Capter 22A: Traveling south for Thnksgiving

Cisco was from Atlanta, he was driving home for Thanksgiving, and the road from Nashville to Atlanta runs through Chattanooga, and he, being a nice guy, offered to drive me back to Chattanooga. I told him I was traveling with Ginny, and he said that was cool, and that he was also going to bring his friend Walt Gwinnett from some other dorm, a friend from high school. Everybody agreed we’d leave at about five on Wednesday. I was packed and ready to go, so when Cisco knocked on my door I picked up my suitcase and we left. When we got down to the parking lot, Walt was leaning against the car, in blue Blazer, blue Brooks Brothers button-down, khakis complete with alligator belt with monogrammed belt buckle, and Topsiders.

“Oh, hi,” said Walt, as though mildly surprised to see us.

“Walt, Henry. Henry, Walt,” said Cisco, unlocking the trunk.

“Walton Gwinnett,” said Walt, extending his hand.

“Henry Baida,” I answered, shaking his hand.

I’d never seen Cisco’s car before. It was a big black Pontiac Firebird Trans-Am without the optional gold detailing. It was clear he liked it. After I looked at it, he looked at me and cocked an eyebrow.

“The gold bird on the hood would have been too much for a guy like you,” I said.

“Damn straight,” he said, smiling, and tossed our bags into the not-so-big trunk. Walt held the door for me to get into the pretty small back seat. No coin toss, no discussion, I was in the back. Cisco started the car and backed out of the parking space. It had a big V-8, Glasspack kind of a rumble. It was already dark. Cisco pulled out of the dorm parking lot onto 21st Ave., then turned right onto Broadway. Walt looked at Cisco with concern.

“Why did you turn the wrong way?” asked Walt.

“We’re picking up a friend of Henry’s,” Cisco answered. Walt nodded idly and lit a cigarette with a metal butane lighter. “Roll down the window, if you’re going to smoke,” said Cisco. Walt’s expression indicated that he thought Cisco’s request to be an affront, but after a pause he complied and cranked down the window. Cisco turned onto Scarritt and found the front of Ginny’s dorm after a few minutes. Ginny was sitting out front, tweed jacket, knitted scarf, white blouse, blue jeans, dark blue Ferragamos, hair pushed back by a black velvet headband. Pretty girl. She didn’t know Cisco or his car, so when she looked at us, it was speculatively.

“Is that her?” Cisco asked.

“Yeah,” I answered.

“Jesus H. Christ, she is lights-out gorgeous,” said Cisco.

“She’s cute,” I agreed. Walt looked up for the first time to see who we were talking about. Cisco cut the engine and hopped out, approaching Ginny directly, and with a smile. He extended his hand.

“Ginny?” he asked, extending his hand. I was sitting behind Walt, and I’d expected him to get out of the car to greet Ginny, but he made no move to do so, so I slid over to exit from the drivers’ side.

“Yes?” Ginny replied, shaking his hand, tentatively.

“I’m Francis. Francis Atwater. A friend of Henry’s.” He was saying this as I was clambering out of his car. Her shaking of his hand became more cooperative and friendly once she saw me. She smiled at him.

“Hey, Ginny,” I said. She looked at me speculatively and waved. It was the first time I’d seen her face to face since my last pool game. She wasn’t sure what she thought of me. Cisco picked up her bag, opened the trunk, made room for her bag, closed the trunk lid, then returned his attention to Ginny. He smiled and placed his hand on her back, cooperatively moving her towards her seat. He opened the passenger door, where Walt was still seated.

“Walt, this is Ginny,” he said. “Ginny’s going to be sitting in the front seat, so you need to move to the back.” Walt tried his best not to frown, and stood up next to Ginny and Cisco. He smiled a hollow smile.

“Hello, Ginny, I’m Walton Gwinnett,” he said, offering his hand. She shook it. He sat in the passenger-side back seat, somewhat heavily, without removing his jacket.

“Hi, Henry,” she said.

“Hey. Good to see you again.” She waved again and sat in the passenger seat. Cisco unhinged the front seat to allow me access to the back seat.

“I wish you were shorter,” I said.

“She’s so cute,” he answered, too softly for her to hear.

