CHAPTER EIGHT - A Game of Pool

"Mornin'. Didn't know you were back down off the mountain already!" Candy had a pot of coffee in her hand extended in my direction as an offer.

"I came down real early this morning with the first couple of drops of rain, just about daybreak… y'all were just beginning to move around as I got back", I kept my gaze on the steaming coffee being poured into a Styrofoam cup and failed to mention that I timed it just as she left Lance's tent.

Candy and Lance exchanged a glance that seemed to betray a hint of panic. Chet just scratched his nuts and readjusted his sweatpants; looking very much like the morning-after that we've all experienced. Obviously, he slept through the whole night.

I recited the list of problems I encountered when I got back and told them I was thinking of heading back home with my damaged gear. This is when I usually get out the digital camera and take some pictures - I always feel like I am annoying people with the camera, but who cares? They would have been good ones, too, sitting around the morning campfire. The rain had let up, except for the few drips from the leafless tree limbs and we were beginning to look like a sorry lot.

"I think we need to cheer the hell up and go shoot some pool!" said Lance. Easy for him to say, he hadn't fallen off the edge of a cliff, found his tent all screwed up or his camera busted up. All that happened to him, apparently, is sex with Candy while Chet slept off a drunk. Of course, all I saw was her leaving his tent - she could have been bringing him morning coffee I suppose. No wonder he's in a good mood.

But he was right - screw the tent and the camera; lets make the best of it. Chet had other plans, though. He and Candy quickly packed up their tent and chairs and left Lance and I enjoying their fire. Candy made a point out of giving me a warm goodbye hug…and kissed Lance - which drew a sidelong glance from Chet, but he was still wrestling with his big head and let it slide.

After they had driven off, and the silence of the woods returned and I looked over at him, meeting his return glance. All he did was shrug his shoulder, raise his eyebrow a bit, and let out a heavy sigh. Yeah…'Nuff said.

In the next hour, I sorted out what needed to be thrown away, loaded up the rest and fired up Huck, letting it idle in the campsite while Lance did the same as he finished up his packing. The '53 Pan had such a nice sound in the midst of the woods.

We agreed to head back to the Porthole, where we nearly got shot yesterday, for a bite to eat, a cold beer and hopefully a couple games of pool that we could enjoy more than we did yesterday. By now it was nearly 11:00 A.M., the roads were drying and traffic was light. The world seems to be a pleasant place when you're on your bike riding the backroads with a buddy, causing heads to turn as you ride by.

Five other Harleys of varying pedigrees were lined up in a neat row when we got there. You have to admire the visual that makes - all lined up with their wheels cocked the same way, leaning over at the same angle, and now two more making a sweeping turn into the parking lot to back in and join them. Consciously, I note that Two-Tone's bike was not among them as I extended the same line, the same turn of the front forks, and finishing up with the same lean. Swinging my leg over Huck and walking past two guys on the front porch with beers in their hands, I give and receive a nod, and exchange a friendly "Hey" as I pass by. I knew the same scenario was repeating itself in countless bars across the country. Life is good.

I heard Lance greet the two by name as he approached the porch. I bellied-up to the bar and waited for yet another barmaid to finish her conversation at the other end of the bar. When she turned and looked in my direction, her eyes focused on the silhouetted form coming through the front door over my shoulder.

"Lance!" Her face practically beamed with pleasure as he stepped up to the Solid Oak bar top, stepped up on the footrest, leaned over and gave her a big kiss.

"Shelly, how are ya, hon? I came in looking for you yesterday, but there were two new girls here. What were their names?" he said as he looked over at me.

"Tina and Jill… and I think we scared the hell out of them!" I said.

"Yeah, TT slipped and fell, blowing a hole in your front porch. I wish to hell you were here, we had to keep the new girls from calling the cops!"

Shelly was now leaning over the bar in front of Lance, with rapt attention, looking into his eyes. Christ, what is it about tall, unmarried, good-looking guys that gets all the girl's attention? Whatever it was, he was lapping it up. I didn't come to watch him and Shelly so I interrupted the little reunion with, "Shelly either you two need to go into the back room and I'll find my own beer, or you could get me a Bud and let me go shoot some pool, so you two can talk."

