Tracy
by Steve Goldsmith

Stan ‘The Pool God’ Bowditch, leans down over the blue cloth, slides the pine cue between finger and thumb. He glances at the white ball ... slides the cue back ... then looks to the eight-ball, slides the cue forward, eyes to the nine-ball as the cue draws back, then eyes back on the white ball as he slides the cue forward ... hits the white, which rolls into the eight-ball, cannons onto the nine-ball. The nine-ball creeps towards the pocket - the spectators breathe in hard, waiting to release cheers or condolences to Stan.

The nine-ball reaches the edge of the pocket ... wobbles, waits ... then drops with a clunk. The room explodes in excited claps and cheers. Stan kisses his cue and holds it aloft, the cameras flash, the smile on his face widens and beams white teeth. He is still undefeated and progresses to the National Final for the third successive year.

The spectators, his opponent, the Press, and his management came over to congratulate him, shake him by the hand and to smell the sweet scent of money that twenty-four year old Stan, sweats.

‘Well done, my boy - pure genius!’

‘The best ever ... the greatest ever player!’

‘Goddam, you never cease to believe me, Stan!’

Stan gently nodded, grinned. He knew he was good. Hell, they were right - he was the best there is - and the best there ever was.

Stan walked through the crowd, lifted a clenched fist and accepted the claps as he sliced through the spectators as if parting of the sea. He reached the bar, sat down and ordered a Jack Daniel’s - with ice.

The barman spun a glass in his hand and placed it before Stan, smiled, then poured a shot.

‘And another,’ Stan said waving a finger towards the glass. The barman obliged and added a second, then shook the ice and scooped the frozen cubes into the Jack Daniel’s.

‘Thanks,’ Stan said, then took a sip.

A woman with long brown hair, green eyes and high cheekbones pushed through to where Stan sat.

Stan eyed her. She was beautiful. ‘Would you like to ask me some questions? Which paper you from? A National, I hope?’ he said.

‘Actually I’m not interested in Pool. I was just hoping you might let me buy you a drink?’

Stan’s smile grew.

‘So you don’t like Pool?’ Stan asked as he downed the contents of his drink.

‘Give him another,’ she said to the barman, and I’ll have a double Vodka.’ She met eyes with Stan. ‘No ... well, I don’t mind watching.’

‘Ice?’ the barman asked.

‘Yes please.’

‘My name’s Danielle,’ she said holding her hand out for Stan to shake. Stan took the delicate, soft hand and planted a gentle kiss.

Danielle smiled, blushed a little.

‘I’ve made the Final again this year,’ Stan beamed proudly. ‘I’ve got to face some Yank. Cody Lerman, he’s undefeated in five years, I’m told.’

‘Oh,’ Danielle responded. ‘Do you think you’ll beat him?’

Stan laughed. ‘Of course, as long as I’ve had a few of these,’ he said waving the glass that contained only ice. ‘Another, barman,’ he said, then burped.

‘Do you drink before matches?’

‘Yeah sure - gets me in the Zone. You know like Tiger Woods? All the best sportsman do,’ he said, burped.

‘Drink before they play?’

‘No stupid!’ Stan said. ‘Get into the Zone.’

Danielle finished her vodka and ordered another, double. ‘So why are you so confident about beating this undefeated American ... er ...Cody Lerman?’

Stan grinned, breathed whiskey breath over Danielle. ‘The American circuit is weak ... that’s why he’s come over to face me - wants a real challenge! I’ll give him a good whipping!’ he announced in his best American accent.

‘What does a Pool God like yourself do after a hard game of Pool?’

Stan grinned. ‘Well...’ he said, sipped. ‘Unwind, relax, release the tension-’

‘How?’

‘Oh I don’t know, shower, massage, go to bed.’

‘You massage yourself?!’

‘If nobody else will do it for me,’ Stan responded, grinned.

After another few drinks, Stan agreed to give Danielle a tour of his hotel room. He stumbled, trying to climb the stairs. Stan not to be beaten by a staircase, tried again, dragging Danielle behind him. They reached the summit, and then as they walked, Stan stumbled over a table. He rolled on the floor, his cue case whacked against the wall.

