Free The Long Wait for Tomorrow by Joaquin Dorfman Page B

alternating white and green. Green walls, white cracks at odd intervals. Foosball tables in the far left corner. Jukebox back by the men’s room.
    The place had a well-worn look to it.
    Old as hell, but in it for the long haul.
    Not another soul in sight apart from two barflies, reflecting over bottles of Miller Lite.
    “ Rock-and-roll capital of the world?” Jenna let out her pigtails and shook her hair free.
    “Yeah, that was a joke,” the bartender announced. “Don’t give me any shit, I’m stuck here till two a.m. Got to get my giggles any way I can, gosh-damn it.”
    “ Gosh-damn right,” Jenna agreed, stepping up to the bar and running her hands over the aging wood. “Gosh-damn right.”
    “Nice outfit.” The bartender grinned.
    Jenna bent sideways a little to look past her breasts, down to her skirt. “Yes, I’m a cheerleader.”
    “Didn’t think it was my birthday.”
    “Don’t give me any shit, I can leave anytime I want.”
    The bartender threw his head back and let loose with two succinct syllables: “Ha! Ha!”
    It almost seemed sarcastic, but Patrick quickly realized that this was simply how he laughed.
    “All right.” The bartender pointed his pen at Patrick. “What do you want to drink?”
    Patrick searched the room once more.
    Spotted Kelly at a pool table, setting up a rack of balls.
    “He can’t help you,” the bartender said with a dismissive grin. He backpedaled to a tall industrial-sized fridge with a glass door. Skimming past the rows of beers with his finger, he reached the bottom shelf and began rattling off all age-appropriate options. “I got some Kiwi or Strawberry Snapple, Snapple Diet Green Tea, Stewart’s root beer, Stewart’s Orange ’n Cream, water, Coca-Cola—”
    “Iced tea,” Jenna interrupted.
    “Orange soda,” Patrick added.
    The bartender had their drinks before them in two shakes, and he pointed toward the back.
    “Tell your boy over there it’s four dollars per hour, per person.”
    “Thanks,” Patrick managed, and wandered toward Kelly. His footsteps sounded exceptionally crisp against the unfinished floor. Green-felt tables watching as he approached his destination.
    “How’s your game, Patrick?” Kelly asked.
    “Um …” Patrick placed his orange soda on the edge of the table. “I don’t really play that—”
    “Hey!” the bartender called out across the room. “Drinks off the table, son!”
    Patrick mumbled a hasty apology and moved his drink to a nearby stool.
    “Grab a stick,” Kelly said, sucking back on a root beer. He smacked his lips. “Go on, Patrick, let’s see what you’ve got.”
    Kelly jumped up onto a wooden riser, home to five chairs bolted into place. All with seats flipped up like wooden under-bites. He flipped one down and settled in. Crossed his legs and motioned for Patrick to get going.
    Patrick approached the nearest rack, not sure what he was looking for in a cue stick.
    He picked one at random and returned to the table.
    Jenna had parked herself on the chair next to Kelly. Legs crossed, diet iced tea resting against her knee. She was smiling broadly, enjoying her little stint as the pool shark’s girl.
    Royalty
, Patrick’s angels concluded with a quiet laugh.
All hail to the queen.
    Kelly kissed Jenna on the cheek and hopped down. “Want to lag for the break?”
    “Do I want to
who
for the
what
?”
    “Don’t worry about it.” Kelly pulled out a quarter. “We’ll flip for it.”
    Patrick stared down at the balls. The few times he and Kelly had played pool, it had always been eight-ball. Eight-ball on crappy coin-operated tables. Now he found himself looking down at a diamond-shaped rack, one through nine, enough green between pockets to cover a cemetery.
    “I don’t even know what we’re playing,” Patrick said.
    “ Nine-ball.”
    “What’s nine-ball?”
    Kelly smacked the palm of his hand against his forehead. “My bad.”
    “Huh?”
    “OK.” Kelly leaned against the pool table, picked