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754. alistairConnor - 8/25/2007 12:00:29 PM Time for some new talent on this thread... come on people, you know who you are... do I need to start naming names? 755. NuPlanetOne - 11/15/2007 2:31:57 AM Well then, it has been some time. But it is high time I continued with my novel here. I should point out that I have decided that the begining as I have it in here, will in fact be preceded by several chapters. I'm just not sure yet why, but some ideas I have about an ending will require some history and information that will tie it all together. Or something like that. Again, this really is first draft stuff, experimenting, even if I don't eventually change a whole lot. 756. NuPlanetOne - 11/15/2007 2:33:01 AM Chapter 7
Nineball is at once elegant, violent, mesmerizing, thrilling, excruciatingly tense, yet wonderfully simple in the hands of a skilled shooter. There is not much to it, actually. Nine balls, a cue ball and six holes in a bed of slate covered by felt and cushions along four rails laid out on a perfect rectangle measuring 100 inches long by fifty inches wide, cushion to cushion. The player who breaks the balls must contact the one ball and force at least four other balls to hit a rail. The nine balls are racked in a diamond with the one ball on the spot at the far end intersecting the imaginary balk line from side to side from the middle diamond on each half rail of the long rail at that end. If he pockets a ball on the break he continues to shoot until he misses. If he commits a foul the other player takes over and gets to place the cue ball anywhere he chooses. The first one to pocket the nine ball wins and also retains command of the break. The balls are pocketed in numerical order but you may sink the nine at any time as long as you hit the object ball first. If you do not have a clear shot you can play a safety, that is, hit a piece of the object ball and then a rail, or rail, then ball then rail. Alternatively, you can just push out without hitting anything, but your opponent can force you to shoot again, or he can accept the position and take his chances. And this is where Tony splits the hairs of atomic nuclei.
It is in this process of exchanges during a series of push outs where the two players act as one analyzing simultaneously the layout and possible landings of the intended stroke. Your opponent walks about examining every possible angle and deflection he can imagine. You are in the other guys head and space, sometimes standing close enough to touch, and all the time aware that your opponent might be seeing something that you are missing. And having looked it all over together, though processing quietly by yourself, you can become convinced and actually certain that your opponent cannot be hiding an unseen advantage. Yet because you are sure that luck exists to a marginal degree, you allow for the possibility that he might, by accident, wiggle out of the space he has been wedged into. But your mutual examination of the possibilities and impossibilities assure you that, in fact, luck is his only opportunity to defeat you in this particular moment in the game. So the marginal possibility becomes what you will give him; there is no skilled way he can climb out of the hole. You look it over one more time and retreat. Or you take the bait.
757. NuPlanetOne - 11/15/2007 2:33:46 AM And here is where Tony stops time. Here, the marginal degree is an entire universe. For him, it might as well be the space between stars, because what he sees in a grouping of tightly packed balls or balls scattered as solid obstacles blocking pathways, is an emotionless ordering of things. Confined even. Subject to simple physical and observational laws that once a trajectory is defined, because there are many, the real trick is in creating a leave, an image of a conceivable shot that your opponent will take a whack at. For if he is tempted, if he swallows the hook, then the disaster is now in his hands. In that case, Tony has shifted it from himself having to make unbelievable shots, to his opponent missing one. And to win that game becomes the result of another’s failure, rather than Tony’s superior skill. In effect, it is the base theory of hustling pool. Yet, a perfect version because it avoids telltale emotional detection. Tony appears to be grinding out his strategy; because he is. He is not occupied with sleight of hand or bullshitting discourse. He is watching only the ongoing sequences as he imagined them, at times worried even, that his calculations could be wrong. And as such, if anything, he can appear indecisive. And if an opponent wriggles free from a hook, he might spend several minutes afterwards rewinding time on the other side of his brain so that he would not forget the variable he had previously overlooked.
And of course, there is the execution. The stroke. The hand eye co-ordination and feel necessary to make it work. Seeing in several dimensions is one remarkable thing, but having the touch and control to manipulate those spheres, is quite another. It was rare that an individual had both.
“Nice shooting.” Tony said as he moved toward the side pocket and pulled up the seven ball and let it trickle gently down to the rack end of the table. He looked over at The Boss who stood chalking his cue at the opposite side while the kid playing eight ball rushed in and started racking the balls. He got a crisp buck a rack that Louis held between his fingers as the kid finished and spun away to his table, the long way, up and around. Just like a ball boy in a tennis match. Occasionally, either Tony or The Boss would wave him off and do the rack up themselves. The Boss would grab the buck from Louis and drop it on the kid’s table. Tony would just smile and leave the waving buck in Louis’ fingers that Louis dared Tony to grab onto. Louis didn’t smile, but there was a look in his eye that suggested he was highly amused.