Stan got up, swore, he kicked out at the table - then kicked again, drool hung from his lip. He wiped, turned to Danielle who swayed on her legs - shocked by his violent outburst.

‘Bloody tables!’ he said, smiled. The furious anger in his face erased in a second.

Danielle picked up Stan’s cue case, opened and took the cue out.

‘Be careful!’ Stan shouted, froze.

Danielle stood, bemused, at Stan’s shocked, fearful face.

‘What the cue?’ she said. ‘Ouch!’ she screamed, dropped the cue. Stan dived forward and caught the cue before it hit the ground.

‘Bloody thing!’ Danielle said, burped. ‘It felt like it bloody well bit me!’

Stan glanced up beneath his eyelids. ‘Don’t be silly ... it’s a cue,’ he muttered.

‘No damage,’ she responded. ‘But you want to be careful if there’s a sharp bit on that cue ... you don’t want it to catch you during a important shot.’

Stan nodded. ‘Yes ... I’ll be careful.’

They reached Stan’s room, he fumbled around for his key, then let her in - flicked the light on and shut the door behind them, with added emphasize on the locking bolt. Danielle turned, trying to focus on Stan - feeling a little weak on her legs.

Stan lead Danielle to the bed and unbuttoned her blouse - she simultaneously tore off his tie and waist coat and quickly unbuttoned his shirt, slipped the buckle off his pants and forced them down to his knees. They kissed, held each over desperately trying to relieve themselves of remaining clothes and underwear. Stan finally kicked off his shoes and the pants, which had been tightly wrapped around his ankles.

Danielle took control, thrusted herself onto Stan and initiated the rhythm. Sweaty body’s pressed together, excited groans, and then finally a joint release of fluids.

Stan laid on his back, eyes closed, trying to replay the last few shots of the Pool match. Danielle lay over Stan, her face resting against his chest, she felt warm, happy, drunk and peaceful - feeling Stan’s heart’s slow, soothing beat.

In the morning, Danielle was up first and ordered two full English breakfasts by room service. She climbed out of bed and stepped naked into the shower, feeling the warm water splash down over her chest, her nipples hardened as she could again feel Stan’s body pressed against hers. She smiled, shivered, then stepped out the shower and wrapped a huge white towel around her and dried.

A knock on the hotel door reminded her of the fried breakfasts she had ordered.

‘Just a minute!’ she called as she tied her hair back and made sure the towel was wrapped fully around her body. She walked out the bathroom, bare foot - she tripped over the cue case that lay across her path. She staggered, kept her balance and gave the cue case an evil glance.

‘You’ve got it in for me, haven’t you?!’

She picked the case up - it felt icy cold on her skin - and quickly rested it down next to the bed.

She unlocked the door.

‘Two full English Breakfasts,’ said the waitress.

‘Thank you,’ Danielle replied, pulled the trolley into the room. The waitress peaked over her shoulder to see the naked man in the bed; only the lucky positioning of the sheet maintained his modesty.

‘Enjoy your breakfast!’ the waitress said, grinned. Her eyes widened and sparkled, as she glanced over to Stan.

‘Yes, I will,’ Danielle replied, smiled.

Danielle wheeled the trolley over to the bed, opened the curtains, and allowed the morning sun to shine in across Stan’s face.

‘Breakfast,’ she said. Stan squinted in the sun and rubbed the back of his hands across his eyes, partly to block the sunlight, partly to rub the sleep away.

‘Breakfast,’ she said as she lifted one of the trays from the trolley, waited for Stan to sit up then placed the tray on his lap. Lifted the metal lid, revealed the fried food. She passed him a cup of coffee and the buttered toast.

Stan felt a bolt of pain through his head. ‘God, how much did we drink?’ he asked.

‘Too much,’ Danielle replied, biting into a piece of toast then sipped her orange juice. She watched Stan open his eyes, smiled - finding her next to him in bed. He tried to replay the previous evening to himself.

