Balling the Jack

By 2 A.M. the gang is down to Dave, Jimmy, and me, and Dave’s on his way out. “Great night, gentlemen. I’d stay but I have a midterm in seven hours. Jimmy—what are the chances you can bust out this weekend?”

“None.”

“Too bad. Tom, leave Friday night open if you win your bet.”

“What’s going on?”

“I’ve got another trim plan.” He rubs his hands. “And this one is foolproof. You go home alone, you get your money back.”

I laugh, “Just like the last time?”

Every few months Dave comes up with a new plan. His last one had us booking into the Penta Hotel the weekend of a nurses’ convention. As Dave pitched it, “… four hundred horny girls. Every one of them on birth control, every one of them with a little knowledge of anatomy, every one of them looking for a good time.” Well, the best-laid plans … A quarter of them turned out to be guys, and most of the rest had thirty years or fifty pounds on us, or both. Once you threw out the married ones and the dogs, we were down to about ten prospects. Worst of all, Dave hooked up with a couple of them and I ended up back at the pad to give him some privacy.

“Just hear me out, Tom. This time it can’t miss. Scout’s honor.”

“Okay,” I say, thinking I’d like to see the troop that graduated Dave.

“You know Chippendale’s?”

“Sure. The male strippers. I think we’re a few situps away from being ready.”

“Listen. Every Friday at midnight it turns into a regular bar. Guys can go too.”

“So?”

“Boy, you never took critical reasoning, did you? Hundreds of horny women stare at naked guys for hours. They whip themselves into a frenzy—tossing their money, grabbing at loincloths, rushing the stage. Just when they’re ready to sneak into the ladies’ room and diddle off, in we walk. Straight, handsome, and eligible. What do you say?”

This plan has two things in common with all Dave’s others: It’s completely outrageous, and going over the logic I can’t find any holes.

“We’ll be fishing in a stocked tank, Tom. No chance we don’t land one.”

“I’m there.”

“Good.” He winks at Jimmy. “We’ll tell you all about it.”

Dave salutes us and walks out into the night. Jimmy and I are the only customers left in the bar. The lights are down and Marley sings softly from the jukebox. Through my buzz I feel hugely at peace. I put out a hand.

“You know how bad I wanted to win this one tonight, Jimmy. And you were a pistol. Thanks.”

He shakes. “My pleasure. Duggan is a prick, isn’t he?”

“The biggest.”

Jimmy shakes his head and I know he’s thinking of Dave. “Jesus, Tom. The single life. It must be something else, huh?”

“It has its rewards.”

“You’re telling me.”

Here it comes. I can always tell when Jimmy’s got something on his mind, and it’s usually the same something. He got hitched right out of school, like I said, and a year later the bloom is definitely off the rose. Most nights he won’t go into it, but get him alone, with enough in him, and he’ll come clean. Another drink or two should do the trick.

“Anything you want to tell me?” I ask.

Jimmy pauses.

“Nah. No talk of the front tonight—we’re celebrating. Mason, how ’bout some kamikazes, and two more pints.”

He sips his beer and seems to be going back and forth in his head. We do our shots and the dam breaks.

“It’s just this, Tom. You know, it even pisses her off that I’m here tonight. Not just because I’ll roll in at dawn, either. It’s the fact I’m out having a good time without her. Christ, I work hard. Is it too much to have a few beers with the fellas once a week?”

He shakes his head. He’s quiet a second, but once the water’s loose, it’s loose.

“I’ll tell you another thing I didn’t bank on, Tom. Linda hates sports. I mean she hates them. I can’t put a game on without her rolling her eyes.”

“Maybe she’s related to my roommates.”

“You should see our weekends. Guess what we did last Friday? Friday night, while you and Dave were out getting loaded. Guess what we did.”

“I can’t.”

“Go ahead. Guess.” Jimmy waves his shot glass in the air.

“Rented a movie.”

“I wish. We watched the Three Tenors, Tommy. Can you believe it? I’m twenty-three and I spent Friday night on the sofa watching the Three Tenors. Christ.”

“Well, at least you had a little action at the end, I hope. Married life ain’t all bad.”

Jimmy spins his glass on its edge, draws with his finger in the water stain. “Yeah, there’s that.” He looks up. “Man, I’m drunk. That’s why I’m mouthing off like this. Listen, Tommy, can I ask you something? Just between us?”

“Sure.”

“I mean really just between us. You tell Dave and I’ll play for Duggan next season.”

“Hey Jimmy, it’s me.”

“Okay.” He pauses. “When you were with Lisa. Fucking her, I mean. Did you ever pretend she was someone else?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know—someone else. Like a fantasy.”

“Hell no. Why?”

Jimmy looks at the ceiling. “Forget it.” He looks back at me. “Ah, fuck it. Christ, Tom—it’s been a year since I could fuck Linda without pretending she’s somebody else.”

“Jesus. Like who?”