758. NuPlanetOne - 11/15/2007 2:34:24 AM “It was a good break. Never in doubt. No twos.” No twos meaning no two ways about it. Actually, No Twos was his nickname. Joey ‘No Twos’ DeLuca. Early on in his career he was an enforcer. Then, after overseeing collections and consistently managing a positive flow, he became a special capo of internal affairs. If there were discrepancies in financial areas surrounding money moving or laundering operations, he was your guy. He was so good at it that he became the money moving operation itself. If they sent him in and he determined something was amiss he sent back his now famous ‘ain’t no fuckin twos,’ and heads rolled. It is why, even a top dog like Gino might be shitting his pants and why The Boss was getting anything he wanted on this particular visit.
“Yep. Clean rack,” Tony said as he took a seat two down from Louis with his head nodding and his eyes darting a bit from side to side in recalculation. It was the third time I noticed the eye thing as if all of his other parts were locked on the mission but a separate scanner was busy sifting through data for something.
“Where we at Louis?” The Boss said in passing as he grabbed his house stick leaning behind the empty seat to Louis’ left.
“Four zip this race. Two zip total,” Louis said then threw his eyes toward Tony. Tony shook his head stiffly, shifted his upper body to his right elbow and agreed. Louis pulled a pen out of the inside pocket of his blazer with his left hand and pulled his right hand out from under the coats bunched on his lap and scribbled on a little pad that had been sitting atop the coats. He put the pen down to his left next to a little pile of one dollar bills and tucked his other hand back under the coats. Then he put the pen back in his blazer and pressed the pad into the coats so it would stick and went still with his bottom lip pursed up a bit.
“Two zip,” The Boss repeated as he slammed the cue ball into the diamond rack of balls at the far end of the table. All in an instant the snap propelled a few outer balls on the diamond with such speed that you only caught up with them once you had managed to determine the follow through of the cue ball. And The Boss played a power force follow stopping the cue for a nano second on impact after delivering the bang, then like a wounded bull the cue put its head down and charged on through the center of the retreating balls in search of a second strike. If it got a clean charge through the exploding pile and caught a ball coming off the rail still full of the initial slam, it could force that ball and itself to change direction and start an uncontrolled chain reaction, that not only increased the chances of the nine ball going in, but also could create a wider dispersion and more often than not, multiple sinkings. It is a risky break strategy because the cue ball is basically out of control, but when it works, it piles on momentum and feeds into a players confidence allowing them to find a temporary zone where any shot seems logical. The Boss was in that zone.
759. NuPlanetOne - 11/15/2007 2:35:03 AM “Nice,’ Louis chirped with all the emotion of a store front Indian. Tony turned his head slightly and up and looked at Louis like he was trying to recognize someone from far away.
“Very nice,’ Tony said respectfully and tapped his stick butt on the floor.
“Very nice,’ The Boss repeated as if he had not heard Tony and was saying it in response to what he now had in front of him. Four balls went in on the break and the other five were sitting patiently out in the open like rescued sailors. The Boss chalked up and quickly pocketed them without saying another word.
“Three zip,” Louis announced and was putting the pen away again having scribbled the score even before The Boss had finished. The kid playing eight ball was already whizzing around the table collecting balls and sending them toward the rack he had tossed up near the spot. He grabbed his buck and was gone. The Boss reloaded his house stick and slammed the cue ball with a snap into the fresh diamond. Balls ricochetted wildly while amidst all the flying objects the nine ball was on a slow ride toward the corner pocket to The Bosses’ left. The six ball came at it from behind and in a split second was kissed by the three coming across from the side and the collision bounced the three into the side pocket and sent the six off the rail cross corner and it smiled as it banged into the corner pocket while just after it, the nine, never deviating from its steady roll, fell in on top off the six.
“Five zip,” Louis said weirdly then cleared his throat. “Five zip.” He said clearly. They were playing double on the break if the nine went in. It went in. Tony popped up and grabbed the rack.
“Let me change my luck,” Tony said and waved off the kid.
“By all means. But it ain’t luck my friend. No twos.” The Boss stared in at Tony like he was telling the next person in line some obviously bad news. Tony continued to rack the balls nodding his head then paused with the rack just above the diamond and stared for a split second at The Boss, forced a smile, hung the rack under the table, and stepped back as the cue ball rammed into the pile. Then he looked at me with a face that asked if I was up to something and I looked back with a face saying all was well.
