Billiards

This story is dedicated to Jessica, without whom it would not have been possible. She has been my inspiration and source throughout.

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Ben started the long drive in a happy mood. After two long weeks, his Jessica was coming home from her mother's. She would be arriving on the 11:30 PM flight from Boston in just another hour. Ben had urged her to get an earlier flight, but they were all booked up, so she took the first available flight. It would have been a lot easier to drive to LA International from his office at the USC medical center than to leave from home in Riverside, but at least the traffic was light on the freeways late at night. "Six of one and half-a-dozen of the other", Ben thought to himself as he pushed the BMW speedometer to eighty, as if his increased speed would also speed up Jessica's plane.

Ben thought of his beautiful wife as he drove, missing her companionship as well as the fantastic sex they enjoyed. They were relative newly-weds, having only been married four years, and the honeymoom still hadn't ended. Ben could see her in his mind, playing like a movie in the darkness of the freeway stretching in front of the car. Blonde hair, laughing green eyes and a sparkling smile, often appearing mischievous, and always a joy to be near. But not just a pretty face; Jessica was blessed with a body to match, lithe, tanned, with long model legs ending in a rounded, perfectly shaped behind with muscles that rippled and rolled as she walked, graceful as a cat on the prowl.

Her waist appeared to be cinched, giving the appearance of a wasp because of her small girth. Ben could almost touch his hands when he put them around her waist, something he had been longing to do for fourteen long, long days. Jessica's breasts weren't large, but they were perfectly shaped, making it possible for her to often go braless, her breasts jiggling slightly with each step, her seemingly always erect nipples pointing ahead to infinity. Yes, she was beautiful, in every sense the perfect California girl, the type the Beachboys had in mind when they sang "California Girls". Whenever she was in public, regardless of what she was wearing, men would stop in their tracks and stare at her, transfixed by her beauty, her bearing, her smooth movement. More than one man had been clobbered by his wife or girlfriend due to their unabashed stares. Jessica had admitted to Ben that it turned her on when she saw men drooling over her, but she remained faithful to the one man in her life.

Ben finally arrived at the airport, found a parking space that wasn't too far from the terminal, then checked at the airlines desk to verify the arrival time and which concourse for the flight. For the tenth time, he looked at his watch as he paced back and forth in the waiting area, stopping only to gaze out the large windows at the busy landing and docking areas. Ben finally saw a large four-engine jet being towed to the end of the docking bay just as he heard the loud speakers announce the arrival of Delta flight 884. That was it! Ben's heart jumped with excitement as he positioned himself near the entrance to the docking tunnel, wondering if Jessica was feeling the same excitement for their reunion. In minutes, he no longer had to wonder, as the steady stream of passengers walked up the ramp from the plane with Jessica in the lead, waving wildly. Her face was glowing at the sight of her husband, her steps quickening, almost running, as she struggled with her heavy carry-on bag. Ben had to grin at how his wife always over-packed for even the simplest trips and he knew from experience that her bag would contain several novels, makeup cases, and every- thing else she couldn't get in her crammed suitcases.

Jessica decided to stop struggling with the heavy bag and dropped it on the tiled floor as she ran the last few feet to Ben's open arms, slamming into him with her momentum. She immediately wrapped her arms around his neck as she bent her legs behind her, supporting her weight with Ben's wide shoulders. Jessica squealed with delight as she began to cover his face with kisses, her eyes dewey with happiness, the weariness she had felt from the flight completely vanishing.

"Oh, Ben, Ben, I missed you," Jessica managed to breathlessly speak as she let her legs return to the floor, the sliding of her body down his raising her skirt to mid-thigh. Jessica pulled her skirt back down as she stepped back from Ben, her face beaming.

"Hey, I missed you, too, baby," Ben returned with a light laugh, pleased with the greeting Jessica had given him while still reserved enough to not display the emotions bouncing around inside him. "How was the flight?"

Putting her arm through his as she pulled him to where her bag lay, Jessica rolled her eyes in her cute little way and grunted, "ver-r-y long, and so-o-o tiring. I couldn't nap because I kept thinking of getting home to you."

