Chapter 3

Cracking her left eye open slightly, Zane peered into the mirror; she was face level with the mirror. She saw Lynn and Christine sharing a very passionate kiss. She also saw that Christine had her fingers inside of Lynn’s shorts. From the movement, Zane deduced that Christine was fingering Lynn’s pussy.

She shut her eyes tightly again as another orgasm racked her small body. When Christine reached under and gave Zane’s clitoris a very painful pinch, thumbnail driving into Zane’s clitoris, Zane howled out loud then passed out.

Coming to, Zane saw that she was alone, lying on a bathroom floor. However clean the bathroom might be, she did not relish the idea of lying on the cold tiles. Wearily, she got up, pulled her shorts up and fastened them. She then zipped the hoody up. Out of force of habit, Zane washed her hands before leaving the bathroom.

“Hey, you ’bout ready?” one of the rack girls smiled as Zane entered the main room.

“Huh?” Zane asked the scantily clad young woman.

“Yeah, that Lynn girl? Said you live out in Myndee; off Clarkston? I got to go right by there,” the girl said, grabbing her purse off of the bar. “Thanks Eddy! Give me a call you need me again, okay?”

“Thanks Sweetie; you done great,” Eddy acknowledged, waving to the girl.

“I uh, I don’t, my boyfriend ran off with my debit card,” Zane admitted when the girl led her to a small car.

“Huh? No, no; it’s no problem,” the girl assured her. “Hell, Eddy paid me two fifty and a bunch of them guys tipped me too.”

Zane winced as she sat on the hot vinyl seat of the car. Sitting brought the crotch of her shorts against her crotch in a very snug, very uncomfortable manner.

“Yeah, sorry; need to get a couple of towels or something; put down on them before putting my butt on them, huh?” the girl laughed, racing out of the parking lot.

Zane gave her the name and address of the apartment complex. The girl knew the apartment complex and raced toward the building. Zane sat quietly; the girl did not notice as she prattled happily.

“See you!” the girl said as she let Zane out in front of the building.

“Yeah, see you,” Zane agreed, wobbling up the stairs.

Safely in her apartment again, Zane stripped out of Nicholas’s hoody, allowing it to just drop to the floor. She dropped his cue stick bag on top of the hoody. Then she went to her bathroom, piling her hair on top of her head. She drew a nice, steamy bubble bath and lighted a candle. Turning the bathroom light off, she allowed the suds to soothe her.

Replaying the confrontation in the bathroom of Blouchen’s Billiards, Zane was shocked to find her left hand pinching and twisting her nipples, her right hand tracing up and down her puffy inner lips. Abruptly, she stopped pleasuring herself. A moment later, she was again pinching her nipples. She gasped out as she dug her well-chewed thumbnail into the tender flesh of her nipple.

“Fuck, I, I wonder, I, no, no, I’m not, I’m not, God damn it,” Zane muttered as she pinched her clitoris. “Augh! Oh, oh yes!”

The next morning, Zane turned off her alarm clock. She made a three egg omelet, using up the vegetables before they turned brown. Then, she picked up the hoody and the cue stick.

Since it was just after seven o’clock on a Sunday morning, Zane knew Nicholas would still be sleeping. And, if her guess was correct, he would be hung over as well. Approaching the flimsy door of his apartment, she used the butt of his cue stick to hammer on his door. Then, she looped the handle of the bag over the doorknob, hung the hoody by its hood on the doorknob and marched away.

Zane was nearly to the stop sign before she saw Nicholas open the apartment door. Even in her rearview mirror, she could see just how rough he looked. The hoody had fallen off when he jerked the door open, ready to confront whomever would dare knock so loudly on a Sunday morning. Nicholas bending over to pick the hoody from the ground was Zane’s last sight of her former boyfriend.

In her apartment once more, Zane again replayed the bathroom incident in her mind. She caught herself chewing on a fingernail; a bad habit she’d had since childhood. With a grimace, Zane determined to make some changes.

With a smile, she said out loud, “Well dumping loser Nicholas is a good start!”

The nail salon opened its doors at eleven on Sundays. Looking at the deplorable condition of Zane’s fingernails, the young Asian girl shook her head and suggested they cap Zane’s nails with fake nails. Zane agreed; she was there to make some changes.

“But not too long,” Zane cautioned.

“No, no, not too long,” the girl agreed.

The four foot tall Asian woman caused Zane to laugh when she declared, “You too short have long nails.”

