Nobody Bats a Thousand (40 page)

A customer yelled for service.

Lucky pressed both of his palms flat on the bar and leaned forward. “Hey, I’m dead serious now, John.
You’re the one that’s got to be strong, for your mom
, for your sister, and your dad.” H
e lightly slapped a big hand on Kane’s shoulder. “And this is no idle
bull,
I’ve known you almost your whole life. I’ve seen you grow up from a rambunctious kid into a man. I got faith in ya, John. I know you’ll handle all of this all right.”

“Thanks, I hope you’re right.”

“Now enjoy yourself a little. The first one is on me, after that you’re on your ow
n.  Good to see ya, kid.
” Lucky smiled, gave the bar a quick tap and walked away back to work.

Kane turned, leaned his back against the bar and stared in the direction of the harsh light hanging over the pool table. One player seemed to be in control. He was skinny, had short black hair, wore tight black pants and a bright gold shirt rolled up at the sleeves. He quickly, fluidly moved around the table like a snake on the prowl, always talking, always smoking. A large golden cross hung down from a chain around his neck whenever he stopped to take a shot.

After each game he would stand next to the bar waiting for a new rack. “Better luck next time,” he would say after he had pocketed his winnings, contemptuously abandoning the just defeated only a short moment before he began to negotiate the provisions of the new game with his next opponent.

Kane continued to watch him play, outclassing the competition, but John was not impressed. The guy shot too hard, missed too often and gave little thought to control of the cue ball. Kane quickly tired of watching but kept at it, forcing himself. By concentrating on the game, silently planning each player’s strategy, he thought he might keep his mind from wandering and keep all those grim thoughts of life and death from sneaking inside his noggin and anxiously banging around, growing and swelling until his entire body felt like a worn-out water pump ready to blow. 

But the diversion was of little use, no matter how hard he tried to force it. He hated to believe he was so weak, but could sense his breaking point was very near, just around the corner. The feeling of weakness intensified his gloom making him feel terribly useless and foolish since
he
, the neophyte to the family dilemma, had so quickly had all he could handle. He had never felt so frail so shaky so worn. Maybe he just needed rest, but sleep did not seem probable or appealing. John could not remember his last drunk or his last hangover, but a temporary twisted shift from reality seemed more constructive than jumping off a bridge; suddenly providence had placed him in the right spot for the job at hand so Kane, suddenly feeling unburdened by guilt or integrity, bought another beer and moved to a table closer to the pool table.

He quickly finished that beer, bought another and sat back down. He watched the player in gold easily beat a big burly, shaggy-haired, bearded guy wearing overalls. But now Kane was only halfheartedly observing the game. Feeling more relaxed, he looked around the room and imagined himself miles away, racing down the interstate in a green Porsche on his way to Las Vegas, the stereo blaring, the wind singing, his pockets stuffed with hundred dollar bills. The reverie was composed and pure. He agreed that dreams do occasionally come true, but by the time they become reality the script had usually been trimmed to meet production costs and insert commercials. Nothing pans out exactly as planned he thought, nothing at all.

He caught himself shaking his head in agreement with himself just before it occurred to him that he must be a pretty depressing sight, looking slumped and bland; backed into a metaphorical corner where the thrill of watching a low-class hustler take a bunch of losers for their weekly beer money was his shield, his ready path to serenity.  He smiled as he mulled that one over and just about that time th
e third beer began to kick in, and he
began to feel a whole lot frisker. He walked across the room, wrote his name on the board to challenge the pool table, then stopped and stood next to the bar.

“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 transplanti
ng 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
morn
ing just to see what’s next.” H
e 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.”
H
e 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 wa
s 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 in
to himself for several seconds
, “thrilled to death.” H
e 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 do
n’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 ho
w I’ve spent the last ten years.” H
e 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 doin
g it was worth your best effort.” H
e 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, dum
my. 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
one,
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 ma
sses, marketing men,
their
job is
so easy they shouldn’t be allowed to call it work.”