‘Jesus Christ!’ he said. He lent over, spilt his coffee onto the tray and looked down to the floor. He sighed out a lungful of air.

‘What is it?’ Danielle asked, forking bacon into her mouth.

‘I thought I had left her behind.’

Her forehead creased. ‘Her?’

‘Tracy.’

‘What?!’

Stan lent down and picked up his cue case, flicked the locks up and opened the lid. The cue laid glimmering in the sun.

Danielle swallowed some mushrooms. Smiled. ‘You’ve named your cue, Tracy?!’

She felt a giggle traveling full speed up her throat. Then quickly swallowed a mouthful of scrambled eggs, seeing the look of utter seriousness on Stan’s face.

‘Yes, Tracy - a beautiful name, don’t you think?’

Danielle chewed. Swallowed. ‘Yes - very nice.’

Stan ran a soft hand back and forth over the shiny wood, shut the lid, then locked it. He left the black leather case alongside his leg in the bed as he tucked into his breakfast.

‘Great eggs,’ he said, ‘bacon looks good, too.’

Danielle nodded. ‘Yes - it is good,’ she said, then bit into a sausage.

After finishing breakfast, Danielle lay in bed as Stan showered. She looked at the black leather pool case that remained in the bed. It made her feel uneasy. Goose bumps pricked up over her skin, the room felt cold. She shook her head. ‘What a freak,’ she said quietly. ‘But gorgeous, nevertheless!’

The bathroom door opened and Stan walked out naked; his tanned muscular body dripping wet, his black hair slicked back. He dried himself off then climbed back into the bed. The sight of him drying had turned Danielle on; she felt an excited tingle rush over her body. She crawled over the bed nearer Stan, then allowed her hand to nestle beneath the sheets and over his groin. Stan lent back, closed his eyes, and moaned gently as she worked him.

Danielle closed her eyes also, enjoyed the satisfied sounds Stan made. As he reached climax, she opened her eyes and noticed the cue case was open and his hand was running up and down Tracy as he shuddered. He squeezed
Danielle’s thigh hard with his free hand. Danielle, disappointed, lay back down. She never imagined having to compete with a pool cue for Stan’s attention.

With the National Final coming up in a few days time, Stan spent each day down on the practice tables. The time he wasn’t practicing he was talking with the Press and marketing his new line of sports wear.

Danielle was playing second fiddle, hanging about in the background whilst Stan was occupied.

She would sit in the practice room and watch as Stan hit the balls around the table. Every now and then she would clap or say ‘Well done,’ but Stan didn’t respond or even look at her on most occasions. After finishing one session of twenty straight frames and talking to the Press, he left apparently forgetting she was there with him. He must be in the Zone, she thought. I wish he would be in the Zone with me.

Danielle approached him after he had conducted a TV interview.

‘Stan, honey - look I know it’s the big Final coming up, but for these last few days I’ve barely seen you. If you don’t like me - well, let me know. Don’t lead me on, I thought we might have a future.’

Stan placed his cased cue against the table and hugged Danielle. ‘I’m sorry, Danielle, I do like you, I‘m just so busy at the moment.’

‘Can we have dinner tonight?’

Stan rubbed his head, breathed out as he tried to calculate the arithmetic in his head. ‘Okay,’ he started. ‘I’ve got an interview at five, then I guess we could go for dinner after that. Then I could get a few more frames in before tomorrow’s Final.’

Danielle squeezed him tight against her. ‘Thank you, Stan.’

The two of them separated on the sound of Tracy crashing off the table. Stan bent over, worried, opened the case, examined the cue, then seeing no harm had been done, he held the cue tight to his chest, kissed the pine. ‘Thank God,’ he said. ‘You’re okay.’

Danielle stepped back. Stan faced her, angry. ‘Be more careful!’ he blurted. ‘I can’t afford anything to happen to Tracy before the Final.’