Next door to the nail salon was a small sports store. Nicholas had pointed the store out; he’d bought his now broken cue stick at this establishment. Again, Zane replayed the moment in the bathroom of Blouchen Billiards as she looked in the window of the small establishment. Prior to that moment, Lynn had bent over Zane, had taught Zane how to hold a cue stick, how to strike the ball.

Zane shivered, remembering the feeling of Lynn’s heavy breasts pressed against her back in that intimate moment. She shivered, reaching her fingernail up to her mouth to gnaw on her fingernail.

“Changes, Zane, changes,” Zane reminded herself just before biting down on the acrylic faux nail.

“Hey there,” a bloated old man greeted Zane.

“Hey. I uh, a friend? She was showing me how to play bumper pool?” Zane said. “It was a lot of fun and there’s the Cottonbowl Club right across the street where I word and…”

“So, just looking for a good stick, play every now and then?” Pete deduced, smiling at the small woman.

“Yeah. I mean, I really don’t want to spend a whole lot; I mean, suppose I suck at it?” Zane agreed.

“Mm hmm; all right. Let’s see,” Pete said and found a fifty nine dollar cue stick.

He took Zane over to the sole billiards table in the front room. He first had her practicing how to break, racking and re-racking the balls until she was able to scatter the balls with a resounding ‘crack!’ Then, never touching her, he talked her through the points of taking shots.

“So? What you think?” Pete asked after she sank the eight ball.

“I think if I’d had you teaching me History, I’d done a lot better,” Zane stated, clutching her cue stick to her chest.

“Ma’am that, that is one of the biggest compliments I’ve ever gotten,” Pete laughed. “But, the stick. Going get that stick?”

“It’s mine,” Zane affirmed, finding her Visa charge card.

“Zane, Zane, had some guy come in here yesterday trying buy a Bill Coski; using a card said his name was Zane,” Pete said.

“That would have been my ex-boyfriend,” Zane said. “Reported my card stolen moment he ran off with it.”

Pete nodded his head but still kept a wary eye on the card and the girl. He grunted with satisfaction when the card was accepted. Breaking the cue down, he slid the two pieces into the vinyl carrying case and wished her ‘good luck’ at her next pool game.

On Monday, Zane worked the lunch shift at Wedges. The restaurant sold deep-fried wedge shaped sandwiches, wedge cut French fries and several other unhealthy fried food items. She was a good waitress and knew how to keep her customers happy and smiling. The uniform had a scoop neck blouse; Zane did not bother with a bra. The pleated skirt was short; Zane did make sure to wear panties.

After work Monday afternoon, Zane went to her car, grabbed her new stick and walked across the street to the Cottonbowl Club. Inside of the dank bar, Zane was assaulted by the smell of stale beer and sweat and aftershave and cheap perfume. She reflected that Blouchen Billiards had not smelled like this.

She showed her ID to a silent pot-bellied man that needed to shave three or four days of gray whiskers from his weathered face. She told the man she was not there to drink, she was there to play pool. With a grunt, he shrugged his shoulders and nodded his assent.

Zane went to the first of three pool tables, fed the quarters into the slot and carefully racked the balls.

“Play you,” a sneering middle-aged man said.

“Oh, I, I’m just practicing,” Zane said.

“Well, I’ll help you practice,” the man leered.

He was more swagger and bravado than skill. He did win, but Zane kept up her end of the competition. She fed some more quarters into the table and again she and Jimmy played. Scratching on the eight ball, Jimmy gave Zane her first taste of victory and Zane was thoroughly hooked on the game of billiards.

“See ya, kid,” the bartender said his first words as Zane marched to the door of the bar.

“See ya,” Zane agreed.

“Hadn’t scratched on the eight ball? I’d beaten that kid,” Jimmy complained.

“Uh huh. Ready for another one?” the bartender agreed, already reaching for the bottle of Iron Barrel Whiskey.

Friday was an especially good day for tips. Zane raked in one hundred and nine dollars that day and was still quite buoyant went she entered the Cottonbowl Club after her shift ended.

All three tables were in use. Zane put a stack of quarters onto one table, then bought a Barq’s Root Beer from the mostly silent bartender.

“Hey, kid; you’re up,” a bloated man called out.

Zane fed the quarters into the table and racked the balls. The man broke; Zane winced at the rifle shot retort the balls made when the cue ball slammed into the carefully racked balls.