“Smart, too,” I said, and got in. There just wasn’t much room in that back seat. Walt frowned at me. Ginny got into the passenger seat before Cisco could get around to hold her door, so she was in before him. He got in, sat, put the key in the ignition, then turned to her and flashed that bandit smile. She almost gasped.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Uh-huhm,” she answered, nodding, captivated. That fast. Cisco eased the Firebird into West End traffic, then navigated his way over to I-24. Once on the freeway he gave Ginny another smile, not so bright as the first.

“So tell me about yourself,” he said. She seemed surprised he asked.

“Oh, okay,” she said. “I’m a sophomore at Peabody. I’m thinking I’ll major in Psychology or Math and get a teacher’s certificate and maybe be a teacher. How about you?”

“You like teaching?” Cisco asked.

“I don’t know, but I think so,” she answered. “Since I was a little kid I’ve been involved in sports, and I’ve always imagined how I would be coaching the teams I’ve been on.”

“What sports?” Cisco asked.

“I like them all, but I mainly play soccer and tennis,” she said.

“So you want to teach Psychology to high school students?”

“That’s the thing. Most high schools don’t have many Psychology classes, maybe one per semester. Peabody has a really good psychology program, but I’m not gonna find a full-time job as a high school psychology teacher so since I’ve always gotten good grades in Math, I was thinking that I could also teach that. Anyway, that’s what I’m thinking now.”

“Henry back there may be good at Math,” he said. I sat up. I hadn’t expected to be mentioned. Walt, who had not seemed to be paying any attention, looked at me laconically and cocked an eyebrow. “Last week I asked him what pi was and he gave it to me to five decimal places,” Cisco said. Walt shook out a Benson & Hedges menthol and was about to place it between his lips. Cisco, displaying a hitherto-unknown eyes-in-the-back-of-the-head talent, said “No smoking, Walt.” Walt made an irritated face and put his cigarette away. Ginny seemed to think for a few seconds.

“Henry took Math from my Aunt Margaret, so I expect he knows it,” she said. I looked up, and saw that Cisco was looking at me inquisitively in the rear view mirror. I nodded. “Sometimes Math isn’t the real question. But the fact that Henry can remember that pi to eleven decimal places just means he has a good memory. It doesn’t mean he’s smart. Don’t get me wrong, Henry,” she said, without looking back at me, “I know you’re smart in math. What if, though, being good in math,” and here she wasn’t talking to me any more, but to Cisco, “causes other problems?”

“What kind of problems does Math lead to?” Cisco asked.

“Accountancy,” said Walt.

“Ignore Walt,” said Cisco. “He’s acting like old money.” Ginny looked at him blankly.

“Careers are a bother.” She nodded as though that explained something.

“Maybe you get to understand something better than the people around you, but still they worry about you. Or you do things that worry them,” she said.

“Like?” Cisco asked.

“Sometimes people do things that people close to them, or around them, or friends of theirs, don’t understand. It can make you think about them … differently.” Walt looked at me.

“I’m not sure I follow,” said Cisco, looking at Ginny earnestly for the second or two traffic safety allowed the driver of a Firebird.

“Sometimes you get an idea about a person, and then they do something, so you get a different idea of them. Enough about me. What about you?”

“Those are great shoes,” Cisco said to Ginny. I couldn’t see them. She smiled and looked at her shoes, then straight ahead into the darkness of I-24, still smiling.

“This ride is only ten minutes old,” said Walt, to me, not loud enough for the front seat to hear.

“I know,” I said.

“What did you do? Fuck her sister?”

“What was that?” asked Ginny.

“Nothing,” Walt and I chimed in together.

“So?” he asked.

“So what?” I answered.

“Did you have sex with her best friend, or what?”

“Gack, no,” I said. “Nothing like that.”

“What are you guys talking about?” she asked.

“Nothing,” we both called out.

“So what?” he asked.

“I won a pool game,” I said.

“So?”

“I bet a lot on it,” I said.

“So?”

“She was worried I was going to lose,” I said.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” he said.

“What are you telling him, Henry?” she asked.

“Just guy talk,” I said.

“Don’t get distracted by the back seat, sweetheart,” said Cisco. “You were telling me the story of your life.”

“You’re being very … solicitous,” she said, still smiling.