She snorted a little giggle, headed over to the cooler at the end of the bar and said over her shoulder, "I heard TT had a little fight in here yesterday, but didn't expect it was with you." She looked over at me, apparently trying to remember if she was supposed to know me or not.

Lance, with impeccable timing, said, "Shelly, this is Muthuh… he kept ol' Two-Tone off my ass yesterday, kicked his ass in pool and repaid my debt, all so I could live another day and come see you again!" He turned to me and added, "I thought I knew every Barmaid in Forsyth County - I hate that you had to see me actually ask those two their names yesterday!"

I got the feeling that if I began to hang out with this guy, I was gonna be in trouble. But there's nothing wrong with being on a first name basis with the ladies behind the bars. "Give us a couple of buds and bring the menu - we're hungry!" he said as he strode over to an open table and dropped in a couple of quarters.

I love the sound of 15 solid pool balls all hitting the wooden channel deep in the guts of a bar pool table, followed a few seconds later by the chrome lever being ratcheted back into place after swallowing 2 of your quarters. An unmistakable sound, and one that signals an unmistakable sense of, "Game's on!"

I mindlessly watched the five bikes sitting next to ours through the front door. The two guys I passed on the porch and three of their buds hopped on, and fired their baby's up - totally messing up the stretch of bikes running across the front of this bar. Followed soon after by their antics as they tore out of the lot onto the side road that ran across the front of the bar, leaving our two bikes the only ones out there amidst the SUV's and a few pickups on the side of the building.

Long before Lance had the balls positioned in the rack properly, a middle-aged guy previously sitting in a booth with an attractive brunette approached us.

"Care to play doubles?" he said, indicating with a curt nod of his head in the direction of his lady still in the booth. "Us against you, eight ball?"

Now, generally, I'll warm up to any biker wanting to share the company of a pretty lady, but there was something not quite right about this guy. At a distance, he looked the part, but under the glow of the Clydesdale pool table light fixture, something looked out of place. I grabbed our beers off the bar.

"We'd be happy to," I said. I handed Lance his beer with a wink, "but we're playing Nine Ball. That OK?" I could see Lance turn his head smiling - always play your own game!

Maybe it was the shiny new leather jacket with freshly sewn patches, all of equal age and stiffness scattered over it. Could have been the black tennis shoes, but hell, I've been known to ride on the coast in summer in black sneaks… no - it was something else.

The American Flag dew rag on his head was clean and looked starched, the chain on his wallet still shiny, his jeans shone without the slightest hint of fade or wear. Clean shaven, smelled good, hair like it came right out of the boardroom, hell, even his sneakers were shiny - hmmmm - not believing this whole picture here, but his lady friend looked cute, so what the hell?

"This is Bev," he said. Lance and I turned our heads and saw a quite pretty lady in her early forties walking rather seductively over to the table. "This is my bride of 19 years, and I love her more now than the day I met her."

Lance stuck out his hand first saying, "Seems to me I didn't like my wife at all the day I met her, so loving her more than that sure ain't saying much. Hi, I'm Lance - Lance West."

She held his hand a moment longer than I would have expected, seemingly while she tried to figure out if that was a compliment or a cut, but in the end smiled and turned to me, hand out, took two steps while looking firectly into my eyes and saying, "I'm Bev. And I believe I'll be on this gentleman's team."

So, being the southern rascal that I am, and after having just been called a gentleman, I say in my quite believable southern drawl, half bent at the waist "I wouldn't have it any other way, Miss Beverly. Call me Muthuh." We shook hands and she held my hand equally as long, but with a slow wink and twinkle in her eye.

Smart lady this one. Likely not a nine-ball player, she effectively evened the odds. Oh, she's good!

Now, she looked the part. Scuffed up black boots, faded and worn out skin-fucking tight jeans, denim jacket that appeared to have been a long time in the wind and the tip of a rose tattoo peaking out from beneath her blouse on her left breast. Event pins going back to the early 90's and a drive chain wrapped around her waist in lieu of a belt. Wonder what brought her to this place with a guy who obviously bought his entire wardrobe from the last rally's Main Street the week before.

Anyway, the game progresses slowly. Lance and I watch as Bev passes up easy shots for the ones that allowed her to stretch across the table the furthest, or bend over the lowest. The open buttons on her blouse increased in quantity by two, and we purposefully miss shots to keep this show going longer. I do believe Biker Bob - well, he introduced himself as Robert, but Biker Bob just seemed more appropriate- was looking like he enjoyed the attention we were giving Bev.