“Luck,” The Boss declared, “is how a fool explains good fortune. Me. I make my own good fortune. That’s why a goddamn fool has no good explanation for failure.” Again, it was like he was talking to the situation in front of him. This time three balls went in on the break but the cue ball was stuck on the right side rail facing the stairs with two balls blocking it. He needed a shot on the three ball which hung in the pocket by the right corner down in front of Louis on the same side. He had a clean stroke on the cue to play it off the top rail to the opposite side rail then down to the three. He would have to hit the top rail to the left of the center diamond because the eight ball blocked out just enough space to forbid a simple two rail come around. This meant he would have to stretch the angle coming off the side rail by using some right hand spin. Easy enough, but the three was hanging very close to the rail by the pocket. If you hit it on the side away from the rail it would not go, unless you got a lucky double kiss which would bounce it in off the cue ball.
760. NuPlanetOne - 11/15/2007 2:35:44 AM “Look at the hit, if you would, please, my friend.” The Boss stood staring down at the cue ball.
“You going around it, or straight up?” Tony asked without getting up. The Boss’ eyes went quickly down to the cue then circled around the table. I couldn’t be sure but I didn’t think The Boss had considered the forced massé because it never occurred to me either. Looking now, it was playable. If you curve it around the eight with a slightly raised snap it would slide off the second rail on a string down toward the three. All feel, of course, but it gave you the quarter inch to the left of the center diamond on that top rail. And that brought the cue ball down dead inside the three and would pinch it right into the hole. Tony was up next to him now.
“I’ll go straight up,” The Boss said while getting down to stroke the shot as Tony moved out of the space with the movement. He moved the cue smoothly in a controlled level stroke like he was going straight up then lifted his set position and his posture changed as if he was feeling out a possible masse. Then he stood straight and chalked the stick deliberately.
“Safe.” He said. “Watch the hit.” Tony hung at the rack end with an interested look on his face and The Boss got back down over the cue. He sent it directly up toward the corner pocket on his side with a little puff of a stroke and a nudge of left hand English on a slight left to right slant and it met the rail and came back down crawling steady on exactly the same line. You could count the revolutions as it tickled the rail a hair before the eight ball, tickled the eight, then nestled in behind it and stuck to the rail, buried. Perfect safety. I knew The Boss could play, but this suggested a level I was unaware of. Tony’s face no longer showed interest. His pupils were locked in a tight dance of a circle centered on the cue ball. He came around and leaned over the cue and then stepped away and looked on a line toward the corner pocket opposite the three ball on Louis’ right side.
“Good hit,” Tony said with a head shake and puckered lips, mocking exasperation, then a smile.
“I thought you might like that,” The Boss quipped as he came toward Tony and took a look at the line Tony had studied toward the far left corner. He forced a harmless, yet disbelieving smirk and moved down to Louis’ left and stood smiling back at Tony. Tony was standing with his head directly over the cue again and had a genuine look of bewilderment on his face. I was thinking he must be thinking it was too early to pull a rabbit out of his hat. Or, he was wondering why he was hired to hustle a guy who apparently knew it was a hustle. But on the other hand, if The Boss was as good as it now appeared he might be, the safety play might just be a message telling all those concerned that it wasn’t a hustle at all, but a real challenge. A dare. But why?
761. NuPlanetOne - 11/15/2007 2:36:25 AM That is the pang of fear I got as I studied Louis and The Boss and looked at their expressions and posture for a sign or signal that all remained as it was before. I tried to catch Louis’ eye but both of his eyes went up and he grinned as he looked at The Boss. It was The Boss’ deal. Louis never said it wasn’t. I just assumed he was arranging some entertainment. I didn’t like the smell of it. It was going to be a long night. I had guaranteed Tony I had his back. That part seemed incidental and minor. I hated trusting Louis in the first place, and now I had two guys to keep safe and sound. Although, they could just be fucking with me, because they could, and hopefully Louis had me set up Tony just in case The Boss couldn’t actually beat Tony straight up. That had never happened, as far as I knew. And I thought everyone else inside the inside circles was aware of it too. I wouldn’t be able to tell if The Boss was that good. You would have to be that good to see it. Or better. It made sense that Tony already saw it which would explain the strange looks on his face. I had to know what he was thinking. Hopefully he might piss soon.