“I’m just interested in people,” he said. Walt rolled his eyes and laid his head back on the headrest.

“Well,” she said, “I graduated from GPS. I was presented at the Cotton Ball, and most of the girls in my class are friends of mine, but I don’t like all that society stuff. I’m not a very girlie girl, but I think girls and women are important. I like sports but don’t like being called a jock.”

“Why not?” Cisco asked.

“Oh, I don’t know. Hard to say. I don’t like labels. Like, I’m all in favor of women’s rights. I hope the E.R.A. passes. I don’t think women should be second-class citizens. But I just don’t like Bella Abzug or Gloria Steinem and would just rather find my own way.”

“It seems like you care pretty deeply about this,” said Cisco, giving her a brief, earnest look.

“Not really,” she said. “My mom and my dad both work and I never grew up with this subservient deal. Nobody ever told me I couldn’t do things because I was a girl. So maybe I didn’t grow up like everybody. But the fact that I think girls should be able to do whatever they want doesn’t mean I want to be Shirley Chisholm.”

“So what do you like about soccer?” he asked. She closed her eyes.

“The beautiful game,” she said. “When I was little, they played me on defense, because I was fast and didn’t have those small skills, those little toe-tapping deals that the coach’s kids had. But once I got to middle school and got on the all-star teams they moved me to forward and anytime a halfback could feed me a ball, I could take a shot. It really is a wicked game. You see the ball sailing through the air, you feel the people around you, and in slow-motion you see whether to head it, chest it, or kick it, and you make your choice and WHAM it slams back into real time and you’re fighting for the ball. It’s just wonderful.”

“I played soccer in high school,” said Cisco.

“Really? What did you play?” she asked.

“I was the goalie.” Walt shook his head dismissively and looked out the window.

“That makes sense, you’re tall,” she said.

“I don’t think I was as talented as you were,” said Cisco, at which Walt’s expression conveyed feigned outrage. Walt didn’t seem to think much of Cisco as a soccer player. “But you also played tennis?” Walt sat up.

“Yeah. Love it.”

“Were you good?”

“Well, I was All-State in Tennessee for three years,” she said.

“Excuse me,” said Walt. “Are you Ginny McColl?”

“That’s me,” she said.

“Jesus,” Walt said. “I saw you play Chrissie Evert in 1972. You damned near beat her.”

“Yeah, well if you’re talking about the Atlanta game, it was an exhibition match, and Chrissie wasn’t playing at her best. She was originally scheduled to play Billie Jean King, but then Billie Jean got worried she might lose and bailed at the last minute, and I just happened to be there.”

“And didn’t you show up at Charlotte and play mixed doubles with Ilie Nastase?”

“I played against him and Rosemary Casals, yes. Margaret Court had the flu, and Marty Reissen asked me to stand in at the last minute.”

“That was a great match,” he said. “You’ve got a hell of a ground stroke.”

“Thanks,” she said. “What took you to Charlotte?”

“I was in men’s doubles. I flagged out of the junior singles in the quarter-finals.”

“Who with? Doubles, I mean.”

“Charlie Owens,” said Walt. She smiled.

“I saw Charlie beat Pete Fleming. Great game. He then hit on me.”

“Sounds like Charlie.”

“I was sixteen.”

“Still sounds like Charlie,” said Walt. “Why aren’t you playing now?”

“Peabody doesn’t have a tennis team,” she said.

“Yeah, but we do, and we’re right across the street. The tennis courts are closer to your dorm than to mine. And several of the women on our team are from Peabody. I don’t know how it works, but if you’re interested, there’s a way for you to play for us, and I’d love to have you as a mixed doubles partner.”

“You’re on the team? The actual S.E.C. team?” she asked.

“Too soon to say,” he answered. “I’m going to try out. I was Georgia All-State and All-Southeast in high school, but I don’t really know if there’s a place for me as a freshman. But I’ve seen you play. With you as a doubles partner, I’d be … we’d be in for sure.”

“That’s very sweet,” she said. “I’d love to.”

“We’ll work it out on the trip back,” he said. “Numbers and all. You’re fit?”

“Not really. Last time I played was over a year ago.”

“Let’s start running together,” he said. She smiled.

