'Youth Novels'

Chapter Three

John felt his jaw drop as he pulled up outside Caddington Park. Neither darkness nor the large cast iron gate could obscure the old limestone Chateau's snobbish intent. There were balconies and turrets and hunched up gargoyles peering down sullenly from the rooftop at his battered old van. John sneered back at it and told himself that it was the heat from the radiator working up the sweat on the back of his neck.

'What the hell am I doing?'

He took out a cigarette, stuck a match off his sleeve and stared out at the house as he tried to normalise its image in his mind. Boys like him didn't wait inside their dingy vans outside of houses like this. Boys like him needed stick to the burbs' peripheries, to the parking lots and the pool halls and rundown trailer parks where they belonged. They weren't supposed to look at girls like Claire let alone be with them so why he was sitting outside her house ten minutes early, he couldn't quite explain.

The stubborn part of him tried think of it in purely sexual terms. Claire was just another girl after all, another series of body parts; 'Perky tits, nice long legs, cock sucking lips'─ but eventually even it had to relent. Claire was more than that. There were too many things caught up in the hormones. John leaned back in his seat, unsatisfied and glared up at the house. 'Whipped,' Duncan had mocked him and by God he was.

Suddenly, the passenger door flew open. John nearly dropped his cigarette in surprise.

"Gogogogogo!"

Wheels skidded into action, pulling away from the curb faster than his Uncle Eddie had totalled his speeding car. Claire slammed the door shut mid-swing and slumped back into the passenger seat with a huge sigh of relief. For a second neither of them spoke, struck dumb by adrenaline and the giddy relief of escape.

"Are both glass slippers accounted for, Cinderella?" he asked despite knowing that Claire didn't need a Fairy Godmother; she was already Diana, Princess of Shermer High although that evening she was masquerading as a Bond Girl in her long beige mackintosh and cream polo neck dress cinched in at the waist by a brown belt.

She rolled her eyes and flashed him a pair of familiar leather boots. "I ran the whole way down the drive," she admitted breathlessly.

"That eager to see me?"

Claire blushed. "Well, it would have been rude to keep you waiting seeming as you arrived ten minutes early…" she replied with a casual air. "That eager to see me?"

Like he'd ever admit it. "I figured it was a better place to pass the time than at mine. Senior's home this evening," he lied. Senior had a bowling tournament.

"Your Dad? Are you named after him?"

He shook his head. "We can't name people after living relatives in my family-"

"Why not?"

"It's an Ashkenazic tradition," John dismissed it. "His full name's Jonathon and since the Bender Clan is rather lacking in imagination, we both get called Johnny. It kept getting fucking confusing during family reunions so we changed it."

Claire grinned. "Sounds traumatic. Who are the Ashkenazic then? I've never heard of them."

John sighed. Of course she hadn't. "That's cause it's a Jewish thing and with a surname like 'Standish' I highly doubt you're Jewish."

She let out a small laugh of surprise. "You're Jewish? Well, I assume one of your parents isn't because you celebrate Christmas…" Then she shifted in her seat, settling her body to face him. John could see right up her dress. "So what's the different between Ashkenazic Jews and normal ones?"

"They come from Eastern Europe," he said, bored. God, why had he said it at all? "And a couple of thousand years ago they outlawed polygamy or something like that. I can't remember." She was wearing white underwear.

Claire cast him a pointed look, oblivious. "Obviously you didn't get the memo on polygamy."

"It arrived a little late but I got it eventually-" Claire looked pleased. "Nice panties by the way. Same ones as Saturday?"

He eyes widened in horror. John chortled with laughter as she twisted around, slamming feet down in the correct position. Claire tried her best to compose herself but the damage was done. She pulled on the hem of her skirt, binding her knees together in virginal modesty.

"I did not do that on purpose so don't even think about saying I did!" she warned him.

"I'm not complaining. I like your panties," he shot her a leering grin. She tried to scowl but failed miserably. "As a matter of interest, Claire," he went on. "Are you Catholic?"

The question took her by surprise. "I am."

John let out a deep rumbling chuckle. Now everything made sense. "I've got a cure for that," he smirked. "Don't you worry."