“What’s to like?” Tony said to The Boss after studying the layout from every angle. He was nodding his head and returning The Boss’ smile as he backed away from the cue and tapped his cue on the underside of the adjacent table. Pool room applause. His body language seemed playful now and the scene felt less tense. I exhaled and smiled and relaxed my butt onto the rail of my table. I caught the face of Pappy with a strained look on it staring at me from across the way. As soon as I returned the look he motioned with his eyes and a slight head jerk up toward the iron railing. There were a bunch of people now watching Tony’s game and I realized that all the tables had pretty much stopped their matches and stood quietly taking it all in. Same as me. On my glance at the group at the railing I had noticed a very attractive young lady looking wide eyed in my direction. Even from where I stood the green eyes of the grille girl were unmistakable. That sent my head and gaze back quickly in her direction. She made an ‘it’s about time’ grimace and motioned for me too come to her. Slightly befuddled looking I nodded and put up my index finger without fully turning her way. She then turned and headed away in the direction of the snack bar. I looked at Pappy and he was expressionless now watching Tony from over the buffer table next to his. Switch was in his favorite chair hiding behind his cue. His eyes darted my way quickly as I moved to go. He sent a plume of smoke out of the side of his mouth. I went after the grille girl.
762. NuPlanetOne - 11/15/2007 2:37:08 AM Chapter 8
By the time I got up to the railing level and started toward the snack bar I could see Ollie was busy working the grille and another guy was off to his right pulling up a basket full of French fries. A well coiffed older woman was busy with a handful of people at the register. Her cap looked like a space pod that had landed softly on an ashen lunar surface without stirring a molecule of dust. Most of the tables were full of Saturday night bowlers having their evening gorge of grilled grease and boiled oil. A few kids flitted about doing a sugar dance holding cups of syrup flavored water and shrieking at nothing in particular. No grille girl. I looked past that scene and down toward the far end where the last lane hit the huge wall covered with league banners and local ads and just before the end wall I caught sight of her torso hanging out of a doorway. She waved me down.
As I walked I was thinking that the wall on my right must be the back part of a section of the restaurant and I was wondering why Sophina, that was the name on her snack bar badge, was drawing me to a secluded rendezvous. But then again, my life was full of secret rendezvous. My life was full of secrets. My life was full of shit. I was full of shit. Everyone involved all around me in this thing was full of shit and secrets. And as usual I had to sniff around and head butt the muck like a truffle pig and dig out the big secret. Even if the biggest secret, for a change, was that no one was paying me or assigning me to uncover the big secret. I had the secret up front, and I was getting paid to protect it. If I did the double-cross, my evolving big secret, I would have some serious heartless mother raping killers dedicated to mutilating my sorry corpse, who, like wild chimps, would probably then eat the carcass. Uncomplicated thugs with a very narrow imagination.
On the other hand, the Feds scared the living shit out of me. Creative and career killers with legal papers. No one to buy out or stand down. Guys and gals like me, my colleagues, as it were. And any one of them, like me, could be right in the middle of this and I wouldn’t know it unless there was an afterlife. A final recollection before I descended into hell. I stopped and put my back to the wall and brought up my right knee to brace myself and felt again for the gun that wasn’t there. Fuck the gun. If I needed a gun it wasn’t going to happen. I will only need a gun when I made it happen, if I could make it happen. I knew I needed help. No, I needed luck. I needed help. I needed focus. Put it together Marco.
Out in front of me the alleys were abuzz with a dizzying array of neon lit bodies lost in a panorama of action and repose. Heads peering up at electronic scorecards and hands stuck in bowling balls. Set position, running approaches, choreographed marches toward the release, groups sitting behind watching or chatting or jumping for joy. Towels waving. Whizzing spirals hooking into shiny white pins. Balls sprouting out of carousels and picked up and rubbed and inspected. Swooping gates gathering pins to fall off the edge of the waxed wooden surface. Smirks, total concentration, lackadaisical gutter balls. An hourglass of diversion and forgetting. Somewhere I had not been in a long time. The grille girl broke the trance. I looked down her way and she stepped into view and waved me down. I looked back out at the alley and pushed myself off the wall. She made sure I kept advancing then raised her eyebrows and ducked into a doorway. 763. NuPlanetOne - 11/15/2007 2:37:50 AM The door had a small sign saying ‘Private: No Admittance.’ I looked up and down and around the immediate vicinity and no one seemed to care. I caught sight of the square woman in the football coat coming out of the snack bar area and it looked like she frowned and beaded her eyes at me, but then again, I was ogling the new tray of food she was lugging. I grabbed the door knob. No give. Then gave the door one rap. The knob turned and the green eyes twinkled and I pushed my way in. The grille girl was striding down a brightly lit hall powered by a couple of legs that shot out of a short skirt and would have got a yelp out of a Trappist Monk celebrating a lifetime of celibacy and silence.