“I had no idea you were such a star,” said Cisco, and smiled at her. She noticed.

“I like tennis,” she said.

“What else do you like?” Cisco asked.

“Math, psychology, shoes, soccer, Neil Young, turnip greens, and my Aunt Margaret,” she said.

“And what do you dislike?” Cisco asked. Walt frowned and sat back, aware he’d lost her, at least for the moment.

“Cold ketchup. Gold chains on men. Anchovies. Boiled okra, multiple choice tests, oysters, electric stoves, Scotch whiskey, and backgammon,” she said. “And gambling,” she added, as an afterthought. Walt glanced at me.

“Why gambling?” Cisco asked. Walt looked at me out of the corner of his eye.

“Sometimes people just gamble insane amounts of money,” she said. “It’s like a compulsion. Maybe like a disease.”

“Are you talking about Henry?” asked Cisco.

“Maybe a little,” she said.

“I thought he won that pool game,” said Cisco.

“He did, but that’s not the point,” she said.

“You were there?” he asked.

“Yes, I was,” she said.

“What happened?” Cisco asked. “Henry won’t talk about it and Milton seems to … exaggerate.”

“Milton?” she asked.

“Jimmy Milton. A guy from our floor. He was there,” said Cisco. Ginny craned around to look at me.

“He was the curly-headed guy sitting next toy you during the game. He smokes,” I said. She frowned slightly, not remembering him. “When Donnie and I went off with his uncle to work out how the money would be held, I asked him to stay with you until I got back,” I said. She shook her head, puzzled.

“I think you must be misremembering,” she said. “I think it was just me and Melissa from my Art History class that waited for you boys to get done talking in secret.”

“All right,” I said. She looked through the window into the darkness as Cisco eased around a semi on I-24. We all looked ahead in the darkness as Cisco merged back into the right lane.

“So tell me the story,” said Cisco, to Ginny. He’d scaled the personality backa few degrees and his tone was more measured. He wanted to hear the story. Ginny paused for a few seconds, twirling her hair. She crossed her legs in a funny way that put her left shoe on the dashboard, then nipped at her index fingernail with her front teeth.

“Well it was just odd,” she said. All I could see was the back of her head. “I knew Henry was a pool player, and we’re both from Chattanooga, and my Aunt Margaret really likes him, so a few weeks ago when this ΣAE from Memphis I know took me to this pace called Annie’s I thought that it would be cool to take Henry there. And so we decided to go to dinner at Elliston’s and then go play pool. I just wanted to see him play, if he was so good. And then when we got to Annie’s he knew people there, but it wasn’t like you know people in college. These people were all … hard, somehow. Even Melissa, who seems sweet as pie in class, she seemed to know this other set of rules.”

“Henry?” Cisco asked me, through the rear-view mirror.

“I met Melissa in Hixson, Tennessee a few years ago. I went to jail for getting in a fight with her boyfriend, a big bruiser whose name I forget. She wasn’t called Melissa, then. Everybody called her Rosie.”

“Why?” Cisco and Ginny asked together.

“They said she was a riveter. Also she has long red curly hair.”

“Looker?” asked Cisco.

“Beautiful,” I answered. Cisco nodded.

“Sorry, Ginny,” said Cisco. Ginny cocked her head and I could see she was frowning a little, as though she wanted to argue whether Melissa was beautiful or not. “So tell me the rest of the story.”

“Well, the boys started playing pool, and Henry takes over for this strange little guy he seems to know…”

“That was Milton,” I said.

“Who?” she asked.

“Milton. The guy we were talking about earlier.”

“Okay,” she said, a little hesitantly. “Then they started making bets. And every time they did, Melissa, who I would say was dressed a little trampy, would hop off her stool and scoop up the money, and I think maybe she was slipping it into her bra. I didn’t really want to look.” Cisco looked at me in the rear vie mirror. I nodded. Walt, who had given no indication he was paying any attention at all, leaned back his head and grinned at the mental image.

“How much?” asked Cisco.

“I don’t really remember,” she said. “Not much, at first.”

“Henry?” asked Walt.

“Milt was thirty bucks up. I bought his game for forty bucks.”

“Interesting,” said Cisco.

“He was playing a hustler I know from outside Chattanooga. Good player.”

