Chapter 60: Girls Night Out

Sam has no idea but tonight is her bachelorette party. We couldn’t invite Cori because then we would have ruined Jon’s surprise wedding, but we know it is. We plan to make it a fun and memorable night for Sam. The plan is to play a few games at a local pool hall, then head over to a gambling boat on the river. It should be a hell of a night, and maybe I can even make a little money scamming at pool.

See, I’ve been shooting stick since I was tall enough to hold a midgee. I couldn’t see over the rails of the table, so I had a little purple step stool I kicked around with me. 8-ball is one of my Daddy’s passions, and he got my brother and I hooked early. We had a pool table in the basement growing up, and every Saturday morning, we would go down for a game. For like fifteen years. Daddy’s a Southpaw, so everything I learned from him, I do lefty – shoot pool and hoops, deal cards, cut steak – a few other things, but you get the idea. Anyway, over the years I’ve learned to shoot right-handed too, so now I can play any angle on any table. To say I’m good isn’t a boast; it’s a natural conclusion to a lifetime of training.

When I bought my house, it was mostly because I loved it right away, but partly because there was a great room over the extra-large garage. It would be perfect for a pool table, and as soon as I could, I had a custom-built mahogany table put in. It’s gorgeous. Nine feet, green felt (of course! Burgundy has no place on a pool table) ball-in-claw feet, and hand-woven leather pockets. The slate is Italian (again, of course) and I have a couple dozen cues in different weights. My favorite is the one my Daddy bought me when I turned 18. It’s got a pink seat, inlaid with marble and shot through with gold wire. The wood is a honeyed oak, and looks like it glows. Could be all the polishing I give it. It’s weighted at my ideal, which is a 27.

I didn’t bring my stick with me this trip, that’s just begging for trouble. I’ve been burned with that before. All full of myself, I brought a stick to college. Whenever we went out and I brought it, I’d never get any takers for a game, which made for a pretty lonely outing, truth be told. So, I use the house wood, and BOOM! I get takers. Guys don’t want to believe that a girl is good with the cue.

When we made our entrance to Hennesey’s (because we didn’t just ‘go in’, we really made an entrance) you could almost feel the breeze made by the heads swiveling our way. When we all slipped off our coats and handed them to the coat-check guy, you could hear the intake of breath. Oh yeah, this was going to be one hell of a night.

Greedy eyes followed us as we were led to a prime table in the middle of the room. We all put a little extra sway in our asses; the tacit agreement to have a little harmless fun unanimous. We sat graciously, and opened our menus.

Before we could even scan the pages, a waiter came over and asked if the gentlemen at the bar could buy us a round of drinks. We turned and saw a group of twenty-somethings at the bar waving to us. We rolled our eyes at each other but waved back and agreed. Sam and I ordered virgin daiquiris, and the girls had their booze. Ang had a Jack and Coke, Lucy and Steph had their ‘ritas, and we all toasted our girls’ night out.

The food was fabulous. My steak was buttery soft and cooked exactly medium, like I ordered it. The baked potato was wonderful, and the veggies were steamed heaven. By the time we declined dessert, we’d had two more rounds of drinks sent over. We thanked them with shy waves and winks. This was going to be a fun evening.

After dinner, we decided to play a little pool. Meandering over to an empty table, Ang, Sam and I selected sticks from the rack. I found me a 27, and tested its weight, then rolled it on the table to make sure it was straight. Some things are just second nature, and I couldn’t help it. One of the groups of guys who had bought us drinks came over. The ringleader came forward and asked us if we wanted to be shown how to play. They shared a look with the rest of their friends, who were hovering, and Ang, Sam and I shared one too. I knew these girls were just as much sharks as I was. We batted our eyes at them and told them we already knew how to play, at least we thought we did, and we’d love a lesson. We didn’t tell them we’d be the ones giving the lesson.

The other girls were at a bar table with their respective drinks, and they couldn’t look at us because they’d laugh and give it away. I grabbed the cue and held it wrong on purpose, and one of the guys, called Adam I think, came up behind me to correct my posture, and Ang said, “Back off my girl there,” and moved in behind me to reposition the stick herself. Steph took a picture of us nestled like that, and I think David was going to love that shot.