For a second Claire looked as if she was about to inquire as to what exactly but quickly thought the better of it. She closed her gaping mouth and gathered herself back together into her usual perfect self, pantie slip ignored.

"So what's it like?" she asked.

"What's what like?"

She shrugged. "I dunno? Being Jewish? I didn't know there were Jewish people in Shermer."

It was John's turn to roll his eyes. Of course she didn't. "Wanting to know if I'm circumcised?"

Claire arched an eyebrow. "You are such a─ I wasn't even thinking about that."

"But now you are."

She let out a groan and John knew the conversation was dropped. His religion or lack thereof was not something he particularly wanted to discuss. It was fucking boring and anyway, it was Senior's thing so he asked about her world instead.

"How the hell do your parents manage to find each other to start a fight in that place? It's fucking Buckingham palace."

Claire gave a tight smile. "With a lot less difficulty than you might think," she sighed. "Mom like insists on family meals."

"Do you have one of those stupidly long dinner tables where they sit at either end screaming at one another while you're in the middle under the chandelier?"

She laughed. "They prefer to sit closer together, that way they don't strain their voices."

"How civilised of them, my folks only scream louder the closer they get," he replied and she shot him a sympathetic look. "So… has Mrs Standish managed to drink the entire contents of the wine cellar this evening?"

"Probably," Another sigh. John rolled his eyes again. Claire's parents had a wine cellar. Of course they had a wine cellar. "-She was completely comatosed when I left. She always throws this total fit whenever Dad goes out to a function without her. It's so childish. She falls asleep with the TV on full blast so he's forced to put her to bed whenever he gets home."

"Why doesn't he just leave her there?" he asked incredulously. "I would."

"Because she's like a million times worse when he does that," she groaned. "She wakes up really hungover on the couch at like six am and starts this big drama. It's-" she broke off with an exasperated shake of the head. "…I know they could be worse," Claire said meaningfully after a moment. "And I'm not trying to make you to feel sorry for me. I know it could be a lot worse," she added again quickly, glancing at his black eye. "But knowing that that doesn't make it any easier…" She fidgeted with her nails nervously. "You understand, right?"

John gave a small grunt of consolidation. He understood only too well. '…When you grow up, your heart dies…' Allison's words and their finality stuck like a stain that he couldn't wash out. Much as he hated to admit it, maybe, just maybe, the whack job was on to something… Maybe it would if he kept comparing lots and Claire had no one who cared. The thought scared the shit out of John.

"Screw them," he said after a moment.

She smiled softly. "And screw yours too."

Under the glare of the passing yellow street lights overhead, she looked goddamn tragically beautiful, all wrapped up in her diamonds and cashmere on top of his battered up passenger seat. The sight of her made his breath catch in his throat. It was like she was some dying beacon in the dark, full of hope and at the same time utterly without it… Whatever way it went down between them, John knew it was going to decide what type of people they were going to turn into. He wasn't sure yet how he felt about seeing the future in his hand.

"So where are we going?" she asked curiously, watching out her window as her neighbourhood of BMWs and ornamental gardens gave way to the freeway.

"Ever played pool?" he asked.

"Once or twice, not in like ages. We've got a billiards table at home but we never use it."

Of course she did. John rolled his tongue over his teeth as his mouth fell open in a smirk. "Then it falls to me to improve your skills. The hands on approach will be necessary I'm afraid."

Claire didn't giggle and blush like another girl would. "And have you helped many girls improve their skills? Aside from the obvious ones you've done it with."

"Only the special ones," he replied smoothly.

Finally he got a smile, and John convinced himself that was the end of it. As they drove, the primordial awareness that had been building between them since Saturday began to seep into the atmosphere, fizzling and crackling like an electric current. John kept glancing distractedly at her thighs every few seconds. She was nervous. She shifted and wriggled in her seat innocent as can be but every time she moved the material would ride a little higher up her leg. Or maybe she was doing it on purpose, now that she knew he was looking…?

