlie, as far away as he might of stood, watched intently. The bar, thanks to the earliness of the day, was not very crowded yet and most of the patrons there were dead drunk and engrossed by television monitors, video games, or what else the bar had to offer.
But, moments later, as the big man entered into the bar, heads turned and the mood contrasted. To patronage of ‘Randys Bar’, Big Milwaukee's entrance could only mean one thing: good pool. An interest began to circulate and several people neared the pool tables in order to get a better sight of the game setting about before them.
The big man, while also carrying a cue case, just approached the bar and then went over to Charlie. The pool shark had looked even paler than he had the day before and Charlie felt bad for him when he asked about his drink.
“Coming right up,” he then simply replied to the big man, and then hurrying off to do his work. The big man glanced shortly at a t.v. monitor over his head and then went over to the pool table area.
While mixing the Black Velvet, Charlie watched the two players as they formally shook one another's hands, talked for about a minute, and then began to take sides on either end of the pool table. The big mans opponent set up a rack for standard 8-ball, removed the roller, then took several steps backward.
The big man then rose his stick over the table, aimed, and then cracked the cue ball into a pile of regular balls. They convoluted around the table and several bounced into various pockets. After a lengthy pause, the big man then began to study the table while walking around it. He then made his first choice of shots easily, leaving himself with three balls, and after two combination shots and a final one down the side rail, Big Milwaukee won the first out of a-best of three-game match.
It was during the break, while the big mans opponent once again racked the pool balls, that Charlie hurried over to serve the Black Velvet. After handing it to the big man, Charlie watched him sip it slowly and then go over to set it down on the nearby cue rack, then come back over to the table.
“Good start,” Charlie said, encouragingly.
The big man smiled grimly, and part of him looked as if he was in pain, as if he’d just only wished to get the game over so that he could go home and rest.
“How you feeling?” asked Charlie, which is what he wanted to say from the jump.
“Terrible,” the big man confessed. “I felt too sick to drive and I took a cab over. This is it, this is my last game. I’m better off at home, where I can die in peace.”
The two men then suddenly became aware of the impatient presence down at the other end of the pool table. He smirked angrily and then began to nosily chalk his stick so that it squeaked irritatingly.
The big man waved Charlie back, faced the table and then began, again, concentrating on his pool game. Again, he made a perfect break and needed only to knock five more balls in to win the match.
The big man walked very slowly around the table, and even by now, his opponent seemed to recognize that something was wrong with him.
The opponent waited anxiously for a mistake and after the big man missed his final ball, he took over with an iron hand. He made several open shots, and while taking his time, was soon able to remove all of his balls from the table.
1 to 1.
The next game would decide it all.
The big man, for his first time in many months, would have to approach the rear of the pool table and rack up the balls. For his, now, smiling opponent, it was a victory in itself and he secretly wished there had been more spectators around to witness the tour de force.
After the big man removed the roller, his opponent broke up the balls harshly. Several fell down into pockets and others lined up near them. The opponent knocked in two balls but then left himself with a difficult shot. It would call for a long, angled shot, which during mid-game, would be very difficult to perform. If made, however, the big mans opponent would-more than likely-defeat him due to the easy follow-up shots which remained.
The opponent walked eagerly around the table first-viewing it from every angle, as spectators watched on horridly. After deciding on the method of shot, the opponent then took careful aim with his cue stick and then knocked the cue ball forward. The object ball dawdled down the rail, slightly nicking it as it went, and just enough to cause it to swerve.
The few spectators present, including Charlie, all watched intently; all eyes were on the moving pool ball. The big man-now pale as snow, turned away, unable to watch. Then, swerving just enough, the ball rolled into the outer side of the pocket, settling against it. A spectator whistled relief. Another, who had climbed out of his seat, went back to sit down. A silence resided over the room.
Big Milwaukee, able to relax a little bit more now, began to painfully circle the pool table. He couldn’t afford to miss another shot and any sort of myopia would be just as detrimental. The big man circled the pool table twice, resumed a game face, and then hunched over to take his shot. His expression began to strain and a quick grin fooled nobody. He was struggling under acrimonious conditions. Big Milwaukee adventurously made his first shot, then analyzed the table for his next one.