“Would you look at this shit?” the man barked, disgusted when no balls rolled into any pockets.

“Four in the corner,” Zane said, bending to take the shot.

“By the way; fifty bucks play this table,” Kevin Durrell said, waiting until Zane was just about to shoot.

“What?” Zane squeaked.

“Hey Durrell; you play a fair game with the Kid, huh?” the bartender called out.

“You ever know me not to?” Kevin smirked.

“I’m just saying, make sure you play a fair game with the Kid,” the bartender reiterated.

“You got it,” Kevin assured the bartender.

Zane was in the zone. Knowing how hard she had worked for her money, she was not about to lose to this bloated buffoon. She called each shot; this was what she had witnessed at Blouchen Billiards and had witnessed when she and Jimmy played. After knocking the four, the two and the seven in, she missed on the five.

“Call your shot,” Zane demanded when Kevin bent to take his shot. “It’s fifty to play this table? We’re not playing Church pool here.”

“What?” Kevin snapped.

“Heard me. Call your shots or forfeit the game,” Zane demanded.

“Eleven, corner pocket,” Kevin snarled.

He hit the cue ball too hard and the eleven ball ricocheted off of the bumper. Zane sank two more balls but scratched on the second ball.

Kevin was much more deliberate on his next two shots, missing the second shot. Zane finished the game, then stood, waiting.

“Double or nothing,” Kevin snarled.

“Let me get this right. I win, you pay me one hundred bucks. You win, I walk away, owing you nothing,” Zane clarified.

“What double or nothing means,” Kevin snapped.

“Show me the hundred,” Zane said, sudden realization flooding her consciousness.

“What? Bitch, I got it,” Kevin blustered.

“No. That’s all right. Let me have my fifty and I’ll be on my way,” Zane said, breaking down her cue stick.

“Hey Durrell, pay the Kid,” the bartender ordered. “Pay the Kid or get out and stay out.”

Zane almost had pity on the man. Almost. She knew if she’d lost, he would have had no compassion, would have demanded his money. His sweaty, rumpled twenty, ten, two fives and seven singles joined the other sweaty, rumpled and wrinkled bills in her purse. She declined to take the pocket change from him though.

“Let that be a lesson to you, Durrell,” the bartender chuckled as Zane walked to the door. “Don’t bet what you can’t afford to lose, huh?”

“God damned kid had be cheating,” Kevin blustered, trying to save face among his peers.

“Bull shit Durrell,” Jimmy called out from another table. “We all stood here and watched her kick your ass.”

“Kid didn’t even break a sweat,” a woman called out, unlit cigarette dangling from her overly painted lips.

“Aw, fuck you, Rhonda,” Kevin snarled.

“Fifty bucks,” Rhonda shrugged. “Oh. Wait. You don’t got fifty bucks; you gave it to that kid.”

“Here, baby, I got fifty bucks,” another man said, whipping Ulysses S. Grant’s portrait from his wallet.

“Ladies room; give me five minutes freshen up,” Rhonda said, grabbing the fifty from the man.

At home in her small apartment, Zane relived the thrill of victory. Easing out of her work clothes, Zane masturbated, thinking of the two beauties that had introduced her to the game of billiards.

“And introduced you to…” Zane thought but did not finish the thought before grunting in climax.

The turnover rate at Wedges was quite high, but with Myndee University nearby, rarely was there a shortage of fresh-faced waitresses. The manager of the restaurant had once stated that Zane was his favorite; she was not in college so did not need concessions when it came to scheduling.

“Gee, would be nice if you paid me like I’m your favorite,” Zane grumbled; the manager never said those words again.

Toward the end of March, three waitresses wanted time off in April; Spring Break was coming up. The manager gave them a choice, work or quit. They were all part-time employees so they had no accrued paid time off. All three decided to quit.

Dominique Strickler was one of the new hires. Zane felt her mouth go dry as she looked at the five foot tall blonde with her 28C chest, narrow waist and perfect bubble butt. She usually had her knee length blonde hair in a high ponytail, a few strands of blonde seemed to always work loose then dangle in her narrow face. Constantly, Dominique brushed the strands of whitish blonde hair from her ice blue eyes. From time to time, she would purse her pouting lips to blow the hair from her narrow face. Then she would smile at her own antics.

“Changes, Zane, Changes,” Zane whispered to herself as she watched Dominique’s lips blow at her hair.