Whichever one it was, John just barely managed to fight the urge to pull over and kiss her until they got to Skinny Bill's Billiards. The parking lot was empty but then again, it was a wet Monday night and parking lots rarely gave a good indication as to how many people were out. Most people didn't have cars. John parked beneath the blown out eight ball sign and turned to face her, fully intent on making up for lost time but her expression stopped him. It was a picture of intense curiosity. Her dark eyes darted from side to side, soaking in the diamond shaped security gates bolted and locked across the lower windows and the grey harsh ugly lines of 1950's commercial architecture.

"Well Toto," he said with a wide grin. "We're not in Kansas anymore."

"Evidently," she peered at the heavy iron front door covered in flaking postings. "Are you sure this place is open? It looks closed."

He chuckled. "Princess, if this town was hit by the atom bomb tomorrow, Skinny's would still be open. Places like this are always at their busiest when everything else goes to shit."

"Lovely."

"Having second thoughts?"

There was a click as her door opened. Claire stared at him defiantly and stepped down out of the van onto the wet tarmac. She waited for him by the door. John grabbed the handle and pulled it open for her. For a moment Claire held back, peering into the empty corridor lit by blinking strip lights the same way Alice did with the rabbit hole.

"Ladies first," John grinned.

She pushed her nose high in the air and strutted past him, refusing to be intimidated. John threw an arm over her shoulder and pulled her against his side just as she reached the double doors leading into the reception and bar. They pushed on through together. There were rules for places like this. It didn't do to hold doors open for girls or to hold their bags and John wasn't that sort of guy anyway, at least not around other people.

Skinny's was the same as it always was. The same as it would always be; full of hustlers, sharpshooters, high pocketers and kids just looking to kill some time. John nodded to the old guard at the bar as they passed on their way to the reception.

"No weapons?" Claire stared at the red letters on the sign behind the glass.

"There was a shooting here last year," said John, handing over his knife to the bubble gum popping Betty behind the desk who bagged it and put it on the shelf beside the guns and all the other blades. "Some guy pushed his luck too far."

Claire absorbed this information silently. He could tell from the tenseness of her shoulders that she was uneasy. It wasn't Wonderland she was stepping into after all. Finally, she was beginning to realise that.

"How did that happen?" she asked.

"He picked the wrong guy to hustle, made too many cheap shots," he added. "He's still alive─ Relax, Princess," he half teased. "I'll keep you safe."

Claire didn't look entirely convinced but she was either too proud or too curious to ask him to take her home. Straightening her back, her expression slid into the ice cold bitch face she reserved for battle. John smirked. It'd take a lot more than a few drunken chumps and gun shot to dissuade Miss Standish.

"There's a guy working up a storm on Table Eight tonight, Johnny Boy," Betty told him as a bubble popped and stuck to her red lips. "Got Dice Man with him."

That surprised John. He hadn't seen the Dice Man in years. However, it wasn't a night to be catching up with old acquaintances so he declined but thanked Betty for the tip anyway. She was alright, Old Betty. She was always willing to let John in on the rack because she knew John was as much a part of Skinny's as she was. They'd always be there, him and her just like at the Hotel California. As he went to take out his wallet, Claire reached for her purse. He stopped her and handed over the five bucks to Betty for the four hours.

"I could've paid," she told him as they made their way towards the cubbyhole bar and its shelves stacked full of ripped open cardboard boxes of multipack chips and cans of beer and coke.

"They don't do change for fifty dollar notes here."

"I don't mind."

"I do."

Claire didn't try to pay for the six pack of beer, much to John's relief. Even at Skinny's there were certain rules and John's pride wouldn't have allowed for it anyway. Unlike her, he'd worked for every cent, one way or another. When they entered the pool hall, John reached the end of his patience. He swept down and staked his claim on her lips for everyone to see. Claire kissed back greedily and John knew that she'd been waiting to kiss him for as long as he had her.

"Move it there, Johnny Boy," complained a voice behind him. "You're blocking the door."

John broke the kiss and grinned back at the speaker. He kept one arm around her shoulder and the six pack in his other hand as they swaggered down past the pool tables and the clinking balls to the quieter side of the room. A few people nodded to him as they went but most were watching Table Eight. Sure enough, the Dice Man was there in his trademark red dice t-shirt, a cigarette bobbing in his mouth as he spoke. The guy working the table looked like a real blow over but judging from the claps he was making waves.