Charlie watched on nervously. The task of serving drinks at the bar was completely forgotten by him. His thoughts, as well as every other persons in the bar at that time, centered on the pool game.
Once again, Big Milwaukee had become the spectators spectacle. He made two more careful shots and then was only left with two more to go. The big man began to relax and soon sank the next shot. A last shot putted the eight-ball in the corner and smiles flashed among the patrons of the bar.
Charlie ventured over to congratulate the big man.
“Great game,” he said.
The big man only nodded.
“Call me a cab, will you. I’m leaving.”
“Sure.”
“And hey, don’t forget, your lessons still on tonight.”
“You sure?”
“Course. I’ll be fine.”
Charlie bobbed his head in agreement and then hurried away.
The big man then rose his stick up with his right hand, signaling victory towards the spectators still watching. Drinks would soon be served again and the approbation of the pool shark would continue.
Later on that night, Charlie went to his pool lesson, and continued to do so for the rest of the week. And now, on another night, two weeks after these private sessions first began, Charlie had left out of his parked car and began walking over to the front of the Newberry Apartments; this time, as a certifiable pool shark.
A swift, cool breeze, ushered him in through the doorway and there, he stopped, smiled and considered his luckiness of fate. Within minutes, he had taken the stairs up to the upper floor and then ventured on to Big Milwaukee's room.
There, he knocked on the door and then ominously waited. After a short while, the door was opened by the big man. The pool shark was attired in a hoary colored suit with an azure tie, and his hair was slicked back with oil. Only his dismal face, wan as chalk, and his lofty eyes, gave way that he was not in the best of shape. He’d even looked as if he lost weight-five or six pounds perhaps.
“Hey Charlie,” he grumbled.
“Hey, Stuart. How you feel?”
“Terrible,” he answered in sincerity.
Charlie flashed an empathic smile and then, after the big man scooted aside,
entered into the room.
“Today’s lesson may be a little short. I’m feeling like shit.”
“Look, we can call it off if you want?”
“No,” the big man insisted. “I wanna teach you a few things. A few things at least. There’s not much more for you to know. Soon, you’ll be ready to test, or at least to try, your skills on an opponent.”
“Why not on you?”
In response, the big man searched Charlie’s eyes for humor.
“No no,” he then amiably said, “you're not that good. You may never be that good.
It takes time kid. Your skills have to mature and age, like…like wine. Understand? Have you ever tasted yoghurt that was on the verge of spoiling, but didn’t spoil yet?”
Charlie shook his head.
“It’s the best. It’s sweet, rich…”
Charlie nodded.
“Ok. Well, hold here a minute, I’ll be right back.”
The big man suddenly walked away, taking the hallway into a back room. After about a minutes time, the big man returned, carrying a black, leather cue case and his lauded powder jar. One by one, he handed the items over to Charlie.
“There,” the big man said when finished. “They’re all yours. The cue case has two sticks in it; use one for practice, the other for playing. And, be careful with the powder jar, its very important to me, that’s why I’m giving it to you. It’s brought me luck and so, now, I’m hoping it can bring it to you too.”
Charlie examined the smooth, shiny object in his right hand and right then, right away, began to feel lucky.
“Thanks,” Charlie then replied. Suddenly, he was very anxious to practice, as well as to learn. The big man went over to a coat rack to put on a light jacket and then flung it on.
“Going somewhere?” asked Charlie, confused.
“Yes,” the big man replied, softly. “We are. Today’s lesson is gonna be held down at ‘Randys Bar’.”
Charlie blinked his eyes, incredulously. The big man grinned, then began to explain.
“You see, I can teach you all I know about the mechanics of this game, but that’s still not going to help you to remain calm when playing in some smoky, loud barroom. There, it’s a whole different situation and your always on your own. It’s the pool shark who can play under pressure, who’ll win…Well, lets get going.”
The big man walked off.
Charlie, after shrugging his shoulders, turned around and followed. He was not too excited about the ideal of going back down to his workplace. But, if it could truly help his play? The big man seemed to think it was important, so Charlie just grumbled and went along.
