Chapter 1: Striking Out
The clatter of pins was a distant rumor from the back room, competing with the hum of a faulty beer cooler. Jason followed Cathy to the front counter. His eyes were drawn naturally to the sway of her skirt against her thighs. She no longer thought twice about wearing things like that in public.
The pimply cashier’s gaze slid over Jason like water. They stuck on Cathy, lingering on the neckline of her top. Satisfaction spread through Jason’s chest at the way the boy stared. Cathy smiled blandly, pretending not to notice.
"Your lane won't be ready for forty, maybe sixty minutes," the cashier said. His voice a bored monotone. His eyes dropped to Cathy's collarbone. "You're welcome to wait. Back room's got a bar, and pool tables."
Cathy's smile sharpened. Her feigned blandness evaporated. Jason knew that look; it meant the game had already changed, and the bowling could wait.
The back room was narrow enough that players had to lift their cues whenever someone squeezed past. The bar ran along one wall, every stool occupied except two beside the service well. A woman in a purple bowling shirt guarded a basket of fries while her friend shouted at a game on television; three men in work boots disputed a scratch at the nearest pool table. At the far table, two black men played eight-ball beneath a crooked green lamp, their jackets hanging from the same chair. A broad man in a leather vest sat alone at the end of the bar, nursing an untouched beer with a clear view of them. The place smelled of fryer grease, spilled lager, and old cigarettes embedded in the ceiling tiles.
“I call winner,” Cathy said. Her voice cut through the noise. She nodded toward a pool table where the two black men were working through their game. Both looked over. The man holding the cue straightened with a grin. His friend laughed and said, “You got it."
Cathy slid onto a vacant stool at a high-top, her knee brushing Jason’s leg—a touch that felt like a brand and a dismissal all at once. Jason nodded. He understood. This was her show now. He shouldered his way to the bar. The sticky linoleum tugged at his shoes. He ordered a cheap draft.
He willed himself to relax as he felt the glances slide past him, toward Cathy perched on her stool. He took a seat far away from her. The foam of his beer was bitter on his tongue. She would get her own if she wanted one. She always did. He looked around the room some more.. A thick-armed biker in a faded denim vest was methodically running a solitary table in the corner. He worked his table by himself, shot after shot. He didn't miss. Cathy's two new friends weren't slouches, either. They were laughing as they leaned into their game. The one closest to her was lining up his final shot.
The eight ball dropped with a hard thunk. The winner was a wiry Black man with a neat goatee. He turned and found Cathy waiting with a smile. His own grin widened.
Jason watched from the bar as Cathy chose a cue. Her loose red top had slipped off one shoulder. When she bent over the table, the winner stopped chalking to notice the way her short skirt had risen on the backs of her thighs. His friend sat on the stool where Cathy had been waiting, just to watch her. At the next table, a man paused his shot. His partner called his name twice. Cathy took her time lining up the shot. She acted like she had noticed none of it.
She had dressed up for the night so carefully. "Don't you want to show me off?" she asked. Jason couldn't deny that he did. Every posture was a choreography, for Cathy.
She lined up her next shot and leaned low over the felt. Her neckline fell open. Anyone on that side of the table could see straight down her shirt. Everyone else was waiting to see if she would lift up her skirt.
The winner’s friend noticed first. The winner followed his gaze. Neither made much effort to hide where he was looking. At the next table, a man shifted a few feet to improve his view while pretending to search for chalk. The biker glanced over from the bar. He looked away and then checked again.
People kept finding reasons to look toward Cathy. Each new glance made Jason more aware of the distance between his stool and the pool table. He could have crossed it in a few steps and taken his place beside her. He stayed at the bar. Cathy never looked back.