"Do they really not ask anyone for ID around here at all?" Claire remarked.

John tore his eyes away from the game and followed her gaze to the gang of kids shooting pool and smoking at the back. Some of them were drinking beer too. He shrugged it off and stopped at the empty table furthest away from the kids. Bending down, he put the first token in the slot. The balls came out with the same old rattling thunk John knew in his bones.

"You sound like Brian," he grunted as he began to arrange the balls sloppily in the rack with the eight at the centre.

"They're like twelve!" she exclaimed.

"They've got no place else to go."

From her silence it was evident that such a thing had never crossed her mind. He cast a quick glance to see if she was contemptuous or disbelieving or worst of all, totally detached. She looked sad however.

"Believe it or not," he began. "This pool hall is responsible for rearing many upstanding young individuals. Hell, my brothers used to bring me here all the time when I was younger and look how well I've turned out?" he finished with a grin.

Claire bit back a smile and ran her hands over the balls, spinning them so that each number was facing upright and the same way around. John arched an eyebrow but said nothing.

"I'm guessing your brothers are a lot older than you?" she asked, forcing herself to forget about the kids.

"Seven and six years," The beer can hissed and spat a little as he cracked it open and handed it to her before opening one for himself. "Had my first cigarette courtesy of them when I was eight, I also got drunk for the first time right over there by that very same pool table-" He gestured with the beer to the kids' table. It felt like a million years ago now, way back when the twins were still interested and before Derek had gotten heavy into smack.

Claire looked physically disgusted. "What age where you when you did that?"

"Ten. I puked all over it. You can still see the stain on the cloth, had to mop it up with my brother's army jacket. Man, was he pissed."

"What did he do to you?" she asked, her eyes twinkling.

"He broke a pool cue over my back," he replied. Her jaw dropped.

"That's horrible!"

John grunted. He could still remember how much it had hurt. It'd been Eddie's fault of course. He'd laughed and thrown Mandy's jacket on the table first and sworn blind that if John used it he wouldn't tell their brother but he did. Even as far back as then Eddie had been an asshole. Mandy was too for that matter, however John liked to think he'd gotten Mandy back for all eternity for having been the one responsible for getting him stuck with the name 'Mandy' in the first place.

"What a total dick," Claire frowned angrily. "…I just can't get over how young you were. I didn't start drinking at all until I turned sixteen. I can like count the amount of times I've been drunk on one hand."

John could well believe it. "It is an ancient and noble tradition of the Bender family to get the kid brother wasted," he said with mock pomposity. "Our older brother did it to them and I'm pretty sure my cousin did it to him back when he was a kid too."

Claire continued to shake her head. "Yeah, but at ten? That's majorly screwed up."

"A given whenever my family is involved," he handed her the cue.

"How many siblings do you have?"

"Too many," he grabbed a hold of her shoulders and positioned her at the bottom of the table before the white ball. "Right, show me what you got."

Posture and form were things that came naturally to Claire, a few adjustments of the hips or the angle of the cube and really, she was good to go. Once they were about halfway through their second game, it became evident that John was scraping the bottom of the barrel for excuses to keep correcting her and she was competitive enough that she was beginning to find his helping hands a hindrance. Eventually, he just sat back and for the first time ever played a proper game of pool on a date.

"You've got it," he remarked on her form as she went to take her shot.

"I did ballet for thirteen years," she said as the five potted and she began to eye up her next shot. "I guess I pick up techniques quicker because of it."

It made sense that she was a dancer, especially a ballerina. She had the grace, hopefully she had the flexibility still. John could have a lot of fun with that. He'd liked what he'd seen of her dancing in the library, unhinged and confident in the company she was keeping. Claire's everyday movements were much more constraint and composed, less her.

"Can you do that thing where you spin while standing on your toes?" he asked. "You know the name of it. Sounds like a dessert."

Claire bit back a smile, her dark gaze twinkling in amusement. "A pirouette? I'd have thought even you knew that one."

He forced his lips into a straight line. "Sorry, what was that again?"