After un-swallowing their tongues, the guys (it was Adam; Adam, Jeff, Thomas, Phil, and Dan) cockily suggested they take us on, best three out of five. To make it interesting, the losers would buy the winners a round of drinks. We hemmed and hawed for a minute then agreed.

I was chosen to break. I had Adam rack us for 8-ball, and when he lifted the rack, I lined up the cue just behind and to the right of the spot. I leaned over slowly, bending my front knee and leaning low over the table. After a couple of slow, long strokes of the stick to get the feel of her (and giving their friends a good view of the cue sliding between Thelma and Louise), I called out “Solids” and let ‘er rip.

With a satisfying CRAK! I sent the cue right into the pyramid, slightly off center from the lead ball. The two balls in the opposite corners, one stripe and one solid aimed for the pockets. The solid ball sunk into the pocket while the stripe on the other side did the little two-rail dance and hovered on the edge of the drop. Shit. I just locked up that pocket but good. When I straightened up, Adam looked at me, and I blew him a kiss and winked at him. Then I graciously and quietly dropped the solids one by one into the pockets. The last shot, the 8-ball, was a toughie. I had screwed up the English on my last shot (I’m good, not perfect), and had it partially hidden behind another ball. I walked around table, surveying my options.

“One foot rule?” I asked the guys, who nodded. The rule, if you don’t know what is, is that all shots are legal as long as one foot is on the floor. I slid a hip up onto the rail, sliding my dress high up on my thigh. Strictly speaking I didn’t need to do that to make the eight, but damn I was having so much fun winding these guys up that I had to.

Jeff looked at me. “Honey, you’re never going to make that shot like that.” He was right. I had the wrong hip on the table for a regular shot to work.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it darlin’,” I countered, and looped the stick behind my back. “Eight ball, two rails, corner pocket.” I arched back, sending the other girls into a fit of hysterics as the guys’ eyes popped out nearly as far as T&L were thrust, and gently kissed the cue. It caught the corner of the 8 like it was supposed to, and it lightly bounced on the two rails I had intended it to before dropping into the pocket. The girls laughed and applauded, and I curtsied, then high-fived Ang and Sam, giving them each hugs and kisses.

Ang asked them if they still wanted to play, or if they wanted to forfeit now. They didn’t want to give up hope, so we played. Jeff broke, but didn’t sink anything. When Ang took her cue and started walking around the table, Adam asked me, “She any good?”
I looked at him and winked. “Darlin’, she makes me look like an amateur. She owns a pool hall. What do you think?” They groaned, and settled in to watch her play. Ang towered over the table in those shoes, and had to spread her legs awfully wide to get to the right height. That had the boys shifting in their seats. Ang’s top threatened to spill her girls from it, but didn’t, but damn it had the guys drooling at her. With every shot, she’d eye the angles, lean down low and make the shot. Then she’d straighten up to her full height and adjust her top, shifting her girls underneath it. Evil, but effective. When she was down to the eight, she had done the same thing I had, and had it partially blocked by one of the guys’ balls. I had to wonder if she did that on purpose, and made a mental note to ask her about it later.

Anyway, she again circled the table, examining her options and, decision made, kicked off her shoes. The guys’ jaws dropped when even in stocking feet she towered over the table. They slumped when she lined up the shot, angled the ass end of her cue up toward the ceiling, and came down on the edge of the cue ball. Damned if it didn’t hop over their ball and send the eight to its pocket. There was a second there where it teetered, and I thought she hadn’t put enough oomph into it, but nope, it dropped in. She slid her shoes back on, and grinned, lighting up the place.

The guys wanted a shot at not being totally shut out, so we racked again. This time, they didn't want either of us near the table, so Sam went to play. These poor guys. They picked the wrong pack of ladies to try to hustle. Every time Sam bent over the table, her mini would ride up a bit in the back, and her pregger-boobs would strain at the shirt, and the guys would gulp. Steph got some pictures of Sam that Jon is NOT going to ever get tired looking at. In any event, Sam didn't clear the table, but she did win. Girls: 3, Boys: zippo. As it should be.