With that he turned and walked out. Danielle sat down, tossed one of the Pool balls across the table; it ricocheted against the edge of the pocket than came back towards her. She picked the ball up and dropped it into the pocket.

Over dinner, Stan barely said a word to Danielle. He ate his prawn cocktail then ordered his main course before Danielle had finished her starter. Danielle didn’t want to say anything; she could tell he was trying to focus on the match tomorrow. Each time he did speak to her it was either about the match or about how lucky Tracy had been for him.

As they ate their ice creams, Stan looked up, put his spoon down and smiled. He lent across the table and took Danielle by the hands.

‘Danielle.’

‘Yes,’ she said, tingled on his touch.

‘I really think tomorrow will be the day ... the day I really prove myself as the greatest player ever ... ever.’

Danielle swallowed, wiped her mouth. ‘That’s wonderful. Maybe we could try and arrange some things to do after the match?’

Stan smiled. ‘Of course - after the match.’

That evening Stan was down on the practice table, producing break after break: potted, positioned, set himself traps to escape from. He became increasingly frustrated at the missed shots and ordered drink after drink.

‘Barman,’ he shouted, ‘bring me the bottle, will you?’

The barman frowned. Walked over with the Jack Daniel’s bottle. ‘Mr. Bowditch, are you sure you should be drinking? You’ve had an awful lot. Won’t it hinder your game tomorrow?’

Stan gazed at the barman - furious he should question his preparation.

‘I’m sorry Mr. Barman, but though I appreciate your advise, I think you should no it means fuck-shit to me! I’m the World’s greatest ever player and I know what the bloody hell I’m doing, okay?!’

The barman turned and bit his lip. He didn’t want to cause problems this close to the Final. The two-week period had been his best ever for business and the club had gained worldwide fame for hosting the Championships. He didn’t want to cause a fracas with Stan ‘Pool God’ Bowditch.

The barman stepped out back to fetch some more Whiskey.

Danielle walked in; she paused and watched as Stan held the cue out in front of him, admired.

She was about to walk over when she was surprised to hear Stan’s voice.

‘Tracy, tomorrow is the big one - the one we have been waiting for ... I need to be at my best ... I need you to be at your best. You will be, won’t you?

Danielle’s head creased in thought.

‘Tracy, baby, I promise you that I’ll never let anything get in the way of Pool ... of us. I want you to stop worrying ... She’s okay. She’s a nice girl, don’t hate her...’

Stan turned and faced Danielle, who stood in the doorway.

‘Who were you talking, too,’ Danielle blurted quickly.

‘Nobody,’ he said, then lent down to play a shot.

‘Stan...’

Stan cued poorly and missed the shot. He growled and spun round to face Danielle. He grabbed for his Jack Daniel’s and downed the whiskey. ‘Look! Danielle, please leave me to practice ... I told you tomorrow after the match - I’d spend time with you. If I win - if I fucking don’t...’

Danielle hadn’t seen him this way. He was really angry, drunk and playing badly.

‘Stan...’ she started.

‘Danielle!’ he screamed, forcing his hand back through his hair. ‘You’re bothering me, you’re like an annoying gnat, please go away - let me damn well concentrate, you’re ruining my bloody chances … she was right!’

He breathed in, then out, running his fingers along Tracy.

‘Stan ... what’s wrong with you? I really like you, but you’re starting to freak me out,’ she yelled, looked at the cue.

Stan brought his fist down hard on the table, his whiskey glass toppled over the edge and onto the floor. ‘What did you say?!’

Danielle, frightened, turned to leave.

‘That’s right you little bitch,’ he roared, ‘I don’t ever want to see your slutty face again ... whore!’

She left the practice room, slammed the door behind her. She broke down, sobbed and ran into the bathroom.

Danielle poured cold water into her cupped hands then splashed the icy contents onto her hot face.

‘Pull yourself together,’ she said to her mirror reflection. She composed herself, then left the bathroom and went back to the practice room to confront Stan. To tell him what an arrogant bastard he was.