"Pirouette," she said. Then her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "…Are you making fun of me?"

"Nope. I just knew it was gonna sound way better if you said it."

She gave him a kiss for his trouble. John caught her around the waist when she did, letting her body sink against his. It felt good her body pressed up against him and even better, it felt right. John couldn't get over how right it felt. He'd never felt like that about a girl before.

"Oh? So you are capable of saying nice things!" she teased as she broke away. Even in the darkness, her pupils were dilated. "Who'd have thought?"

"Was that nice?" he asked in disgust. "I'll bear that in mind so I don't make the same mistake twice."

Claire's groan quickly fell silent when he pulled her flush against him for another kiss. A large part of him wanted to just forget about the game all together. Virgin or not, there was a lot to be said about girls who knew how to use their assets in creative ways such as lipstick application but Claire was a tricky one. She wasn't fast but she wasn't exactly tight either given her little trip to his closet. It was hard to know what speed to go at.

"So," he let go of her and picked up the cue. "You speak French and do ballet, are you French?"

She shook her head. "No, my ─" her brow narrowed quizzically. "How did you know I speak French?"

"You do that thing French people do when they speak, it's like you're trying to decide if you're gonna spit or swallow."

"Gee, thanks. French people don't sound like that."

"And you're anal over pronunciation."

"I'm not anal, it's just not pronounced Mo-lay."

She had him there. John let her off with it. "Can you do a pirouette?"

"Not anymore. I haven't done one in like ages."

"I bet you a million bucks you still can."

But she shook her head. "And the answer is 'no', I'm not going to try do one for you."

Like that was ever going to deter him. It took much cajoling on John's part and another bottle of beer until Claire finally relented. He had to swear not to laugh, of course, under pain of death and she told him she would not, under any circumstance, be able to perform it on her tippy toes. John promised and crossed his heart twice as she brought her right foot forward in a sideways position, her legs and back were straight as a board, her arms raised, her eyes fixed on his.

A quick jump and a raise of the leg and she was spinning away in the darkness. John leaned back against the pool table and grinned, honestly impressed. She didn't just spin once, she spun twice, her red hair wiping through the air like flames dancing, arms rising up as she went. And then suddenly it was over. In the aftermath, she was statuesque, her feet bent at parallel angles, one in front of the other. When she moved her leg forward, the spell broke and she turned from ballerina back into Claire once more.

"Why didn't you do that on Saturday?" he asked. "Not that the lipstick trick didn't have a certain high class charm to it."

John chortled as Claire shoved him but he could see her delight in having surprised him.

"You're impressed, right?" she asked eagerly. "You thought that was good." He shook his head no but his mouth told the truth. She beamed. "I didn't do it on Saturday because I'm not good at it," she admitted after a moment. "Like, I was only able to do it just there because I've been drinking a little."

"If you needed something to take the edge off, I had plenty of weed. Hell, Andrew turned into fucking Footloose on it."
She giggled. "It wouldn't have worked," she insisted. "It shouldn't have worked just there. My form's way too sloppy─" She held onto the table as she bent over, laughing out of sheer disbelief and wonder. "I cannot believe I just did that! I haven't done a pirouette in like two years!"

John arched an eyebrow, nonplussed. "Could've fooled me. I doubt Sporto on weed could've pulled that one off and he's probably been wearing a leotard for longer than you ever did."

But Claire was shaking her head. "In ballet it's not just about what you do it's about how you look doing it," she explained. "Your posture and balance have to be completely perfect otherwise the whole ballet troupe looks crap."

"Well, you weren't performing with a ballet troupe on Saturday so it wouldn't have mattered. Would it?" She didn't reply. John took a cigarette out from the packet, offering her one. She took it. "...Why'd you quit?" he asked as he held the match up to light hers first.

"I wasn't good enough," she declared as she exhaled. John snorted. "I wasn't!" she insisted. "To get anywhere half decent I'd have had to give up my entire social life and all my afterschool activities. Ballet is just one of those things you have to be perfect at otherwise there's just no point."

John stared at her for a moment. "Christ, you are anal."

"I'm not!"

