Rack 'Em

Chapter 2

2

Suddenly, everything is different. Weekends, holidays and summers are about the only times I see Dad. It's worse than being cut in half. We go to Veronica's Billiards Palace some, but I don't shoot pool any. The Palace looks ugly, so do Vee and the regulars that are always hanging around. I feel ugly. No one can call me Little Piper. If someone does, I say, "Don't call me that. My name is Jimmy!" If Vee calls me Doll, I tell her the same thing. After awhile everyone leaves me alone. It's like this at my new school, too.

For more than a year, things stay pretty much the same, which is lousy! Then he shows up. I'm eight and a half. It's July and Dad's away at a tournament, so I'm staying with Mom. The doorbell rings and I come out of my room to see who it is.

"Sweetheart," Mom says to me, "you remember Floyd."

I look at the floor and mumble, "Hi, Mr. Frazier."

"Jimmy," he says, "you don't have to call me Mr. Frazier anymore. From now on it's Floyd. After all . . ."

"Guess what, Sweetheart?" Mom interrupts. "Floyd and I are getting married and the three of us are going to live in a big duplex together. Won't that be nice?"

Nice? Mom, what are you talking about? Anything would be nicer than that! But I don't say it, and go back to my room.

It becomes the worst summer ever, sunny skies, stupid flowers blooming everywhere. I hate pool. I hate Floyd. I hate the duplex! Mostly I'm at Dad's, though, when he's in town. Then summer is over. Third grade starts tomorrow and I go to the duplex to live with Mom and her second husband. It's my second new school in two years, and I know I'm going to hate it too. That night I go to bed and toss and turn for hours before trailing off to sleep. . . .

I hear my name called and go down into a fiery hot basement beneath the duplex. A cast of eerie red light shines on a pool table racked for 8-Ball. Standing in the shadows behind it is a man in a black robe. He raises the hood and steps forward. I can't see who it is, only two gleaming eyes. Then pointing at a pool cue propped against the wall, he commands, "You break, kid."

I recognize dad's old Joss and shout, "No!" but the word doesn't come out.

"Play pool, Jimmy!" thunders the man.

With a shudder, I pick up the Joss and break. Nothing goes in. His face stays hidden, but this must be the devil! He plucks a golden cue stick from the air and starts making the most incredible shots. Taking his time, he doesn't miss once, cackles like a sick crow after each ball. I don't get another turn. He wins the game and leans on the pool table, watching me. The basement goes deadly quiet. "You have a nice break, kid," he says, and begins to bounce that golden cue stick up and down, banging the butt hard on the floor. Everything shakes, the walls, the pool table, the floor. A heavy, thick dust rises to my neck. Then he bursts out in a loud, screeching laughter, lifts a hand to pull back the hood. . . .

I wake up shouting, "Daaad!" My door opens. Floyd comes in wearing a black bathrobe.

"You're a heavy sleeper, kid. I had to bang on the door. Let's not make this a habit. Well, don't just lie there rubbing those brown eyes. First school day. Make hay while the sun shines, they say. Oh, and you're to call me Floyd. I'm not your Dad."

He's right about that. Floyd's nothing like my dad. I dress quick and leave early for school. At lunch, I'm in the cafeteria line and someone taps my shoulder.

"Hey. You new here?" says the kid behind me.

"Yeah."

"Thought so. We're in the same class. Name's Paul."