“Follow me,” she said jerking her face over her right shoulder. A face, it seemed, that might always be immersed in some vague, self contained, personal amusement.
“You bet,” I told those legs. She turned right into an open doorway.
“The private chamber,” I said as I eyeballed what appeared to be some version of a conference room. Banquet table with a handful of sturdy folding chairs placed around it in the center of the room. A room splashed with white fluorescence that would easily crack a make-up mirror obliged to reflect every wrinkle or blemish it received. Although, my new friend had little fear of such things as either her youth or pure confidence outshone any diminishing factors. But I could tell she was closer to thirty than twenty and I wondered why that mattered.
“You thirsty?” she asked waving a right hand that jangled as several gold hoops moved across a slender wrist with the motion. She was seated at the head of the table closest to me and threw her right leg up over her left as she spoke and I was hoping I didn’t watch that too closely as I let my head survey the rest of the room.
764. NuPlanetOne - 11/15/2007 2:38:31 AM “A taste wouldn’t ruin my judgment,” I deadpanned as my eyes took me over to a small sink with several bottles arranged next to it acting as a kind of mini-bar on a silver tray.
“Well, feel free to ruin mine,’ she shot back.
“This one?” I said touching the neck of the Johnnie Walker Red. She made an impressive pout and shook her head no.
“The Jack,” she grinned. That showed a tiny dimple in her left cheek.
“Two Jacks,” I said and grabbed two old fashioned glasses. “Rocks?”
“Underneath.” She motioned at the space below the Formica counter top that looked just like plain matched facing. A four finger sized hollow near the top let me pull out an under counter freezer drawer. Plenty of ice. The jangle of cubes infused everything with something and the thickness and purity of sound suggested some pretty good soundproofing. No calling for help in here, I thought.
“Look good?” I asked holding the finished glasses. She nodded.
“You work for Pappy?” She said with folded arms plopped on her tummy and her top leg wagging like a puppy waiting for a biscuit.
“Pappy?” I regurgitated mildly surprised. “No, one of the other guys.”
“Ha,” she yapped like the puppy cocking her head having seen the biscuit. “That really narrows it down.”
“Well, I thought we all worked for the same guy, you know, not counting side deals and private desires.” I handed over her glass and settled into my seat. A fascinating look of allure settled across her face as she reached out and took the glass. I remembered why I loved women.
“O.K. Then here’s to personal desires.” She offered her glass for a tap.
“And, let’s not forget side deals,” I added without conviction and clanked my glass into hers.
“O.K. Here’s to deals we desire, personal and otherwise.” Her right eyebrow went up and framed a look like a peep hole opening onto a quiet countryside. It looked inviting, but there were shadows.
“Very well, to desires.” I said, ignoring the shadows and curious about the stuff in the open. We stared till she blinked closing the peep hole and she got on with thinking.
“Vinnie wanted me to inform you that a certain party was in the building,” she said waiting to measure my response.
“Really?” I showed nothing. “All the way to the private lounge for that, O.K. What else?” I leaned back and took a sip of my drink. She watched that and sank down and back in her seat a bit.
“ Oh,” she said like she had the real news, “I just figured you might want to fuck my brains out.” She sat up straight like she was ready. Our eyes connected in a way that felt unrehearsed. Then she laughed, blushed a fraction unnoticeably, and propped her chin on her chest and showed a neutral grin.
“Wow! I hope that was your idea, and not Vinnie’s.” I chuckled and let it lay there. She lifted her head and pushed her fists into her sides like she was resetting her spine. It pushed her breasts out and stiffened her neck. She was definitely itchy, or something.
“Well, Vinnie often gets that idea, but he’s disgusting. He smells.” She pinched her nose with two slinky fingers on her right hand. She was pure femininity in that pose, fingers on nose, left hand buried in her side. Cleavage bulging. Scrunched pout. A total distraction.
“I smell O.K.” I said pretending to sniff my underarm. “You know, in case I got that same idea,” adding with a voice that came from my mouth but was encouraged by inspiration below my waist.
“Ya,” she cocked her head, “sometimes it’s good to put all your ideas right up there on the table.” She relaxed back into her chair and uncrossed her legs. Her knees banged together like she was holding in a piss.
