Chris watched the action at the pool table with a toxic combination of dry amusement, sardonic irony, and just a bit of dark despair as the rhythmic clack of brightly colored balls kept time with the music. Of all the places to be, the dim, smoky confines of the Billiards room were world’s away from where he would rather be, and worlds away from here was truly where he would rather have been.
In sharp contrast to his peers, Chris was clearly a ‘black sheep’, so to speak. With his surfer-boy good looks, golden-blond curls and translucent brown eyes, Chris stuck out like a sore thumb when compared to the dark-haired and flinty-eyed group surrounding him, a golden seagull among a flock of dark and brooding vultures. Even the perfectly proportioned blond and brunette Barbies that bookended him on either side seemed incongruous to his bearing- shallow and hollow, plastic and polished. And now they were beginning to bore him.
“Hey Loser- you’re up!” The grating voice of his loathsome cousin Dan shot across the room, rousing Chris from his dark introspection. Shrugging the girls off with an almost callous carelessness, Chris leaned unsteadily on the pool table and stroked the cue ball indifferently. The shot skipped off the rail, missing badly.
Dan laughed- a braying, abrasive sound, and said, “Oh, my God! Total Fail! Watch and learn, loser.” He rudely elbowed Chris aside and leaned in with a calculated precision, lining up a tricky combination shot and then quickly banking the shot home, both balls clicking neatly into the pockets. With a smug, self-satisfied grin, Dan stood and raised his arms in mock-triumph to the smattering of applause.
He bowed theatrically and then said, “That's how it's done. And now, for my final trick...” Casually chalking his cue, Dan slowly leaned down on the table, taking aim at the far end, where only the eight ball remained. It was in a difficult position, near the end rail, and the only possible shot the near left corner. With a crisp, powerful stroke, Dan firmly struck the blue-smeared orb, and as it traveled he declared, almost nonchalant, “Eight ball- corner pocket.”
The cue ball ricocheted crisply off the far rail and struck the eight squarely. The ball flew straight and true, dropping with a click of finality onto the other balls nestled in the pocket, the ‘8’ clearly visible through the mesh, almost as if mocking Chris. Dan sighed with a barely restrained superiority and reached into the pocket, crisply plucking out the ball and holding the shiny black sphere before his face a la Hamlet with Yorick’s skull.
“And what do you have to say, o' magical eight ball?” The ball remained mute, and Dan shook it slightly, peering intently at its inky surface. And then his eyes lit up with feigned revelation, his voice grating with nails-on-chalkboard abrasiveness as he crowed, “Well, what a coincidence, it agrees! It says- ‘Loser!’” Dan laughed hollowly at his own joke as several others in the room laughed with him.
Grandly gesturing with the ball, Dan now played to the crowd. “And so it is written- 'Loser'. Destined for a desk job in corporate America, just another stuffed shirt for the offices of Matthews, Incorporated…” Dan paused, a quick dramatic beat, reigning in his audience, and then continued, “Could have had it all- the corner office, the staff... but alas- no. His future, squandered, cast into the wind, just another sad casualty of the 'Slacker Youth Syndrome'.” Dan sighed gustily, a smirk of mocking irony creasing his face. “I hear you're starting off your brand new career as a shipping magnate in the mail room.” Dan gaped at Chris in feigned astonishment and sputtered, “The mail room? Are you kidding? Just a tad cliché, don’t you think? Better get FedEx.” Dan laughed again at his own self-perceived witty retort and continued, this time waving the ball tauntingly in Chris’ face. “You're sort of behind the eight ball my friend, not exactly the place for the heir apparent to be, now is it?”
Chris roughly snatched the ball from Dan’s grasp and raised it like a weapon. “Enough with the 'Heir Apparent' bullshit, okay!? I didn't choose to be born to this- and neither did you. Things just- are. And because of what? Fate? Destiny? Random chance? What-fucking-ever. We just… are.” Chris suddenly paused in his tirade as a thought washed away his anger and brought a tiny smile to his face, a slight crease of dimples cratering his cheeks. “Okay, jerk-wad, I'll tell you what…” Chris pulled out his wallet and produced a bulging sheaf of bills encased in a delicately engraved money clip. He fanned them tauntingly in Dan's face and said defiantly, “I've got a thousand bucks that says this 'Loser' can kick your arrogant ass.”
