The eight ball refused to go in the pocket, any pocket.
“Eight ball in the middle pocket,” said the guy with dreads. You could tell by his voice that he didn’t believe it would work.
The t.v. was telling a story about an old man who reported his wife missing. A week later she was found dead in their home. She had been buried under a tower of Elmer’s glue bottles, which had collapsed. Apparently, the man had not entered that room in years.
There seemed to be a never ending stream of weird old people death stories. Recently, in Japan, the government discovered that the oldest man in the world had been dead for thirty years. He was mummified in his bed at home. The family claimed that they never went into the room. Of course, the media told the story with an emphasis on the family’s years of fraud, but it is a pretty weird death story too. When people say ‘I want to die in bed, at an old age, surrounded by my family,’ they don’t usually imagine that they will then be left in that bed for the next thirty years until they suffer the indignity of being removed by government officials.
The bartender leered at the waitress while he poured two pints for the guys at the pool table. The waitress glared at the bartender in return. The eight ball went in the corner pocket.
Ernie didn’t begrudge Arthur the win. They had only had five bucks on the game, and really it was just something to do, to kill time. It was snowing outside tonight. Not hard, just a dusting really, but it was freezing fast and he knew that he’d be walking home on a crust of ice. Maybe he would take the bus, but he didn’t live very far. It seemed frivolous, weak even, to take the bus when he could walk it. As a kid Ernie had loved Jack London’s stories about the Yukon. He liked the idea of killing bears, fighting crazed miners, and defeating the cold. ‘I am stronger than you,’ Ernie thought as he stared out at the snow, shivering.
Arthur was talking to his mistress on the phone. Ernie didn’t really like Arthur’s wife that much, but she was a nice lady, and he felt bad for her. He sent a text to Mishka while he took a swig of his beer. Arthur’s conversation wouldn’t take long, it never did. Ernie briefly wondered how much his friend really liked the mistress.
Mishka was calling.
“Hey,” he answered.
“What’re you doing?”
“Playing pool.”
“With Arthur?”
“uhu.”
“Am I bothering you?”
“Nah, he’s talking to his mistress.”
“Why do you call her that?”
“What?”
“Hannah. Why do you call her his mistress?”
Ernie didn’t answer.
“They’re not sleeping together.”
“I know,” he responded.
There was a long pause. Each thought they had made their point and was waiting for the other to agree.
“So, are you coming over tonight?” she asked.
Ernie thought about it. “Its snowing.”
“So, maybe tomorrow than?”
“Yeah, call me tomorrow.”
Mishka hung up the phone and took the clear plastic off the microwave popcorn sack. Sometimes she hated Ernie. Well, she didn’t hate him exactly, she loved him. But, she thought he was lazy and he didn’t love her back.
When the microwave beeped she took the bag into the living room and dropped down onto the couch. She turned on Comedy Central, if she couldn’t have sex at least she could laugh with Stephen Colbert, she thought. “Oh, Stephen,” Mishka sighed as she opened the popcorn bag, inhaling the fake buttery steam.
Mishka was named after a cat. Mishka, the cat, had been a gray Persian belonging to, the person, Mishka’s mother for eight years. The cat died of obesity related illnesses two months before Mishka’s birth. Her parents thought that keeping the name alive was a fitting memorial. Mishka was a dog person.
“Hey sweetie,” Mishka’s roommate, Sonja, said kissing the top of Mishka’s head as she passed the couch.
“Hey”
“What are you up to tonight?”
“I’m thinking about eating my weight in popcorn and then drawing pictures of the babies Stephen and I will someday make,” she responded, gesturing at the television.
“What happened to Nathan?”
“I’ve moved on. He is too good looking. I don’t need that kind of pressure.” Mishka had recently transferred her fictitious undying love from Nathan Fillion to Stephen Colbert. “You doing anything fun tonight?”
“I’m getting pizza with Jack.”
“Fun,” Mishka replied with enthusiasm. Sonja pulled a face. “Not fun?”
Sonja shook her head and collapsed next to Mishka, shoving a handful of popcorn in her mouth.
“He’s nice. Really, he is nice...”
“But...” Mishka prompted.
“But, he smells weird.”
“He does not!” Mishka exclaimed horrified.
“He does,” Sonja whined, half laughing, “its like octopus and cleaning supplies.”
“I don’t really know what that smells like.”
“Anyway, he is a republican, and he has unusually long nose hairs.”
“He does have really long nose hairs,” Mishka agreed.
Jack and Sonja had been dating for a couple of months. Their break up was inevitable from the start.
“So where’s Ernie tonight?”
“Playing pool.”