It really wasn’t fair of us to do that to them, but hell, they started it. We offered to split the drinks, and they said no, a bet’s a bet. They bought us our drinks, and we chatted for a little while. They were okay guys. I mean, between Sam, Steph, and I, we had enough glitter on our ring fingers to blind somebody, yet they were hitting on us. Guess they were just out to have fun like we were.

After that, they didn’t want to play us, the sissies. They were content to hang out and watch and chat and flirt while we five played through a few more games. Ang had trusted her camera to the least drunk-looking one, and asked him to take pictures of us for her. She gave them strict instructions not to shoot our T&A, but I’m pretty sure there are some of those shots in there. Ang’ll weed them out before showing the guys. We had a hell of a time, and when it was time for our next adventure, the riverboat gambling, the group of guys wanted to join us. Sam put a hand up.

“Fellas, we’re just looking to have a fun girls’ night out. Ya’ll have been perfect gentlemen, and we’ve had a wonderful time meeting you, but our men would not appreciate it if we let you monopolize us all evenin’. I know you wouldn’t want us to get in trouble, now would you?”

They shook their heads, and we got our coats and left. Our driver brought us to the gambling boat that Lucy told us about. It was beautiful, and we had a great time. Blackjack’s my game, and we spent a fair amount of time playing. We tried out roulette, craps, poker, and the slots, too. May as well. We started out slowly, but it didn’t take long before we were up quite a bit of scratch. Here, we didn’t seem to need to buy our own drinks, either.

The girls drinking alcohol had a great buzz going. Between Hennesey’s and here, they’d put away a fair amount of liquor. They were more than a little tipsy, and when the boat rocked a little, and the three of them nearly fell off their CFMs, Sam and I couldn’t help but giggle at them. Ang shot us a look and Sam and I stuck our tongues out at them.

We were getting ready to try out Baccarat. None of us had played before, so this was going to be interesting. “Where’s Ang?” Stephanie asked. I looked around and spotted her chatting up a couple of guys who could not take their eyes off of her.

“Ang, get your ass over here!” I shouted to her, making the others laugh. We’ve done that quite a bit tonight – laugh. This has been really one of the best nights ever.

“Comin’ darlin’,” she called back.

I looked at Lucy. “Jesus, Luce, she sounds just like Richie.”

Lucy laughed. “Yeah, she did catch the accent pretty good. Soon, Sam’ll have her saying ya’ll.”

I chuckled at her. When Ang rejoined us, we looped arms around each other – shoulders, waists, what-have-you, and we made our way to the tables.

We were talking about our plans for the next day. The girls were all planning on some shopping, and asked if I was joining them. “I have no idea,” I said to them, “but probably not. I’m pretty sure Jon is going to have shit for me to do most of the day tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Sam agreed, “you’ll be runnin’ errands for him most of the day.”

I rolled my eyes and groaned. “Is he gonna let me spend any time with you girls?”

Sam laughed. “Yes, Hath, don’t worry. He’s not heartless.”

Boy, don’t I know that. “Is he going to let me help him on stage tomorrow night?”

Sam shook her head. “He won’t tell me.” The others were looking agape at me.

“What,” I said. “You mean I didn’t tell you?” I leaned in close so I wouldn’t be overheard. “Jon said something about helping Steve with his babies during one of the shows. Actually going out on stage and bringing them to him and taking them from him.” The girls gasped. That was pretty much my reaction too, when I heard the suggestion. “He even told me that I’d have to wear black if I was going to help him so make sure to bring something appropriate, but he didn’t say for sure one way or the other, and he didn’t say what night.”

Ang honed in on that one phrase. “Appropriate? Hath, is that word even in your vocab?”

I just smiled. “Well of course it is! It just means the ass and nips are covered. That’s appropriate for a concert, right?”

The girls groaned and laughed at me. I checked my watch, and saw it was coming up on 1am. If I knew Jon, and I think that over the years I’ve learned a thing or two from the articles I’ve read, he’s an early riser. How much you wanna bet he’s going to get me up early? Not taking that bet? I wouldn’t either.

We headed back to the table for a while, and around 2:30, headed back to Lucy’s.