Dan sneered in disgust as he stared at the bills below his nose, “For a measly grand? No way.”
Chris shrugged and again reached into his wallet. This time he pulled out a flashy trust fund credit card and dropped it casually into an empty glass on the edge of the table. “Fine,” he said, “I'll add a zero.” He gestured idly to the glass, where the card glittered softly in the light refracting through its crystal facets and stated grandly, “Your card sir.” As Dan grudgingly complied with a matching card, Chris smiled again, the dimples deepening further, and said, “Rack 'em up.”
Dan aggressively racked the balls, his movements swift and precise, and then viciously flung the cue ball to Chris, who snagged it coolly without flinching. “You break,” said Dan with oily menace.
Chris took the hand of one of the girls he had previously discarded and pulled her roughly to him. Quickly, forcefully, he kissed her, long and hard. The girl stiffened, struggling just a bit, and then relaxed slightly, giving in to the kiss. Chris just as suddenly released her, again discarding her, almost contemptuously. The girl moved away, startled, resisting the urge to wipe her lips.
Chris winked at the befuddled girl.
“For luck,” he said.
This just confused her further.
Squaring the mortar-board rakishly across his head, Chris leaned in and violently struck the cue ball, blasting it into the colorful triangle and causing an explosion of balls that scattered in all directions. He watched with hands on hips as two- then three- then four balls fell into various pockets around the table. Without so much as looking at Dan, he casually gestured to the glass containing the cards. “May I-? It would just save us time...”
Dan snarled, “Screw you! You cocky little Ba-!” And then he stopped, the expletive cut short by the presence of someone filling the archway behind his detestable cousin. With almost sickening ease, Dan’s demeanor abruptly changed as he addressed the new arrival with nauseating sweetness, “Aunt Abigail, what a surprise!”
Framed in the archway like a glowing angel, Abigail Matthews was truly a vision of loveliness, her beauty-queen features undiminished by her age. As was befitting of the wife of a wealthy shipping executive, Abigail wore her money well. A perfectly tailored, champagne-colored and intricately beaded silk dress with matching jacket and elbow-length gloves were merely the foundation for the carefully chosen accessories- an elegant package that when taken as a whole resulted in a delicious confection of grace and beauty.
A diamond-encrusted tennis bracelet adorned one delicate wrist, a wealth of glittering jewels artfully displayed on long, delicate fingers opposite it. A triple strand of exquisitely matched pearls hung loosely around her neck, and a final, almost incongruous touch of color was pinned to the lapel of her jacket- it was an orchid corsage, bright magenta in color, the wispy tendrils of a baby fern framing its singular beauty. In short, Abigail Matthews was the perfect picture of wealth and privilege.
But despite her outward appearance, Abigail’s demeanor was most definitely not that of someone with the superficial affectation of those typically cloaked in the trappings of luxury. Quite conversely, Abigail exuded an air of quiet humility, a grounded earthiness that made her stand out among her peers, a woman whom even with all of her decoration stripped of her would still reflect a sense of warmth and charm that seemed to radiate from her core.
She timidly poked her head into the Billiards room and smiled thinly at the gathering as she caught the attention of her son, who had slowly turned and now smiled warmly to greet her. “Hey, Mom- what’s up
?”
“Honey, it's time to go... are you almost done?”
Chris turned back to Dan and stuck out his tongue in a thoroughly puerile yet totally effective gesture of contempt, and called over his shoulder as he leaned back over the table, “Almost. This'll just take a second...”
Dan mouthed a silent expletive to Chris in reply, but Chris merely smiled in return. He had Dan right where he wanted him.
Abigail nodded and turned to leave, and then hesitated, sensing the distinctly palpable tension in the room, wanting to interject a cautionary note of motherly concern to her son and nephew. The boys had a long history of fighting, and she didn’t want this event sullied by another ridiculous display of pugilistic posturing. She opened her mouth to intervene and then suddenly stopped- deciding that it would make no difference if she had, for the animosity these two shared would never heed her admonishments at abatement. She sighed and hoped for the best, and then slowly turned and walked away, a final worried glance cast over her shoulder before she disappeared into the crowd. And as silently as she had appeared, she was just as quietly gone.