Ben gave her waist a squeeze, kissed her cheek lightly, then bent and retrieved her bag from the floor. He realized how lucky he was, to have such a beautiful and loving wife, one who could miss him as he missed her. Ben put an arm around her small shoulders and bent to whisper in her shell-like ear, inhaling the exotic scent of her body. "Just wait 'til I get you home, and I'll really tire you out," he softly whispered.

Jessica giggled a little-girl giggle as she studied the glint in her husband's eyes, then poked a finger in his stomach as she chided, "oh, you, that's all you can think of, isn't it?" Even as she teased him, Jessica felt a moist warmth form between her legs, stirred by the thought of a night of love-making as they tried to make up for two weeks without the pleasure of each other's bodies. Ever since they had married, it was almost ritualistic that they make love at least three times a week, and Jessica had calculated that they were owed six bouts of hot sex. She didn't know about him, but those thoughts had boosted her adrenalin and Jessica knew she wouldn't be able to sleep until completely worn out.

Such was their intimate talking and teasing as they retrieved Jessica's luggage and had it loaded in the car, then found their way out of the confusing maze of the airport and onto I-105 heading east toward their home outside Riverside. It was an easy drive, devoid of the usual LA traffic madness because of the late hour and Ben guess-timated they could be home and in bed inside of two hours. He had driven less than five miles when a light flashed on the dash followed by a melodic electronic dinging. Ben took his eyes off the road to read the flashing notice the BMW was demanding be read. What he saw took him by surprise. "Wh, what the heck? Fuel? That can't be," Ben complained as he looked at the fuel gauge, even tapping the glass cover in disbelief. But there it was, the needle stubbornly refusing to move, stuck at the bottom of the red portion of the gauge, underling the large letter 'E'.

Jessica's voice carried her concern, "what is it, honey? What's wrong?"

"This thing says we're out of gas," Ben informed her as though disbelieving the electronic gadgetry. "But that can't be. I filled up this morning, and there's no way I could have used a full tank of gas." Again he thumped the glass cover of the gauge and added, as if to himself, "darn thing must be broken."

Just then the car let him know it wasn't broken. First one cough, then another, then a sputtering sound. Ben let up on the gas pedal and the sputtering stopped, the speed dropping to a respectable fifty miles an hour. They went another mile and the car coughed again, another warning while the light on the dash continued to flash and the dinging sound getting on Ben's nerves. He smacked the dash with his hand and announced, "I better get off the freeway and find a gas station quick. I don't understand it."

Ben guided the car down the first ramp he came to, not bothering to read the exit sign which let travelers know it was the Central Avenue exit. Ben was only interested in finding the nearest gas station and getting back on the freeway. He made a left and drove under the freeway, searching the road ahead for bright lights which might indicate the presence of a station. Ben couldn't see the tell-tale signs of an open station as far as he see down the straight avenue, so he made a right at the next block after searching the darkness to the left of the intersection. He spotted some lights glowing in the darkness a couple of blocks ahead and mentally crossed his fingers as they passed barred store fronts and warehouses lining both sides of the deserted street. He was letting the car coast, going no more than fifteen miles an hour in an effort to preserve gas, but after one block the car sputtered again, followed by a series of coughs that jerked the car and made a knocking noise in the engine compartment. Then it died without further warning. Just died. The silence was eerie without the purr of the V6 motor, but Ben didn't notice as he let the car coast to a stop by the edge of the road, expelling his pent-up breath in disgust and frustration. He turned off the headlights and leaned forward in the seat, pressing against the steering wheel as he focused his eyes on the lights still a block away in vain, unable to determine what the lights were illuminating.

"Hope that's a gas station up there, honey," Ben spoke hopefully to the quiet Jessica. "I'll walk up there and see. Maybe I can get some gas in a can."

Jessica spoke sharply, almost shrilly, "you're not leaving me here alone! I'm going with you."

Ben nodded, in a way glad she wanted to accompany him on his walk in the dark. He didn't have the faintest idea where they were, and realized they would be safer if they stuck together. He opened his door as he agreed, "okay. That's probably best. And it's just a block, so I'm sure we'll be fine."