“Sooo … You were doing Milt a favor?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Funny,” he answered. “That’s not the way Milt tells it.”

“He’ll play that game by himself some day,” I said. I could see Cisco smile in the rear view mirror.

“So what happened next?” Cisco asked Ginny.

“Odd being outnumbered by boys,” she answered

“What?”

“I have two sisters. I went to a girl’s high school, and played sports on girls’ teams. It’s just odd to be in a conversation where everyone else is boys. You keep veering off into odd directions.”

“Sorry. I want to hear the story,” said Cisco.

“Okay. Well, at first it was really outa’ sight. Henry dropped two twenties on the table and Melissa came over and scooped them up and I felt like, wicked cool, because I just wanted to see him play and here we were already in a big money game, although I wasn’t sure why Melissa got to keep all the money. But they all seemed to know her, for some reason, and then Henry won that first game, the forty dollar one, and I’m all excited, thinking ‘Jeez, he’s really good, and he just won forty dollars, which is a fantastic amount of money for winning a pool game,’ and then the guy he was playing wanted to play for four times that.” Her head sagged. “That’s an astonishing amount of money to gamble, I’m thinking,” she said. “I mean, that’s more money than some people make in a week.”

“Henry?” asked Cisco.

“Yeah, Donnie wanted to bet $160, but my money was all on the table, anyway. But I’d beat him three out of three at the Hixson Lanes.”

“Sorry,” said Cisco, to Ginny.

“Are you sure you want to hear my story?” Ginny asked. “Because it sounds like what you want to hear is me telling Henry’s story.”

“Yeah, fair enough,” said Cisco. Walt waved his head from side to side as if to express that he understood her point.

“So after that Henry lost. He seemed so good, but this other guy was better, and at one point Henry forked over $120 on top of $40 so he was gambling $160 on one pool game! It was just insane. And he won that but then the guy in the orange tee shirt doubled down on him again and he lost. He lost $320. That’s just insane.

“Why?” Cisco asked.

“$320 is as much spending money as I’ll need for the entire semester. To bet it all on a pool game is just … dangerous.”

“Yeah, but what happened next?” Cisco asked.

“Henry doubled down again. It was way past time to stop. But he put six hundred dollars down on the table. Have you ever seen a hundred dollar bill?” Cisco smiled.

“Not often,” he said.

“Well Henry had six of them. And that was only the start. The guy from Texas then said they should play this other game for $15,000.” Walt sat up and looked at me. I shrugged.

“Milton said it was Cutthroat,” said Cisco.

“I guess that’s what they said,” Ginny answered. “But it turns out Henry had $5,000 in his wallet, and he laid it down to make that bet. I was just stunned when I saw he was carrying around $600, I mean, I’ve never seen anything like that before. But then he laid down fifty hundreds. Fifty. I’ve never seen that much money before. It was bad enough that he had it on him. That he was betting it nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“Why are you so worried?” Cisco asked. “It’s not your money.”

“I like Henry. I don’t like seeing him doing something stupid. I mean, he could have lost his entire education fund.” Walt glanced sideways at me. I shook my head.

“So how did the game go?” Cisco asked.

“It was awful,” she said. “Every time he took a shot, if he missed it, it might cost him $15,0000.” Walt looked at me. I shook my head no.

“So how many did he miss?” Cisco asked. There was a pause.

“I don’t remember,” she answered. Okay, this was fucked up. I hadn’t missed any shots in that last game, and that’s the game she was talking about.

“So who won?” Cisco asked. He knew the answer, but he was talking to Ginny.

“Henry won,” Ginny said. “But that’s not the point.”

“What’s the point?” asked Cisco.

“It could have gone horribly wrong. Some chances you just don’t take.”

“He won a lot, right?”

“Yes,” she said.

“From what I hear, it was like enough to pay for two years of college,” Cisco said.

“I suppose,” said Ginny.

“And he won,” said Cisco.

“Yes, but he shouldn’t have taken the risk,” she said, primly and confidently. There was a long silence in the car. After a few minutes Walt spoke up.

“I have a Jeep.”

“Yeah?” asked Cisco.