“Definitely. Lay it right out on the table.” I said watching those knees in a robotic tone mocking the subliminal.
765. NuPlanetOne - 11/15/2007 2:39:13 AM “Yup. Always best to get right down to the thrust of it. Grab the thing head on.” She made a sweet little chuckle and popped forward and rested her arms on the edge of the table. She swigged down the rest of her drink and tipped the empty glass in my direction. I looked at my drink, fearlessly examined her sudden cleavage, then downed my glass. I adjusted my inspiration and headed over to the mini-bar. I could hear her knees swooshing behind me.
“Double up cowboy, I’m feeling kinda goofy.” She told my back. I couldn’t tell exactly what level of sincerity I was wading into, or, was it some kind of bonding? I had decided I needed to trust her, even if the way I was thinking was influenced by two lovely, knocking knees. She hated Vinnie. That was real.
“So,” I said as I splashed the Jack onto the ice, “This certain party I’m interested in. Where in the building is she exactly?” I turned and strode back to her carefully like I was carrying nitroglycerin into the mine shaft.
“Vinnie didn’t say,” she warbled as she took the handoff a little rough like she didn’t care if the mine exploded. “But, I happen to know she is next door having a workout. Probably all lathered up in a sweat right now.” Her eyes rolled gleefully as she nibbled off the top of her drink. I nibbled mine.
“Well, then. Good for her,” I said then got back into her eyes as if to be rid of the subject. Her knees were quiet. She stared me down. It felt like she was trying to decide whether or not to prolong the distraction. Her eyes were beautiful, an incredible color. I watched them. Her knees started banging. She had the grin back and the irises softened.
“Yes, screw her!” She glared narrowly like she was locating the crosshairs in a rifle sight. “We don’t need her at this little gathering!” She pushed back and swung the leg back over the other one. She was all puppy again.
“So what’s the deal with Ollie?” I just threw it out there. Kinda like I was curious about the competition.
“Oh, poor Ollie,” she said. “Don’t know what I’m gonna do with that boy.” She let go a sigh like a mother that just got the news that the lad had bee suspended from high school.
“Ya, Vinnie seemed crazy about him too.” I said it like I had just realized it.
“That fuckin greaseball! He treats Ollie like shit!” The glare was laser like. Like she was a sniper with a shot. She just needed to pull the trigger. “Nothing better happen to that kid!” Her eyes put the crosshairs on me. I could tell, I had seen that impersonal determination before, she could pull the trigger. “What’s Ollie got to do with anything going on?” She half demanded with a little tinge of dread. Then a cool threatening stare. “Is he part of your business here, tell me!”
“Don’t know, nothing I’m aware of,” I said as if I was genuinely surprised by her declarations. And she searched me. Tried to look all through me. I tried to look like I knew nothing. I tried to look like I was captivated by her every expression. It was easy. I was captivated. We sat and stared.
“O.K., sorry. It’s just, Ollie is important to me.” Her head tilted away a bit as if she was trying to hide a piece of her face. The part with her soul.
“I understand,” I said with eye movement following her eye movement.
“No. No you don’t,” she stared straight ahead. “It’s not that. It’s not romantic. It’s personal. It’s important.” She let out an exasperated sigh and let her arms drop to the floor as she slunk down in her chair. She put her chin on her chest and her hair fell forward. She started laughing then quickly sat back up and delicately picked up her glass. I watched every moment of it. I tried not to think too hard about Ollie. Or what could happen to him. I was real busy thinking about her.
“O.K., it’s important. I’ll remember that.” I said it like I took note of her insistence on Ollie and her hatred for Vinnie, but swung it over to Tony.
766. NuPlanetOne - 11/15/2007 2:40:12 AM “What is more important right now is where Tony’s focus is this evening. He is part of my business tonight and I need him to follow the script, even if I’m still writing it. Your boy Ollie is fine with me. Your word that the kid is O.K., is plenty. Because you are O.K.” Her eyes followed the speech with a slight blink at the mention of Tony but locked on to my stare concerning Ollie and herself. It was like an agreement with contracts to follow. She unscrunched her shoulders and put her left hand on my wrist.