The two men headed downstairs and then ventured over to Charlie's vehicle. Soon, the two-teacher and pupil-were off and they arrived, shortly, downtown and soon were parked near ‘Randys Bar’. As soon as the two men entered the establishment, heads turned and several people came up to shake the big mans hand. He seemed to know everybody in the place, or, at least to have their respect. And Charlie, for his part of association, seemed himself to have bettered in his status. He and the big man had arrived looking like a team.
Charlie carried a cue case in his right hand and he was also learning how to stare with determination, just as Big Milwaukee did, as they approached the pool tables. The most functional table-centered in between two less functional and ornamental ones-was being utilized in a two man, amateur, pool game. So too, was the table at its right side but the one to its left-an old, worn table that slanted to one side-was not being used, so the big man and Charlie hurriedly went over and claimed it.
The benefits of playing on a level, smooth table, for any pool player, is the difference between night and day. The same pool shot made on a level table may miss when taken on one that is not level and, if a table is not level, and a player is aware of such a formality, it is up to he or she to manipulate their shots, more or less, in direct accordance with the unevenness of that table.
Immediately, the big man began to give out the orders: “Give me that case, rack the pool balls, hand me the chalk.”
The big man, after properly chalking up his stick, handed it to Charlie.
Within seconds, the game balls had been set up and then softly broken up by Charlie. A few spectators gawked anxiously across the room for a moment, but then they all realized that the big man was only hubbubing the table with a watchful amateur.
Perhaps, a real game, later? Hopefully, they thought.
“Ok kid,” started the big man, speaking loud enough for Charlie to hear clearly, but still low enough so that his words were unclear to the pool players beside them. “Now, when your playing in public, your playing a completely different game. You got people, drunk people, watching you. Staring, hard. Hell, they may have bet their last ten bucks on you. You may have a whole barroom staring at you, when your game gets that good. And worse then all that, are people who want you to lose for whatever purpose. Jealousy, envy, green-eyed, poor sport, nothing better to do. Yeah, there's a whole world out there around you while your playing, people counting the hairs on your arm; and, you've got to learn to block them out and to concentrate all the while. The player who can keep his cool under pressure is the one who'll most likely win. Sometimes, it makes the difference between winning and losing. It's something you've got to control. That's why I've brought you here. Understand?”
Charlie nodded.
“Ok then, take your first shot.”
The big man then watched Charlie circle the table, selectively. He stopped near an open and easy shot, hunched over with the stick to take careful aim, only to be thwarted by Big Milwaukee's disapproving voice.
“No no,” he said.
Charlie looked up in befuddlement.
“That shots too easy. You always wanna save the easiest shots for last. If you've got a harder shot, take it; as long as its open.”
Charlie hunched himself up.
“I see.”
Again, he then circled the table until finding the descriptive type of shot advised by the big man. Again, Charlie then hunched over the table and took aim. He pulled his stick back slowly and then tapped it gently into the cue ball, sending it into a play ball and then matching his shot.
“Good,” said the big man, slightly impressed. “Now try the nine ball. Cross-corner.”
The tricky shot-one which sends the ball against the rail and back, over into a opposite pocket-usually called upon a silent wish for luck, even among pros.
Charlie circled halfway around the table, hunched down, aimed, and then shot. The nine ball moved in a quick triangular path and then eventually fell into the corner.
The big man smiled.
“Pretty good. Now, convince me that wasn't luck. Shoot a combination three ball, four, in the side pocket.”
Charlie swallowed dryly, inspected the table, the stopping position of the cue ball and then circled the table around to it. Again, he hunched back over.
“Keep your back straight,” the big man coached, “head up, eyes forward, ears closed, fingers relaxed.”
Charlie shook his head in confusion, but then tried his best to concentrate on the shot. A combination shot; even more difficult than the cross corner shot. It consisted of knocking two playable balls, to make one shot. He eyed the cue ball steadily, pulled back the stick and then tapped softly near the top. The cue then connected to the three ball, which connected to the four, which rolled over and then lofted into the side pocket. Now, the big man was impressed.
“Good enough. I think your ready for a match.”
Big Milwaukee turned to view the men playing beside them and their unfamiliar, unsuspecting faces.
“Say guys,” he said to them, “you looking for a game.”
One of the men, the more prominent looking, stepped forward with a beckoning eye while holding his pool stick upright before himself.
“What kind of game?”
“Straight eight. Twenty bucks a game.”