“With Arthur?”
“Yup.”
“Is he coming over later?” Sonja questioned.
“Nope,” Mishka responded, popping a kernel into her mouth, feigning indifference.
“Dipshit,” Sonja stated under her breath.
“Well, have fun tonight,” Mishka responded with a huge smile pasted onto her face.
“Yeah,” Sonja said returning the smile, “you too.”
“Oh,” Mishka called after her friend, “its snowing.”
“Damn it.”
Ernie decided to take the bus over to the mistress’ place with Arthur. She was having some friends over and had invited Arthur. Arthur didn’t want to go alone. No, he did want to go alone, but thought it was better if he brought Ernie, so later when his wife asked him where he was he could say that he was out with Ernie and he wouldn’t be lying. Arthur hated lying. The bus was running slow because of the snow. The windows were fogged over and there was a damp, hot, smell coming off everyone. The floor was gray and wet. Ernie noticed that there was an especially large puddle around the feet of this large woman with one of those wire push carts. He moved away.
“So who’s going to be there?” he asked Arthur.
“I don’t know. People.”
“Right, but, like her people? Or our people?” Ernie asked, drawing out the words “her” and “our”, so that he wouldn’t have to explain what he was asking.
“What are you asking?”
“I just mean, well, she has a certain kind of friend. A kind of friend that is not like us.”
“Females?”
“What? NO.” Ernie sputtered, shaking his head at his friend.
“Females aren’t like us. We aren’t them,” Arthur answered nonchalantly.
“Right. That’s not what I mean. I mean. Her friends are. Well, they are kind of intense.”
“Mishka is her friend.”
“Sort of. But Mishka is like us. You know?”
“Right. Not intense.” Now Ernie just thought that Arthur was fucking with him. “Do you not like her?” Arthur asked.
“Its not that I don’t like her. I like her. Its just that her friends are kind of...”
“Intense.”
“Yeah. And, I mean, its just awkward. You know, for me.”
“Being around intense females.”
“What? no, shut up. You know why.”
“Yeah. I know,” Arthur said quietly, looking at this hot teen at the back of the bus.
Mishka had finished three episodes of The Colbert Report thanks to ON DEMAND, when her phone rang.
“Mishka?”
“Speaking.”
“Hey it’s Hannah.”
“Hey sweetie, what’s going on?”
“I am having some people over tonight and you have to come.”
Mishka hesitated. “I don’t know babe, I’m kind of busy tonight,” she claimed, digging out a kernel of popcorn that had fallen into her bra.
“Mishka, get off the couch and get over here. We are tangoing tonight.”
“You’re tangling?”
“TANGOING. The Argentine. We are channeling the ‘30s. Its great, the lights are low, the air is smoky, everyone is wearing dresses or suits.”
“That sounds great Hannah, but...”
“There is liquor,” Hannah interrupted. “And Ernie is coming.”
“Ernie’s coming?”
“Yeah Arthur’s bringing him. I just got off the phone with him. They’re on their way over.”
“Yeah, okay. So I have to wear a dress?”
“Or a suit, its up to you really.”
Mishka dragged herself off the couch, shaking renegade popcorn out of her sweater. Hannah lived with a group of friends in a stack of flats. There were six people and three flats, the friends sort of floated between them claiming space when they needed it. Hannah’s home base tended to be the top floor, which also, not coincidentally, was where the parties tended to happen. They liked to throw elaborate theme parties. The kind of parties that Mishka would never throw, but was always happy she went to after the fact when she saw herself in the photos.
She pulled a black dress and heels out of her closet. She had mixed feelings about seeing Ernie at Hannah’s tonight. She loved the idea of dancing the tango with him in a smoky room, or really just the idea of seeing Ernie doing the tango at all, but she thought it might make her look pathetic going to the party after he had blown her off. Would it look like she was going there just to see him?
Hannah’s place was a fifth floor walk up. The stairwell was littered with costumed people tonight, smoking cigarettes and leaning against walls. Ernie and Arthur had to maneuver their way past at least three heavily intimate couplings. The place was dark and all the furniture had been removed or pushed up against the walls to create a dance floor. There were a ton of people. Ernie thought it was too warm.
“Arthur, you came,” Hannah said throwing her arms around his neck. “And Ernie, always lovely to see you,” she breathed, kissing his cheek. “There are drinks in the kitchen, a ton so don’t be shy, really there is enough for everyone to get totally pissed, so please please drink yourselves stupid, and food is on the tables by the windows in case you get nibbly.”
“What’s the theme?” Ernie asked.
“Oh I thought it was obvious,” she cried “Buenos Aires, 1930s, the tango” she chortled “tango” as though with a fake Spanish accent and ran off.