“I like to ride off-road. Nobody else at Westminster seemed to go for it, so I kept it to myself. But on weekends, I’d drive up just north or Atlanta and run around on dirt tracks through mud. Hell of a time,” said Walt. There was a pause of a few seconds.

“Don’t your parents belong to the Piedmont Driving Club?” asked Cisco.

“Yes, of course,” answered Walt. There was another awkward pause.

“Okay,” Walt continued. “So last year I got stuck in a traffic jam outside of Athens on 85. I wasn’t sure what caused the jam, but we were pointed south and traffic south wasn’t moving at all. I actually know that area outside Athens pretty well. My dad used to take me dove hunting not far from there. So I decided that waiting in the traffic on I-85 was getting us nowhere, so I decided to cut across the median, do a freeway u-turn, and pick up US 79 south, which I’d done many times when I was playing in lots of tennis tournaments. University of Georgia is p there and at the time I thought I wanted to go to Georgia and play on their tennis team. So whenever they sponsored a tournament, or even a clinic, I went. So I knew where I was and the median was no problem in a Jeep so I cruised across the median and headed north.”

Ginny was silent. “Okay,” I said, not sure where he was going with the story.

“I was dating a girl named Janie at the time,” Walt said. “Beautiful girl. Met her at a tennis tournament. She played for North Springs, third starter for singles and lead on women’s doubles. Gorgeous and smart.” Ginny looked at him as though she wasn’t sure she liked this story. “So I was driving my CJ, although you could have crossed that median in any passenger car. It was flat and grassy and dry, and so we headed back north on 85. Janie got wide-eyed and freaked out when I got on the median and said she couldn’t believe I’d done that. I didn’t get it and asked ‘Did what?’ and it turns out she was upset because I drove across the median! I resented this ‘cause I knew what I was doing, I mean I’d driven through mud flats and deep swamps and over big rocks so I was tres qualified to drive across a median strip, or to decide whether it was safe to drive across a median strip, in a Jeep, but I just pointed out to her hat I didn’t even have to shift to four wheel drive, that it was perfectly safe, and that I’d spent millions of hours driving through swamps and mud and dirt and wouldn’t have done it if I thought there’d been any risk at all. She asked me what woulda happened if we’d gotten stuck? She kept asking that over and over. She couldn’t accept that I actually knew what I was doing. She didn’t think the fact that I’d been right, that we gotten across the median with no trouble at all, meant anything. She was stuck on the fact that I’d taken a risk that she wouldn’t have taken. Because she woulda been uncomfortable driving like that herself, she didn’t think I should, either. The fact that I had more experience and was actually right cut no ice.” Ginny had her back to me but I could tell she was scraping her index finger across her incisors. There was a pause.

“But Henry could have lost fifteen thousand dollars.” I shook my head. Lordy.

“Henry?” Walt asked me.

“The most I could have lost was five kay,” I said. “It was like a fifteen thousand dollar bet only in one sense. And that’s not the way you think about it,” I said.

“Explain,” said Walt. I’m not sure how he got appointed moderator, but he did seem to be good at it.

“To me it was a five thousand dollar bet on two-to-one odds. I had to risk $5,0000 to maybe win $10,000. When I made that bet, I’d beat Donnie several times and Texas once. Two-to-one is pretty strong odds against people I’ve beat. For me not to make the bet, I figured either I needed to have a less than one in three chance of winning, which I didn’t, or it had to be more than I could afford, which it wasn’t.” Ginny opened her mouth as though to talk but Walt cut her off.

“So you only had five grand up?” Walt asked.

“Yeah,” I said.

“Only five grand?” Ginny asked. “Who has fifty hundreds in his wallet?” Walt looked at me.

“Yeah, well. Usually I don’t,” I said. “But you wanted to go to Annie’s, and I’ve played it before. Good-sized money changed hands last time I was there. It’s a lot cleaner now. Frat boys and sorority girls.”

“So you’re used to having five thousand dollars in you wallet?” she asked, as though I must be lying.”

“Yeah, sure. Not all the time, but, really, you know, I’m a gambler. Betting is what I do. And the most I ever won in a card game was at a party in New Orleans and I had to go back to my car for openers. I felt like I kid buying in to the grownup table. From then on, if I’m going somewhere I might play cards or pool, I take along some money.”