The big man then took a twe
nty from out of his pocket, paid the man, and then placed another flat on the side wood of the pool table.
“Yourrr uh, Big Milwaukee, right?”
“Yeah.”
The man turned to his friend, as if to say I told you so, and then back to the big man.
“Your too good for me,” he said, frankly.
“Not me. I want you to test my friend here, Charlie. He wants to be like me someday, so I taught him a few pointers. I'll tell you what, just in case you think I'm
trying to be a crook, I'll let you play him one for nothing. We lose, we pay. You lose, nobody pays nothing. Get me.”
The man only smiled, liking what he'd heard and then ordered his companion to “rack the balls” while rolling up a shirt sleeve.
“Best of three out of five,” added the big man with a smirk.
Soon enough, the game was set up and Charlie allotted the task of breaking up the balls.
“Now, we’ll see, really, just how good you are,” the big man said to Charlie with contention. “Break em’ up.”
The two players quickly took their places on either end of the table and Charlie aimed his stick down over the edge and then prepared himself.
Clank!
After finally ramming the cue ball, it exploded into the other balls, but only causing one to drop down in a pocket.
Like a shark, Charlie began to circle the table and to his surprise, the big man began to coach him as he did.
“Watch the five ball, keep in mind the seven.”
After choosing his shot, the big man consented and continued talking to him.
“You want to leave yourself a shot, two if possible, three even.” Then, “Stay relaxed, stay calm, keep comfortable. The most comfortable shot is the easiest shot. But, don’t be apprehensive, take your time. But don’t take too much time. Think long, think wrong.”
Charlie continued playing under the tutelage and was playing well, concentrating only on the game. His skill was evident. After winning three games in a row, the big man decided to call it a day. Charlie, while smiling, agreed. In only ten minutes, he had won the match decisively and out of near benevolence, Big Milwaukee bought the defeated opponents a round of drinks.
The two men ventured over to the bar and there, the big man also bought a mug of beer for Charlie but then refused having any alcohol for himself. The big man was still sick, and sick of being sick, but for the rest of the night he and Charlie bonded and then collusively agreed to try the same arraignment the next day.
“I think your ready,” he then said, after turning to look at Charlie. “You can never tell from just one game though. But, then again, I have an eye for these things. I can give you a night session, tomorrow?”
Charlie nodded.
“Why don't we come back here, oh, about eight o' clock?”
“Sure,” replied Charlie.
Just then, the bartender arrived with their drinks. Several patrons came over to say hello to the big man and to his new friend. After a second round of drinks, the two men left the bar together and headed to Charlie's vehicle.
From there, Charlie drove the big man back to his apartment and then drove back to his place. He spent the next hour eating dinner and wandered into his bedroom. Minutes after laying down, he fell asleep.
Promptly the next night, at eight o' clock, Charlie was as busy as usual inside 'Randys Bar'. The place was fraught with customers, but still not quite as many as the night before.
Minutes earlier, he had made sure to use the bathroom and in order to remain chronically calm, he did something he had never done before: he had drank a small glass of beer.
After serving his final drink, he pulled his towel down from off his right shoulder, wiped down a small spill of Vodka on the counter, and then tossed it under. He then left back to a congested employee room to fetch his jacket-a green windbreaker-and then went over to the pool area.
Standing complacently back against the wall, was Big Milwaukee. His shirt was now buttoned up to its top and as Charlie neared him, he either thought him to be very tired or slightly intoxicated.
“Ready sir?” Charlie asked with obviousness.
“Well, kid, I'm ready to get out of here. Maybe, uh, though, I'll take one of your drinks before I leave though.”
The big man raised a beckoning eyebrow and right away, again, Charlie was off and running. As he left the proximity of the pool table-heading back towards the bar with seething but patient patronage, he could not help but to feel important. And, not to say he had not already been a man of importance as a bartender, but, now it seemed the crowd of customers were waiting on him instead of him waiting on them. As he approached their glares, closer, he wondered if he had caught a few looks of respect. Had he? Still, he quickly rounded the bar and entered it by its side flap door.
Several patrons, mouth dry, spun hurriedly around on their stools to watch him.
“Ok, ok...ok,” said Charlie.