"Claire, in your own words you quit because you only wanted to be perfect at it. You fucking arrange the pool balls in the rack until they're all facing directly upright and the same way around─ and you correct pronunciation."

"It's still not Mo-lay, John."

"Don't use my bad French as an excuse not face your anal retentiveness," he countered. Even Claire had to laugh at that.

"Oh my God, you are unbelievable," she picked up her beer. "I am not anally retentive! I just like things to look nice, that's why I rearrange the pool balls-" John stared at her, completely unconvinced. She was sinking fast. "-And for the record, with ballet it's either perfect or nothing. There's no in between, John."

"According to who?"

Claire hesitated and rolled the cigarette but in her fingers. He could see Brian in her in that moment. That same pent up anger hiding behind the eyes, waiting to be released. Claire was different from Brian however. Good was the thing she acted because people told that was what she was supposed to be and Claire did everything people told her to, the same as Andrew. 'Whatever happened to Andrew?' His brain asked.

John took another drag. Fuck Andrew. "Do you enjoy dancing?"

"I do," she admitted.

"Then why give a shit what anybody else thinks? You care way too much about that sort of crap." She was staring at the ground. John leaned down until his eyes were level with hers. "It looked good enough to me, Claire."

A soft smile split across her face. She settled back beside him, resting her head against his shoulder. John settled back too and tipped his can against hers with a dull clink before taking a swig. They stood there like that, in silence, game forgotten. They didn't need words really, they'd already said so much to one another on Saturday.

"John…" she began thoughtfully. "If I had done that instead of the lipstick trick would you have still laughed at me?"

He turned away, picking up the cue, the moment of intimacy broken. "As you'll recall, I didn't laugh."

"Would you have been as mean?"

John shrugged and leaned over the table, taking the first of what was to be the last three shots of the game according to his calculations. A new game, a different conversation. That's what he was banking on anyway.

"Then I'm glad I didn't do it."

John stopped and looked at her. She was stubbing out her cigarette, avoiding his gaze. The way she'd said it made him wonder what exactly had been said to her to make her stop dancing and by whom.

"…So what is it can you do?" she asked after a pause. "You never told us."

John finished the game and straightened up, rolling his tongue across his bottom lip as his mouth fell open in a cocky grin. "You're gonna have to be a little more specific there, sweets because I can do a lot of things."

The tell-tale pink tinges of desire rushed to her cheeks. "I didn't mean like that."

"Did you not?"

She swallowed and licked her lips but otherwise held perfectly still, her gaze holding his. Another more experienced girl would have wrapped herself around him in a kiss, maybe even shoved her hand down the front of his pants if she was particularly adventurous. Claire however was not that girl and right now she was swimming out of her depth. Now that he knew the perimeters, it was easier to play with them.

He'd wait for another time. Grabbing his beer, he settled back against the pool table. "Aside from being a master at navigation, particularly in the area of school corridors-" Claire snickered, her uncertainty forgotten. "-I am the best goddamn shot this side of Chicago."

"For pool? Or guns?" she asked.

"Pool, although I'm not too shabby with a shotgun either." John took his wallet from his back pocket and took his lucky twenty out from in between the folds. He wasn't one for superstition but he'd never lost that twenty. "And to prove it," he went on. "I will bet this here twenty bucks in a game against an opponent of your very choosing."

She held his gaze for a long moment as she weighed up his wager. "The guy at Table Eight," she said finally.

John could have kissed her. He did kiss her. Short and quick before he grabbed her hand and led her towards his future victory. People moved out of their way when they realised he had come to play. There were a few mummers of encouragement, some of warning. John however took one look at the man's Mohawk and fishnet vest and he knew he had him beat. Only losers and Duncan dressed like that.

"All or nothing?" he threw down the twenty on the pile as the punk finished slaughtering his final victim.

"Aren't you a cocky kid? ─Hey Dice!" he turned to the man who was currently chatting to one of the old timers. "This kid thinks he can beat me in an All or Nothing─ You're on," he told John.

John grinned and glanced at Claire. She was seated to the left of Dice, up against the table, her purse and the remainder of the beers on her lap. The kids had come over; the oldest one was eyeing her with interest. Quite a few people were. Claire wasn't the sort of girl who'd normally wash up in a place like Skinny's. She however pretended that they weren't there. Girls like her were used to freezing people out.

