Incite. James Frey
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But this summer I’m taking a lot of ancient history classes.”
“Whoa. Those are pretty different.”
“I read a lot.” He motioned to the bookshelf above his desk. It was filled with titles like Turning Points in Ancient History and Inventions of the Gods. “I’m sure I’ll be boring you to death with some of my theories soon.”
“Go for it. I have nothing else to do. I don’t know anyone north of Santa Barbara, and I was worried it was going to be a long, lonely summer.”
Tommy laughed. “You want to go out tonight? Some of my friends and I were talking about having some beers, shooting some pool. Interested?”
I was exhausted, but I didn’t care. I was finally on my own, and I couldn’t wait to celebrate. “Absolutely. What time?”
Tito’s was a local dive, about a 20-minute walk from our dorm. It was busy, and Tommy led me through the crowd of students to a row of pool tables in the back. There was no one in the place who looked over 30, but they were all dressed better than average. Tommy had changed from jeans and a T-shirt into corduroys and a zippered sweater. I was more casual—a pair of beat-up jeans and a Rose Bowl sweatshirt.
A small group in the back called out to Tommy, and we made our way over to them.
“Guys,” he said. “This is Mike, my new roomie. Mike, meet Jim, Julia, and Mary.”
“Hi,” I said, and stretched out my hand. Jim grabbed it. He was black, with silver-rimmed glasses and a newsboy cap.
“Jim Jefferson,” he said. “Not James, definitely not JJ.”
“Mike Stavros,” I said back. “Good to meet you.” But my eyes weren’t on him. They were glued to the blonde sitting next to him, the one Tommy had called Mary.
I reached out my hand to her.
She took it in a firm grip and stood up. “This isn’t a business meeting, you know.”
“Is shaking hands too formal?” I asked, letting go and laughing at myself. “I’ve been living the life of a furniture salesman. Salesmen shake hands with people. It makes them feel at ease.”
Mary laughed, a sweet, melodic tone. “I can assure you, I’m feeling very at ease.” She picked up her beer and took a quick sip.
“I’m Julia,” the next woman said. She was black, with short hair, and dressed in purple paisley. She reached for my hand, and I shook back. “Where you from?”
“Pasadena,” I said. “You guys?”
“Northern California,” Mary said. “Ever heard of Susanville?”
“Never.”
“You’re not missing out,” she said with a quick laugh. “I grew up north of there on a ranch. Moved to Piedmont when my dad retired.”
“I’ve never heard of Piedmont either,” I said, and she laughed again.
“Touché, Mike.” I beamed.
“So, how’d you all become friends?”
I noticed a look between Tommy and Mary. Mary shook her head slightly. My stomach dipped—I hoped that didn’t mean they were together.
“Julia and I are locals,” Jim said. “Grew up in Oakland, known each other since kindergarten. You play pool?”
“A little.”
“Eight ball,” Jim said. “You and Mary, me and Julia.” He handed me a cue.
I was about six feet tall, and Mary had to be a foot shorter than me. But she was gorgeous. Long, blond, curly hair that flowed loose down her shoulders like a waterfall. I didn’t want to say no to being on her team, but I turned to Tommy.
“That’ll leave you out.”
“The night is young,” he said. “I’m going to get something to drink. Want anything?”
“Not now,” I said.
Julia racked the balls and stood back. Mary looked at me. “You wanna break?”
“You go for it,” I said. I hadn’t played a lot of pool at home, and I wanted to pull off looking cool in front of this girl for as long as I could.
She broke, and the 14 ball fell into a side pocket.
“Do all of you guys go to Berkeley?” I asked.
“We do,” Jim said, gesturing to himself and Julia. “Art program. She paints; I sculpt.”
“Not me,” Mary said, lining up her new shot. “Stanford. Prelaw.”
“Really?”
“It gets better,” Julia said. “She’s there on scholarship. Smart kid.”
“Why are you here if you’re at Stanford? That’s like an hour away.”
“Taking a quarter off,” she said. “I’m interning for a firm across the bay. Divorces and bankruptcies.” She rolled her eyes and added, “Real exciting stuff.” She missed her shot.
Julia took a pull from her beer and bent down, taking aim at the 3 ball.
“So, Mike,” Jim asked, “why are you showing up in the summer?”
“I’m starting in the fall,” I said, “but I got a job over the summer. It’s no internship with a law firm, though. You’re looking at Berkeley’s newest janitorial staff member.”
“Nice,” Jim said with a laugh. “I hope you’re not the poor sap who has to clean up Wurster Hall. My studio is a mess.”
Julia missed, and I was up. I searched for a good shot. There was a long one, right along the bumper. I knew I couldn’t make it, so I tried a closer, easier shot and missed, of course.
“No worries,” I said. “Just cleaning out empty dorms.”
Jim was really good. He got three balls in before missing on an awkward, reaching shot.
Tommy came back with a beer.
“So,” I said as Mary leaned over to take her shot, “prelaw, huh? What kind of lawyer do you want to be?”
“It’s better to ask what kind of lawyer I wanted to be. I’m probably going to drop out. The biggest thing I’ve learned about the law is that I hate it. Taking notes during back-to-back-to-back divorce settlements has made me swear off marriage too.”
“John!” Tommy shouted. At once, the whole group turned. Someone was walking toward us, a huge grin on his face. Everyone smiled wide when they saw him.
“Tommy!” The guy waved as he made his way over. John was tall, wearing jeans and the coolest jacket I’d ever seen. It was denim, but embroidered intricately all over the back, shoulders, and arms. Bright splashes of color—flowers, spirals, and a peace symbol.
It was clear everyone in the place knew him. He slapped hands with the people at the bar and hugged one of the waitresses.
“What’s up, man?” Jim asked, and gave him a hug, thumping him loudly on the back. John kissed Julia and Mary each on the cheek. When he got to Tommy, they did some kind of secret handshake.
“Everything is up, guys. It is a good day.” He turned to the waitress and shouted, “Bring a round of—what are you guys drinking? Looks like three beers and a … What’s that, Julia?”
“Jack.”
“Three beers, a Jack, and I’ll take a Scotch and water.” He turned, noticing me for the first time. “You want a drink?”
“No thanks, I’m good.”
“Suit yourself. I’m John, man. Good to meet you.” He stretched