Hastily, he served three drinks and then after a fourth drink, announced to the bar patrons that the big man needed a flip.
In response, several previously eager patrons dunked their heads down and watched as Charlie left the bar. He felt bad, deep down, but understood that the big man, in Kenosha, was priority. Priority.
Charlie quickly crossed the barroom while along the way, cursing himself for not having first wiped the big mans glass with his clothe. Only as he neared the bright(or decidedly less dimmed)area of the pool tables, did he notice the pale speckles on the otherwise spotless glass.
“Here you go,” Charlie said smiling, as he neared the turned figure of the big man. He shifted around, accepted the drink, and then said while quickly pointing up the index finger on his free hand, “Stick around kid, I wanna talk to you.”
Before Charlie had a chance to nod, the big man had already turned back around and was now facing a cluttered group of fawners. For just a moment, Charlie eased sideways to get a better look at them. He noticed again the two men in suits who had once before shaken the big mans hand.
With that bit of insight, Charlie turned around and then headed back for the bar.
Immediately, shouts of orders pealed out but Charlie, being the professional that he was, took them two at a time and within five minutes, the bar was back to its nominal, bibulous self again. By half an hours time, it was getting late and the bar-although still boisterous and crowded-was less so than before.
Charlie, still arduously tending while he was off-duty, looked up to notice the big man signaling him from the midpoint of the room. He nodded, took his eyes away from the customers and then left the bar.
The big man had conveyed back towards the pool table and Charlie went over to meet him there. He noticed that the big mans glass, in the corner part of the room, was now empty. A group of amateurs-or, at least laymen-were playing pool on the table nearby with several napkins strewn on the floor underneath it.
What had the big man wanted? Charlie wondered. Another drink possibly? Food? There was no more fawning patrons standing around. The big man seemed less formal in his attitude, more relaxed. His shirt had been let further open by another button. His eyes were no longer snake eyes, following pool balls like small running rodents.
“So uh,” started the big man, conversationally, “when you get off?”
“I got off about a half hour ago.”
“Oh...”
The big man responded by walking off and Charlie followed directly in his footstep. The walk over to the exit led them out into a dreary sky and a breeze cooling with the night. At the front sidewalk they momentarily stopped before Charlie led the way right up the street. His car was parked a half block up the rising street and Big Milwaukee stared at it ominously as they approached it. Charlie brought out a set of keys and then unlocked and opened up the door on the drivers side. After flopping inside on the cushiony seat, he reached over to unlock the passenger door and then watched and waited as Big Milwaukee got inside. Certainly, he was a very big man a
nd befitted for his name. He weighed at least 250 pounds, Charlie decided, after watching him crush down into the passenger seat.
Charlie then looked away, inserted the car key into the ignition and cut the motor on. While letting it hum momentarily, he flicked on the car radio and fine-tuned a jazz station. A quick glance over at the big man was affirmation that he was satisfied.
After checking his mirror, Charlie sped out into the road, on his way back to the upscale Newberry Apartments.
Soon, they were halfway there.
The drive was scenic, the type that does not prelude conversation.
The apartments were in the upscale part of town and there, noticeably, the grass was greener, the trees were taller and even possibly, the sky seemed bluer.
Against the dimmering sky, Big Milwaukee's face seemed palid. To Charlie, he almost looked like a ghost; a big fat ghost. Perhaps, Casper the Friendly Ghost in his adulthood. He seemed sick. Was the ride getting to him? Was he car sick? Oh yes, of course, he was sick.
“You can let down the window if you like,” Charlie indicated.
The big man snapped out of whatever chronic state he was in, shook his head and then let the passenger window down about an inch. After swallowing down a rush of air, he seemed to feel better, and to respire a little more easily.
Charlie took a closer look at him; he was still pale, morose, but he was not sweating or coughing. His curiosity was sparked but soon diminished as his main concentration returned to advancing on the road ahead of him.
By no later than ten minutes, Charlie had driven into the smooth entrance-way of the Newberry Apartments-from a row of buildings, to a small lot, and into a specified parking space. The big man seemed anxious to get away from the confines of the vehicle and into the fulsome air.
Charlie alike hurried out after turning off the engine and extracting the keys. The two then wondered over to the red-stone building and up a front stratum of steps leading to slightly dark, double glass doors.