"Who now?" Dice searched around for the next opponent. When his eyes landed on John's, they widened. "Is that Johnny Boy?" he asked in disbelief. "Holy shit, you've sure grown up. You're looking more and more like Donny these days."

"And you're still wearing that stupid fucking t-shirt," replied John, refusing to acknowledge the comparison between him and someone he had never met. The man chuckled. "What are you doing back?"

"Why, Lord General is visiting from New York-" he nodded to John's fishnet wearing opponent. "-Ex-vet, served in Nam," he elaborated.

"And hated every minute of it," grunted Lord General as he set up the rack.

John grinned as a ripple of disgruntled mutters made its way around the crowd. It wasn't good to talk trash about Nam around the working class. Talk like that might be considered unpatriotic which in John's opinion was pretty hilarious. He couldn't remember the last time the country had done anything for any one of them.

Dice slapped his friend on that back. "Said he wanted to shoot straights so I thought I'd bring him to my old haunt to see if any of you kids were up to scratch. Can't say you've been having any luck. You're playing him now? You're biting off more than you can chew, kid."

John wasn't frightened at all. "I was the best when you disappeared and I've gotten better."

"Gotten bigger too," Dice grinned. "How are your folks keeping? How's your Dad's back?"

John shrugged. How on earth Dice knew about that was beyond him. "Go ask them yourself."

"Prickly kid," Dice arched an eyebrow. "General was just complaining about having four little sisters growing up. I've been telling him how easy he's had it in comparison ─ Johnny Boy is my Maggie's kid brother," he told his friend as he pointed to him. "Youngest of nine-"

John stared at him in disgust. "You're dating Maggie?!"

"Going on two months," Dice looked smug, like he'd fucking achieved something monumental. "She's a keeper."

"My condolences," John raised his eyebrows. "Make sure to get a parenting test on any future offspring you have together."

The atmosphere changed considerably. People grew tense. Everyone knew about Maggie though no one said it, at least they didn't say it to John. General was staring at him in disbelief. John couldn't believe it himself. They were all acting like they'd never talked shit about her before in their lives.

"Hey!" Dice raised his finger threateningly. "Easy there, kid! Watch the mouth…" he took a drag from his cigarette as he glared at John. "If you weren't Maggie's kid brother I'd sock you for that."

"Go right ahead but you know I'm right," retorted John as Claire's eyes flew wide open. She was staring at him, pleading with him to back down the same way she did that time with Dick. John ignored her.

Dice didn't move. He only frowned and glared, probably trying to detach the kid he once knew from the angry teen before him. John however had no such problem. Only an idiot would date one of his sisters.

"…Maggie's right, you have turned into a little prick," he said eventually. "Christ kid! That's your own sister you're talking about."

"Don't I know?"

The man shook his head in disbelief. "You don't talk about her that way around me, got me? You do that again and I will hit you and I don't give a damn if you're her brother. No one talks about my girl that way."

That made him stop, John straightened up, furious. "Personally, I don't see how it is any of your fucking business what way I talk about her. She's my sister."

"She's your sister, that's the point," Dice was staring at him like he was trying to explain multiple sums to a three year old. "We all come from women at the end of the day, right?" he turned to the spectators. "Right? Am I right? You gotta show the women in your life a little respect-"

"Is 'respect' the term Maggie's using for alimony these days?" John interjected. "I'd thought she'd just stick to bills, same as other whores."

The tension snapped. Dice jumped up from his chair, the stool clattered on the floor behind him. John stood his ground, mentally doing the calculations as to whether or not he'd be able to take him. Claire, poor Claire looked fucking terrified and he felt bad but if Dice wanted a fight then that was it. John hated fist fights; the outcome was too unpredictable. Words were always where he had the edge.

"Easy there, Dice Man," General soothed Dice as he picked up his stool and set him back on it with a firm push of the shoulders. "Not in front of his girl. I'll make sure to whip his ass in this here game for you."

