Nobody Bats a Thousand

by Steve Schmale

  “So what do you think, Lucky? Is it all really worth it? Is this whole sordid mess really worth hanging around for?”

  “What ya mean?”

  “Life.”

  “Well for me, I’m getting by, making a living, and shoot, kid, they’re always coming up with something new that keeps things interesting. Look at what’s happened in the last five or ten years, computers and cell phones are everywhere. They’re transplanting hearts and lungs into people, not to mention satellite TV, Rap music, and a pill that gives you a hard-on. Hey I get out of bed every morning just to see what’s next.” He stopped to light a cigarette. “Nay, kid, they’re gonna have to take me out of this life kicking and screaming. I’m just too damn curious to leave without a fight.”

  “Not to mention mean and ornery.”

  “My mother still loves me.”

  John smiled and returned to his table. Less than a minute later the backdoor opened, and Kane’s brother-in-law, Rob Johnson, stepped in and stood blocking the doorway, squinting and looking around. He was tall and obese and had taken to combing his hair in a young Troy Donahue style, which didn’t quite work on his big head. In his tailored three-piece suit with gaudy diamonds and gold on his wrists and fingers he stood out in the rustic bar like the Reverend Jesse Jackson at a Mormon picnic.

  Kane called out across the room. “Hey blimp, did Goodyear give you the day off?”

  Rob started across the room

  “Buy a couple of beers, will ya?”

  Rob stopped, turned and went to the bar; then came over to sit with Kane. “How’s it going? Been awhile.” He slid a beer in John’s direction and remained standing, extending his open hand.

  “Kind of formal aren’t we?”

  Rob retracted his hand, pulled a chair close and gently sat. “I stopped by to see mom. She was busy with dad, and she told me you were over here.”

  “Mom? Dad? I guess we’ve become a real tight family in my absence.”

  “Your mom and sister have been through a lot, John. Three surgeries, it’s been tough, and I’ve been there with them. Where have you been? All over the country fooling around.”

  Kane bluntly froze, his body tightening and straightening. “Oh, right asshole, you were probably holding a vigil at the foot of his hospital bed. Screw you, Rob. If you want to get contemptuous about me and my old man, I’ll kick your fat ass all across this room.”

  Rob blinked his eyelids several times as he looked down at the table, then across the room away from John. In the smoke and dull light Johnnie Cash finished up a song. Another started, and Kane stopped to listen.

  “My, my, Warren Zevon on his jukebox. That old bastard Lucky never ceases to amaze me.”

  Rob felt safe to continue his need to make conversation. “So, how long you going to be around?”

  “Looks like I’m here to stay.”

  “Your sister will be glad to see you. You know she was pretty hurt when you didn’t show up for our wedding. She was mad at you for a long time, but she’s over it now.”

  “Let’s just say I didn’t approve.”

  Rob again looked away. He yawned and checked his watch. “So what do you have in mind? What are you going to do? Use your degree?”

  “I only got the degree to please the old man. He was so happy, first in the family.” Kane smiled. “I doubt he even knows what my major was, but he even made it to the graduation ceremony. I remember it like it was yesterday because he was so stoked. Man, he was just thrilled to ” John drew into himself for several seconds, “thrilled to death.” He grabbed his beer, took a drink then hastily returned it to the table. “But what are you going to do with a History degree but teach? I’m not ready to teach. I’m still a student.”

  “A student? At your age? Is that what you call bumming around, being a student?”

  “Bumming around? What’s that supposed to mean, fatso? You calling me a bum? I’ve been traveling and working. I’ve never been completely broke, never slept at a mission or in the streets. A cheap room is as good as the Hilton if all you need is a bathroom and a place to sleep.”

  “So you just sweep into a new town and go to work? I don’t imagine your occupational opportunities are the cream of the crop.”

  “The stuff that took a little skill and paid well is hard to find nowadays, but you can always find work if you don’t mind getting dirty and don’t let your ego get in the way.” Kane took another drink. “I’ve learned some skills and some things about life I might have otherwise missed, so all and all I can’t say I have an ounce of remorse for how I’ve spent the last ten years.” He smiled at this brother-in-law. “But I don’t think you should try it Robbie. I don’t think you could get with cleaning toilets or mopping floors.”

  “Who would want to? Where’s the challenge?”

  “You can learn things, especially things about yourself doing the most menial chores, but OH, I’m sorry, I forgot, you’re a fucking genius because you sell Chevys. Try selling Hyundais or KIAs or real estate for a living, and then talk to me. Anybody can sell a Chevy. You’re just an order taker. You and my sister are both just lucky your mom’s brother owns the only dealership for a hundred miles.”

  “If it’s so easy pal why don’t you give it a try? I could probably get you on. It’s a lot tougher than you’ll ever know.”