She burst into the empty practice room. Stopped, looked around. Nobody around. She slowly walked over to the only lit Pool table. Tracy lay in her case.

Danielle glanced over each shoulder. She stared at Tracy, angry, the blood boiled in her brain. Her minds-eye repeated the same word over and over in her head.

- Revenge - Revenge - Revenge - Revenge -

She took the cue from the case, wiped another gush of tears from her blotchy eyes - held the cue above her head. She breathed, slow, deep breaths. Did she have the nerve?

Her heart thumped, fingers gripped tight, sweated. She swung the cue toward the table -

‘NOOOOO!’ came Stan’s terrified cry.

Too late. The cue cracked down onto the table, split. Splinters pierced Danielle’s skin - she shrieked and dropped the cue, stared at the bloody splinters in her hands and arm.

Stan ran over, panicked. He approached the cue slowly, hands in front of his face.

‘You deserved it, Stan!’ Danielle yelled. ‘After the way you’ve treated me!’

Stan paid little attention to her. His eyes fixed on the split cue. Still a whole cue, just a crack ran from handle to nib.

Sweat dripped from Stan’s forehead, his eyes wide, mouth quivered.

‘You don’t understand what you’ve done!’ he wailed.

Stan grabbed the cue and held it up in the air.

‘Noo! Please, no, don’t do it, Tracy! Please!’

Danielle stepped backwards, watched, eyes fixed on the cue Stan wielded and then swiped towards her.

Danielle stumbled back over a table, kept her balance, panted hard.

Stan lunged forward whacked one of the pool balls - the ball flew from the table, smacked into Danielle’s eye, bursting the eyelid - the blood splattered into her vision.

‘Tracy, no stop it! Stop it!’ Stan screamed, sobbed.

Danielle raised her hands in front of her face, trying to scream but finding no voice.

Stan thrust Tracy forward again - the ball torpedoed from the table and shattered Danielle’s teeth - she dropped to the floor, blood dripped from her mouth amongst the broken teeth. Her vision blurred, head dizzy as she fell towards unconsciousness. As her eyes shut, her last sight was of the Stan standing over her. Tears dripped onto her from his blotchy eyes.

‘Please, no Tracy, no!’ he whined.

The cue slashed down over her head

*************************

He leans over the table. His eyes firmly fixed on the nine-ball. He slides the cue back and forward, smoothly over his hand. He glances to the pocket then allows the cue to glide into the shot. The white ball speeds toward the nine-ball, clips the ball - sends it straight into the pocket without touching the jaws.

The crowd yell in joy - cameras flash and reporters stick their microphones into Stan ‘The Pool God’ Bowditch’s face.

Stan, how does it feel to win the National Championship for the third successive year? ... And beating the American Champ?

‘It feels great!’ Stan says holding the cue, tight.

‘And Stan who are you dedicating this win, too?’

Stan smiled. He kissed his cue. ‘Dedicated to Tracy ... I love you.... you were always the one for me ... always.’

Stan raises his arms aloft.

Doctor Malcolm and Doctor Keane watch Stan through the one-sided glass. Doctor Malcolm scratches at his head. ‘What’s he doing?’ he asks.

‘He thinks he’s playing in the National Pool Championship Final. He’s been doing it ever since we brought him here,’ replies Doctor Keane. ‘He pretends to be playing the shots with thin air … thinks he’s got a cue and that there’s a table for him to play on. He commentates as well.’

Doctor Malcolm gazes through the glass, wide eyed. ‘Fascinating ... why is he here?’

‘The day before he played in the Pool Final -’

‘So he is a Pool player?’

‘Yes ... the day before the Final, he cracked ... beat his girlfriend to death with his Pool cue.’

Doctor Malcolm watches as Stan leans over to break. ‘Looks like the Final’s starting again!’

‘That’s right,’ replies Doctor Keane. ‘Over and over ... he must have played the Final ten times today already.’

‘Any hope for him?’ asks Doctor Malcolm.

Doctor Keane smiles. ‘No chance – he’s barking mad!’

©2002 Steve Goldsmith