Page 77 of Is This for Real?
Me::)
Zelda:How are you going to bring down the walls of Jericho?
I should have known she’d find a movie to quote.It Happened One Nightis one of Zelda’s favorite movies.
Me:Blue negligee tonight.
Zelda:Hold your fire until he’s done with work and you’re in good shape with the book.
Me:You’re right.
I keep revising. For distraction, because I’m not perfect, I check my email. I came in second in a romance writers contest! They liked my first three chapters. I am ecstatic. Shocked, because I’d given up. I shouldn’t lie to myself. I did keep refreshing the contest page just to check last week when they said they would announce the winners. I still had a forlorn hope. But then they never announced anything on the website, and I made myself stop checking. Their email ends with: “You will be published.”
I text Rory:I came in second in contest!
Rory:Yes! Calls for a celebration!
Me:Yes!Celebrate Friday when you’re done.
Rory:Tonight? Done what we can before the shoot. See you back at the hotel around 7 p.m.
I finish revising the first half of the novel per Esther’s suggestions. And now it’s time to consult the list of recommendations from my romance writer friends. I book us a slot at the minigolf bar called Swingers in the West End of London and text Rory to meet there.
Rory:That’s how you want to celebrate? Sure? You lost last time.
Me:Rematch, baby. You’re probably rusty.
Rory:Just keep writing that fiction, Curls.
I change into a scoop-necked sweater, a miniskirt, and boots. I practice swinging a golf club to see if it shows too much cleavage. Fine line. Seems good.
The Tube is crowded, but I still get a seat. Compared to New York City subways, the cushioned seats give the Tube the air of a time when travel was considered something special.
Arriving at Swingers, I wait by the bar for Rory. The bar is elegant with tall, swiveling, leather chairs, dome-shaped lamps, and a tin ceiling. It’s in the basement, but it has high ceilings so it doesn’t feel claustrophobic. Rustic wood blocks with crawling ivy separate two minigolf courses that have turf-green grass surrounded by leafy, fake trees. I choose the windmill course. Dutch luck had better help me.
A British guy strikes up a conversation as I nurse my drink, then I notice Rory is handing his coat to the woman at the coat check. I say goodbye to the guy and go meet Rory. His smile takes over his whole face.
“Can’t leave you alone for a second.” Rory hugs me. I breathe in his scent. And I feel like the hug lasts longer than it has in the past. His hard chest against mine feels solid and warm. He says, “That’s great news about the contest.” We separate slowly.
“I’m so happy.” I raise my margarita to him. “Do you feel like you’re ready for tomorrow?”
“As ready as we can be.” His jaw clenches. We walk back to the bar. The bartender asks him what he wants to drink. He orders a seltzer. “I want to keep a clear head for tomorrow.”
I nod. “I appreciate the bubbles.”
He laughs. Some lines smooth out in his forehead.
I smile saucily. “Are you prepared to go down in defeat?”
He shakes his head sadly. “Delusions of grandeur. I’m not the one who’s going to lose here.”
We put in our order for burgers and fries. The hostess alerts us that we’re on, and we take our places at the first hole on the golf course. It’s two straight shots, and the ball is in the hole for both of us.
The next hole is trickier. Rory hits his ball, and it jumps off the course. I shake my head. “So rusty. Maybe they sell some WD-40 at the bar.”
Rory grins. “Let’s see what you’ve got before you start trash-talking.”
I need to hit the ball off the side and bank it to get it close to the hill. I narrow my eyes to judge the angle. I swing and yes, it is right in line for the hole.Take that.