  John showed a small smile as he rubbed his chin. “I worked for almost a year in a Japanese restaurant tending bar. I mean real Japanese from Japan, not Americans, and the main thing I learned from them is that any work is good and honest. Whether you were the CEO of Exxon or hauled garbage or washed dishes, if it was worth doing it was worth your best effort.” He continued to grin as he brushed a piece of lint from his jeans. “And I believe that. I really do. But I just don’t think I could ever resign myself to selling cars. A Faustian pact just to eat, wear nice clothes and drive a new car, that’s just not for me.”

  “I just don’t know about you. You’re not too proud to clean toilets, but you think you’re too good to make some decent money for a change.” Rob’s mouth tightened. “If you think you are too good for us, that’s fine, but everybody has to work to survive, it’s inevitable.”

  “Nobody’s arguing that, dummy. But let me tell you a story.” Kane abruptly stopped and took a short pull of his beer. He shook his head. “No forget it. You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Try me.”

  Kane nodded his head and smiled. “Okay. Okay, why not? You see, several years ago, when the oil business was still going good out in the delta in California, I was rough necking with this one older guy who was different, way different, not like anyone else on the crew. He was so different he even made my strange self fit in like one of the good old boys. So anyway, it turns out he had been big in advertising in New York—that was no BS I was curious so I checked him out—and he told me the reason he quit this big time job of his was because it was too easy. All they had to do was show people that ‘life could be great if you are what you consume’. That’s all there was to it. He couldn’t understand all these kids going through years of college as marketing or ad majors when it all boiled down to something so simple. So one day he quit his high-paying gig in New York and went out looking for the hardest work he could find. He told me he had to, that his instincts had gotten the better of him, and he always followed his instincts, so he had no choice.” Kane shook his head. “He was a strange cat. I bumped into about a year later in Salinas. We worked in a packing shed together.”

  “Am I missing something?”

  “Something I think is pretty important. It’s about values, values and obsession I suppose. It’s like in the music industry, the blockbuster thing. Like take Britney Spears, no let’s take somebody who actually has some talent, like Madonna or Michael Jackson. What’s more important them or their music? Is money the goal and their music just a by-product? Is that the way artists should be?”

  “And you’re saying?”

  “Okay, how about this? Square on
e, it’s a little off the subject but basically about the same thing. Why is it every commercial for everything from tires to beer to butt crème has to have a chick or a guy with a nice ass?”

  “Sure, sex sells, it doesn’t take a genius to know that.”

  “But it’s not really about sex even when they use sex. It’s not about sex it’s about envy, about not appreciating what you have because they want you wanting what you really can’t have. Shoot, using greed and envy to sway the masses, marketing men, their job is so easy they shouldn’t be allowed to call it work.”

  Rob was now playing with a pen he had pulled from his coat pocket, tapping the top of the cap against the palm side of his left forefinger. “Boy, I bet you and your strange Ad Man buddy had some real heavy conversations, huh? Some real, deep, deep, New Age, tree-hugging stuff, huh?”

  Kane folded his arms against his chest. He could feel his upper body begin to steadily rock against the back of his chair. “Hey, I know what.” He smiled widely and leaned forward. “Since I’m back to stay for awhile, maybe we could hang out together. Maybe I’ll strip you down to your shorts, tie you up, soak you down with the hose and leave you out in my backyard again like I did when you were fourteen. That was fun wasn’t it?”

  Rob looked away with the expression of someone who just discovered he had stepped in a pile of fresh dog crap.

  “But thinking about it Robbie, I bet you are a great salesman, an ass-kicking salesman.”

  “I do all right.”

  “No, I mean it. It’s a gift and not just anybody can be successful at it. And you, you got the look, the correct demeanor, you’re friendly but knowledgeable. Plus, you innately have that one key trait—you’re not afraid to cheat, steal or lie, or go for your own mother’s jugular if it means putting an extra two cents in your pocket.”

  “Go ahead and try to insult me. You don’t bother me, but I came over here to be friendly, not to be insulted.”

  “I’m sorry if I’m rude to you, Robbie. I’m not normally this way to anybody. I guess it’s because when I look at you I just don’t see a close relative who’s deeply concerned about me and my family. All I still see is that obnoxious kid I used to slap around. I guess it’ll always be that way.”

  “I really don’t give a damn about what you do or don’t do. I couldn’t care less about your future. I wasn’t asking for myself, but you’ve got your mother and sister to think about. They worry about you.”

  “Well, Robert, since you’re pulling out the family on me, let me be sincere. I would say, strictly going by instinct and pure intuition, I’d say the only solid plans I have are to somehow survive to be sixty, so I can be the fat bald guy at all the baseball games who sits around drinking beer, eating peanuts, and ragging unmercifully at all the players on both teams. Other than that, nothing seems too pressing. Everything seems to be pretty much up for grabs.”

  “ Just going by instinct, still a student. It’s going to be a sad, sad day for you when you are finally forced to wake up and realize you are totally full of it. You just better hope it happens before it’s too late.”