“Are you hungry?” She asked like she was really concerned about it. I put my other hand on top of her hand. Her eyes went up to mine immediately then back down to the hands, then up again. As soon as our pupils locked on each other I felt the twinge. I knew nothing else mattered at that moment in time. And the twinge was a kind of adrenalin drenched fear and exhilaration. I have never been able to understand why it only happened with certain women, why I couldn't conjure or force it when I needed it or thought I was in love or felt an attraction. And I could count on one hand and a thumb how many times in my life I had felt it. One time it cost me my marriage, another time it cost me my best friend, and once it nearly cost me my life. And all these things buzzing around the glass bubble of this sudden enchantment, rapping on the glass, unable to shake my focus from even considering the consequences. For as her fingers moved just slightly up my arm every pore and folicle and strand of hair in thier path exited a pleasure and wanton anticipation like she lit each one and anything literate or consequential belonged to another reality.
"Sure, let's eat," I half whispered. Our eyes ebbed and flowed as in the same tidal surge obeying the moon.
"Wait," she said while the waves settled to foam to bubbles knowing the next crash is coming. She slid out of her chair and came around and went by me keeping hold of my hand. Her other hand hit a wall switch and the naked hard edged flourescence was gone. A soft night light off in a corner, the mild glare of a microwave, the red glow of an exit sign and a splash of light from the hall turned the room into a place that matched the lure and circumstances, at least, in the bubble I was in. Then she stepped into the bubble. And it was warm.
767. NuPlanetOne - 11/15/2007 2:41:57 AM She came back with my hand and put it on her right thigh as her left leg slid past my chest and her butt rested on the table edge where a plate of food would belong. I faced the plate and slid my chair back a bit then pulled her slowly down onto my lap. Her back was rigid against the table and in a dense slow breathing moment our mouths found each other. There is no way to describe, really, actually, how intense and carnal that first bolt of electricity can reverberate and override any logical thought or priority. It is like the life force that is pounding beneath the surface of all living things explodes into existence and moves the mind and body in a dance of greed and cooperation that each gender neccessary to mix the primeval elixir submit and engage in the profound exchange of cells and fluids, so that the force might continue. Lust, however described or pronounced floods chemically from the most ancient spot on the Helix and washes away pain and suffering and fear and holds them in stasis so that the host may survive the moment and create, in the short blip of time allowed, one more life. I have thought of these things, afterwards, of course, as now I was paralysed by the smell and sounds and taste of the wonderful creature writhing in my arms. And the kiss, her toungue, her breasts squashed hard into my chest, her bottom grinding into my crotch; me, trying to force the motion of our heads, gain control, quide her to the table, sense her thoughts, prolong each second forever. Her, receptive, forceful, reluctant, pliable, recoiling, unrelenting, gushing with anticipation. Pushing her torso onto the table, her hands pulling my hands to her breasts, forcing her top up. Exposing her perfect nipples hard against my soft fingers, buttons that I flick and press and take into my mouth. Smothering and suffocating my head with wonderful arms holding me onto her chest while pushing down slightly, then pulling me up in a shudder, pushing me down, then up, as my hands, each one holding and molding a breast now pushing against the pull. Holding her back onto the table letting my toungue find her stomach. Tasting the top of a hip, finding the tiny zipper on the back of her skirt. 768. NuPlanetOne - 11/15/2007 2:42:43 AM Not once wanting to go fast or slow or wanting anything specific, just instinctively gliding the skirt over warm flesh and getting it off and away. Kissing her abdomen and sensing the moisture and suspense of the impending exploration and aware that my own genitals were hungry for inclusion. Then feeling with a hand for my belt but quickly putting that hand on her thigh and letting two fingers ride slowly up the edge of her panties just slightly disturbing her pubic hairs that waited at the outer limit of her vagina. Like a knee hit with a hammer she jerked up and looked quickly down as if she had surprised a thief, then jammed back down onto the table grasping my head and hair like a tether to soften the landing. And I went quick to the task. Panties peeling, holding legs aloft, then spread, inner and upper thighs tasted and teased. Torturing the outer rim and circumference at the center of those legs until, like a cobra, a strike. Having seen, and knowing how ferociously a woman can experience an out of body other worldly orgasmic phenomenon, hardly prepared me for how fierce and possessed Sofina now felt under my darting toungue. It was like I was holding down a cyclone I had managed to wrestle to the ground. As in waves with thighs trying to squeeze the thing to death she locked and unlocked her legs about my head and I gasped between bites and breaths for air. She would pull me out and stare trying to communicate or recognize or decide how to absorb the pleasure and persistence of my eager generosity. Until she did decide and clamped my head tight and moved my face all over and into her center a final long second then pulled me out and up and rubbed my lips and chin all over her tightened stomach muscles. Again our mouths locked and I felt her hands quickly getting my pants down and with both hands moving she began to relieve and massage my aching errection. She jerked her head from mine and slid her arms through my armpits and tried to pull me up. I rose and stood and felt her warm fingers come round my waist and buckled slightly as she moved her mouth up and down and over, gliding and sucking. And I braced my self against the table to endure excruciatingly the will to hold it back. And as I fought her off me and pushed her back to the table her eyes flashed open unblinking and she said, "No. Fuck me.Yes." Her eyes never closed like the gaze of the newly deceased startled to death. And as I moved myself in and out of her the gaze became a magnificent grimace and she crossed her hands on her chest and I could feel her legs stiffen and toes separate and point. Her head rocked side to side slowly and I prayed I could have one more second. And it hit. "Oh. Oh. Now. Yes. Oh! Now!" And she jerked and pushed her hands at my chest and froze and as I let go with all my might she froze an eternal second as then in a series of shudders and moans, it was over. 769. alistairconnor - 11/15/2007 10:53:58 AM It was over...