They walked arm in arm down the broken sidewalk, Jessica carefully stepping over the hazardous breaks in her high heels as she held on tightly to Ben's arm. The dilapidated buildings they passed hugged the sidewalk and most of them had steel bars covering the windows and doors. This wasn't unusual in many areas of Los Angeles, so neither of them thought much about it, focusing instead on their nearing goal. Midway down the block they passed one building that apparently was still open. Even before they got to it, they could hear the heavy thumping of bass from a juke box or something, serving to advertise the type of establishment. Ben commented, "sounds like a bar or some kind of club."

Jessica nodded, then pointed at the neon sign over the door as the got closer. "Mm, hmm. See? It's a bar."

Ben looked at the sign that stated simply 'BAR', with the crossing neon strip in the 'A' burned out. The red neon flashed off and on, barely illuminating the doorway beneath it, slightly recessed in the brick facade of the building. "We might be able to use the phone there if that place up ahead isn't a gas station," he offered.

Jessica looked over her shoulder at the bar as they passed the building. "Hmm, I don't know, honey. It looks like a dive. Like a cycle club, or something."

"Yeh, but it may be the only place around here where we can use a phone," Ben countered. "We'll see."

Their hopes for a gas station ahead evaporated as they passed the last building in the block. There were the bright lights they had seen, mounted high on steel poles, shrouded in steel mesh, but the lights only illuminated a closed grocery store. The store had lights on all sides, giving the appearance of daylight surrounding only the store. Unlike the other buildings they had passed, the store had steel shutters covering the windows and door, completely secure from outside intrusion.

Ben and Jessica stood there silently staring at had been their source of hope, the dejection evident on their faces. Ben raised his hands by his side and then dropped them in a hopeless gesture. "I'm sorry, Jessica. I hate it that I got us in this predicament."

"It wasn't your fault, Ben," Jessica comforted. "You thought you had enough gas. There must be something wrong with the car."

Ben turned and looked back down the street at the bar they had passed. "Well, guess we have no choice. We'll try that bar. There has to be a phone there."

They retraced their steps, Jessica's shoes making a quick tap, tap on the concrete as they hurried back to the one open place they had discovered. Ben paused with his hand on the door handle as he looked at Jessica, silently questioning if she was comfortable with entering the 'dive' as she had called the place earlier. Jessica understood and nodded, her upper teeth biting lightly into her lower lip pensively.

Ben pulled the door to him and they were immediately assailed with the odor of stale cigarette smoke and beer. The juke box was no longer rocking with the thumping they had heard earlier, the only sound now coming through the door a mixture of laughter and talk. But all sound ceased as Ben ushered Jessica ahead of him into the dimly lit room with his hand on her waist. They stood just inside the door as their eyes adjusted to the near-darkness, then Jessica leaned to Ben and alarmingly whispered, "Ben, they're all black people!"

"Shh," Ben cautioned, "I know." Ben looked around the small bar without moving, hoping to spot a pay phone without having to ask. He could feel every eye in the place on him and Jessica, staring at the white preppy-looking couple with suspicion, puzzlement, and awe that whites would dare intrude on their sanctum. The bar was barely more than a store front, with a long counter serving as the bar along one wall and a half dozen tables arrayed down the opposite wall. Ben could make out a billiard table at the other end of the room, a dim light with no shade hanging by the electric cable above it, and four black men standing around with pool cues in their hands, their game forgotten as they stared at the strangers at the door.

Ben couldn't see a phone, so he forced himself to step to the end of the bar nearest the door and waited for the white-haired black behind the counter to come from the other end. The old black shuffled towards him, head bent to one side as he looked at Ben quizzically, half-dragging one deformed foot as he walked the length of the bar. He didn't speak as he stood in front of Ben, waiting to learn what the white couple were doing in his bar. Ben cleared his throat, then managed a croaking request, "do you have a phone we could use?"

The barkeep nodded his head in understanding, then pointed toward the back of the room. "Back there. It's a pay phone."

Ben patted the bare wood of the bar as he said, "thanks", then returned to Jessica's side. Together, they walked between the tables and bar toward the pool table in the back, carefully avoiding bumping into the chairs, neither of them permitting their eyes to meet the stares that were burning into them. As they were almost to the pool table, Ben saw the phone, stuck in the back corner of the building, a very large black man leaning against the wall beside it, pool cue resting on the floor. They threaded their way around the table to the phone nervously, sensing the animosity of the twelve to fifteen people in the room.