The guys moved around the edge of the room. “So, are you gonna dance?” asked Arthur.
“I don’t really know how to,” Ernie answered, staring at the moving mass of couples.
“I don’t think you need to,” Arthur said, though he noticed that some of the couples seemed to really know what they were doing. There was one sort of near the middle of the group who were glued together, moving like they were born attached somehow. Suddenly the woman’s leg kicked at a strange angle, and they switched directions. Arthur nodded over at them.
“Yeah. Damn.”
A young thing in a tight red dress came over a grabbed Arthur’s hand. “Dancing?” she asked as she moved him toward the floor.
“I guess I am,” he said to Ernie.
Ernie noticed Mishka come in. Hannah leaped at her with a drink in hand and dragged her over to a couch.
“Have you ever thought about polygamy?” Hannah asked.
“Like the Mormons?”
“Mhm. Or other people,” Hannah paused, looking at Arthur across the room. He’d removed himself from the red dress. “I read this article the other day,” she continued, still watching Arthur intently, “about this people, somewhere in Africa, I don’t remember where, it said, you know. The article...” Hannah looked at Mishka, as though for confirmation. “It said that the men, they build separate little rooms or houses for each wife. In one big compound. Each wife has her own space.”
Mishka looked at Hannah’s face. She looked so young. She couldn’t stop herself from taking Hannah’s hands into her own. “But isn’t polygamy, in Utah, or Africa, or wherever, isn’t it about men wanting a lot of kids and power? Isn’t it about men?”
Hannah looked down at their hands. She didn’t move them or say anything for a minute. “Yeah. Maybe. Maybe that’s okay. If we get what we want and they get what they want... maybe its okay if its about them. Or if it looks like its about them.”
The two women sat, watching the couples dance and recouple, watching Ernie and Arthur pick through the chip bowl.
“They say,” Hannah said after awhile, “on the internet, in what I read,” she hesitated, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “It says, the men are supposed to treat each wife equally.”
“Equally?” Mishka questioned.
Hannah nodded. “Uhu. Do you think that’s possible?”
“Equally how?”
“I don’t know. With money, housing, and time maybe?”
“That doesn’t make them equal,” Mishka said. Hannah looked at her quizzically. “The wives. Having the same amount of money. The same houses. It doesn’t make them equal. They are all different, right? He loves them differently, for different reasons. Its never the same... never equal.”
“They’re staring at us again,” Arthur said shoving a potato chip in his mouth. “What do you think they’re talking about?” Ernie laughed and grabbed an extra beer. “Us?” Arthur asked.
“Yeah, us... or you, but probably us.”
“What do you think they’re saying? She looks upset.”
She did, thought Ernie, so did Mishka. She looked sad. “Maybe we should go over there,” Ernie said, turning to his friend.
“Maybe we should stay here,” Arthur responded. “If they’re upset, maybe we should just leave them alone.” Arthur was stressed, Ernie realized, not just about being here. He looked tired.
“I’m gonna give Mishka a beer,” Ernie said, looking at Arthur.
“Yeah, okay. I’m just gonna go out for a smoke.”
“Its snowing.”
“I’ll be all right.”
“Where’s Arthur?” Hannah asked as Ernie sat down on the chair next to Mishka.
“He went out for a smoke,” Ernie replied.
“I think he’s tired,” Hannah said. “I’m going to make a round, make sure everything’s okay,” she said to Mishka, standing and pulling her hand away.
“Hannah...” Mishka began.
“Yeah, we’ll talk later,” Hannah said rubbing her hands down her thighs, smoothing out her skirt. “Good to see you Ernie,” she said in her hostess voice.
Ernie moved onto the couch next to Mishka. “Here” he said handing her the beer.
“Thanks,” she said, leaning back into his body. She rested her head on his shoulder. Ernie noticed that she closed her eyes when she took a drink.
“Long day?” he asked, scratching her head.
“Not too bad.”
“Long conversation?”
She laughed quietly and rubbed her nose into his armpit. She always did that when she was tired. Ernie didn’t know why, but he liked it.
“I always wanted a train set when I was a kid,” she said lowly after a minute. “Did I ever tell you that?”
“No. Did you get one?”
“No. Trains were for boys. They bought me a doll house instead. It was a really nice doll house, lace curtains, claw foot bath.”
“I had a train,” Ernie stated, resting his chin briefly on Mishka’s head. She’d changed her shampoo. It was probably Sonja’s, but she still smelled good, like herself. “I think my mom got rid of it when I moved out.”
“My mom still has that doll house.”