After going past them, the big man led the way up a flight of stairs and then midway down the hall to his room. There, he brought out a set of keys, opened the door and then went inside with Charlie. He wondered in like a child inside a museum, watching, seeing, but not believing everything he saw.
The big man consigned Charlie to the pool room and then left. Shortly, he returned carrying two glasses of Minnesota Mary, as well as a small bottle of pills. After handing Charlie one of the glasses, he proceeded to twist open the bottle and then gulped down a large portion of pills as if they were M&Ms. He followed up the pills with a long swig from his drink and then walked over to a honey-oak cue rack. On it were three pool sticks. One was yellow, another black, the other brown; all had been high-polished, and French cue waxed at the shaft and ferrule, and looked as if they had just been unwrapped and taken out of the box.
“Rack the balls,” Big Milwaukee ordered, referring to the pool table. He then went over to the cue rack, pulled off the brown and yellow sticks and then went over to the rear of the pool table. He stood beside Charlie and then watched as he grabbed the balls from the return and then began to rack them.
“In order,” the big man directed. “The tip of the triangle is plain, the next level are all stripes, the next are all plain with the eight ball in between, then in order stripe plain stripe plain stripe plain.”
“I see,” said Charlie, before setting up the arrangement as told. The big man then gave a pacifying laugh, causing Charlie to smile.
“Ok now, before you remove the triangle, make sure the rack is tight. Nothing worse then a loose break.”
“Ok, sure.”
Charlie slowly removed the rack and then set it inside the return.
The big man watched with mild approval.
“Ok ok. Now lets see your break.”
After being handed the yellow stick, Charlie walked over to the front of the pool table and then lurched forward over it. Immediately, the big man began to coach.
“Bend your knees, straighten your back. Keep your eyes straight, relax them, keep your lids high. You need a drink?”
“No, I'm fine.”
“Ok, now, on your hand, your all wrong. Place the stick underneath your forefinger and thumb. Left hand. That's it. Now, ease the stick back and then, with allll your might, you hit the cue ball near its top. That way, it gives it a pushing momentum. You see? Its all about laws of physics, gravity, mathematics. A little bit of chemistry,” the big man then added with a smile. Slowly, while holding his stick upright, he began to round the table. “Now, on the other hand, if you hit the cue ball near the bottom, its gonna stop. Again, laws of physics. Hitting it low causes it to rotate in reverse, which goes against the natural role it would have when moving forward. This comes into play during game shots, when you need to stop the ball in order to leave yourself a shot. But, never-mind that. Break the balls”
Charlie eased the yellow stick back, aimed it at the top of the cue ball and then shot.
Plow!
The pool balls snapped loose and one fell in a pocket. The big man, hardly as impressed as he looked, began to laugh.
“Hhmmm...not bad kid. I think though, since I like you, kid-”
“-The name is Charlie. Charlie Grifter.”
“Nice to meet you Charlie.”
The big man laughed indignantly.
“My name-Big Milwaukee. Ha! That's what they call me. That's just some nickname I picked up in an old poolroom when I was young and couldn't shoot a lick. Yes, I was born in Minnesota and I learned the game from the finest pool sharks around. People would love to know what I know. I've had offers from millionaires to show them how to play the game but I've never agreed. You know why?”
“Why?” Charlie drawled.
“Because, you gotta earn the respect, hear? Respect. You just don't teach years of hard learned pool lessons to just any ole one. See? I myself,” the big man pounded his fist against his chest, “I've never showed anyone any of my secrets. They've remained in the brain.”
The big mans index finger rose up to point at the side of his head. He paused, keeping his eyes glued to Charlie's, checking for a nuance of response. The young bartender seemed bored, insipid and anxious to relinquish himself from whatever point Big Milwaukee was trying to make to him.
“Kid, or uh Charlie, I think your a nice guy. And, you serve a good drink. And, uh, if your prepared, I think you're ready to play pool. I mean, really, play pool.”
Charlie's eyes suddenly became fixated, lighting up like a small lamp in a darkened room.
Big Milwaukee recognized the look of approval but continued to speak hoveling anyways.
“So, what do you say, kid?”
The usage of the word 'kid', was already a habit of the big man's whether Charlie liked it or not.