  “Too late? Too late for what? To pay off a mortgage? To start a pension plan? People lived on this earth for a million years without 401k plans or money marketing accounts.”

  “JOHN, YOU’RE UP.”

  Kane stood. “Don’t sweat it all so much big guy. Nowadays sex, or even an undercooked burger can kill you, so why sweat the small stuff. Now if you’ll excuse me, I think I have a date with destiny.”

  John walked to the pool table and squatted down to rack. The player in gold still held the table. He set his cigarette on the ledge of the table as he chalked his stick. “What do you want to play for?” he asked. “A buck?”

  “How about ten bucks?”

  “Sure.” The player in gold smiled brightly, a lame attempt at intimidation; he broke, sinking one; then he sunk two more before he hung himself up and missed.

  Kane chalked his stick as he walked around the table, plotting, planning. He could not believe his good fortune all his balls were out exposed, either near a pocket or the middle of the table. John decided on a long straight shot to test the alcohol’s effect on his game. He sunk the ball dead center; then continued, methodically downing a ball at a time. Getting lucky on a couple of shots he didn’t hit completely pure, he quickly took them all down except for the eight ball. But he hadn’t rolled the cue ball quite far enough for good position, leaving a scary angle, a potential scratch. Kane looked over the shot, hoping for an alternative, but he could see none. Having gone too far with the drama not to go on, instead of playing safe, against his better judgment, he decided to go for the winner.

  “Beee careful.” The player in gold was on a barstool, banging the butt of his stick on the linoleum.

  Kane gracefully cut the eight ball into the corner, but the game wasn’t over as the cue ball slowly crept toward the side pocket; creeping, creeping. It held up an eighth of an inch from dropping in.

  “That’s ten.” Kane took the short walk to his table to stand and sip his beer.

  “Double or nothing,” the player in gold demanded.

  Kane shrugged his shoulders. “Rack ‘em.”

  John stood over the table waiting. When the time came he firmed up his stance and broke apart the rack, sinking two, one of each. He slowly walked around the table, contemplating as if it was a giant chess table, and he was mentally testing a series of moves. He choose the stripes as he could see, using the proper spin and rhythm, a three shot series, but he missed the first shot.

  The player in gold made three, but then missed, allowing Kane another go. This time he could project a three, perhaps a five shot parlay. Again he overlooked the present and missed his first shot.

  “A little nervous?” The player in gold went after his remaining balls quickly, knocking them all down. After smashing the eight into the corner for the easy win, his smile suddenly waned as he watched the cue ball bounce firmly off the cushion and roll directly into the far corner for a loss. “Damn!” The player in gold struggled to appear composed. “Let’s go again, let’s go again.” He jerked his head and neck around as he spoke. “Double or nothing.” He began digging into the pocket of his tight pants for the change to start a new game.

  “This could go on all night.” Kane said. “Just pay me, I got to split.” He held out his left hand.

  “I ain’t paying you diddley.”

  “Fine, but you’ll never drink in here again. That’s still the rules, right Lucky?”

  “Right.” Lucky, behind the bar, foot up on the sink, flicked an ash on the floor.

  The player in gold turned to see Lucky standing directly behind him. “Hey, I was just bullshitting around.” He smiled. “Come on, one more, what do you say?”

  “Okay, but Lucky holds the stakes. One more, win or lose. Rack ‘em.”

  “All right.” The player in gold rushed to get things together.

  Kane cracked the balls apart. Two solids fell and the rest of the balls scattered, finally rolling to a stop. Again Kane slowly walked around the table chalking his stick. He had grown up with a full-size Brunswick table in his den and had not played the game without attempting to control and project the subsequent action several shots ahead since he was twelve years old, but now something told him to set aside any expectations and to focus on one shot at a time. He cut the five-ball into the side and was looking for his next move when Cream playing Crossroads stared blaring from the ancient jukebox. Kane relaxed and almost smiled, nodding his head in time to the song.

  “Don’t look good,” said the player in gold, sure Kane was stymied.

  John called an unlikely three-ball combination and nailed the shot dead center into the corner pocket, breaking up and clearing out the pack. He took down two automatic short straight-in shots in adjacent corner pockets; then, feeling a wash of confidence rush over him, he drilled the seven-ball into the far corner. The cue ball spun back in line for a shot on the six in the si
de which he made, sending the cue ball off two cushions directly in front and in line of the eight-ball and the corner pocket.

  “Don’t choke,” the player in gold prodded.

  As he chalked his stick, Kane felt the warmth of a presence, the gift of belief. He imagined his dad hovering, looking over his shoulder, watching and weakly smiling. The yellow blanket still tucked under his chin. He took his time, setting his feet, centering his balance, filtering out the world and forging his concentration into one concise moment. John smoothly and slowly struck the cue ball, which solidly clacked the eight-ball, sending it the short distance into the hole.

  The player in gold wasn’t happy. His head bounced up and down like it was on a tight spring. “You were lucky. Let’s go again.”