The music, which had somehow inexplicably paused at the very moment of Abigail’s arrival, immediately took up again where it had left off, the throbbing techno beat rattling off the walls, and Chris and Dan now began to circle the table like combatants in the ring.
Chris leaned back down to the table and continued his run, quickly sinking four more balls before missing a particularly difficult shot, the cue ball drifting lazily to the center of the table.
Dan licked his lips in almost predatory fashion and took his turn.
The throbbing beat of the music sharply increased in volume and tempo, and the play at the table matched it in pace and intensity. Almost a dance, each shot more incredible than the next, the balls spun and whirled into pockets around the table. Chris and Dan strutted and postured with each successive turn, brandishing and flailing their cues in almost martial arts fashion as the game wore on.
Rack after rack, point after point the battle raged on, the sharp clack of the balls reverberating in time to the music. And then suddenly the action abruptly stopped, simultaneously with the ending of the pulsating beat, both sounds echoing into silence. On the table, only two balls remained- the seven and the eight. Both were in near impossible positions, and several members of the group began to frantically exchange side bets like traders in the Dow Jones pit.
Dan stood and looked quickly to the counter-line, confirming what he already knew- the points are dead even, with only one solitary counter remaining. Smiling with an almost evil confidence, he slowly leaned in and took aim at the seven. With a smooth, powerful stroke, the cue ball flew to the opposite end of the table and crashed into the glossy maroon sphere, scattering the both it and eight ball in opposite directions.
The seven caromed off one rail, and then another, and then one more, and then slowly trickled toward the corner pocket and certain victory. Dan rose and shrugged in feigned indifference as he shot a gloating smirk back to Chris. But the taunting gesture went unrewarded, since Chris was apparently watching something else entirely. Smugly confident in the impending defeat of his nemesis, Dan casually reached to the glass to claim his winnings, only to have his hand stopped in midair by the voice of Chris as it cut through the heavy silence, “Ah-ah-Ahhhh! Not so fast…”
Dan’s gaze snapped to that of Chris, whose head was nodding pointedly toward the table, a wry grin twisting the corner of his mouth. And as he did, he saw a sight that stilled the blood in his veins.
As the seven drifted slowly toward the hole, the eight ball bounced softly off the near side rail and deflected it away from the pocket, casually snatching away his certain victory with almost mocking aplomb.
Dan’s face flushed to an angry shade of puce. “OHHHH-FUCK! GOD DAMMIT! NOOOOOO…!” he wailed, snapping the cue in half across his knee in frustration. “Awww, SHIT!” he moaned, dropping the halves of the ruined stick to the ground in a pathetic gesture of defeat.
The darkly glistening eight ball now sat poised directly in front of the pocket, nearly teetering on the lip of the hole. Chris strode calmly to the opposite end of the table, and without pausing, much less even aiming, he gently tapped the cue ball and sent it slowly on its way, deftly snagging both golden cards as he passed the shell-shocked figure of his cousin.
“You won't be needing this,” he said glibly, waving the glittering card tauntingly beneath Dan’s nose, and continued to exit the now deathly silent room. As Chris crossed beneath the elaborate archway, he paused and called back over his shoulder in almost absent-minded fashion, “Eight ball- corner pocket.”
And the ball dropped in.
The dark, quiet confines of the club’s library were nearly silent, the soft sounds of the musicians gently trickling in through the open archway. The late afternoon sun angled low through the tall, narrow windows, dust motes dancing on the sparkling shafts that streamed through, brightly illuminating thousands of elegantly bound volumes crowding the wall-to-wall bookshelves that spanned the heights from floor to ceiling.
A beautiful antique globe, jewel-encrusted and brass inlaid, sat perched on an intricately filigreed stand, glowing almost magically in a brilliant pool of light that streamed through the window. The faceted jewels on its surface glittered as it slowly revolved beneath the hand of Abigail, her gloves removed and bejeweled fingers and wrists flashing with the colors of the rainbow. She glanced over her shoulder to Walter, who was staring intently at the portrait gallery, no doubt envisioning his own image upon the wall, and said airily, “This huge, wonderful world. With all the places we've gone, all the things that we've seen, how is it even remotely possible that you have never, ever taken me to Hawaii?”