“Okay, so how much money do you have on you now?” she asked. I hesitated.

“Some,” I said, after a pause.

“Do you have five thousand dollars on you again?” she asked.

“No,” I said, carefully. I was aware that this answer, while accurate, was misleading, and might lead to trouble.

“Thank God,” she said. “Carrying around that kind of cash is just insane.” She shook her head in disbelief. “Wait,” she said, “How do you know you’re telling the truth?”

“I don’t have $5,000 in my wallet,” I said.

“Prove it,” she said.

“This is not going to go well, you know,” I said.

“You’re lying?”

“No, I’m telling the truth. You’re just asking about things that are none of your business.”

“Yean, I probably am,” she said, after a few second’s thought. She chewed her thumbnail more earnestly than was her habit and stared at the lane markers in the headlights. “I’ve never had much money,” she said, after another pause. “My parents are okay, money-wise, but they were determined not to spoil me. So I never had any. We lived on Lookout Mountain but I never had enough change to buy a Coke. So maybe I get worried about money faster than some people. If that’s the problem, I’m sorry.”

“That’s not the deal,” said Walt. I looked at him, surprised. “You’ve played tennis your whole life,” he said.

“And soccer,” Ginny nodded.

“But I’m guessing you’ve never bet on a game on either sport.”

“No, of course not. Nobody bets on tennis,” she said.

“Sure they do,” he said. “Bobby Rigs won a hundred grand betting on himself at Wimbledon. I saw him play a game against somebody in Savannah where he wore a dress, used a frying pan instead of a racket, and had a dachshund on a leash in his left hand the entire game. I heard the bet was for $1,500. He won. But that’s not the point. When you show up at a tennis tournament, you play whoever they tell you to play. When Henry shows up at a pool hall, he can decide whether he wants to play somebody or not, and if so, whether to bet, and if so, how much. It’s a different way of looking at a game.”

He had a point.

“I don’t gamble much at pool, but I seem to do okay,” said Cisco.

“Why do you think that is” I asked. He shrugged.

“It’s just luck,” he said.

“I’m going to guess you’re lucky at poker, too,” I said.

“As a matter of fact, it seems like I’m pretty lucky at cards, too,” Cisco said.

“Yeah, I’ve seen it,” said Walt.

I shook my head. “There’s no such thing as luck,” I said.

“You really believe that?” Walt asked.

“Yes, of course,” I said. “Lookit. Cisco’s lucky with … that is to say, he’s lucky in … other ways, so people think of him as lucky. But the reasons he’s lucky at cards are the same reasons he’s lucky .. in other ways. He’s extremely pleasant and affable, and smart, but he doesn’t give much away. He smiles a lot, but you never know what he’s thinking. He’s good at reading all sorts of nonverbal cues. He picks up on subtle things that everybody else misses. He distracts … people with his charm, but he’s always aware of his opportunities.”

In the rear-view mirror I could see Cisco flash that pirate smile at Ginny. “Just playing hunches,” he said. I imagine she smiled back.

“But what about pool? He usually wins at pool, too,” Walt asked.

“As you so astutely noticed, winning at pool is mainly deciding when to play,” I said. “Every game of chance is also a game of skill. You can play pure chance, but nobody does. Nobody bets on one cut of the cards, or one roll of the dice. We bet on things where some skill is involved. And once that happens, you’re not playing against the odds. If I were betting against the odds, I’d never bet, because long-term, the odds always win. But I’m not betting against the odds, I’m betting against the other guy, and the odds may be harder on him than they are on me. I’ve spent a lot of time playing pool, and it’s been a long time since I saw somebody I was sure was better than me. But if I see that kind of player tomorrow night, I won’t bet. And I think what Cisco’s doing is just putting down the cue when he sees somebody else who’s good.”

“Hey, there’s always something else to do,” said Cisco. “I don’t play any game unless I think I’m going to win.”

“Never?” asked Ginny. “Why?”

“You ‘play’ a game,” Cisco answered. “Play is supposed to be fun. It’s not fun to lose.”

We cruised on down the interstate towards Chattanooga. I thought about games and play and risk.

I had $12,000 in my wallet. I’d been thinking I might borrow Mrs. W’s car and drop by a pool hall while I was in Chattanooga.