The word 'girl' resonated somewhere deep inside Dice's thick skull. Dice turned to Claire who was watching him worriedly, scooting away from him. He stopped and pulled the cigarette out from between his lips, giving her the once over. He looked from Claire to John and then back again.

"You're Johnny Boy's girl?" he asked her eventually.

"I am his girlfriend, yes," Claire replied politely.

"Lord Almighty…" he replaced the cigarette. "What's a brod like you doing with a punk like him?"

She shrugged. "I must like him, I guess?" As she said it her eyes caught John's. He couldn't fight back the smile even if he tried. She smiled too.

"You're about the only person who does," muttered Dice with raised eyebrows. There were a few laughs and the mood became jovial once more. "So what's your name, Red?"

"Claire."

"Claire? That's a pretty name for a pretty girl."

"Why thank you," Claire grinned at John victoriously. "I've been told that it's a fat girl's name."

"By who? Him?" Dice gestured to John as he prepared to take his first shot. "He's a prick. Don't listen to what he says ─Don't let him speak to you like that neither," he added. He took one last long stare at John before shaking his head. "Prick."

John grinned. Prick or not, he eventually beat General, just like he knew he would although it took mostly skill. Hustling only worked on suckers, and although General was a loser, he wasn't a sucker but he did miss a few of John's feints. Afterwards, when he handed over the money, John split it in half and handed one back to the man. Out of the corner of his eye he could see both Dice and Claire's dumbfounded expressions. Oh how he lived to disappoint peoples' expectations.

"I'm serious about the parenting test," he said to Dice as he took Claire by the hand and led her back towards their table.

"Hey Johnny Boy!" Dice called after him after a moment. "You and your lady should head down to Cats some time. I work the door, I'll let you in."

"Course you work there," John called back. "Cats is for faggots."

"You're a prick!"

John gave him the middle finger.

"Why do you always have to pick a fight?" Claire demanded once they were alone. She was still half pissed at him and frightened for him.

John sighed. "Look, it was fine. It was just for show. Guys do it all the time. It's fucking posturing that's all."

"It is beyond a doubt the stupidest thing ever."

John couldn't argue there. It was pretty fucking stupid but it worked. It was the main reason he'd been able to avoid getting into fights most of the time. Look bigger, sound badder and the other dick would usually back down. Claire leaned back against the pool table beside him, her arms folded.

"I was worried," she said. "Like really worried."

He hooked an arm over her shoulder and placed her head against his chest. "I'm fine, relax. Nothing happened."

"I just hate to think something would."

And it meant a lot to him her saying that. No one had ever said it before. John rubbed his hand over her arm.

"At one point I thought you were going to lose," she peered up at him. "It looked like it. You missed like three shots in a row."

"Smoke and mirrors," John replied. "I'm surprised he didn't notice. Guess his brain went out with his hair."

A small smile found its way back to her face. John was relieved. "So you did hustle him," she said.

"Can't hustle a hustler."

Claire pursed her lips together and untangled herself from him. "Show me."
That surprised him, more so than her pirouette. "You want to learn?"

"Why not?"

"Nothing… just most girls aren't normally interested."

"And have you ever asked a girl if she was interested before?"

"Never had to," replied John smoothly.

Claire rolled her eyes. "Ha ha. C'mon, show me and I swear I won't ask you any awkward questions about your sister."

"Deal," he grunted, picking up the cue.

He dropped her home at two, after they'd smoked all his cigarettes and grabbed a coffee at the local 24 hour diner to help sober her up. They'd sat tucked in together in a booth at the back, his fingers trailing the nape of her neck, kisses coming quick and sloppy and tasting of beer and cheap instant coffee. They'd talked about dancing and hustling and what they were going to do with the money John won that night come their next date on Thursday. They didn't talk about Maggie or Dice although John could tell that she desperately wanted to ask. He knew that someday not asking wasn't going to be enough for her, just like someday sitting in booths sharing hurried kisses wasn't going to be enough for him but in that moment, they were both fine with making do.

To be continued…

A/N: Anyone who is familiar with the actor/comic who played Dice Man in Pretty in Pink will know that he has been the subject of great controversy due to his sexist humour. I appreciate a little irony, don't you?