Walter sighed pointedly and turned to Abigail, a look of thinly concealed disgust creasing his face as he replied, “Abigail, sweetheart, we’ve been over this a million times. Hawaii is just so ridiculously- 'touristy', so- more for 'common' people; Rock stars, Movie stars- uneducated glitterati, those types. Personally, I can think of nothing worse to do than to just lie about on the beach all day long doing absolutely nothing.” Walter reluctantly pried himself away from his self-indulgent musings and crossed to Abigail, limply gesturing to the world she now held within her hands. “Besides, a beach is a beach; Hamilton, Honolulu, what's the difference? I just prefer someplace where I can- keep up with things. St. Kitts, St. Thomas, the Caymans- those are places where you can at least associate with your peers, if you must insist on a beach- rather than a horde of fish-belly tourists and their dirty-faced children.”
Abigail stiffened and turned to Walter with a look of affront. “Walter! How positively-”, Abigail hesitated, searching for words, finding none, and then continued, “You should absolutely relish the chance to do nothing for a change. Can you honestly say when the last time was that you actually took some time for yourself- just to relax?”
Walter countered with a droll smirk and a slight puffing of his chest, “As a matter of fact, it was only yesterday. I played two full rounds with father and Michael- that's an entire day of relaxing if you-”
Abigail interrupted innocently, “What was your score, dear?”
Walter smiled crookedly and chuckled softly, “Oh, quite good, actually. Four under, for the day- took Dad and Mike for a couple of-”
“That's what I mean! That's not relaxation, that's business!” Abigail sighed and then continued, “You cleaned their clocks again, didn't you?”
“Abby, that has nothing to do with-”
“It has everything to do with it! You never take time for you- you always have to be winning, beating the pants off the competition even when you aren't in the office. It follows you everywhere, all the time.” She turned to Walter with an imploring look. “You need to learn to stop. Just for a minute. It won't kill you...” Abigail paused, taking in a long, slow breath. “It's sort of like- like holding your breath. You aren't going to hold it forever- and the rush as you exhale and
take in that first sweet taste of air is just like that… letting go.” Walter stared at Abigail in agitated contemplation, considered a rebuttal, and then his shoulders sagged, his argument apparently defeated, and he merely huffed and turned back to the portraits again in silence.
As both Walter and Abigail drifted off into silent contemplation, each considering their own fantasies, Chris strode briskly toward them through the open archway, beaming like a Willy Wonka winner and flashing Dan's card triumphantly over his head. He addressed his father with a cocky grin, “Hey, Dad, check it out. I stole Dan's lunch money again- Hi, Mom.”
Abigail simply sighed and shook her head, this time underscoring the gesture with a skyward roll of her eyes. “Like father, like son...”
Walter was clearly unimpressed, his mind unmistakably focused on more pressing matters. He pointedly checked his watch, obviously impatient to be elsewhere, and addressed Chris with stiff formality, “I trust you packed your tux?”
Chris replied warily, “I always do- why?”
“I just wanted to make sure you have it. We have a party aboard the Fourniere's yacht our first night in port.” He glanced at Abigail with a wink and a hint of a smile and added, “One of many, I might add.”
“Many what?”
Walter’s eyes widened with surprise, and then creased in concern. “I thought you knew.” Puzzled now, he turned to Abigail and queried, “I thought he knew...”
Abigail stared blankly back at Walter and raised her hands in defense as if to distance herself from this line of questioning, and Walter turned back to Chris with a note of genuine enthusiasm, “You're gonna love it! Gabriel and I dreamed up the idea months ago…” Walter crossed briskly to the antique globe and began to slowly spin it, admiring his world as it lazily revolved beneath his scrutiny. Stopping with his gaze locked on the Caribbean, he gestured to the glittering sphere and continued almost theatrically, “Imagine, a pirates' convention, all the shippers sailing as one! Play by day, party by night. We start at Hamilton, and just kind of 'make the rounds'. Cocktail parties every night- great food, gorgeous women. Fish, swim, golf, gamble, a different island every other day- the works…” And then he paused, his previous enthusiasm changing to a more serious tone as he turned from the globe to face Chris. “Son, It's time you opened the next chapter of your life. Time you met some people, people with whom you'll be forming partnerships for the rest of your life…”
Over the Rainbow - Book One - 'The Gathering Place' Page 2