“Sounds good.”
The big man, now beside himself, and as excited as Charlie, began to slowly pace the edge of the pool table as he spoke.
“You know, you may not completely respect the game of pool now, but if so, its only because you've watched it from a layman's point of view. I mean, hell, I hate golf but that's probably because I don't know shit about the game. But,” the big man again rose his index finger ambiently, “once you understand the game, it's mechanics, learn the cool stroke, learn that it is not just a game of luck and serenity, you'll learn to respect, if not love, it.”
The big man gave a gleaming, 'trust me' smile and then glanced along the table.
“Ok, take a shot at that orange five-ball in the corner pocket.”
Charlie rounded the table and positioned himself behind the ball. He then aimed the pool stick in front of him, preparing to shoot, but was soon stopped. Frustrated, he looked at him, beginning to feel like he was some type of slave to a master.
“Your stick hold is all wrong. All wrong. Let me tell you, you've got two basic stick holds. The complicated hand bridge hold, used by professionals and the simple between the two fingers hold. I think the fingers
hold will be best for you.”
The big man eased next to Charlie's side, conformed his fingers into the appropriate position and watched as Charlie, then, imitated with his pool stick. Soon, he had the stick hold done perfect, the big man backed away and then Charlie re-aimed at the cue ball. Three feet away from the cue ball was the orange five-ball, which he was expected to knock into a corner pocket angled two feet away.
“Steady,” cajoled the big man, “steady, a soft touch is all it'll take.”
Charlie hit the cue ball, watched it hit the orange ball and then as it clipped the side of the corner pocket and then, refracted nosily away. As he glanced back up at the big man, he expected him to be upset. But he was not. He understood. He only stared blankly forward as if to accept the challenge.
“It's gonna take some time. Time, which I don't have. But I've taught you.”
Charlie straightened himself up, somewhat troubled by what he heard.
“What do you mean time? If, if , you don't have the coaching time, I promise to learn as quick as I can.”
“No, no,” the big man hushed, “its not you. You see, my days are numbered. Only recently, only in the last two weeks, have I thought of passing on the knowledge that I know about pool. I considered my bodyguard, but he's ungrateful, possibly jealous of the success I've enjoyed. I even thought of teaching my brother up in Phoenix but he's just as ungrateful, and he's never tried to enjoy pool. Why, I even thought of teaching that blond bimbo you saw me talking to earlier that day. Imagine that?”
The big man guffawed sickly for a moment.
“But, when I seen you earlier, I knew you would make a good pupil. Young, smart, precocious, possibly...” the big man's eyes focused harder into Charlie's “...shrewd, when the time comes. These little assets, apart from direct skills, make a pool player great and what he is. You can't make it all the way on skills alone, but either can you make it on gall. Understand?”
Charlie nodded.
“Like I said, I don't have lots of time, but this game of pool is all I know, and it's all I have left to leave behind. I mean Washington left the presidency behind him, Lincoln left the denouement of the Civil War, Kennedy left the moon landing.”
The big man shrugged his shoulders.
“This is what I leave. I mean, other than pool I'm as dumb as a dog, I'm as incompetent as any other of those bums down at the bar. A mans got to have a legacy.”
Softly, the big man smiled, now feeling better with the knowledge that he'd gotten off his chest what he had.
“Ok kid. That's all I had to say. You better get going.”
“Ok Mr. Stuart.”
Charlie's back slunked and had not been arched vertically as it had as he walked around the pool table earlier in the afternoon. He tossed both hands into his pockets and gave a grateful smile. No, it was not an official thank-you, not like Charlie would have preferred, but it was close enough.
“Oh...” The big man paused to give thought to what all he was about to say. “You work tomorrow?”
“No,” said Charlie, slightly unbecomed.
“Well, why I ask is, is because I got a big match tomorrow. He's a Minnesotan, apparently he's won a few local tournaments(suddenly the big man's eyes became sparse) and he's betting a lot of money.”
The big man paused and then turned his head rightward.
“Eh, Stuart. Whatever you say.”
“Ok. Tomorrow at one o'clock, come ready to learn. And uh, Friday night will be our last session.”
Charlie sifted the watch on his left wrist before leaving.
It had been a long day.