Ben spoke to the big black man leaning beside the phone, "excuse me. Can I use the phone?"

The big man stared at him with contempt burning in his eyes, then retorted in a deep voice, "it don't work."

Sensing the black just didn't want him to use the phone, Ben reached for the receiver, meekly suggesting, "maybe it's working now."

Before his hand could close on the receiver, the scowling black grabbed it from the phone hook and, with one powerful swing, broke it over the top of the metal phone case on the wall. "I tol' you, it don't work."

Ben stood looking at the man in disbelief, his jaw falling open, then turned to look at Jessica, not sure what to do. He could see the fright in her eyes as she first looked at her husband and then the huge black man now standing with his hands on his hips, his face snarling. Jessica was afraid Ben would do something foolish and confront the angry black. He was at least six inches taller than Ben and probably a good fifty pounds heavier. Ben was no match for him.

Just then, the bartender leaned over the bar and, in a whining voice, started, "now, Leroy...". Seeing Leroy take a step toward him, the old man left his sentence unfinished, clearly frightened of the younger and bigger black.

Leroy boomed, "shut the fuck up, nigga." Leroy pushed past Ben, knocking him against the wall with his shoulder and, with three or four long strides, stepped to the bar in front of the visibly scared bartender. He grabbed the old man by the shirt with his left hand and jerked him forward and down, then rammed his head onto the bar with his other hand behind the gray head. Leroy roughly twisted the man's face so one cheek was flattened against the wood, then leaned over and spoke in his ear, the words too low for anyone else to hear. Whatever the big man said really put the fear of God in the bartender, because when Leroy released him, the old black quickly shuffled down to the other end of the bar, his eyes avoiding contact with others in the hushed room. He picked up an old rag and began to busily wipe the scarred wood surface of the bar.

Someone in the dim room muttered a loud "oh, shit, Leroy's pissed." Immediately, four of the blacks sitting at tables noisily got up and made a hasty exit to the door, one of them knocking over his chair as he hurried to get out of there. An old man sitting at the middle of the bar slid off his stool, gripping his bottle of beer and followed the others out the door, shaking his head in apparent aggravation, but saying nothing.

On his way back to the billiard table, Leroy paused at a table, leaned over and whispered something to one of two black men sitting there. The sitting black vigorously nodded his head and grinned, then turned to look at Ben and Jessica still standing next to the broken phone. He looked up at Leroy and spoke, his words only loud enough for the big man and the black sitting next to him to hear, then cackled. His words brought a loud guffaw from his buddy, who also turned and looked at the white couple. Leroy returned to the area of the pool table and again whispered something to one of the blacks still standing by the table with cue in hand, receiving another nod of approval from the obviously delighted man, one of the younger ones in the room, probably no more than in his early twenties.

Ben and Jessica had been observing Leroy's actions nervously, not sure whether they should run out of the bar or what. Jessica leaned over to Ben and whispered, "Ben, I'm scared. We better leave."

Ben nodded and, his arm around Jessica's waist protectively, began to walk through the narrow space between the pool table and wall. They got half the length of the table before Leroy blocked their path, his massive frame filling the small escape path. "Where you goin', white boy?" his deep voice boomed, his hands curled into fists resting on his hips.

Ben's fear was revealed in his reply, "I-I, w-we need to find a phone."

Leroy leaned his head back and laughed fiendishly, then glared into Ben's eyes. "Not until me and my brothers have some fun, you don't."

Ben took a deep breath, then, with his arm tightening around Jessica's waist, he stepped to the side of the large black man in an effort to get around him. Leroy moved in unison to Ben, further blocking the couple's way, still glaring at the smaller white man. Ben's voice took on a pleading tone, "pl-please, let us pass."

Without warning, Leroy's right arm swung backward in a short arc, then forward in a low blow to Ben's stomach, his massive fist almost lifting Ben's feet off the floor. Ben doubled over in pain and began to retch, his stomach reacting to the unexpected blow. Leroy planted his open palm on the top of the bent head before him and pushed, sending Ben backward to land on his ass on the tiled floor with a loud grunt.