Seems a shame to break the silence.
OK I admit I flipped the pages, now I'll go back and read the pool game.
Well actually I'm at work so perhaps it'll wait. In any case, the organic process of a short story growing into a novel is a beautiful thing to behold. Your prose has a luminous quality, Nu. Interesting that it seems to fuse with your poetry when you're on the subject of sex.
770. NuPlanetOne - 11/18/2007 2:41:16 AM Thanks alistair,
It is a laborious thing, especially with limited time. I can see oh so many flaws that would need fixing, especially one huge one concerning the safety played during the nineball game. It was really a push out maneuver, and I had begun the fix, but I forgot to include it. Anyway, writing about sex without being literal or pure graphic is very difficult. I hope I can get better at that. I hate when writers avoid it. On the other hand, there is actually money to be made writing about that paticular primal necessity. 771. webfeet - 1/8/2008 6:53:45 AM I don't know if sex actually sells, Nuplanet, or the illusion of it, but I am compelled to mention that when a sex scene brings to mind fight scenes in 'The Trail of the Pink Panther' between Jacques Clouseau and his black belt valet, it may be better to airbrush those dangerous liaisons zip zip from the lens.
I think that's why many writers shy away from 'the act' and go for stolent moments and the soft lens fading discretely, like in a Cary Grant movie. Cowardly? Oh, oui. And, yet, no-one would want to steal those moments away from Sofina. Not me. Not you. Not anybody. But it might be wise to compare her to a cyclone or a python or a barnacle-tearing octopus--but not all three.
Anyway, I enjoyed it. Especially 'No. Fuck me.Yes." 772. alistairconnor - 1/9/2008 5:48:50 PM Well if that was so lousy, Bibiche, why don't you give us your version? Hmmm?
Or anything else... How's your fictional life these days? 773. webfeet - 1/10/2008 8:31:35 PM Seems only a fortnight ago I last wrote..and yet the calendar, chunks of which have been torn out, tells me otherwise. Since it's only 1:17 here in New York, I think I'll resist opening the decanter of Madeira and tipping some down my throat in toast.
Cher, alistair, I wasn't calling Nuplanet lousy. I love Nuplanet. I mean that. That's like calling myself lousy, you try out new things; that's part of the creative life, and anyone who is creative and holds the arts sacred, as I do, knows that. Ilove all creative people because the world is populated with dullards. And parents are the dullest people of all. Or, at least the ones I seem to meet.
I would say ribbing if it didn't make me blush, or gently teasing--is probably a better word, since it made me laugh more than a little. I mean, sex is notoriously difficult to write about--there is some award, is there not--for the lousiest, most ridiculous sex scene?
I was going to write my own insane version of a round robin Christmas letter here, called Goodbye Xanax, but I decided it was late..and I went to bed. Without xanax, that is.
Through sheer will, intense discipline and the circumstantial privilege that my daughter is now in nursery school full-time--all have enabled me to write a manuscript worthy enough to attract the eye of a literary agent in NYC. She is pursuing a 2 book contract instead of one which means I have a lot of tap dancing to do in double time.
It's like being an ingenue from the sticks arriving on Broadway, "Throw a steak at me! I can dance, I say!" And then, dancing, dancing, dancing off a cliff..
Part of what I realized when I actually got brutally serious was how much more fun I had writing here during frivolous periods in my life--and how much better at times it was--rather than when I had to put my foot to the pedal and really, really work.
Anyway, it looks like you have a new cherie and are spry as always, and I only hope you and the girls are happy and well.
As I wish that for everyone else here on the Mote! Especially you, Nuplanet!
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