I swear he was sporty a woody when I helped Bev line up a shot by leaning over with her and position the cue properly. What? -hey come on, she was my teammate!

Lance picked up on it quicker than I did. She was coming on to both of us, and usually right when she was either bending over away from her husband or with him looking directly down her blouse. Lance asked her if she'd ridden lately, and she came back with the expected, "Depends on what you mean by being ridden. But if you mean on a bike, It's been years and I really miss it."

Then it hit me - the guy's all decked out in his Sunday-best biker duds and the only bikes out front are an old '53 Pan and Huck. God, help me understand the need to do this - hang out in a biker bar dressed in new biker gear, complete with the bandana - and then arrive in an SUV. Must be something genetic.

But now it's clear - this must be their Biker Fantasy night, and ol' Bev here was into the biking scene years back until Biker Bob came along and, god-knows-how, lured her away from it. Now she's getting off on being hit on in a bar in front of hubby, and he's getting off on letting it happen. Cool. OK! The game is really on!

Lance glances at the table - the one, two and three ball are pocketed and it's my turn. "Care for a sporting wager?"

"Uh, I dunno," Bev says, "Not for money." Lance and I grin at each other at the obvious implication.

"No - I mean if Robert and I win, I get to take you for a ride on my bike."

"And if my Southern Gentleman here and I win? Does he get to take me for a ride?" Oh yeah - she is good, played right into it for us and made the suggestion herself.

Just after I dropped the six and seven, Lance caught my eye and he gave me a raised eyebrow and shifted his gaze in Bev's direction and back at me two times. Damn - I hate throwing a game, but I gotta do what I gotta do. I soft hit the eight, leaving it directly in front of the nine in front of the corner pocket. What are buddies for?

Even Biker Bob, as bad as he was, could win this game. Ironically, if he won or lost, he was about to see his old lady - who's been teasing us both for fifteen minutes - ride off into the back streets of Winston-Salem with a near stranger on the back of his Harley. Of course, that likely was the plan all along. I'm all for kinky, and this was about to get fun.

Bobbie-boy dropped the nine as planned and stood away from the table, in an obvious state of excitement. I'm all happy for Lance taking Bev out for a spin and all, but I'm not too damned sure I wanna stay behind with Boner Bob drinking beer. I make a move that seems to surprise him.

"OK" I said to Lance, "but if her butt gets sore on the back of your bike, with its little seats, I'll take her on mine on the way back here, OK? Come on, lets go for a spin." And with that I backed ol' Bob into a corner making him sit here alone while we go for a ride with his wife.

"Shelly, we'll be back in 15 minutes for another beer" called Lance in the general direction of the bar. Even Bev looked a little taken by surprise that we were both going, but Biker Bob wasn't my kind of drinking companion, so the three of us went out front to rearrange camping gear making room for Bev.

Lance dug out a spare pot helmet from his leather side bags, dumped his black duffle bag on the bar's front porch, fired the aging motor to life and motioned for her to mount up, which she seemed to do a bit reluctantly. No time to back out now, hon! I noticed Bob glancing at our tags, supposedly memorizing our plates…. I gotta assume he was having misgivings about this, but it was his game.

With a purposeful burst of speed, Lance tore out of the parking lot. Bev grabbed him tighter in response - I'm sure that was intended. At the first stop light we hit, I coasted a bit closer on his left side, leaned over and yelled at them over the exhaust. "You two have a good time. I'm heading home."

Lance smiled and nodded his understanding, Bev pouted her lips and made me promise to get her number from Lance - I didn't tell her that I had no clue how to get in touch with him.

I saw him shift into neutral, release the clutch and extend his hand in my direction. "Enjoyed meetin' ya, Muthuh. Hope we get to ride again some time." We shook hands as the light turned green.

"Keep in touch." Was all I had time for - I knew he knew how to get a hold of me. Bev's head turned and smiled at me seductively as Lance blasted through the intersection. I crept forward, waited for the oncoming line of traffic to break and turned left heading home.

All in all, it was a strange trip. A costly one in terms of gear, but ran into a new riding bud, got my time alone on top of the mountain and found myself still above ground for yet another year. Life is good!

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